#bitches that’s MY job don’t you dare

[choslut]

plug!vi + her pretty pink sorority bitch | nsfw, mdni

plug!vi who has her eye on her newest client. you’re just such a pretty, pink girl, never the type to be buying drugs, especially not off of someone like vi. hell, you would never even dare be seen in public with someone like vi, but as a sorority sister, someone has to do the job of getting weed for every party.

plug!vi who actually hates you when she first meets you. you’re the epitome of the stuck up rich prick stereotype, in a pink tesla with perfectly painted nails and makeup that’s never out of place. she wonders what you’re like when you’re high, because she can never imagine seeing you with even a hair out of place.

plug!vi who is surprised when you roll up to the usual meeting spot one day, this time with mascara flooding down your cheeks and enough money for only one preroll. you’re blubbering to her like you’ve known her forever, about how your boyfriend cheated on you with your own sorority sister, and how you can never trust guys with your heart ever again because it’s too delicate to be broken…

plug!vi who sits in the back of your car with you to smoke the preroll you just bought. she discovers you’re a total ditz when greened out, giggling and pushing and play fighting her, with pupils wide enough to make your irises turn black. you’re so far gone you don’t even notice her sly hand beginning to slide up your skirt…

plug!vi who fingers you in the back of your baby pink tesla, just to prove a point that you don’t need a boyfriend to feel good. all the while, she’s shotgunning joint smoke into your mouth, her lips fighting not to press against yours until you fist your hands in her shirt and pull her in for a kiss.

plug!vi who then goes on to eat you out, your stockinged legs thrown over her shoulders as she goes to town on your overstimulated cunt. and you’re absolutely loving it, whining out her name and apologising to her for being such a damn brat every time you met up with her.

she forgives you, of course, but only because the next time she sees you, she’ll be doing the same thing; smoking a joint with you and getting you high enough to let her eat you out in your very own backseat. and eventually, she starts supplying you for free. not because she likes you (because she still doesn’t), but because she likes the taste of your cunt on her lips, and can’t see herself giving it up any time soon.

plug!vi who very easily becomes addicted. not to drugs, but to you.

© choslut — do not copy, repost or translate my works without permission • attending a gala with vi || masterlist

[dirtyvulture]

The Maid - Part 4

Socialite!Wanda Maximoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

Maid!Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

18+ only, read at your own risk

Word count: 2245

Summary: You are married to a wealthy socialite, but your newly hired housemaid doesn’t approve of the marriage.

AN: Thank you for the continued support! You all make my day with your comments and theories. :)

Read part 3 here.

*Reader has a penis, no pronouns used.

You sit at the kitchen table nervously, drumming your fingers on the wood. You knew Wanda would be home late–she never had the respect to give you a proper timeline for her outings. The clock tells you that it’s a little past midnight, and sleepiness burns in the corners of your eyes, but you told yourself you aren’t going to bed until this is all over. 

You run the lines over in your head. What you want to say to her exactly, what you’ll counter with if she reacts well or poorly. You’ve waited long enough to have this conversation, perhaps too long, but Natasha finally gave you the push you needed.

“Do you still love her?” Natasha asks softly after you tell her the whole story of your wife’s philandering. 

You don’t answer. Deep down, you know your love for her was being tested to its breaking point, and you weren’t so sure it would survive after this. “I’ll talk to her tonight, when she comes home,” you say. “You should probably go home. I can’t imagine it’ll be a pretty conversation.”

“I’ll stay if you want me to,” Natasha insists. “You shouldn’t be alone to do something like that.” Your heart melts, and for a moment you want to get up and kiss her. Not that you wanted to pull a Wanda, but you couldn’t ignore how beautiful and generous your maid was. She was excellent at her job; never complained and went above and beyond, even when your wife was being a total bitch. She treated you with the respect and kindness you deserved. She was everything you wanted in a partner and more. 

But you were stuck with Wanda. For now, at least.

“Are you sure? Wanda might be home late and I don’t want you to feel obligated to stay just for me,” you say. 

“It’s fine. She won’t even know I’m here. I can leave out the back door,” Natasha says.

“Thank you, Natasha.” Her support means more to you than you’re allowed to express. 

“You’re welcome.”

Now, with Natasha hiding in the kitchen, the two of you wait.

***********************************************************************

You accidentally doze off and wake with a start when you hear the garage door open. For a moment, you don’t even remember where you are or why.

“Natasha? Are you still here?” you whisper as loud as you dare.

“Yes.” Her head pokes out from around the corner of the kitchen.

Relief fills you. You were worried she would ditch you after all, not that you would’ve blamed her in the slightest. “Wanda’s home,” you tell her, and she nods and disappears again. At least you didn’t have to face your wife entirely alone.

You sit rigidly still on the couch until your wife walks in, almost passing you at first. 

“You’re back,” you say, and she jumps, reaching for the light switch and revealing you on the couch.

“I said I’d be back tonight,” she says.

“Who were you out with?”

“My girlfriends.”

“No.” You stand up and walk over to her. You are a great deal taller than her and for once she looks like she feels her size around you. “Who did you go out with tonight?”

Wanda doesn’t make eye contact with you. “You know…Carol, Darcy–”

“Are you fucking them too?”

“Excuse me?” Wanda draws back from you until she bumps into the bookshelf.

“You heard me,” you say through clenched teeth. “Were you fucking them too?”

“No. Why the hell would you think that?”

“Because I know you spend all your free time fucking anything that moves behind my back.”

The silence in the air is electric. Your heart is thundering in your chest so hard you wonder if Natasha can hear it. Wanda’s eyes widen. 

“I...I’ve never done that,” she says, but her falter shows her lie. “How dare you suggest–”

You take your phone out and show Wanda the screen. She squints at it in confusion at first, then a shadow of horror passes over her face when she realizes it’s the camera view from the little ceramic turtle you planted in the china cabinet, now showing the two of you standing there.

“You hid a camera in my own home–” Wanda starts.

“I hid a shit ton of cameras in our home,” you say. 

“So this is why your business is failing,” she cackles, and the switch in topic throws you for a loop. “You spend all day watching and stalking me in our home when you’re supposed to be working. No wonder you don’t bring home any money. Not only are you a shitty spouse, you’re also a shitty worker.”

Anger explodes inside of you, and for a moment your control slips. You lunge for Wanda, not even sure what you’ll do once you grab her, but she slams her palms to your chest and sends you staggering back. She turns and yanks a book off the shelf, removing a revolver from the pages and pointing it towards you with trembling hands.

“Don’t get any closer to me, you fucking creep!” she yells.

Your anger dissolves into concern. “Put the gun down, Wanda. Please. Let’s just talk about this like adults–”

“Oh, now you want to talk like adults?” Wanda laughs manically. “Where was this before you started illegally recording me in my own home?”

“You’re fucking cheating on me!” you scream, losing your composure again. “I moved us into this big house, in this nice neighborhood, and you’re just so fucking ungrateful for any of it!”

“I didn’t want any of it to begin with!” Wanda returns.

“Why not? Because you had to leave behind your fuck buddies in our old neighborhood?”

“You’re the exact same person here as you were over there. A self-righteous piece of shit,” she seethes.

“If you’re so sick of me, why don’t you divorce me?” you ask. “Oh wait.” You snap your fingers. “I bet no one would want to sleep with a washed-up divorcee. Because where’s the fun in that?”

Wanda turns the gun around and points it at her temple. “I’ll kill myself if you divorce me,” she says, then shifts the gun to point towards her chest, “But I’ll make it look like you did it.”

The blood in your veins chills at the thought. “Give me the gun, Wanda.”

“Take it from me,” she goads.

While you have very little confidence in your disarming tactics, you do know you’re stronger and faster than Wanda. You also don’t fully believe that she’ll kill herself right here, so that gives you an advantage of time. 

Before a plan even forms in your head, you reach out with your arm and slap Wanda’s hand away from her head. She startles and drops the gun; you expect her to dive after it but instead she whirls around and punches you in the face. Despite all of her faults, she’s never outright hit you before, and your vision swims as your head whiplashes against the bookshelf. 

“You crazy motherfucker,” Wanda screeches, punching you again and you fall to the floor, instinctively curling into a ball to protect yourself. Her foot slams into your ribs and for a second, you can’t believe you’re getting the beating of a lifetime from your own wife.

Meanwhile, Natasha is in utter shock at the events unfolding in front of her. She feels like she’s overstepping some serious boundaries, but she can’t leave you now, especially with Wanda having the upper hand. 

“Wanda, stop!” she hears you gasp as Wanda grabs hold of Crime and Punishment uses it like a weapon, raising it behind her head and smashing it against your body over and over. Natasha can’t bear to stand there anymore. She has to protect you from your insane, deranged wife.

Natasha crosses the living room in four leaping strides and picks up the revolver. Wanda looks shocked more by her presence than the fact that she’s now staring down the barrel of her own gun. 

“What the fuck are you still doing here?” Wanda says.

“Get away from Y/N,” Natasha says, holding the gun in both hands. The weight feels disconcertingly familiar, and despite her nerves, she isn’t shaking.

“Are you fucking her?” Wanda suddenly turns to you. “You’ve got some nerve watching me get it on with the neighbors when you’ve been fucking our maid–”

“Shut up!” Natasha yells. “I’m not doing anything with Y/N!” she says, although she wishes that wasn’t the truth.

“I don’t believe that.” Wanda marches over to Natasha, leaving you unraveling on the floor. Blood drips from your nose and mouth, and Natasha can see the purpling bruise on your cheek. “Vision told me Y/N took you to see Wicked on my anniversary–”

“Because you couldn’t be bothered to remember and go yourself!” Natasha says.

Wanda is too enraged to quiet. “How dare you enter my house, take advantage of my kindness, and take my partner to bed–”

“Back off!” Natasha says, raising the gun until it’s almost level with Wanda’s eyes. “Not everyone is a cheating whore like you.”

Both Wanda and Natasha seem shocked by her choice of words. Natasha’s arms shake as they drop a few inches. She won’t hold back anymore–but neither will Wanda.

“You little bitch.” Wanda draws her arm back. Natasha flinches and squeezes the trigger.

BANG.

The gunshot is much, much louder in an enclosed space, and Natasha’s ears ring so hard they hurt. Wanda stands before her, her jaw dropped in shock. A stain of blood grows on her shirt, centered over her bellybutton. 

“Oh my God. Wanda, I’m sorry, I didn’t…” Natasha gasps, unable to wrap her head around her own actions. 

“You…You shot me,” Wanda says, grabbing her stomach as she falls. Natasha tries to catch her but misses; you appear behind Wanda and lower her slowly to the floor. “How is that possible?” She looks up at you and your face is pale with shock. “You fucking shot me!”

“Nat,” you whisper. “Nat, give me the gun.”

“I’m…I’m so sorry,” Natasha cries, handing you the weapon and backing away from the two of you. “I thought she was going to hit me and–”

“It’s okay.” You stand up, wobbling a little, and rush to her side. “Go home Nat, okay? Go through the back door and jump the fences if you have to. And if anyone asks where you were tonight, you weren’t here.”

“No, no.” Natasha fights the tears threatening to spill out. “That’s wrong. I did this, I want to take responsibility for it–”

“No,” you say. “With your background, you’ll be locked in prison the rest of your life, if you don’t get deported first.”

“M-My background?” Natasha stammers. “How do you know about–”

You shake your head, indicating now is not the time to have this discussion. “For the record, it never made me trust you any less.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes.” You reach out and grab her hand. It calms Natasha instantly. “Go now. Let me handle this. I’ll come find you when this is all over.”

“I’m so sorry,” Natasha sobs.

“It wasn’t your fault. Now get out of here, please!”

Natasha doesn’t wait to hear you instruct her again. She looks at you, her savior, one last time, completely ignoring Wanda laying on the floor, before dashing off towards the garage. It’s pitch-black, but she doesn’t dare turn on a light, and fumbles for the back door. Outside, the air is nippy and her breath clouds in front of her face. She takes a deep breath to orient herself, then runs headfirst towards the neighbor’s fence, hauling herself over it as quietly as she can, crossing their yard, and leaping over the next fence. 

She has to jump over two more yards before she gets to the street, racing to her Nissan and peeling away down the street. In the safety of her car, the realization crashes over her and she can’t stop the waterworks. 

She can’t believe she shot your wife. She can’t believe you knew her background. Clint had told her no one would find out what she had done in Russia after she assumed a new identity, but you had found out somehow. And yet, you were still okay hiring her even after you knew she had killed her former boss. 

The sounds of sirens pierce her thoughts and Natasha seizes up. A black-and-white police car races by. Either you had called them, or a neighbor had heard the shouting and gunshot. Natasha prays her presence had gone undetected. She had never been more thankful Wanda forced her to park down the street, where her car was less likely to be seen. 

She wonders if she’ll ever get to see you again.

***********************************************************************

After Natasha leaves, you take a moment to absorb your surroundings. Wanda is gurgling and crying on the floor, pressing her palms against her stomach, blood spilling through her fingers and on the tiles Natasha had mopped earlier that day.

Your grip tightens on the gun as you move to stand over Wanda, where she can fully see you. Your body throbs where she hit you, and you know you don’t look much better than her. Blood bubbles out of her mouth. She can’t speak anymore, but her eyes are fiery and pleading.

You lift the gun, which feels like a thousand pounds in your hand.

“Someone should’ve done this a long time ago.”

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

AN: Welp, that escalated quickly. Will Wanda live? Should she?? 👀

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[kooggukk]

𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 BEYOND THE JOB // JJK

daddy jungkook (literally)

; babysitting the cutest angel on earth is the perfect job. (except when her father is fucking hot and wants all of you)

+ comment if u wnna be added to the taglist

— 1/??

| next part >>

“seriously though, you have to fuckin’ quit that job already.”

Sasha, who happens to be your best friend ever since you started working at the local elementary school, just lectured you again. she was already teaching there when you arrived, you spent your lunch breaks with her and even be each other’s substitute sometimes.

surprisingly, she quit a few months after that. you stayed close though. at first, she was dying to know the drama happening among the teaching staff, but as shit kept going down which included you and the principal, all you ever hear from her is that you need to quit.

it wasn’t a huge surprise to her when you first told her your boss, aka the school’s principal, asked you out. it was weird, but everyone knew he was.. a little desperate. he had asked most of the female teachers out, some who agreed could only say bad things about the experience.

you declined his offer politely, explaining that you don’t want your personal life to mix with your job. it was awkward after that, but turns out he seems to be the dumbest person on earth. he asked you out two weeks after that, again.

still to this day, he keeps asking you out over and over and you keep rejecting him over and over again. sure, he got a lil’ crush on you, sweet, right? fuck no. he’s a pervert, doesn’t know what personal space is.

“but i need the money. i don’t know where else i could get such good salary.” you told her, for the nth time.

“be a stripper,” Sasha casually said, sipping on her diet coke while your eyes widened.

“don’t say nonsense, dafuq..” you both shared a giggle, but you definitely won’t put that job idea on the bottom of your list. maybe in the middle, or top 5. if you really can’t find a good place, then gotta be top 3.

“you could be one until you save enough money, then look for a less crazy one.”

“there’s never enough money, sasha.” you sighed, fuck inflation. when you grew up and finished studying, you realized the hardest part of being an adult was money. it’s crazy how difficult it is to make a living.

“if you don’t give in your quitting notice tomorrow, i’m gonna do it for you instead.” she narrowed her eyes at you.

“i don’t want to make a decision too quick. not until i know i can find another job.”

“quit.”

“no.”

“quit.”

“no.”

“quit.”

…

“okay.”

she squealed in her chair, gaining some attention on the two of you.

“if you dare to lie to me right now, i’m gonna make you eat your own shit.”

you kicked her under the table, sending her a glare. “behave, bitch.”

┈ ⪩⪨   ┈

“oh, __! what brings you here today?” your boss, sehun immediately stood up from his chair, ready to greet you with a hug.

panicking, you reached your hand out with a paper, catching his attention. “this is..?”

“my resignation notice, sir.”

“your what?”

he took the paper from your grip, examining it carefully. his eyebrows fell together, eyes scanning every single word.

he backed up, resting on the edge of his table. he looked at the paper again, rereading the first sentence.

‘Kindly accept this letter as my formal resignation…’

“are you sure, __?” he asked, putting the paper on his table. he crossed his arms, frustration written on his face.

you fixed your hair, giving him a firm nod. “yeah, i’ve been thinking of it for a while now.”

“i’m glad i could be a part of this amazing team, but i just feel like,” you struggled to find the words, obviously you didn’t want to tell in his face.

‘aye bruh, stop bein’ a pervert and you might stop losing your workers’

“look, teaching isn’t my thing. and i feel horrible to find that out so late.”

“well, if your passion for teaching ever comes back, you’re more than welcomed here.”

“thank you,” you smiled, because even though he’s the most annoying person you’ve ever met, your co-workers have always been kind to you.

the children also love you, and you’re extremely thankful for all the support and love you got from everyone.

during the usual lunch break, you co-workers heard the news too. they all wished you the best with a hug, some getting emotional too.

officially, this was your last week working at the school.

when you got home, sasha sent you a link to an advertisement.

‘looking for a nanny’

you laughed, dialing her contact. didn’t take her long to answer, obviously. she’s always on her damn phone, even when working.

“you can’t be serious. a nanny?” you laughed, finding the idea of you with a kid ridiculous.

“have you seen the description? girl, they pay damn well!” she said, followed by her exhaling.

“didn’t you say you’re gonna stop smoking?”

“i stopped. for three hours.”

you shook your head, putting her on speaker as you clicked the advertisement.

“170.000₩?” you blurted out loud, “a day?!” sasha hummed on the other side of the call.

“told ya’..”

“that’s.. nice. woah, yeah, nice.” you mumbled as you continued to read the requirements and some important details about the job.

“give it a try.” sasha said, but your eyes caught a sentence.

“they want someone with experience, as expected.” you let out a long sigh and fell back on your bed.

“you got the experience.”

“me? sasha, i never looked after a kid-“

“you work with kids. first and second graders. and they all fuckin’ love you.”

“that’s different.” you groaned.

“it’s not. a kid is a kid. 3 year olds are just as damn annoying as 7 year olds. prove me wrong..”

you laughed, she was right. they can be a huge pain in the ass, but they have the purest soul.

“true.”

“give it a try, __.” she said again, calling you by your name. oh she’s serious serious.

“yeah, i might call tomorrow then.”

“might? no, you will.” she corrected you and you rolled your eyes.

“sure.”

you called them the next day after considering it for half a day, being the typical embarrassment, you called at the wrong time.

the man was in a hurry, so you both just quickly agree on a time to meet in person. that happened to be the day after.

you looked at the address one more time after you got off the bus, realizing it was more of a wealthy neighborhood. you only had to walk about 5 minutes until you got there, hesitantly but you pressed the bell.

a tall, young man opened the door. his skin is smooth and fair, almost perfect. his hair dark, slightly wavy which was styled in a mullet cut, longer at the back.

his choice in clothes seemed to be rich, a white ribbed polo shirt with short sleeves, causing your eyes to drop to his sleeve tattoo in a second. he paired it with black tailored trousers.

“hey, you must be __?” he asked with uncertainty and you came back to life, smiling to him.

“yeah, i am.”

“great, come in.”

he stepped aside and you walked in, taking off your shoes and jacket.

the house was oddly barely decorated, not a single picture or painting on the walls, very few plants, which you’re sure are fake plants also. the house wasn’t really colorful, most of the furnitures are bright. like beige and cream white.

“would you like a drink? water, tea, soda? maybe coffee?” he suggested as he walked in front of you, leading you to the living room.

“no, thank you.” you politely refused, feeling a little.. off in such a nice home. not something you’re used to.

you sat down on the couch, carefully not to mess the neatly placed pillows behind. god you looked so uncomfortable and awkward.

“i’d like to introduce myself again, in person this time.” he spoke as he sat down on the armchair, next to the couch.

“i’m jeon jungkook, 27. i’m a dentist in the center of seoul. i’m the father of a sweet angel, nabi. she turns 5 in a few weeks, we could say she’s in her, erm,” he struggled to find an appropriate word.

“crazy phase?” you asked with a smile.

“yeah, something like that. she’s been loud lately, that’s all.” he chuckled, resting his arms on his knees.

you nodded and held your small bag tightly, “i’d like to introduce myself better too, then.”

“i’m __, 24 and i currently work at an elementary school. i handed in my resignation letter and this is my last week as a teacher, so i’m searching for a new job currently.”

you paused, hesitant what else to say.

“elementary school? so, you work with kids?”

“yes, first and second grade.”

after a few minutes of getting to know each other more, a little girl, most likely his daughter, walked down the stairs with her sleepy appearance.

“oh!” she stopped the moment she saw you, the tiredness leaving her eyes.

“nabi, c’mere.” jungkook held out his hand, “this is __. what do you say?” he asked her, holding her tiny hands.

“hello.” she greeted you and you smiled, her shyness is adorable.

“hi.”

“__ is here because she would like to look after you.” he said and she looked up to him so fast, you thought her neck would snap.

“daddy, are you leeving me?” she gasped and jungkook chuckled at her words, shaking his head.

“no, but when i’m at work, someone needs to be here and take care of you. how about __, does she seem nice? hm?”

the little girl shrugged, hugging her father’s arm. he sent her back to the bedroom, saying he would be there soon too.

“well, she’s a little shy at first but, i think she’s gonna open up fast.” he smiled and stood up, your eyes widening a bit and you stood up too.

“does that mean, i got the job?”

“see you next monday?” he asked and you almost started jumping, but you held back. instead, you gave him a huge smile and nodded.

“monday then.”

[neeeooon]

Hi! Can I request Blue Lock boys with an S/O who is just as protective over them as they are? For example, defending them when someone is bitching about them or starting an argument w them for no reason. The boys deserve to be fought for too! Also I would like it if you write for the Itoshis, Isagi, Kaiser, Nagi, Barou and Zantetsu. I'm sorry if its a lot ㅠㅠ you can choose from these characters if its a lot. Thank you <33

YES ofc and i agree we need more defensive/protective y/n’s !! thank you for the request! <3

when you’re protective over them ;

bf bllk x protective gn!reader. cw: lots of cussing in isagi’s (by you), lowk harassment in barou’s, pet names (multiple in zantetsu’s)

itoshi sae

-> sae doesn’t care much for drama or defending himself. he’s blunt and he finds it pointless, since people will always find a way to entertain themselves one way or another

-> you are not like that

-> “oh my gosh, are you itoshi sae? can we get a picture with you?!” a group of high schoolers giggle and jump around your boyfriend in excitement, but you can see the tension in his shoulders as he raises a hand. “no.”

-> “aw, come on, please? we’re your biggest—“ “did he stutter?” that shuts them up pretty quick. “no? hm, me neither! now, kindly leave :)”

-> they do ask told, grumbling about how mean you are, but you ignore them and turn to sae. “why don’t you fight them off or something? your space gets invaded all the time.” “they would have left eventually.” “hmph. good thing you have me to fight your public battles!”

-> sae doesn’t care enough to fight any battles, but he finds your protectiveness cute, so he pats your head and says, “perfect. good job, y/n.” you may have blushed

itoshi rin

-> you want to fight his brother so bad when rin finally tells you his side of their disagreement, but you don’t because you know some battles don’t involve you

-> others do. like the wannabe interviewer who approached your boyfriend one day to hound him for answers about his relationship with sae

-> “i, uh… i-i—“ “what the hell do you think you’re doing? get away from him!” you barely have time to look both ways before running across the street and throwing yourself between your pale boyfriend and the pushy “interviewer”

-> he groans at your interruption and pops an annoyed hand on his hip. “excuse me, we’re in the middle of something—“ “rin, do you want to talk to this guy?” rin shakes his head, and you raise a brow at the interviewer. “he said he doesn’t want to talk to you. that means leave before i make you leave.”

-> “you can’t threaten me! you should respect your elders, young—“ “it wasn’t a threat. it was an option. you can either walk away now, or crawl away later. the choice is yours.”

-> he chooses the former, leaving you with your shaken boyfriend. “are you okay? that guy was totally insensitive and pushy and… are you okay?” “i’m okay. thank you, y/n.” “don’t thank me. i’m here to love and protect you!”

isagi yoichi

-> isagi was raised in such a loving home. where do you think his potty mouth came from?

-> “touch a hair on his head again, and i’ll make you watch as i fuck your mother,” you spat at the boy writhing on the floor after punching him in the face

-> blinking at the scene before him, isagi shakily wraps a hand around your shoulder and pulls you away from the guy who’d dared to grab his hair while he was in your sight

-> “you didn’t have to punch him—“ “i’m sorry, i just really hate when people think they can put their dirty, disgusting, shitty hands all over you without asking. it’s so icky!”

-> he’s about to say ‘i can defend myself,’ but isagi likes having someone love him enough to defend him like you do. it makes him feel special, and he hopes you know he’d do the same if anyone tried messing with you

-> “you’re awesome, y/n.” “i know. kidding, you’re really fucking awesome too, yoichi!”

michael kaiser

-> you were already protective over kaiser before he told you about his past. knowing why he’s so stiff around older men just adds fuel to you protective flames

-> you’re shopping for groceries with kaiser when an older gentleman wearing a pxg jersey approaches, and you’re immediately on high alert

-> “hey, you’re that kid from, uh, bltv!” he scoffs, and you can feel kaiser’s grip tightening around your hand. “yeah, it’s you, alright. your teammates play dirty. you’re all d—“

-> you’re in his face before he can get the words out. “finish that sentence. i dare you.” you smile sweetly, but you know he can see the threat in your eyes. “see what happens.”

-> flustered, the gentleman hesitates a moment before turning and continuing his shopping elsewhere. you turn to see kaiser staring at you with wide eyes, his fingers wrapped loosely around his throat. “you… defended me?”

-> “of course i did,” you keep your movement casual, trying not to alarm him as you carefully pull his hand from his neck and knot your fingers together. “you’re mine. no one will ever speak to or about you like that as long as i’m here.”

nagi seishiro

-> nagi is too lazy to defend himself. which is where you come in!

-> you’re at a gaming cafe, searching for seats, when someone shoves past your boyfriend, knocking him back slightly from the force of the push

-> nagi would have brushed it off, but the guy puffs his chest out and puts his finger in your boyfriend’s face. “you gonna apologize, dick?”

-> nagi tries to slink away, but the guy goes to grab his hoodie, and your hand is on his wrist. “what the fuck do you—?!” “you’re not going to touch him again. grow a pair and get the fuck out of our way.” “!!!”

-> but he must see how dark your stare is, because the guy shivers and pulls himself from your grip so he can leave

-> sighing, nagi drapes a loose arm around you shoulders and pulls you into his side. “what a hassle. you didn’t have to do that.” “yes, i did. someone’s gotta defend you, ya lazy boy.” “lame… i love you.” you kiss his cheek. “i love you, too.”

barou shouei

-> it’s not like barou needs your protection. that doesn’t mean you aren’t protective of him, anyway

-> with soccer comes fame, and with fame comes fans. some who think they have some sort of claim over your boyfriend and his body

-> barou is signing some autographs for the ubers when a little group of fans, a mix of energetic men and women who are a bit too old to be staring at your boyfriend the way they are, approach

-> you know barou isn’t allowed to reject or shove them when they invade his space, but when you see one of them give his bicep a squeeze, another reaching for his waist, you see red

-> “absolutely not,” you grab the back of the person’s collar and tug, causing them to flail and stumble away from your boyfriend. “you can take your signature and photo, but you do not have the right to put your hands on him.”

-> offended and embarrassed, the group leaves, and you feel barou slip a hand over the small of your back, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “that was sexy. who knew you’d get so protective over me?” “um, me. no one can run their hands over your body but me.” “mmm, deal.”

zantetsu tsurugi

-> you hate how people call your boyfriend dumb, and you hate that he believes them

-> he may not be the most intelligent guy around, but that doesn’t make him “stupid” or “useless”, and you will (and have) willingly throw hands with anyone who insults him

-> you’re waiting outside your boyfriend’s classroom when he emerges with two students following close behind, berating him over a problem he solved incorrectly in front of the class

-> “how have you not been held back, ya dummy?” “my baby sister could solve that problem, and she’s six!” “yeah! dumba—“ they freeze when they see you and visibly cower

-> cocking an amused brow, you’re glad to see that your reputation proceeds you. “you know who i am, don’t you?” they nod. “and you know who he is to me, hm?” they nod. you smile. “good. i’ll give you three seconds to apologize, or i’m taking your tongues and stapling them to your foreheads.”

-> they run off, leaving you alone with your pouty boyfriend. you instantly cup his face and scan his features with concern. “what’s wrong, sweet boy? did anyone else say something to you?”

-> zantetsu huffs, his cheeks puffed slightly between your hands. “won’t you get in trouble for yelling at them? it’s not like they were wrong…” “oh no, baby, not for that. bullies get what they deserve. and you’re not dumb! you’ll tell me if anyone else says anything mean, won’t you?” he nods. “i will :3” “good boy!”

[explicit-tae]

WHAT THE HELL EVERYONE WAKE UP WE GOT AN UNGODLY HOUR UPDATE AND A BABY IS INVOLVEDJRIEKFKSKWKDJ I LOVE MY LIFE

this is like so old but why not use this to drop yet another part that i told myself i wasnt dropping

Ungodly Hour (9)

Jungkook forces you to face the reality that you are indeed pregnant - ew.

Warning: jungkook being jungkook, smut ofc, kissing, simp jungkook duh, protective jungkook, dirty talking, creampie, riding, unprotected sex,

“Y/N,” 

That voice. You dreaded hearing it now.

“I say this with the least bit of anger in me…but…what the fuck are you doing?”

Your eyes blink upwards from the soapy sink, the water running as you slowly drop the plate. Jungkook is staring right back at you with a look of pure disappointment. It’s as though you ruined his mood entirely. He had strolled through the door happily as ever with groceries he was going to prepare the two of you to eat and the smile on his lips disappeared in an instant.

“Washing the dishes.” you deadpan, turning off the water. You already know what Jungkook is going to say and you have to mentally prepare yourself for it.

“You can’t do things like this-”

“You can’t do things like this, Y/N, you’re pregnant.” you mock him with a roll of your eyes, an act that catches him by surprise.

“I’m serious.” Jungkook shakes his head and places the bags of groceries onto the island and rounds the corner to meet you. 

“Ever since we found out about this, you’ve gone insane.” you cross your arms with a tilt of your head. “I can’t wash dishes. I can’t walk alone-”

“For your safety, of course.” Jungkook shrugs his shoulders. “You’re the true crime watcher. You know what happens when girls walk alone.”

“Can we explain why I can’t wash dishes then?” you tilt your head.

“I may not have the answer, baby.” Jungkook places a hand on your chin and presses his lips to your forehead to peck them. “I’m sure 1,000 ways to die does.”

Jeon Jungkook was determined that this pregnancy was going to be handled with care. The amount of emotions he’s gone through alone at the realization of even the possibility that you were pregnant was overwhelming. Witnessing the positive pregnancy test and even getting to sit through doctor visits for added confirmation had filled him with emotion.

“I told you in the Jeon family that the woman has to relax.” Jungkook begins to take out the groceries he has bought. “You think my mother was straining her back when she was pregnant with me and my brother? Of course not.”

Jungkook then turns to look at you, eyes fixed. “Speaking of labor…did you quit your job yet?”

Not this again.

“We’ve been through this.” you wipe your hands on your shirt lazily and go towards the fridge. You would help him put the groceries away on a good day. However, Jungkook was adamant on you doing absolutely nothing that could harm you or the child you were barely pregnant with.

“We have.” Jungkook nods.  “And I want you to quit.”

“I don’t want to quit.” you don’t look at Jungkook and instead go towards a few slices of cheese to make yourself the perfect grilled cheese that you were now envisioning in your mind. 

“You always complain about how stressed you are working there.” Jungkook deadpans. “What if they have you stock?”

“Then I’ll stock.” you shrug, again focusing on the grilled cheese. You’re buttering the sliced bread when you speak again. “My mother didn’t raise a bitch.”

You then knit your brows and hum. In a way she did. Your bitchy attitude towards Jungkook had diminished when you realized that you, dare you say, love him. Especially now that you were very much pregnant by the same man you claimed you’d never give a chance to. How the universe humbles you is amazing.

“Y/N…” 

Jungkook takes a deep breath. He turns to face you fully, crossing his arms. You’re carefully placing the cheese onto the bread and he watches you place it into the air fryer. You turn to him with a displeased look.

“You don’t even like working there.”

True.

“I know.” you nod your head. “I have-”

“Don’t say you have bills.” Jungkook interrupts. “I pay all of your bills.”

Your eyes turn  to small slits for a moment.

“I’m saving money.” you shrug again. “For the baby.”

Jungkook’s gaze softens a bit, but he has to remain strong. If he gives into you now then you’d never quit.

“Why?” Jungkook questions. “We have enough money.”

“You,” you scoff. “have enough money.”

“I don’t know what that even means, Y/N.” Jungkook shakes his head. 

“I can’t have you pay for everything while I sit around and not do anything.”

Jungkook blinks a few times and his response shouldn’t surprise you. It’s Jungkook, after all. “Why not?” he questions slowly, genuinely confused. Probably because he already pays for everything now and he was completely fine with it.

Your hands begin to rub at your temples and slowly you begin to laugh. 

“How long are you planning on working there, anyways? Soon you’ll begin to show. School is already stressful enough, don’t you think?” Jungkook decides to take this time to put away the groceries so it doesn’t appear that he’s being too demanding of you and your wishes. “You can always…take a break from both. Just relax.”

The airfryer beeps and you thank the universe for giving you a bit of a distraction. You don’t want to think about school or work now and all you wanted to do was sink your teeth into this grilled cheese.

“We still have to tell our parents.”

Another situation you were holding back from, even if it has been three months since you initially found out. You had held off telling anyone in your family and - even now - it was awkward meeting Jungkook for the first time to reveal that you were pregnant. Besides, you weren’t that far along and you didn’t necessarily look pregnant. Chaeyoung thought you did but that was only because she knew and always insisted on touching your “bump” that you swore wasn’t there.

You take a big bite of the sandwich and swallow yourself in a silent self-pity party. 

“I know.” is all you say in response to Jungkook. 

As the last item is put away, Jungkook then drops yet another statement that shouldn’t surprise you. 

“I found somewhere bigger for us to move.”

You lick your lips, whipping your head to look at Jungkook. 

“Bigger?” you hum. “This place is already huge.”

“Not big enough for a baby.” Jungkook tilts his head. “They’ll need their own room eventually. It’ll grow into a child then a teenager and-”

“Please,” you close your eyes for a moment with a shake of your head. “you’re getting too far into the future.”

“Someone has to.” Jungkook retorts. “I’ve been looking in the area for us to upsize. I didn’t want to get anything without your approval.”

“You don’t need my approval.” you snicker. “Just get-”

“Stop doing that.” Jungkook’s tone changes to one that’s more serious. 

You take the last bite of your grilled cheese just as the mood changes. You knit your brows at the man. 

“You and the baby, Y/N,” Jungkook begins, taking a few steps closer to you. His hair had grown back out from the cut he initially did and it bounces with each step. “are my top priority. I want to take care of you. Your opinion still matters at the end of the day.”

There’s something in you that shifts and you blame the baby completely for fucking with your hormones. 

Jungkook is taken aback when your eyes begin to become glossy and you begin to cry right in front of him. For a moment he’s stunned, thinking that he has said something to you that caused you to cry. Then, he understands just how emotional you were (thanks to the fetus inside of you) when you crash yourself into his chest and begin to sob.

“This pregnancy is kicking your ass already.” Jungkook jokes, but his arm wraps you into a hug, one hand soothingly rubbing your back. 

“Fuck you.” you sniffle.

“I did and this is how we got here.” Jungkook jokes with a chuckle. “You’re crying now but…I think you’re going to hate me soon.”

“Why?” you murmur against his chest. 

There’s a quick knock on the door followed by it beginning to jingle. You slowly lift yourself from Jungkook’s chest, eyeing him suspiciously. 

“Remember that I love you.” Jungkook presses his lips to yours, pecking it. “And, I love our baby.”

“Jungkook…”

You can hear voices enter - unfamiliar ones. 

“I invited my parents over for lunch.” Jungkook says quickly. “Please don’t hate me, Y/N, my mother has been begging to meet you for months and-”

Your hands dig into his shirt, your eyes widening. Your sadness - caused by the great amount of love and adoration you felt at his words - appeared to diminish on the spot.

“You did what?!” you hiss, teeth gritting.

“Jungkook?”

That must’ve been Jungkook’s mother calling for him, followed by a pair of footsteps inching closer to where you two were. 

Fuck Jeon Jungkook. Now you were panicking - probably more than you needed to be. Jungkook told you stories of his parents and how excited his mother was to meet you. He claimed he spoke highly of you to her and you didn’t doubt him. Still, you looked a mess. You weren’t dressed to meet even your own parents right now. There’s a stain on your shirt and the pajama pants you wore were Jungkook’s iron man ones because they were comfy. 

Fuck Jeon Jungkook again.

“I hate you.” you murmur as Jungkook turns around just as his mother peaks her head through the kitchen to find her son.

“Ma!” Jungkook gushed, opening his arms to greet his mother with a hug that he met her half way to. 

“Your hair has gotten so long since the last time I saw you.” you hear his mother speak, her voice soft and motherly-like. “You never come around anymore.”

“I saw you a month ago.” Jungkook snorts. “I’ve been busy. Where is-”

“He’s stuck at meetings all day.” his mother adds, already knowing what her son was going to ask concerning his father. 

You stand awkwardly behind Jungkook, your nerves beating your ass mentally.

“Ma,” Jungkook slowly steps aside and turns around. “this is-”

“Y/N.” she finishes, coming a bit closer to you to wrap you in a hug. It stuns you for a moment and Jungkook offers a soft smile when she does. You proceed to hug her back, your irritation towards her son slowly dying down. “I thought I was never going to meet you.”

Jungkook exhales, holding in a breath he wasn’t aware of. “We’ve been busy-”

“That’s what he’s been saying.” his mother now speaks to you with a shake of her head. “You’re so cute.”

Your body burns with embarrassment at her compliment but you gently thank her. You look a mess, truly, and the more you remember this, the more you think about how you wanted to punch Jungkook in the gut. 

“I was just about to start lunch.” Jungkook claps his hands. “You and Y/N can relax while-”

“I can help.” you suggest.

“No.” Jungkook deadpans, his eyes widening a bit. He makes a gesture with his head at his mother right in front of you. It’s as if you wanted him to die.

You release a huff. No physical labor. Wouldn’t it look more suspicious if you didn’t help? Then his mother would suspect something.

She could also suspect that you were lazy and using her son for-

“His father cooks all the time.” his mother holds onto your hands and offers you such a warm and kind smile. “That’s where he gets it from.”

Jungkook’s mother was a kind woman and she appeared to like you just as Jungkook said she would. She speaks fondly of her son and shares stories of his childhood, all the while Jungkook cooks in the background. He makes you tea, one you usually drink when you feel sick and serves his mother some wine.

“I thought I’ll never get to meet you. Jungkook kept you locked up in here.”

Jungkook chuckles softly at the tone his mother gives him, his cheeks flushing. 

“I…I’ve been busy.” you laugh off, as well. “If I would’ve known you were coming I would’ve…dressed better.”

“Nonsense.” his mother shakes her head with a hearty laugh. “It took a lot of self-control to not come here myself and meet you. You bring so much joy to Kookie’s life.”

Jungkook remains silent, plating the food for the three of you. He glances your way to silently assure that you weren’t overwhelmed. You’re a bit flustered as he can see but comfortable nonetheless.

“Okay~” Jungkook sing-songs after a few more minutes, placing two plates in front of you and his mother. He goes to serve you two some water, as well - extra ice for his mother and just a few cubes for you. Just the way you two enjoyed it.

Jungkook has always enjoyed watching you eat and it increases now that you’re pregnant. He - unbeknownst to you - began to search for what was healthy for the child and how he could introduce it to you in a way you’d enjoy it.

“When are you guys going to tell me?”

You stop chewing to focus your attention on Jungkook's mother.

“The tea…the constant sneaking of stomach rubs…” her eyes lowered to Jungkook’s hand indeed on your stomach - he insisted on touching it whenever because he swore he could feel something, even if you told him that was impossible. “...the fact that I finally was able to meet her after months.”

Jungkook gently taps your thigh as he faces his mother. She offers a little eyebrow raise.

“Okay then, Ma.” Jungkook shrugs. “Y/N’s pregnant. I’m looking for a bigger-”

“I hope it’s a girl.” Jungkook’s mom sighs out. “I’m so sick of all the men.”

She was actually excited, even wrapping you in a hug.

“We can just wait a little longer-“

“We’re not waiting longer, Y/N.” Jungkook cuts you off.

You release a short sigh, your nerves eating you alive at this very moment. 

You didn’t want to have to do this - not now at least. You had time. You could even pop up randomly in a few months with the baby in hand if it meant avoiding telling your parents.

It wasn’t as if your parents were the traditional type. They weren’t married when they had your brother and by the pictures you saw, your mother was heavily pregnant with you at her own wedding.

Still, you always told them that a child was the last thing you wanted, if at all. Your mother always told you it was because you didn’t find a man worth giving a baby to - and you hated to be told “I told you so”.

Your parents were expecting you and Jungkook for dinner this Saturday evening. It was becoming a habit that she saw you and Jungkook once every week. She would gush about how handsome and smart Jungkook was and how happy she noticed you were lately - ew. 

“Why are you so hellbent on waiting anyways?” Jungkook asks. “My mother already knows.”

“That’s because you trapped me.” you seeth.

Jungkook chuckles, poking your cheek playfully. “Because of situations like this, baby.” he says, knocking on the front door. Usually, you would walk in, yet he noticed just how much you were stalling and decided to take things into his own hands. “It’s now or never.”

“I hate you.” you hiss, turning around just as your mother opens the door. “Mother..” you murmur.

“Why are you knocking, Y/N? Come in!” she says, wrapping both you and Jungkook into a hug. “You look even more handsome, Jungkook.”

You roll your eyes and scoff, going deeper into the home. Your brother was already here and appeared to be in a heated debate with your father in the living room while his children, really your niece, ran wild.

“Stop running.” you say to her as she nearly crashes into you. “Or you’re going to fall.” Eventually.

“You’re mean.” was all she responded with and continues to run. Your nephew has since learned how to walk and he attempts to follow his sister, yet he’s much slower.

You release a sigh - this is what your life was going to be soon. A child running around not bothering to listen to you in the slightest.

“I have some wine,” your mother makes her way towards the kitchen where you and Jungkook follow. There’s a pot boiling on the stove and the aroma alone causes your stomach to churn. “Y/N, grab the wine glasses.”

“Hey Jungkook!” your niece runs past you, nearly causing you to stumble to get to the man. She widens her arms. “Can you flip me like you did last time?”

“No.” you deadpan.

“Sure!” Jungkook exclaims.

You sigh.

You grasp two wine glasses, one for your mother and the other for Jungkook. 

Your niece is occupying Jungkook’s time with the amount of time she demands to be flipped while your nephew - who manages to waddle over - watches with slight amazement.

“Why are there only two wine glasses?” your mother asks. 

“I’m not really in the mood to drink.”

Jungkook glances your way, furrowing a brow.

“Why not?” she asks. “You’re always in the mood for wine.”

You shrug your shoulders, hoping that would be the end of it. You make your way to the cabinets to find yourself something to munch on.

“How about a beer?” she asks you, going to the fridge to open it and look for whatever your father has in there. “We have-”

“I don’t want a beer.” you say, taking out some cookies. “Really, mom-”

“Are you sick, Y/N?”

You turn around to face her. “Am I really that much of an alcoholic?” you question, unsure why you declining alcohol was such a big deal. 

“Don’t be so dramatic.” your mother waves you off.

You roll your eyes and dig into the cookies. Your eyes watch as Jungkook begins to play with both kids now, your niece on his back while he swings your nephew around. You swallow, tilting your head a bit at how content he seems to be. They were treating him like a jungle gym but he actually enjoyed it.

“I actually have a bottle of champagne.” your mother says, dragging you out of your thoughts. You hadn’t realized she left the kitchen until she returned with said bottle of champagne. “Expensive, too. I actually bought it on sale!”

Your mother this time actually takes the initiative to grab three glasses herself and pour. Jungkook gives your niece his phone to occupy her while he places your nephew on his shoulders. He strolls over to where you are leaning against the counter.

“Mother…”

“Jungkook.” she hands Jungkook his glass, the bubbling champagne sizzling inside. “And Y/N-”

“I don’t want anything to drink.”

“Well I don’t see why not.” Jungkook gently chuckles at your mothers words. “Jungkook is-”

“I don’t give a damn what Jungkook is doing.” you munch aggressively on another cookie. “He’s the one that got me pregnant.”

Your mother falls silent for a moment, her eyes slowly widening as she registers your words. Your nephew has his chubby hands on Jungkook’s forehead, his chin resting atop of his head. Jungkook is grinning encouragingly. “Not exactly how I wanted to tell you…” he trails off.

“We could’ve said it over dinner if I wasn’t pressured to drink.” you huff, continuing to munch on your cookies in peace. You admit that now that your mother knew, it did take a weight off of your shoulders.

“Preg…nant…?”

Your mothers behavior is different for Jungkook. She’s such a bubbly person that her state right now - wide eyes and shock - has him questioning if she was disappointed or not. He swallows, a deep sorrow running through him. He slowly puts your nephew onto the ground so he can waddle away and he comes face to face with your mother. 

“I love Y/N.” Jungkook exclaims, eyes determined. He didn’t want your mother to think that he was just going to get you pregnant and not plan on being there for you. Sure the two of you were young - but Jungkook loved you and the baby. “And I promise to love her and the baby unconditionally-”

Your mother begins to cry, shuttin Jungkook up. The sorrow runs through him again and his eyes widen. Has this been a mistake?

You roll your eyes. “Happy tears.” you tell Jungkook, not wanting him to break into tears too by getting the wrong idea from your mother. “She’s always this dramatic.”

“My baby,” your mother wraps you in a tight embrace. “is having a baby!”

Jungkook lets out a sigh of relief.

“And by such a sweet and handsome man!” she continues to gush, thanking the heavens that it was by Jungkook, someone she was praying you didn’t scare away with your attitude.

“You’re supposed to scold me about finishing college.” you say, hugging her back. 

“You can still finish college. Don’t be rash.” your mother squeezes you a little tighter. “Don’t stress yourself too hard.”

“That’s what I said!” Jungkook pipes in, nodding his head. “She doesn’t even want to quit her job and allow me to support her.”

You gasp, glaring at Jungkook. He knows that your mother would take his side and this was his plan all along.

“Why must you be so stubborn?” your mother releases you from her tight embrace and scolds you with hard eyes. “It’s not about you anymore, Y/N-”

“Not you, too.” you groan. You didn’t have time for this right now.

“My mother and I are searching for bigger homes.” Jungkook smiles at your mother. “I would love for you to join us.”

“Kiss ass.” you grumble, taking a whole cookie into your mouth.

“I would love to!” your mother is brought to tears again at how loving and genuine Jungkook was. It’s as if she couldn’t believe it. “Have we thought of names-”

“We don’t even know the gender.” you shake your head.

“I,” Jungkook places a hand on his chest. “want a girl.” he admits.

Your mother again sobs - because men typically wanted boys. You roll your eyes right out of your head at how dramatic she was being.

Fuck Jeon Jungkook for having your mother love him harder.

“That was easier than I expected.”

After dinner with your family - where your mother dramatically shared the news of your pregnancy - you and Jungkook returned back home. It felt, dare you say, great not holding in such a secret any longer. Especially since you didn’t feel disappointed.

You always envisioned yourself having a steady career after college and if you found the right person, then marriage. You didn’t like to look too far into the future and think of children, but you suppose now you had to.

“You and your mom are so much alike.” Jungkook chuckles, his hands rubbing along your back. “So emotional at times.”

“Fuck off.”

Jungkook only grins wider, massaging your lower back. He does this every night now, even lighting candles to further relax you. He makes it harder to not depend on him - and that's exactly what he wants.

“Have you thought about what I said?” Jungkook questions. “About working?”

You sigh, your eyes closing. 

“I have.” you murmur. “...you aren’t going to stop pestering me about it.”

“Of course not, baby. You can’t work while pregnant.” Jungkook scoffs. “The man is supposed to provide.”

“It’s the 21st century.” you find your lips curving into a soft smile at his words - fuck Jeon Jungkook for feeling this way. “What if I get bored?”

“You wouldn’t. You’re always sleeping or eating nowadays.”

Your eyes snap open and you furrow a brow.

“Besides, we need to prepare for the baby.” Jungkook’s hands curved on your neck, rubbing his thumbs into it. You sigh low. “Buy baby clothes…furniture.”

You hum, nodding your head slowly. You’ve come across a few baby items that cause your heart to jolt at how adorable they were. You could just imagine decorating the nursery for the baby alongside Jungkook, clothing the baby in little clothes. Getting to see Jungkook hold the baby in his arms similarly to the way he holds your nephew.

Jungkook leans away as you turn to lay on your back. Your eyes flutter open to look at Jungkook. He tilts his head. “Are you okay?”

You nod your head, hand reaching out to touch Jungkook’s. His fingers entangle with yours. “It feels…weird.” you confess. “Being pregnant…we’ll actually be parents soon.”

Jungkook brings your hand to his lips and presses light kisses. 

“I’m happy.” Jungkook admits, though the both of you knew this. “It’s sudden. But…I’m happy.”

Your heart flutters and you lick your lips. “I’m happy, too.” you whisper. “You’ll be a good dad.”

Jungkook’s eyes slightly widen at your words and his heart flutters. Jungkook deepens the kiss on your hand. “You think so?” he murmurs, lowering himself to face you. His breath tickles your skin.

“Yeah.” you nod. Your hand untangles from his and you place it onto your cheek. Your thumb traces his lips - moments like this wasn’t rare anymore. You were more loving to Jungkook now, especially seeing how he was. You’re reminded constantly how good Jungkook treats you and there wasn’t a reason to (pretend) not to like him or his actions.

“You’ll be so good to us.”

You connect your lips to his, hand on his cheek now clasping on his shirt to bring him closer. Your legs wrap around his waist to cage him in.

Jungkook moans into the kiss, cupping your naked thigh, shorts riding up your upper thigh. 

“You’re just trying to make me feel good.” Jungkook snickers.

You hum, connecting your lips to his again, pecking gently. “I want you to fuck me.” you murmur against his lips, going to remove your shorts in a rush.

Jungkook chuckles, licking his lips. “Of course you do.” he states, voice deeper. He wasn’t opposed to this, however. He wanted you whenever you wanted him.

“Don’t act like you don’t want me either.” you manage to get out of your shorts, panties sticking to you.

“I always want you.” Jungkook rushes to do the same, removing his sweatpants. His cock throbs at just the thought of being inside of you. “This is why you’re pregnant now.” his hands go to tug at your panties, fingers forcing their way past them to touch at your clit. “Wanna taste you…”

“No.” you say, pushing him away. “I’m too impatient for that.”

You just needed Jungkook inside of you, no foreplay needed - for now. You push your panties off and swing your leg over to get atop of him.

“Fuck - okay.” Jungkook doesn’t need to be told twice. He loved foreplay with you - you on his tongue or his fingers deep inside of you. He loved it all.

Your hand reaches back to grasp his cock, centering it at your entrance. You bite your lip, fluttering your eyes to look directly into Jungkook’s ones.

You enter his cock slowly, your lips parting to release a moan.

Jungkook pushes his head deeper against his pillows, his hands placed on your hips as you begin to buckle them. “You’re so beautiful…”

“I barely did anything yet and you’re already simping.”

It’s flattering, however, that it doesn’t take long for Jungkook to indeed simp for you. 

You sit on Jungkooks cock fully and shudder. The hair on your skin rises at how full you feel with him inside of you. It’s a feeling that isn’t foreign, yet a sensation that you could never get enough of.

You don’t bother to waste any time, immediately going to buckle your hips in a rhythmic motion that has the man groaning beneath you. You rarely were the one in control, but when you were it always drove Jungkook crazy. Maybe he was just obsessed with you as you said.

You lean back, head pushed back and your eyes closed with your hands begin to roam his chest. To Jungkook, you were beautiful like an angel who’s light is shining brightly down at you. He just knows the way you fuck yourself against his cock that it feels good to you. Your pussy is squelching and your moans only grow louder and louder by the second.

“You’re getting tired.” Jungkook notes, instantly thrusting upwards to meet you halfway. “I can take over.”

You don’t fight him - you never did. However, Jungkook doesn’t move from his position and instead continues to ram into you, his nails digging into your skin. 

“It’s…so deep.” you groan, your head hanging. 

Stamina unmatched, Jungkook's hips never halter. His eyes are unblinking, as well, watching every reaction this caused. 

Jungkook leans forward to wrap both arms around your body protectively, continuing his brutal pounding. His lips leave wet kisses upon your skin, a need to taste you like he always does - but he understands you need to cum now.

“You look so pretty on my cock. Like always…”

Maybe it’s the pregnancy that allows you to have this new found glow to you - that or his mind was playing tricks on him. Regardless, he wants nothing more than to cum deep inside of you like the both of you desire. 

“I know you’re going to cum…” Jungkook continues, this time placing his lips onto yours.You two engage into a heated kiss turned makeout session, somehow him never ceasing his thrusts. Your tongue dances with his and all you could truly think about was cumming right now.

“...g…gonna cum…” you say between kisses, your hands tangling into Jungkook’s dark tresses for support and he doesn’t mind in the slightest. “....wanna feel you cum in me.”

Jungkook groans - this is why you are pregnant now, he thinks - such dirty words and needy-like that he cannot help but give you what you want. His tongue licks onto your skin, trailing down your jaw to your neck. His teeth clamp down onto your skin.

You’re cumming as Jungkook’s teeth continue to nip at your skin, eyes fluttering close. Jungkook himself isn’t far behind, sloppy thrusts pounding deep into your wound and echoing off of the wall until he too is cumming hard, milky ropes of cum painting them entirely.

months later….

@minaamhh @suciedad-divina @satisfied18 @y2k5bby @petalsofink @swga-ficrecs @xtrataerrestrial @danielle143 @thelilbutifulthings @jksjx @busanbby-jjk @joonlover1207 @hollowtree11 @amberpanda99 @parkinglot-nights @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @hoseokteardrop @subtaegguk @jingerbreadoutofstock

[sonderingdreams]

Tsukishima head cannons because I love that man (bitch)

-he’s emotionally intelligent.

Hear me out. I know we’re all used to that trope that always gets put onto Tsukishima, but he’s not dull guys. Unlike Kageyama/j 😭

I genuinely believe if he really loves someone he notices the smallest details he just doesn’t voice them out loud. He speaks through actions. He’s the type of guy who gets mad when his s/o is talking and someone just interrupts you or people aren’t listening to what you have to say.

I swear it could be the smallest flicker in your emotions, you got a bad vibe from someone in the room? He felt it too. You get a text and your brow twitches and your shoulders sag slightly? He notices. You’re stressed and tired from work/school? He sees it all. This man will never be oblivious to anything about you. He knows you inside and out.

I do believe he still struggles to show emotion/verbally express and be transparent to you easily but he really is trying. -he loves playfully bickering/teasing until it’s anybody else

He starts throwing those nasty side eyes and ain’t having it. I do believe Tsukki likes to have fun with you. In his own asshole way. He knows boundaries, he doesn’t cross those. That consists of making fun of you on test scores, making up lies and laughing when you believe them, scaring you with his height, mocking you under his breath, wrestling you, ETC.

But anyone else? Uhhhh…no. How dare someone else try to one up him on his job??

-he’s a total nerd when he’s comfortable. He’s already such a cute annoying little nerd bruh. He geeks out on his interests and hobbies when he’s comfortable and can trust you enough he’ll share everything under the moon with you. In his tsukki way of course. I really don’t think tsuki is the quietest person in the room, tbh. He is an introvert (don’t get me wrong) but he just likes having ACTUAL good conversations. He think small talk is bullshit so he rarely speaks unless necessary. He is a theorist and does like deep talks maybe not the vulnerable ones but they still feel really intimate and special to him because it’s you. -he finds intelligence attractive

I do feel like if he were to have a type it wouldn’t ever really be focused on looks or characteristics. He believes that love doesn’t focus on stuff like that and he’d learn to fall in love with however his s/o looks. Okay, I worded that in my sappy indulgent way but Tsukk’s words are a little more like, “I literally don’t care.”

Now it doesn’t have to be your everyday intelligence, book smartness. Because I’m lowkey a bit of a dumb bitch so in that context tsukki would be repelled by me. 😭 It can be anything really. As long as you have passion and put hard work into something it pulls him in. I think this applies to like how over time in his volleyball career he started to care and invest more of skills and time into volleyball and his friends. He does care, he’s just learning, healing and growing as a person over time.

-his love language is gift giving

Now we all know tsukki isn’t the most verbally or physically affectionate person out there, not saying he doesn’t have his moments. But kinda playing into what I said earlier, about how observant and how he’s a good listener because of this too. I do think he picks up on what you like very early on the relationship. You don’t have to be a yapper and talk about everything you love to him, you could be as quiet as him. But he notices, the little things. your favorite snacks, tv shows/movies you gravitate to, scents you indulge in more and ones you tend to avoid, your favorite colors and colors you don’t seem to like as much or hate, your favorite characters, and everything that makes you up. He’ll act all nonchalant about it tho. He’ll hand you his small token of love/gift out to you like it’s nothing. Like he hasn’t been secretly lurking while you watched your favorite shows/movies. Or watching you playing your favorite “brain rotted” video games and obsessing over a new skin or character that just got released. Or the book/book series you’ve been really wanting, he goes on to yap about how easily influenced you are but he is not a sly mf.

[michimichim]

Truth or Dare • Giselle (aespa)

spring nights are made for risky decisions—at least that’s what your girl, Giselle, seems to think. between the jacuzzi steam and vodka shots, you’re (willingly) trapped in her games: alluring smiles, cherry gloss, and hands that promise a good time.

contains: g!p female reader, semi-public shenanigans, breeding kink, alcohol use

The kitchen is mostly quiet now, except for the lazy thump of a playlist no one’s really listening to anymore. You’re squinting at a bottle of something clear and suspicious (tequila? Drain cleaner?) when the breeze drags in the smell of wet grass and something floral through the screen door. 

The counter’s a graveyard of party debris: Solo cups with lipstick smudges, a bowl of ice that’s now a bowl of disappointment, crumbled chips everywhere. 

You grab a glass that’s “clean” if you don’t look close, dump in sweaty ice, and pour. First sip? Regret in liquid form - It hits like a car crash. You grimace, stab a sad-looking lime carcass with a butter knife (‘cause all the spoons vanished hours ago), and squeeze it in.

Stir with the knife. Chug.

“Fuck my life,” you rasp.

No ragrets.

This isn’t how you’d usually spend a Thursday night. You’d rather be elbow-deep in that dog-eared copy of HunterxHunter you’ve read six times - but spring air does stupid things to a person. Like agreeing to a party because Giselle whispered ‘come on, it’ll be fun’ against your neck, teeth tugging your earlobe like you weren’t mid-rant about Hisoka’s… whatever Hisoka’s deal is. Traitorous, weak-willed creature, you.

And yet - Giselle’s mouth on you, her nails digging into your thigh as she hissed “stop being a hermit,”- got you here, choking down a drink that tastes like battery acid and fucked decisions.

You reach for a napkin, elbow knocking the bottle. It sloshes, drenching your hoodie sleeve. “Goddamnit—”

That’s when a laugh seeps through the room, bright, venomous, the kind that makes necks snap.

“-literally ate shit in the bushes,” Giselle’s saying, voice dripping mock sympathy. You briefly glance up. She’s strolling in with Ning glued to her side, both giggling. She’s holding her phone up like a compact, swiping gloss over her lips before puckering them into a ‘O’. 

Ning swipes a half-empty bottle of Prosecco off the counter, swigs straight from the neck.

“Cried over his Jordans,” Giselle adds, snapping her phone shut. “Like they weren’t fake anyway. Cringe.”

Ning laughs and slides the bottle back on the counter, “Please. His entire personality was a StockX receipt.” She flicks her hair back, black and poker-straight, like she’s auditioning for a shampoo ad. Giselle titters, satisfied, like this was the reaction she’d been farming for.

And you’re back to scrubbing your sleeve with a wad of paper towels (Spoiler: it’s a lost cause). The fabric reeks of freezer-burnt vodka. You ditch the towels. 

The room’s down to its last few people - most having either left or passed out. Winter’s girlfriend’s on the couch, blowing o’s at the ceiling like it’s her part-time job. Someone’s little brother’s spread-eagle snoring beside her. Outside, a couple is eating each other’s faces on the patio, laughter smothered; some girl’s sobbing in the hallway and you think you heard the rest of the girls somewhere outside as well. 

You’re about to give up and peel off the hoodie when arms slide around your waist. Warmth presses against your back. Vanilla.

“Miss me?” Giselle’s breath ghosts your neck. Her nails dig playfully into your hipbones.

You don’t turn. “You’re mean,” you mutter, but it’s half-hearted.

She laughs, low, and rests her chin on your shoulder. “Ning started it.” Lie. You glance over, Ningning’s already wandered off, texting furiously on her phone. 

You suppress an eye roll. Giselle can truly a bitch at times. But whatever, you’re into it.

Giselle spins you around, teeth sinking into her bottom lip the way you’ve told her a hundred times drives you insane... “We’re hitting the jacuzzi,” she whispers, thumb swiping the wet cuff of your sleeve. “You in?”

Somewhere outside, a sprinkler hisses and a shriek-laugh erupts.

Your gaze drags from her lips to her eyes. Bad idea, that’s usually when you fold. When you look at those glinting lips, cherry-slick. You swallow and drag your eyes upward to her brown, glittering, half-lidded gaze. Amused. Like she’s already tallying her score in a game you didn’t know you were losing, nor playing.

That’s when you notice: she’s swapped her hoodie for a black bikini. That black bikini. The one with the whisper-thin strings you’ve traced with your teeth. The one she’d worn for your birthday, when she’d “accidentally” spilled her drink down your shirt (her signature move, all batting lashes and stifled laughter, like either of you believed it wasn’t planned).

Like she wasn’t already steering you toward the pool shed, her fingers hooked beneath the hem of your shirt, smirk in place.

You’d let her corner you there, of course. Let her press you against the chlorine-sticky shelves, her mouth silencing your half-hearted protest about someone seeing, someone hearing. You always fold. Even now, your dick almost hardens at the memory at how reckless it was, how reckless she is, and how little either of you cared.

The bikini clings to her like it was handcrafted for her body, the triangles tight on her like they’re paid to, barely hiding her hard nips. But it’s the bottom half that really does you, like the way the fabric narrows at her hips, thinning to almost nothing at the back. It’s all engineered to wreck you, and she knows it.

You know exactly how it fits (or barely fits) disappearing between the soft curve of her ass like it belongs there. She likes that part, too. The way that tiny strip vanishes between her cheeks, and how’d you pull the thong back taut between her ass cheeks, causing the little triangle in the front to ride up against her pretty cunt -

The friction had made her wetter than you’ve ever seen her.

It’s your unspoken game - hers, really. You’d spent twenty minutes tracing every cursed string with your tongue while she hissed “hurry the fuck up” through gritted teeth and giggles, her nails leaving indents in your shoulders. You’d been feral that day. All teeth and trembling fingers, her thighs vise-gripping your head as you teased her clit through the cloth, that no-one’s-gonna-hear-us smirk of hers dissolving into sighs. 

“You’re obsessed,” she’d moaned, voice cracking as you dragged it out (not minutes, not an hour, but until your knees burned and the pool party’s chatter faded into static.) You ditched, fucked three times in your shitty Corolla’s backseat, and she’d tossed you that hoodie after, smug. Premeditated, every second.

And now? Here she is, reusing the same thirst trap. 

You see the trap. 

You walk into it anyway.

Your flaccid dick gives a twitch, pulse hammering where her nails dig into your hip. Fuck.

You want her to keep touching you like that. You want to kneel. You want to –

“Jacuzzi,” she repeats, tilting her head, ruddy hair catching the light. Her smirk widens. She knows you’re getting hard. She can feel it, pressed against you. Knows you’re replaying how she’d moan obscenities in your ear, how her legs shook when you’d pulled her back against you, fingers still working her clit before you came inside her. “Again,” she’d demanded, and you’d obey, because you’d burn cities to hear her like that.

You blink. “Yeah, sure.” 

Fuck. What’d you just agree to? No, no, no, you didn’t mean to–

But it’s too late, judging by Giselle’s quirked lips. Her hand slips beneath your hoodie, manicured nails scraping your skin. “Good,” she murmurs, slowly skimming her fingers down your navel, moving with every rise and fall of your breath.

“Who’s gunna be with us?” 

Giselle slides her hands back around your hips. Your pants are baggy, low-rise, and she has no trouble dipping inside the back of them to grab your ass, looking right into your eyes as she does it. “The girls,” she replies light-heartedly, as if she isn’t kneading your flesh like she’s testing fruit at the market.

You swallow.

Okay, two outcomes here:

You go, and it’s 40 minutes of them dissecting their celeb drama you couldn’t remember even if the WiFi depended on it.

Or, you go, and they roast you both raw because Giselle’s a PDA menace and you’re, well, you. The kind of disaster sapphic who’s lowkey obsessed with her girl’s attention but would literally die if anyone clocked it.

“Don’t look so scared,” she laughs, “Give me a hug.��

“I’m not,” you huff, but still loop an arm around her waist, tugging her body against you. Casual. Real casual. The hug is all PG-13 angles (your hand splayed safe above her bikini ties, her cheek smushed to your shoulder).

But Giselle doesn’t really do casual. Her hips tilt, pressing your thigh between hers, and her sigh is pure theater, hot and throaty against your ear. “Fuck, babygirl,” she murmurs, “Semi-hard already?”

Her fingers skate up your spine, and you stiffen, pulse rabbiting in your throat. Winter’s girl on the couch coughs out a smoke ring that wobbles toward the ceiling. Don’t look down. Don’t—

Too late. Giselle’s leg shifts, and now the seam of your pants grinds against her inner thigh. She hums, low and approving. “Knew you’d cave.” Her lips brush your jaw. “Always do.”

The accusation stings because it’s true. You’ve let her corner you anywhere, bar bathrooms, the back row of a Scream marathon – anywhere her hands could slip under your clothes, her teeth could find your neck. It’s a problem. A glaring problem, according to your best friend/roommate, who once walked in on Giselle riding you in the living room at 3 a.m. (She still sends you Band-Aid coupons as “trauma tax.”)

Giselle’s hands start moving to the front of your pants when Winter’s girlfriend drawls from the couch, smoke curling lazily from her lips. “Get a room,” she says, not looking away from her vape clouds. “Or Venmo me fifty bucks. I’ll watch.”

You freeze, but Giselle just snorts, pressing closer. Her thigh shifts against you, pressing against your dick, and you nearly choke on your own breath. “Don’t be jealous, bookie,” she shoots back, sing-song. “Your girl’s out back trying to French the neighbor’s dog.”

Winter’s girlfriend flips her off before dismissing the both of you. Thank God the couch faces away from you.

Giselle’s hand slips back up, fingertips grazing and toying with you, tracing the outline of your dick and twirling over the engorged head until a wet spot forms. You want to rut into the touch, then hide your face in mortification because fuck, what if Ning walks in? Worse, what if Karina walks in?

What if they see you cornered, weak and pathetic, Giselle palming you through your boxers. And oh fuck, does it feel just perfect there. Just like with her lips, her hand is everything. She slips beneath your waistband before you can process what’s happening, grabbing at your cock.

“Can’t wait to fuck you,” Giselle purrs, thumb pressing just shy of cruel against the tip. You choke back a noise, shoulders tensing as your eyes dart to the living room. Winter’s girlfriend is still entirely distracted, oblivious. The snoring kid twitches.

“Gis—”

“Shhh.” Her lips brush the shell of your ear, sticky with gloss. “Focus,” she murmurs, “Fuck my hand.” 

Giselle’s fist closes around your dick, and your back arches, stuttering. You’re slick to the base, twitching, hips jolting forward in helpless, hungry thrusts—fucking into her fist like it’s the only thing worth living for. Her grip’s not just tight, it’s filthy—knuckles wet, fingers gliding through the mess you’re leaking, stroking you with the kind of shameless hunger that makes your stomach flip.

She’s working you like she owns it, like she’s jerking off her favorite toy, and every squelch of her palm around your cock feels obscene—wet, sticky. You’re rutting into it, dick throbbing with each drag of her hand, and she just grins like she loves how messy you’re getting for her, loves the quiet slick of skin-on-skin.

Your brain short-circuits. “Fuck—” you hiss. 

Moans break in your throat, breathy and guttural, heat crawling up your spine like it’s trying to burn through your skin. Everything’s hypersensitive; the wet suck of your skin, the muted bass thudding through the walls, the sharp, shallow breaths she lets out against your ear. Her mouth curls, smug, like she knows what she’s doing to you.

“Gi, Fuck,” is the only thing you’re capable of muttering, thrusting harder into her hand with zero hesitation, chasing the wet drag of her fist like it’s the only thing left in your world. Her thumb presses down over the tip, catching the pre-cum and smearing it like she’s painting with it. You jerk at the touch, leaking hotter, messier, your whole cock glossy with it now—slippery and needy, twitching against her knuckles.

She pumps you harder, slick squelching between every stroke, cock drooling into her hand, “Just like that.” she whispers, pressing her forehead to yours. “So fucking big in my hand. Can feel you throbbing, baby, fuck.”

Your knees nearly buckle, lower belly tingling. That is until Karina’s laugh slices in from the patio—sharp, loud, close—and your stomach drops.

“Giselle—” you grit out, hand clamping over hers. She stills, brow arched. “Karina’s right there.”

“So?” Her free hand skates up your breast, thumb catching your nipple through your hoodie. You bite your tongue. “She’s busy filming Ning’s TikTok. Look.” She nods toward the sliding door, where Karina’s silhouette leans against the glass, phone flashlight aimed at Ning’s. “Distracted.”

Distracted now. But Karina’s got predator instincts—catches every side-eye, every whisper. Last month, she called you out for “eye-fucking Giselle’s ass” when you had come to watch their dance practice. You still haven’t recovered.

Giselle’s grip tightens, her nails grazing your dick. “C’mon,” she murmurs, lips brushing yours. “You want me to stop?”

Yes. No. You’re sweating through your hoodie. Her thumb circles your slit, and your knees nearly buckle. “Fuck me,” you whisper.

“That, I’d love to do.” She nips back at your jaw, her other hand sliding down to guiding your palm to grope her ass. “Grab. Harder.”

You do, hands smoothing to her hips, a bit rougher now, then sliding down to palm her ass—so soft, encasing that teasing little thong. Your fingers slip beneath the cloth, groping the bare muscle, digging in like you want to mold it to the shape of you. You squeeze, knead, pull her cheeks apart just to feel the way she twitches for it. She lets out a moan, kinda loud, shameless, calculated, just to make your nerves spike, watch you panic. 

“Quit -” you plead, but she’s already rolling her hips, grinding against your thigh, her hand working you in lazier strokes. The kitchen feels like a fishbowl, every smothered laugh from the patio, every creak of floorboards, ten time louder. You’re hyper-aware of the half-open pantry door, the flicker of the LEDs above the sink, the smack of Giselle’s glossed lips as she kisses your throat.

“Relax,” she breathes, all false innocence. “We’re just hugging.”

“You’re—fuck—you’re gonna get us caught—”

“Mmm, and?” Her tongue flicks your earlobe. “Think Karina’d make a PowerPoint? ‘Slideshow of Your Lesbian Meltdown’?”

You choke back a laugh, nerves fraying. “Stop—”

“Or what?” Her strokes quicken, thumb pressing that sweet spot beneath your head. “You’ll cum? Right here? In my hand while Ning’s debating the best angle for her fucking reel?”

Your fingers dig further into her ass, torn between shoving her off and yanking her closer. The room tilts. Distantly, you hear Ning crow, “A hundred bucks says the neighbor calls the cops again!” and Karina’s sharp retort: “You’re paying when he does.”

Giselle’s watching your face, pupils blown, her own breath hitching. She loves this. The risk, the filth of it all, the way your teeth cut into your lip to stay quiet. You’re close, so fucking close, and she knows it. Leans in, her voice a hot, fucked whisper: “Cum. I wanna watch you cum for me.”

You’re gonna kill her. You’re gonna kiss her. The patio door screeches.

“Aeri! Manager’s blowing up–” Karina’s voice.

You freeze. Giselle doesn’t. Her hand pumps once, twice - cruel - and you spill over her fingers with a silent gasp, vision whiting out. Giselle feels it filling her palm, clinging, trailing between her fingers, so much, obscenely. Her sweet girlfriend, she loves your cock so much. Wants it for herself all the time.

She then yanks her hand free, wiping it on your hoodie under the guise of adjusting it just as Karina strides in. “The fuck are you two—?”

“Hugging,” Giselle chirps, all sugar, slumping against you with dramatic sighs and puppy-dog eyes, her cheek squished to your shoulder. “Y/N’s goldfish, Steve, just died.” Your knees are jelly. Your soul is exiting your body. 

Karina’s gaze narrows, flicking between your pathetic face and Giselle’s too-innocent smile.

“Bullshit and gross,” she says finally, tossing Giselle’s phone on the counter. “Save the improv for the Harper’s Bazaar shoot. Soo-man wants you rehearsing the poses. And to confirm the Vogue interview.” 

“Ugh, fine. Tell him I’ll wear the stupid feather dress.” Giselle flips her hair, her foot nudging yours under the counter, silently telling you to stay put. “But only if they let me pick the music.”

“Tell him yourself. I’m not your secretary.” Karina turns to leave, then pauses, before deciding on simply leaving, muttering about “fucking nymphos.” 

You slump against the counter, half-dead. Giselle’s smirk blooms as she spins back to you, thumb swiping the sweat from your temple. “Steve would’ve loved you,” she purrs, biting her lip to stifle a laugh.

“You’re deranged,” you whisper, knees still liquid, fumbling to adjust your jeans.

She kisses you before you can finish, all teeth and cherry gloss, her hand slipping into your back pocket. “Deranged enough to get you coffee after this shoot tomorrow?”

You stare at her.

“That’s a yes,” she decides, already texting the manager, her free hand toying with the damp edge of your hoodie. “Wear the gray sweatpants.”

Jesus. 

Giselle disentangles herself, but not before pinching your ass and dragging her nails across your waistband like a warning. She snatches the vodka off the counter with a victorious flick of her wrist.

“Jacuzzi. Ten minutes. Clean up and don’t make me come back and drag your ass there myself,” she tosses over her shoulder, hair swaying with every smug step.

Then she’s gone, hips swinging, like she didn’t just ruin your life in the kitchen and call it foreplay.

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

The jacuzzi steam clings to your skin. You’re perched on the edge, legs submerged, toes brushing someone’s shin under the froth – probably Ning’s. Giselle’s palm skims your calf absently, her thumb pressing circles into the dip behind your knee while she argues with Karina about lyrics. Her touch is proprietary, grounding, even as your head swims with the vodka, blur of your fourth shot.

The girls are all half-submerged, flushed and vibing. Momo’s hair fans out in the water like ink. Winter’s girlfriend blows vape clouds - who’s surprised?- that curl into the night. Ning’s arms balance on your knee as she leans in, voice conspiratorial: “…and then he texted ‘wyd’ at, like, 3 a.m. Again. As if I’m his fucking booty call—”

You snort. “Block him.”

“But his dog—”

“The dog’s an accomplice. Block them, both.”

Ning cackles, sloshing water as she throws her head back. 

The game you’ve been playing (Classic truth or dare) has been chaos: dares to swap bikini tops (Momo’s still in Winter’s neon green one), truths about body counts (Karina’s “I don’t kiss and tell” was bullshit, and everyone knew it). But now the heat and shots have dulled the stakes. Conversations fray. Winter’s girlfriend scrolls her phone, the blue glow sharp on her smirk.

Until—

“Okay, fuck this.” She flicks her vape. “Let’s revive the game. Y/N.” Her glasses catch the light as she turns. “Truth or dare. Final round.”

The water stills. Giselle’s hand pauses.

You grin, loose and lazy. “Dare. Obviously.”

Winter’s girlfriend leans forward, droplets sliding down her collarbone. “Kiss. Two people. In this circle. Right now.”

A beat. 

The jets hum. 

You count the silence. One. Two. Three.

Giselle’s fingers tense.

Everyone’s looking at you.

“Daaaaaamn,” Momo drawls, fanning herself.

Then chaos unfolds around you:

“Bold—”

“Woop, woop, bitch!”

Your tongue feels thick. “I … what?”

Giselle’s nails dig into your calf. Winter’s girlfriend swirls her drink. “Kiss someone here who’s not Giselle. Or… admit you’re whipped.”

The word hangs. Whipped. Like it’s a crime. Like wanting your girlfriend, only her, is pathetic. Fuck her.

Giselle’s laugh cuts through the chaos. “Cute.” She shifts, water sloshing, and tugs you in the water. The heat sears up your ribs, and you pivot toward her. Her eyes narrow, a challenge. Try it. “Go ahead, baby. Kiss Ning. She’s been eyeing you all night.”

Ning chokes on her drink. “The fuck I have—”

“Do it,” Giselle whispers, lips grazing your pulse point.

Karina watches, bored but alert. Winter’s staring at the stars, cheeks flushed, bless her heart. Momo’s filming.

And Ning’s right there, cheeks equally flushed, lips parted in a oh-shit grin. It’s easy. Safe.

You turn to her, “Fuck it,” you mutter. “Can I?”

At her nod, you lean in for a clumsy, wet smudge of a kiss. She tastes like coconut lip balm, her laugh soft and surprised against your mouth. You giggle too, pulling back as her hand flutters to your wrist.

Winter’s girlfriend clap like it’s her personal soap opera.

You turn to Giselle, heart hammering. “Happy?”

Her smile’s all too sweet…“Ecstatic.” And then she doesn’t miss a beat. She twists in the water, straddling your lap in one fluid motion. The sudden weight of her ass flush against your thighs, the heat hotter where she grinds down.

Your brain flatlines twice again tonight.

Her hands find your face, palms warm, thumbs brushing your bottom lip before her mouth is plush onto yours, tongue swiping the ghost of Ning’s chapstick off your lips, prying past your teeth. “Mine,” she whispers, low enough that only you hear it. 

Cheers erupt around you (Momo whooping, someone gasping “Oh my God”—) but Giselle doesn’t let up. She licks into you again, wetter, hungrier, hand sliding up to grab your jaw, holding you in place like she’s fucking starving. The water churns. You forget how to breathe.

Winter throws a towel at your heads. “Get a room, you two!”

When she pulls back, her thumb smears your lower lip again, wiping the gloss smeared across your chin “Two,” she announces, loud enough to cut through the catcalls. Her voice drips honeyed venom. “Done.”

Someone whistles. Even Karina cracks a smirk.

Winter’s girlfriend salutes with her vape. “Solid B-plus. Minus points for predictability.”

Giselle waves her away, but her grip stays tight on your thigh under the water. Ning’s still laughing.

Someone from the sideline mutters, “Jesus, get a room.”

“We have a room,” Giselle retorts, then leaning into your ear. “That we’ll use later, right?”

You choke on your spit and grab a shot. Fuck, yeah. 

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

The bathroom mirror is cold against your palms. Giselle’s perched on the counter, legs hooked around your hips. You’d meant to shower, to rinse off the chlorine and sweat, but she’d cornered you the second the door clicked shut, fingers twisting in your waistband before you could even peel off your bra.

“Lift me,” she’d said, not asked, chin jerking toward the marble. Now her nails dig into your shoulders as you grind against her, her sandals dangle from her toes, tapping a restless rhythm against the cabinets beneath.

“You’re still wearing those stupid boxers,” she murmurs, teeth grazing your earlobe. 

“You’re still avoiding the shower,” you counter, breath hitching as she rolls her hips.

She laughs, low and throaty. The mirror’s fogged behind her, streaked where her head tipped back. “You want to get clean before getting dirty again?” Her hand slips between you, thumb brushing the soaked cotton of your underwear. “You sure ‘bout that?”

The faucet drips. Voices buzz in the hallway, muffled through the door. Giselle doesn’t care. She never cares about shit like this.

You press your hips in slow, dragging thrusts, your cock thick and swollen, forcing the fat bulge right against the soaked crotch of her thong. The fabric barely holds you back, stretched tight as it wedges between her slick folds. Every push spreads her pussy open around the pressure of your cock, grinding hard into her clit through the thin barrier, and she whimpers, all wet and needy, hips twitching to meet yours like she needs that friction just as bad.

Every drag pulls wetter, breathier moans from her—half-muffled between your mouths, like she can’t decide whether to kiss you or just moan straight into your tongue. Your own are going shaky, turning into soft, broken moans that get swallowed. It’s messy, all tongue, but neither of you cares—it’s more about staying connected, about not pulling away from each other’s bodies.

“You’re gonna fuck me like a good girl, hmm?” she whispers into your mouth, voice thick, teasing, ruined. Her cheek then brushes yours, lips planting fluttering kisses along your jaw. “I’m so wet,” she adds, like she’s confessing it, like she loves how fucked and a little desperate she sounds. Her mouth trails soft kisses across your face that makes your stomach knot tight.

You let out a breathless giggle, half-dizzy, and fumble a hand between your bodies, yanking at your boxers with shaking fingers. The waistband slips down past your hips and your cock springs free, slapping hot and wet against your stomach with a slick smack. The sudden kiss of cool air makes you twitch, painfully sensitive.

You’re leaking, thick and steady, a string of pre-cum smearing across the skin of her thigh. You’re flushed, fevered, dragging in a ragged breath as you lean forward and shove her panties aside with one rough tug.

And then you’re right there, your cock slotting between Giselle’s drenched pink folds like it belongs there, the heat of her pussy wrapping around you even without pushing in. She gasps, thighs tensing when your fingers hook behind her knees and push them up, spreading her open as your cock grinds along the soaked seam of her cunt, every pass catching on her swollen clit, slick and shameless.

She wasn’t exaggerating, she’s really fucking drenched.

“You’re, fuck, you’re so wet -”

“Obviously.” Giselle rolls her hips, forcing your dick to slide higher, catching her swollen clit. Her breath hitches. “Been dripping since the kitchen. Since you came in my hand like a fucking—”

You don’t give her the space to finish, and grind over her clit again and again, your cock sliding messily through the slick heat of her folds—soaked, swollen, and parting perfectly around you. Each thrust is frantic, soaked to the point of obscenity, the sound of it loud and wet and constant, like your bodies can’t help but make a mess of each other. Every push of your hips catches her clit just right, dragging the thick underside of your cock over it until Giselle’s moaning into your mouth, open and raw, her legs twitching like she can’t hold still.

She’s spread wide for you, thong stretched to the side, pussy lips puffed and glistening, flushed dark with arousal. You lean down heavier, slurring incoherent shit, hips stuttering, can’t even manage a proper thrust without needing to shove in, grind forward, like your cock refuses to part from her for more than a second.

You drop your grip from her knees and plant your hands on the edge of the sink, bracing hard. Her legs fold up high and lock around your shoulders, heels digging into your back, forcing you deeper into the grind. The porcelain creaks behind her, something scraping loudly against the wall, but all you can focus on is the feel of her cunt, so, so hot and sticky, your cock slipping and catching against her clit with every frantic push.

“Gonna cum just like this?” Giselle taunts, breath hot. “Rubbing on me like a teen? Pathetic—”

“Fuck—stop—”

“Make me.”

You’re so slick now it feels like you’re drenched in her, your cock dripping from the sheer mess you’ve both made. Giselle grabs you harder, nails scraping down your arms, her legs quivering where they’re hooked around you. Despite the teasing, she’s shaking, breath stuttering, and you can feel the way her clit’s gone puffy and sore from the constant attention—but you don’t stop. This is your revenge.

Then her mouth is on yours again.

Not aggressive. Not teasing. Just… Sure. Certain. Hers.

You answer without thought, lips parting on a whine. Your tongues slide together, wet and needy, curling and tasting and pulling, your breath catching in your throat as your heart hammers like it’s trying to punch through your ribs. You kiss her back like you're starving for it, sloppy and unashamed, the sound of it bouncing raw and echoing off tiles.

And then, no warning, no easing. Your hips shove forward and your cock sinks into Giselle, hot and thick and stretching her open in one slick, devastating push.

She moans- a sound torn straight from her chest, half-shock, half-relief, cracking wide open into something wrecked and perfect as your hips start pounding into her, relentless from the start. Her walls grip you, tight and soaked, the glide almost too easy from how wet she already is.

Her nails dig into your arms, hard and sudden. “Wait—wait,” she gasps, voice shredded but firm. You freeze, cock buried deep, twitching inside her as your pulse slams through your ears. Panic spikes. Did you hurt her? but then she looks up with that up-to-no-good smile and bites her lip, “Turn me around,” nodding toward the mirror. “I wanna watch.”

Your brain stalls. What?

She presses gently at your chest, not pleading, commanding. “Behind. I want to see you fuck me.”

The demand clicks. The memory slams into you, her sprawled across your bed weeks ago, scrolling your camera roll, pausing on a blurry mirror selfie she took of the two of you. “Hmm,” she’d bit her lip, tossing your phone aside. “You ever fuck someone in front of a mirror?” she’d asked, casual as if discussing the weather. “Like… watching yourself fuck? Kinda vain, but,” She’d shrugged and smiled, running a hand through her red strands, toe tracing your calf. “Can we try one day?”

You’d choked on your apple juice. She’d just laughed.

You blink back to the present. Giselle’s already wriggling off the counter, flushed and impatient, and you move fast, hands at her waist, easing her down, sliding out. Your cock leaves her soaked, a thick string of cum and slick still connecting you together. 

“C’mon,” she breathes, turning smoothly, planting her palms flat on the counter. The mirror frames everything: her lips bitten red, her cheeks blotched with heat, lip gloss smeared across her mouth, “Fuck me.”

You swallow, hands trembling as you grip her hips. Her thong’s a soaked scrap, shoved aside. The bikini top’s strings dangle loose down her back. “Arch back, please,” you instruct, dragging a finger up the hem of her bikini top. Her nipple pebbles under your thumb as you graze it. So responsive it makes your cock twitch.

She does as asked, palms sliding up the mirror as she arches her back hard, ass tilting up for you. The bikini top’s strings dig into her skin, triangles straining. You hook two fingers under the damp fabric, yanking it up until her tits spill free, nipples hard and flushed. “Y/N—” she moans, but it’s swallowed when you pinch one roughly, rolling the bud between your fingers as you line yourself up.

The strings of her bikini top dig into her back, the triangles straining uselessly over her chest. You hook two fingers under the fabric and yank. Her tits spill out, heavy and flushed, nipples stiff and aching for your mouth. “Y/N-” she gasps, but it’s swallowed by a moan when you twist one nipple, rolling the bud between your fingers just as your cock presses back to her cunt.

“Look,” you coax, nodding toward the mirror. “Look at what I do to you.”

And then you drive into her in one brutal thrust.

The mirror rattles. Giselle’s mouth falls open in a silent scream before a strangled moan tears free. Your hands claw at her hips, dragging her back onto you as you pound into her, relentless. Her tits sway with every slap of skin against skin, your cock pistoning deep into her soaked heat as the counter groans beneath her.

“God,” she chokes out, half-laugh, half-desperate cry. “Yes—yes.”

You look up. Your reflection is wrecked: jaw tight, eyes blown wide, hips jerking like you’re possessed. Her mouth is slack, breath fogging the mirror, but her glazed eyes doesn’t leave her own reflection. You look down to watch the way your cock disappears inside her, glistening with slick, the obscene stretch of it, the way her body gives around you.

“Harder,” she breathes, not to you, but to her own reflection, eyes wild. “Harder, fuck!”

You slam into her deeper, harder, and she jolts forward, palms sliding on the mirror as your cock splits her apart, slides deep into the clutch of her muscle, dragging every sound out of her like you’re wringing her dry. Her legs are spread, shaking, skin flushed everywhere you touch her, chest pressed to the mirror, ass pushed high.

You moan, guttural and close to cumming. She moans back, eyes locked on the mirror like she’s watching a dream come true. 

Giselle’s barely got her toes on the ground anymore. Every thrust from you has her lifting off her feet, teetering, dangling, your cock punching up into her so deep she has no hope of holding herself steady. Her body gives, legs quivering, cunt greedy and wide open, swallowing you like it’s desperate to keep you, like it knows you’re about to flood her and doesn’t want to miss a drop.

She’s dripping. You hear it, feel it, the way your cock slicks through her over and over again, every vein dragging along her cunt walls, every pull-out thick with strings of precum. Her thighs are a mess. So are yours. Every time your hips meet hers, it sounds like something’s breaking.

“Fuck, so tight,” you groan, breathless, a broken record. And you repeat it, over and over, a mantra made for her cunt alone.

The bathroom echoes with it: the slap of skin-on-skin, your groans, her cries, the wet, sticky drag every time you pull out just enough to slam back in. It’s loud. And Winter’s room is right next door.

You don’t stop.

Wouldn’t even if Winter banged on the wall and begged.

“More,” Giselle pants, and it doesn’t even sound like a request. It’s a command.

“More of my dick, Gi? You want it to split you open?” Your voice is ragged, trembling with the way her cunt drags on you. “Hmm? Gaping for me, taking every inch.”

“Fuck, yes.” 

You grab her by the hair and shove her face against the mirror, fog blooming across the glass from her ragged breath. Her cheeks flush darker. Her lips are parted. And her toes? No longer touching the floor. Every time you ram into her, her feet lift higher, curling—like she’s being hoisted by the sheer power of your cock alone, like her body’s forgotten gravity in favor of getting fucked open.

“I'm gonna cum,” Giselle gasps, voice wrecked and raw. “Gonna cum. Gonna fucking cum so hard on your dick, fuck, harder! Cum in me!”

Your brain shorts out.

“In you?” you rasp, your whole body thrumming. You shove in harder, deeper, until her body’s flush against the counter, hips slamming into porcelain. “You want me to breed you, huh? Fuck a baby into this tight little cunt?” Your voice breaks, low and filthy. “Fill you up, ruin you for anyone else. Knock you up right here against the mirror so you watch yourself take every fucking drop—"

Her cunt clenches so hard around your cock it nearly sends you to your knees.

You grip her hair harder, drag her face up to see what she looks like fucked out. Her reflection streaked with fog, eyes glazed, drool clinging to her lip. Her body shakes. 

“I’m gonna fucking cum in you, Gi,” you hiss through your teeth, like it’s being ripped from your core. You grind into her with sluggish, longer thrusts, the tip of your cock pressing into the spot that has her seeing stars. “You’re gonna take it? Promise you’re gonna take every last drop, and you’re gonna cum when I do, yeah? Cum when I fill you up-"

“Oh-yes!” she squeals, voice shattering on a moan when you hit that spot just right. Her back arches, cunt choking your cock, and you feel everything, down to her body twitching as she teeters on the edge.

“Fuck, I’m gonna-” You can’t even get the words out before they melt in your throat. That thought, her dripping full of you, leaking down her thighs, maybe taking, maybe really taking is what breaks you. 

Her pussy clamps around you and she cums, shuddering and wailing, legs quaking on either side of your body as her orgasm floods over you. You go right with her, muttering something, cock slamming in deep, your hips locking as your body jerks uncontrollably. You spill into her with everything you’ve got, moan ragged and cracked, hot, thick, endless. You gasp, twitching through the aftershocks as her cunt milks you for every fucking drop.

She wants it. The idea of breeding her, of your cum spilling back out of her used hole and soaking the floor, it shatters you.

You collapse forward, breath heaving, forehead against her spine. Still buried deep. Still twitching inside her.

“Oh,” you whisper. “I could die right here.”

Giselle hums, delirious, and giggles into the fogged-up mirror: “Wow.”

You stay draped over her, skin slick, bodies still fused. Her thighs twitch, cunt still clenching weakly around your softening cock. You don’t move. Can’t.

She’s trembling underneath you, breath ragged, until finally, finally, she draws in a fuller breath and turns her head just enough to kiss you. It’s slow, a little shaky, and when her lips part against yours, you hum, maybe even whine, a soft, broken sound, one last lazy grind of your cock inside her making both your bodies jolt. You’re overstimmed and exhausted, but you kiss her back. She sucks at your tongue, licking deep and slow, until you go fully soft and slip out, your cum following in a slow, lazy trickle down her thighs.

You both hiss at the loss.

Your lips trail kisses along her shoulder, warm and gentle now. “Fuck,” you whisper against her skin. “I loved that. You. That.”

It’s true. Every dizzy, filthy second of it.

She smiles at that. Except it’s...off. Just a little strained at the edges. But you’re still buzzing, floating, caught in the haze, so you don’t think much of it.

You shower together. Wash off the mess. Her body presses against yours under the water like she doesn’t want distance, like she’s still hungry for you even now, but when you soap up her back, she doesn’t quite lean into it the way she usually does. Still, you rinse, dry off, curl into bed like everything’s fine.

And it kind of is. Mostly.

She pulls you against her chest, and you go willingly, cheek pressed to her breast, her skin warm and soft. One hand runs slow nails across the nape of your neck. It’s comforting. You could fall asleep just like this. You probably will.

Until she says—

“Did you mean it?”

You hum. Eyes still closed. “Mean what?”

Her hand pauses. “When you said you loved me.”

Your brain stutters. You blink your eyes open, more awake now. Her chest doesn’t rise the same way. She’s stopped breathing quite so evenly.

“I...wait, when?”

“During sex.” Her voice is quiet. But not small. It’s pointed. “When you were—inside me. You said, ‘fuck, I love you.’”

Oh.

She must feel your body shift, the way you go still, because she scoffs, a little bitter. “You don’t even remember.”

“No,” you say quickly, “no, I just …” You sit up halfway, heart pounding suddenly, “I didn’t realize I said it out loud.”

“So you do remember.”

“I …” You frown, searching through the haze. Everything had gone so fast. All sensation and no pause. But that moment—her cunt clenching around you, cumming, the overwhelming everything of her—it’s there. The feeling. The words. They were real.

“I don’t remember saying it,” you admit, voice soft. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

She turns her face toward yours, “You mean that?”

You don’t hesitate now. “Yes. Gi. I fucking mean it.”

She doesn’t answer right away. But the silence this time feels fuller, thicker, like something swelling between you instead of falling apart.

Then her lips press to yours again. Softer. She kisses you like she believes you. And maybe for the first time, she really does because she confesses those three little words back and adds: “And so did Steve, rest in peace little guy.”

Before you’re groaning, smothering her face with a pillow and she’s cackling at you.

frannie's note: it's been a while since i wrote fics with cute endings, lol! hope you enjoyed it as much as i enjoyed writing this ... (p.s. the two angels who've won the challenge and guessed the prompt right will be summoned and revealed soon :p <3)

click for m.list

[brairslair]

your monster trio nsfw headcanons were immaculate (seriously Zoro's was PERFECTION) could you do the same for Law and Ace?

@valkyrie-sun-walker

yes ofc! and thank youuu 💓💓 i got the 2nd req from a wonderful anon after i started writing this, so i decided to combine the two! here ya go mls :)

part 2 to this post

18+ ONLY (minors… 👉🏻🚪)

a/n: just me lusting over these men so ofc they’re all yappers, + i apologize to any usopp enjoyers for making usopp’s section a lil shorter 💌

don’t forget to like, comment, reblog, and follow to support my work!

“see what you do to me?”

law:

tough guy syndrome TM

puts on a cold front, but will wear flowers in his hair if you pick them for him

the kinda guy who can dish it out but can’t take it

in every sense

he can say the most flirtatious, descriptive, borderline pornographic shit to you with a smirk on his face

but the second you return the same attitude, he gets all flustered and fumbles over his words

he acts all dominant and in control when he’s making your eyes roll into the back of your head, whispering the filthiest shit in your ear

he takes great pride in his affect on you

“feels good, yeah?”

but when you take the reigns, he literally turns into a puddle at your fingertips

- “cat got your tongue?”

“shut up-”

clearly a switch

specifically a bratty sub + mean dom switch

so basically just a little bitch 24/7

when he’s a mean dom tho, he is a fucking mean dom

he’ll edge you until your crying from frustration, and then make you cum over and over until you lose count

“honey, are those tears? it’s just too much for you, isn’t it”

“you wanna be a good little slut for me, don’t you? then hold it.”

“count down from ten, nice and slow, and don’t you dare fucking cum until you get to one”

has a choking kink (giving and receiving)

also really likes to use toys on you, or watch you use them yourself

his favorite tho is your wand vibrator

he’ll hold it against your clit until you’ve cum so many times you’ve lost track, and you’re eyes are watering from overstimulation

or he’ll push it against you while he thrusts into you at a brutal pace, making you feel so much pleasure all at once that you see white behind your eyelids

he’s not a huge fan of pda, unless he’s jealous, and then he’s got you pressed against a wall with his tongue down your throat

if you get needy while he’s busy, he’ll make you ride his thigh

he’ll continue on with his work, acting as if you aren’t even there soaking through his jeans

his gentle hand on your hip, dick already hard against your knee, and a soft “good job, baby” when you cum are the only indicators that he was paying attention at all

get’s rly cocky when he catches u staring at his chest/back/tattoos

even worse when it’s his hands

will 100% use it against you to tease you all the time

will put his hands on your waist/thigh if he catches you looking for too long in public

then later he’ll make you come on his fingers and keep his mouth running the whole time

“bet this is what you were thinking about, huh. staring at my my fingers all day? couldn’t help it, could you?”

“oh, you can take more than that. cmon, one more”

“awh baby, i can feel you squeezin me already. you wanna cum so bad, don’t you sweetheart? not yet.”

he’ll get you right to the edge just to slow down to an agonizing pace and then make you beg him to let you cum

then he’ll have you suck his fingers clean

he’s a menace

but he’s also really good at aftercare, and will tell you how well you did and make you feel so loved and relaxed

now, as a bratty sub…

he is such a pain in the ass

he knows every way to get under your skin and get you exactly where he wants you

when you’re kissing him he’ll fight you for dominance even though he’s clearly losing

makes sassy ass comments whenever you speak just to piss you off

he could literally already be doing something but refuse if you tell him to

- “take off your pants”

“say please”

even when he admits defeat, he’ll continue to run his mouth for as long as possible before his brain turns to mush

if you use your mouth on him, it’s over

he’ll go from being a brat, to gripping the sheets in seconds

once you shut his brain off, he’s a total mess

his hands and mouth sloppy and all over you

when you ride him, he can’t take his eyes off of where your bodies meet, groaning at the wet sounds of your slick with every bounce

when he does look up at you he almost busts as soon as he sees your proud smile and blown out eyes looking down at him

his moans are loud and gravelly, and he’s desperately gripping at your hips, and whining, and cursing, and panting in your ear

the only words he seems to remember are “fuck” and your name

he loves it when your mean

- “you don’t get to touch unless you ask nicely. go on.”

“oh fuck- please”

also low key a sucker for light bondage (both ways)

acts like he doesn’t like when you mark him up because he doesn’t want other people to see, but it’s actually because every time he see’s your work on his skin he wants to pounce on you

and he can’t have that 24/7 now can he (i wish tho tbh)

will bite on your shoulder when you finally let him cum, leaving dainty little tooth shaped bruises behind like a medal

and of course, a few minutes after he comes down from his high, he goes right back to being a little shit

ace:

such a cocky motherfucker

but in a cute endearing way

also allergic to shirts apparently, and he would be lying if he said it wasn’t to show off for you at least a little

but he get’s all proud when he notices you ogling him

he’d say somthing goofy like

“like what you see?”

while wiggling his eyebrows

he is a messy kisser

like super sloppy

he just can’t get over how lucky he is to even be able to have your company, or be able to touch you at all, so getting to kiss you blows his mind a little and makes it short circut

soft dommmm

ace just wants to take care of you

he loves to slowly make you fall apart over and over, being there to be your anchor

but he’s also super talkative

“that’s it, princess. keep making those pretty noises for me, yeah?”

“just like that, keep going. doing such a good job”

“just a little more baby, you can take it”

loves eating you out, and he’s good at it

he likes to hold your hips down with one arm, and use his other hand to stretch you open

goes insane if you pull his hair

will put your legs over his shoulders

both a tits and ass guy

will bury his face in either and be perfectly content if he suffocates

he’s always kissing some part of you, wether its your lips, your neck, your thighs, your wrists, doesn’t matter because his mouth is on you

absolutely loves hearing your sounds, especially if you’re whimpering and whining

hearing you be so needy all for him drives him up the wall

kind of a dumbass sometimes, but can surprisingly lead to amazing sex sometimes

doesn’t realize how everyone ogles him wherever he goes

and he certainly doesn’t realize when other girls are throwing themselves at him

you know he doesn’t intentionally engage, but it’s still hard to not feel jealous watching the interactions

but when he notices you’re jealous… oh boy

he gets SO cocky (like more obnoxious than usual)

“awh, baby, are you jealous?”

“you know i only have eye’s for you”

“want me to prove it?”

and he will

he’d bring your hand to his dick, allowing you to feel how hard he is already

“see what you do to me?”

“this is all yours, baby”

“i’m alllll yours”

and then he’d proceed to fuck you until your legs are shaking, heat burning in your chest from overstimulation

but he makes sure to reassure you that he didn’t even notice the other girls intentions, because the only girl that he cares about is you <3

he’s not the jealous type himself, because he knows there’s no need to be

he trusts you, and he believes you when you tell him how much you love him

however, he does not trust other people

therefore, he is extremely protective of you

he’s honestly into pda

he just loves showing you off any chance he gets

one thing about ace is he will talk you through it

and he’ll hold your hand the whole time too

“yeahhh, there you go, princess”

“mm, there’s my girl”

“go on baby, soak me”

does the tummy push thing

also does the knee thing

goes feral if he sees you in any of his clothes

especially his hat

this is a “save a horse ride a cowboy” relationship

loves to put his weight on you, still being careful not to squish you

he just wants to be as close to you as humanly possible

and he’ll pin your hand’s above your head with one of his, interlacing your fingers

gets super giddy and proud when he fucks you dumb

“look at you, all pretty and fucked out”

“lettin me fuck you dumb, huh? lettin me fuck your brains out?”

“fuck, you can’t even think anymore, can you? feel too good to think, huh pretty girl”

he’s a biter and will sometimes leave marks, but he is not sorry

temperature play perhaps

is a fan of cockwarming

im also an avid believer in gamer bf ace

so he’ll have you just sit on his dick while he’s gaming, feeling you pulse and twitch around him in restraint

every once in a while he’d move his hips just enough to make you gasp, but then back to nothing

if you do move your hips he holds them still, reminding you of your agreement

he’ll make you sit there, almost completely still until you’re pleading and whimpering for him to let you move

“go ahead, pretty girl”

“take what you need”

he will buy you lingerie, and he will lose his mind every time he sees you in something he bought for you

face sitting enthusiast

will say “i love you” during sex at least once

will also probably quote an action movie while balls deep inside of you and completely brush past it like it was nothing

no matter what pace is set, he fucks hard

he’ll lift your legs from around his hips to push them against your chest, because the angle feels so much deeper

he’ll gradually build up speed, just to slow back down when either of you gets too close, to make it last longer

this will go on until you’re begging

“shh, hey, it’s okay baby, i’ve got you”

“just let it build with me, hm? we have all the time in the world”

“promise it’ll feel sooo good”

and when you’ve both evened out your breathing, he smothers you with affection and makes sure to take good care of you

usopp:

he’s a sub, full stop.

tried to dom at first, but it was just not natural to him at all

still will try to act all tough and in control, but he’s in the palm of your hand in seconds every time

more than willing to do anything you ask of him

gets flustered SO easily

will become a total mess from the smallest things

he gets defensive when you tease him, but he secretly really enjoys it

thigh guy

face sitting fan #2

loves kissing you and would do it all day every day if he could

any amount of pleasure you give him will turn him into a babbling mess

he’ll just say anything honestly

“hmm- feels so good”

“pleasepleaseplease-”

“can i kiss you? please let me kiss you-”

little bit of a mommy kink but embarrassed about it

suuuuper reactive

was 100% a virgin before you, so you have to help guide him in the beginning

you also help him discover what he likes and dislikes

he has a massive praise kink

“good boy” has him panting and fisting the sheets

he also really likes your hands

the way you hold his jaw so firmly when you kiss him

or gently squeeze his shaft when you tease him through his boxers

and even how you press your thumb past his lips to stifle his noises as you make him cum in your fist

his moans are whiny and a soft, getting lost in the pleasure

“ohhh- wow”

once his brain is long gone, he honestly doesn’t talk much until he’s getting close

thats when the incoherent stuttering starts back up again

“you’re so- ahh- so good at that”

“don’t stop, don’t stop-”

“i think i’m gonna… i’m cumming”

when he does cum, he’s either whining your name like a broken record, or so fucked out all he can do is pant and gasp and paw at your skin

he’s also a crier when he gets overstimulated

always polite and says thank you <3

asks are open! <3

[sorrowfulrosebud]

Katsuki fumbled as the heavy wooden door of your mansion was nearly slammed in his face, you being the cause. Your infuriated strides didn’t stop as you reached the kitchen.

Katsuki felt his eyes burn and bile rise in his throat as he tried desperately to reach you.

“Baby, please! It was one time, and I didn’t even kiss her-,” he rambles worriedly, taking a step aback as you turn around.

Your eyes held nothing but pure fire and pain.

“Oh my FUCKING GOD Katsuki! You didn’t kiss her?! Oh that’s just wonderful, I totally forgive you for going behind my FUCKING BACK and fucking other women! That makes everything okay now!” You cry? Laugh? You couldn’t tell anymore.

Katsuki winces at your tears, pearly streaks of his own staining his cheeks. He reaches for you, heart breaking when you flinch away from him.

“Baby-,” he starts.

“Don’t you fucking DARE call me that you disloyal bastard,” you sob.

“I gave you my EVERYTHING, you son of a bitch! The nights I spent slaving over that fucking stove so YOU wouldn’t go hungry! I broke my back cleaning this fucking house, I give up my social life so we can be together, I bust my fucking ass doing stuff in bed I don’t want to do, ALL FOR YOU! I gave you EVERYTHING! So don’t you fucking dare try and have some balls now.” You sob through gritted teeth.

Katsuki sinks to his knees, openly sobbing and grabbing your hands. You tried forcing them back, but his grip was relentless. He pressed tearful kisses to your hands, amplifying your pained sobs.

“(Y/N), please! It was the worst mistake of my entire fucking life, of OUR lives. It was an act of stupidity, and if I could go back in time I would kill past me for even looking at her. It’s YOU I love, not her. It’s you, it’s always been you,” he gasped for breath, looking up at you. You paused.

“AAAAAAAND CUT! That was a great take everyone, go grab some lunch and be back in an hour to continue the shoot,” the director shouts, hopping off his pedestal.

You wiped your tears off, cursing the added tear stick as you laughed.

“Jesus Christ, that was a rough scene. How are you, baby?” You look down at him. Your smile was warm, a complete contrast to the character in the series you were acting in. Katsuki made no move to wipe his tears.

He rose slowly, before wrapping his arms around you tightly. He sniffled as he held you as close as possible, kissing the side of your face.

“Baby, are you alright? It was just a scene!” You giggle, kissing him on the forehead.

“If I ever make you sad like that, I need you to kill me. I would rather die than make you cry the way you just did,” he sniffed, wiping his nose and holding your cheeks.

“Aw sweetie. I know you’d never cheat on me. I love you so, so, so much. I guess we just did too good a job acting,” you giggle. You pull him in closer for a kiss, wiping his tears and playing with his baby hairs.

“I love you so much. Never ever forget that,” he says firmly. You nod, before squeezing out of his grip and tapping his ass playfully.

“Of course angel, now let’s get lunch. Sato made enchiladas and I’m craving them so badly,” you kiss him again. Katsuki’s phone beeped, and he checked before grimacing slightly.

“I’ll be right there babe, Eijiro’s complaining about something,” he says, squeezing your sides and sending you off.

You’re so fucking right, baby. He thought. His chest bloomed in pain. Ochaco’s bunched up tits stared right back at him in picture form, taunting him.

I did too good of an acting job.

[fawnlace69]

Daisuke nsfw headcanons >:3

Ok… don’t make fun of me this is my first time trying anything smutty (and first attempt and making a real tumblr post) !!

Nothing super kinky so I don’t believe I should put any warnings (maybe the leash one…)

* ok, firstly, he is a WHIMPERER!! Idc what you say we’ve literally heard his cannon voice. Wouldn’t be able to be quiet for the life of him. THE SIMPLEST TOUCH WILL SEND HIM INTO A WHINING MESS

* another popular one, PRAISE KINK ! He’s like a goddamn puppy when you tell him how good he’s doing.

* yes, he likes to be called a good boy…

* ANDDD likes the be degraded and praise at the same time

* yknow like “you’re such an obedient bitch for me”

* Making out is the HOTTEST thing to him !! Especially when it involves touching each other through clothes. Bro needs to grind his hips on your thigh when you kiss (and he’ll cum in his pants)

* Has a scent kink… genuinely starts tweaking when he smells you, and may occasionally steal your clothes to get off (then he puts them back where he found them)

* Switch, and when he’s dom he’s like terrified he’ll hurt u. Only way to get him to be rough is if you tease him enough

* This mayyy be a little too weird, but putting him on a leash (drooling emoji) at first you said it as a joke, but he actually got FUCKING HARDD from the suggestion. Make him get on his knees and beg while pulling the leash slightly, and hes a pathetic mess

* Again with his noises…. If you overstimulate him enough he literally will only whine. Just his brain turned off and the most goddamn beautiful whines you’ll ever hear from a man (gnawing at my phone currently)

* Dare I say he’s into feminine things ?? Perhaps one day you catch him wearing a thong, just barely visible as he stretches his arms up. You don’t say anything at first, but curiosity got the best of you “Daisuke, are you wearing a thong?”

* at first, he’d be MORTIFIED. Just a bunch of “no! You didn’t see anything!” and awkward silence. Eventually he admitted it “i don’t know… I just wanted to feel pretty”

* Adding onto that… making out and pulling on his thong…

* Personally, I definitely can see him as a stoner. You bet he turns into a horny bastard the moment any weed gets into his system. Absolutely no filter, and may get a little rough with you due to his lack of thinking skills

* now let’s got on the topic of hand jobs 😼

* definitely likes it rough. Sure, go slow at first, but we all know this man isn’t patient. In minutes, he’s desperately moving against your hand, begging for you to speed up

* if you aren’t sure how to do it, he’ll guild guide your hand and show you how he likes it.

* Finds it REALLY hot if you cover his mouth during it… AND DONT FORGET MAKING OUR DURING IT ! Whimpers in your mouth and squirms under you. Can cum in seconds with your hand around him

* overstimulation… he LOVESS when you force him to cum multiple times in your hand, or really anywhere. Obviously the tip is the most sensitive. Loves it when you drag your thumb around. Makes him so fucking noisy, and he may accidentally slip out a “mommy” if you get him needy enough

* likes to be told what to do. He’s there to please you after all. Tell him to do anything, and he’ll do it. Such a SLUTT for praise while you’re at it

* going off that, he likes to be told how to touch himself. Its so humiliating to be sat in front of his partner, being told exactly how to please himself.

[arilevenatz]

Ideal Trip

Pairing: San x reader

Genre: Action, fluff

Word count: 15.2k (💀)

Warnings: San is kinda not a nice man at first, but then he is!, blood, monsters getting mutilated, but it's for like 5 seconds so don't worry.

AN: I legit had a dream of this. This dream happened after crazy form teaser pics dropped and I had this in my drafts for that many days. I hope y'all like this as well. Please consider liking and pls reblog as it motivates me to write more!

Masterlist

The school that we are currently standing in front of is called 'The Ideal School'. Literally, that's it's name. Talk about overestimation. Even though it is called so, it is nothing like your average good school.

You see, it's an old school. Older than I can remember. Heck, my father was a student at this school.

And we came here to give an exam, a Mock test in particular. Some of our friends applied for this. Well, their parents did. And me you ask? I was here because, and these are my mom's words, "you will give the exam because all of your friends are giving it".

Yeah me and dad thought it was bullshit.

But as both of us are scared of her shouting and making the house a circus, I decided to give it.

And so here we are, sitting inside one of the classrooms on the ground floor. My classmates were there, as well as students from other schools.

The walls here are really old, covered in writings that stretch across the walls, doors, and windows. It feels so different from my school, and I can’t help but find it a bit strange.

Time passed and we were just chatting when all of a sudden there was this commotion in the corridor.

Us being curious little kids we went outside. We somehow got to know that a boy has been found sneaking in the canteen and going through the food stash.

I don't know why, but all of us went there. Why? To see the commotion there? Tsk, kids.. where is the canteen?

Reaching the canteen, we saw that the child who had dared to sneak in was being scolded. The teacher was saying something about punishing the kid. The kid, no older than 10, looked traumatized by the screaming teacher.

They are pretty strict with this" I asked one of my friends.

"I wouldn't last a day here" she replied with a chuckle.

I heard one of my other classmates say something but before that a high pitched sound pierced my ears.

My hands instinctively flew to my ears as black spots began to creep into my vision. And then, everything went dark.

Aw come on I came here to give a test not to pass out. Get up you weak ass bitch.

You do wake up, but not where you expect. This isn’t The Ideal. It’s your school. The one four stations away.

What. The. Hell.

The bell rings. The freaking bell.

You try to calm yourself, but panic bubbles up. You’re in your classroom, lying on one of the benches. Groggily, you push yourself up using your elbows and glance around.

Beside you, someone stirs.

“Wake up,” you mutter, shaking her.

“Five more minutes,” she grumbled.

“This isn’t your house! We’re at school!”

“School?!”

She bolt upright, eyes wide and frantic, looking more like a confused puppy than anything else.

The two of you quickly realize you’re in your classroom. Familiar, but something about it feels… off.

“Should we go out?” she ask softly, looking at the door.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

You peek out first. The hallway is unsettlingly quiet. Too quiet. Something feels very, very wrong.

The two of you head to the neighboring classroom, where your other friends sit cluelessly at their desks.

“Surprise, motherfuckers,” you announce.

“Ah!”

“So, what’s the deal?” you ask, ignoring their startled expressions.

“The stork?” one of them jokes, earning her a glare sharp enough to cut steel.

You sigh. "We need to figure this out. Let’s go.”

As the defacto leader of your little group, your friends all look at you for guidance. You don’t remember volunteering for the job, but it’s become second nature by now.

The layout of the school flashes in your mind—there’s the main building, the field, the stage at the far end, and the smaller two-story building beside it, home to the singing room. It’s always been your favorite spot.

Stepping outside, you’re greeted by chaos.

No, worse than chaos. Something you can’t explain.

Students, rows upon rows of them, march silently across the school grounds like lifeless puppets. Their faces are blank, their movements robotic.

And suddenly, you’re alone.

You whirl around. Where are they? Your friends who were just right here. You rack your brain, desperate to remember, but all you get are fragments: the classroom, the field, the students, their uniforms.

But the uniforms are wrong. These kids aren’t wearing your school uniform. They’re dressed in plain white—head to toe.

A chill runs down your spine.

You look down at yourself. Your uniform’s still intact: white shirt, blue skirt, tie. No jacket, though. Why the hell didn’t the school provide winter coats? It’s freezing.

Your breath comes out in shaky puffs as you call out for your friends.

Nothing.

The silent students turn to look at you, their blank faces unnerving.

“What are you looking at?” you mutter, backing away instinctively.

Before you realize it, you’re standing in the middle of the field. How did you get here? Your legs feel like they’re moving on their own.

Your mind races. This has to be a nightmare. Right?

Your feet carry you toward the singing room, up the stairs of the two-story building. Maybe it’s your love for music—or the connection you’ve always had with the music teacher—but something about this place feels… safe.

The door to the music room looms in front of you, larger than usual. Slowly, you push it open.

Inside, your teacher sits at the piano, but something is horribly wrong.

He’s completely black. Not in a racial sense—his entire body is an inky void, like a shadow brought to life. The contrast is so stark it makes your chest tighten.

You stagger back, trying to be as silent as possible, but the universe seems to hate you. Your shoe scrapes against the floor.

The shadow turns to face you.

Your breath catches. For a moment, it doesn’t move. Slowly, you back away, step by step, until you’re near the stairs.

And then, it bolts toward you.

Your legs carry you down the stairs, sprinting as fast as they can. The ‘krt krt’ sound of the thing chasing you sends shivers down your spine.

You run across the field, not daring to look back. The students don’t react, as if this is all normal to them.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you collapse onto the stairs, exhaustion seeping into your bones. You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to shield your face as if it’ll protect you from whatever is coming. The sound of your own ragged breathing fills your ears, but it’s soon overtaken by another noise.

It’s faint at first—a low, guttural growl, followed by the unsettling ‘krt krt’ sound that echoes in your mind. Your chest tightens. You don’t dare look up.

It’s here.

You brace yourself, every nerve in your body screaming for you to move, but your muscles refuse to obey. Your breath catches as the sound grows louder, closer, until you swear you can feel its presence looming over you.

This is it.

And then, it happens.

A sharp, metallic sound slices through the air, followed by an agonized screech that makes your blood run cold. You flinch, instinctively pulling your arms tighter around your head. The screeching stops abruptly, replaced by silence so heavy it feels like the world itself is holding its breath.

When you dare to look up, your eyes widen.

There, standing a few feet away, is someone you’ve never seen before.

The first thing you notice is the knife in his hand—long, sleek, and dripping with blood. The blade glints faintly under the dim light, a cruel contrast to the dark substance staining it.

Then your gaze travels upward.

His silhouette is sharp and commanding, radiating a quiet intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. He's tall, with a posture that exudes confidence and danger all at once. But it’s his face that steals your breath away—delicate yet fierce, almost otherworldly. His features are so striking it’s hard to tell if he's beautiful or terrifying.

But the most jarring detail is his hair.

Bright fiery red with black highlights, with contrast to his pale face, the colors clash in a way that should look ridiculous but instead feels hauntingly perfect. The contrast is mesmerizing, drawing your eyes like moths to a flame. You don’t even like red, but on them, it feels… powerful.

He glanced down at the lifeless black figure sprawled across the ground, his expression unreadable. Blood pools beneath it, the deep crimson stark against the pale concrete.

For a moment, it’s like time itself has frozen.

Your savior turns, his piercing gaze finally meeting yours.

It’s only for a second, but it’s enough to knock the air out of your lungs. His eyes—sharp, unyielding—cut through you like the blade they wield. There’s something chilling about the way he looks at you, as if he's staring straight into your soul.

You open your mouth to speak, but no sound comes out.

Before you can process what’s happening, he turns away.

“Wait!” you call out, scrambling to your feet despite the ache in your legs.

He doesn't stop.

You stumble forward, your mind racing with a thousand questions. Who is he? How did he know you were here? What even was that thing he just killed?

But before you can take another step, something cold wraps around your ankle, yanking you down with a force that sends you crashing to the ground.

The floor wasn’t soft, and neither was your chin. Pain radiated through your jaw as you lay there, groaning. “It hurts like a bitch,” you muttered, clutching your face.

When you glanced down, though, any complaints about the fall evaporated.

There, gripping your ankle, was a dismembered hand.

Cold, pale fingers dug into your skin, unmoving, yet somehow alive.

A guttural scream tore from your throat, raw and uncontrolled. You kicked instinctively, but it held firm. Panic rose, choking you, as you clawed at the ground to pull yourself away.

Before you could react further, like a thunderbolt, the guy reappeared. He raised the blade high and brought it down with a sickening crunch.

Again.

And again.

The hand was reduced to a mushy, unrecognizable mess as he hacked at it relentlessly. Blood splattered across the floor and your legs, and the wet, squelching noise made bile rise in your throat.

“Stop! Stop, it’s gone!” you wanted to scream, but your voice refused to come.

Finally, he crouched down, prying the mangled remains from your ankle. His fingers worked quickly, efficiently, peeling the cold digits away.

He stood up, wiping the blood from his hands on his pants, and turned to leave without a word.

“Wait!”

Your voice cracked, desperate, but it was enough to make him stop.

He froze, mid-step, but didn’t turn around.

Scrambling to your feet, you dusted yourself off and stumbled after him.

“Excuse me, mister!” you called, your voice trembling. “Can you please tell me how to get out of here?”

He turned then, slowly, and his gaze locked onto yours. He was taller than you by at least half a head, and his dark eyes bore an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

“You…” His voice was deep, rough around the edges. “How are you talking?”

You blinked. Is he high or something?

“What?”

“And your clothes,” he continued, as if you hadn’t spoken. “They’re different. Have you… escaped the process?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you snapped, your frustration mounting. “I just want to get out of here.”

“Are you from this school?” His tone sharpened, almost accusing. “Answer me.”

“Yes, but—”

Before you could finish, his hand shot out and grabbed your arm.

His grip was like iron, unyielding, and he started dragging you forward without hesitation.

“Hey!” you yelped, tugging at his hand. “Let me go! What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you struggled against his hold. “Listen, mister! I don’t know what’s going on, okay? I just woke up here, and I don’t know what the hell happened! Please, let me go!”

He stopped abruptly, spinning around to face you. His piercing gaze made your stomach churn.

“So…” He spoke slowly, as if piecing something together. “You haven’t been processed.”

“I don’t know what that means!”

His eyes raked over you, up and down.

Did he just check me out? you thought, outraged. Whoop, whoop, that’s the sound of the police!

“Follow me,” he said curtly, turning away.

You stood your ground. “No. How do I know I can trust you?”

He chuckled, the sound low and humorless. “Do you see anyone else here you trust more?”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. Damn. He had a point.

“My name is San,” he offered. “What’s yours?”

You hesitated.

“It’s fine if you don’t trust me yet,” he added, almost kindly. “But if you want to survive, you’ll follow me.”

Against your better judgment, you nodded. Your questions could wait—surviving took priority.

As you walked behind him, you glanced down at your legs and winced. Blood streaked your socks and shoes, the sticky warmth making your stomach churn.

Noticing your hesitation, San spoke without looking back. “Where’s the nearest bathroom?”

“Huh? Oh, the men’s bathroom is—”

“Does gender matter?” he interrupted. “Just tell me the closest one.”

You sighed and led him to the bathroom in the main building. He pushed the door open and strode inside, heading straight for the sink.

“Come here,” he said, gesturing at the ground in front of him.

You hesitated. “Me?”

“Yes.”

Reluctantly, you stepped closer.

“Take off your shoes and socks,” he instructed.

“What? Why?”

“They’re covered in blood,” he said simply. “And if ‘they’ track us by your bloody footprints?”

You swallowed hard. “who are they?”

His lips quirked, almost amused. “You really have no idea, do you?”

You shook your head, confused and unnerved.

“Take them off,” he said again. “Or I’ll do it for you.”

Grumbling under your breath, you crouched down, slipping off your shoes and socks, your fingers trembling slightly. San grabbed them and rinsed the shoes under the tap.

“The socks are ruined,” he muttered, tossing them aside.

He straightened up and glanced at you. “Wait here.”

Before you could protest, he was gone.

As the silence pressed down on you, the weight of your situation finally hit. You slumped onto the edge of the sink counter, your legs weak.

What if you never got out of here?

“Are you okay?”

San’s voice startled you, and you looked up to see him holding a pair of sneakers.

“They’re not your size, but they’ll have to do,” he said, handing them to you.

You slid off the counter and slipped them on. They were too big, but at least they were clean.

“Let’s go,” he said, heading for the door.

Something about him felt off—his protectiveness, his calm demeanor in the face of chaos. Why was he helping you?

You didn’t know, but for now, you decided to trust him. You didn’t have much of a choice.

San was overjoyed. Even the strongest word for happiness couldn’t capture the overwhelming elation surging through him.

He had found a human. A real, living human—someone other than himself. And not just any human, but a student from the very school they stood in.

Finally, he could go back to his family.

Well, a makeshift family, but a family nonetheless.

A group of people who had taught him that the blood of the covenant truly was thicker than the water of the womb.

He cherished them, loved them, and would do anything to protect them. Most of all, he missed them.

Every fiber of his being screamed for him to grab this girl and force her to unlock the path. He could taste freedom—it was right there within his grasp.

But San was no brute. He prided himself on being patient and calculating. He’d use this girl the right way, ensuring they both got out safely.

Still, a pang of guilt gnawed at him. She wasn’t just a tool; she was just as lost as he was, maybe even more so. Her confusion and fear were written all over her face.

But a man had to do what a man had to do.

“Hongjoong hyung,” he murmured to himself, his voice barely audible, “I’m coming home. Just wait a little longer.”

The sound of his own voice brought a small chuckle to his lips. Damn, I must sound like a lunatic, talking to myself like this. But it didn’t matter. He had a plan, and nothing would stop him now.

---

I had been walking for what felt like an eternity. Either this guy was playing some elaborate prank on me, or he really did live on the other side of the universe.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, we stopped in front of a room.

I recognized it immediately—this used to be the teachers’ lounge.

Now, though, it looked like he had claimed it as his own.

The room was cluttered but strangely organized. In one corner, several of those stark white uniforms the kids outside were wearing hung in neat rows.

The shelves, once filled with papers and notebooks, were now stocked with weapons and strange equipment I couldn’t identify.

A large table occupied one corner, covered in maps, papers, and a small computer that looked like it had been swiped from the computer lab.

On the opposite side, there was a pile of clothes and a small mattress on the floor. A mattress. Since when did our school have those? Where did he even get it?

“It’s getting late. You should sleep,” he said, his tone casual.

I stayed rooted at the doorway. The thought of sleeping in the same room as a man—a man I had just met—made my skin crawl.

“I don’t want to,” I replied, crossing my arms.

“Okay, then don’t,” he said, shrugging as he made his way to the mattress.

And that was it. Just like that.

Feeling slightly foolish, I shuffled over to a chair by the table and sat down. That’s when I realized just how cold it was. My legs were freezing, and my arms weren’t faring much better.

I curled up in the chair, hugging my knees in a futile attempt to stay warm.

I just wanted to sleep—sleep and maybe never wake up.

“You can wear my jacket,” his voice broke the silence.

Startled, I glanced at him. He wasn’t even looking at me, his arm draped over his eyes as he lay on the mattress.

“Is it washed?” I asked skeptically.

He let out a low chuckle. “Seriously? That’s your first concern? You’re freezing, and you’re worried about whether it’s clean?”

“Well, yeah,” I muttered.

“Do you want it or not?”

“Fine, I’ll take it,” I said, too cold to argue further.

Wrapped in his jacket, I was finally warm. The thick material cocooned me, and the lingering scent of something earthy—him—filled my senses.

It was so comforting that, before I knew it, I had passed out, slumped over the table with my arms folded under my head.

"Bro, I think San has company."

"What the fuck do you mean?"

Inside a makeshift room—cramped and chaotic with tables, equipment, holo screens, and all the clutter that a group of overgrown boys would gather—two figures were hard at work.

One of them, silver-haired and deeply focused, sat hunched over his task. Across the room, a black-haired guy with glasses was multitasking, eating a chocolate bar while working with one hand.

"Geez, stop eating while working, Wooyoung."

"I do what I fucking want, Yunho."

Yunho rolled his eyes, muttering a quiet "whatever" before cupping his hands around his mouth like someone yelling into a canyon.

"I think San has companyyy!" he sang in a childish tone.

Immediately, there was the sound of something crashing. Yunho looked up to see Wooyoung scrambling over boxes to get to him.

“What the fuck do you mean, bro?"

"Don't believe me? Just watch."

Wooyoung peered at the hologram and saw it: a red dot labeled "San," but beside it, another red dot marked "Unknown."

"You think it's a processed kid?" Wooyoung asked hesitantly.

"Doesn't seem like it. If it was processed, San wouldn’t let it stay in his room for long."

"True..."

"Hello, hello."

The two boys turned toward the door, where two figures entered the room. The first, a man with brown hair in a suit, strode in confidently. Behind him, a taller man with black hair streaked with light brown highlights followed, also suited up, both with guns in hand.

"Did you kill them, Mingi?" Yunho asked.

"Ask the maknae."

"For the love of god, hyung, I’m old enough! Stop babying me," the younger one whined, despite his protests sounding anything but mature.

"Jongho-ya, did you kill them like Hongjoong hyung asked?" Wooyoung teased, giggling.

"Yes," Jongho replied proudly.

"Aww, our Jongho’s all grown up! Come here and give hyung a hug!" Wooyoung exclaimed opening his arms and skipping toward the youngest.

"Nuh-uh, hyung. I’ve got a gun in my hand. I will rat ta-ta-ta you up."

"Wooyoung, calm down!" Yunho scolded.

While the three bickered, Mingi moved to the hologram and stared at it.

"Um, I don’t know much about your holo stuff, but I’m pretty sure someone’s in San’s room right now."

The three of them stopped, looking at him in disbelief.

"What? Am I not allowed to be smart?"

"No, it’s not that, hyung. It’s just...you were never smart to begin with," Jongho muttered, earning nods of agreement from Yunho and Wooyoung.

"Wow, the disrespect! I just helped you kill those players!"

"Okay, but jokes aside," Yunho said with urgency, "San really does have someone in his room. Should we tell Hongjoong hyung and Seonghwa hyung?"

"Tell me what?"

Speak of the devil.

Hongjoong entered the room, light brown hair slightly tousled. Though shorter than the others, his aura made it impossible to underestimate him. He was flanked by Seonghwa, the group’s oldest and de facto mom, and Yeosang, who had green hair with black stripes. Although he looked like a Greek statue, his strength is not to be underestimated.

"Tell me what, Yunho?" Hongjoong asked again, his voice firm.

"San has some company," Wooyoung blurted out.

"Ooh, really?" Yeosang chimed in, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Yes," Yunho confirmed, walking toward the hologram and shooing Mingi aside as the others crowded around him. "If you look at this red dot, you’ll see it says 'Unknown,' which means there’s an unidentified entity with San. It could be someone processed, but honestly, I doubt it. San’s not that reckless."

"I mean, he kinda is," Seonghwa remarked dryly.

"Aren’t you all?" Jongho muttered, earning glares.

"Enough, everyone," Hongjoong commanded. "Let’s focus. Wooyoung, Yunho, can we contact San right now?"

"We could," Wooyoung said hesitantly, "but wouldn’t that alert the other person?"

"Wooyoung," Hongjoong said slowly, "our priority is to ensure San comes back safely, whatever it takes. Let’s not overthink it."

"Okay, then I’ll—"

A sudden piercing sound emanated from the hologram. Yunho’s fingers flew over the controls as he opened a new tab, revealing San’s face. He was trying to contact them.

When San woke up, it was dark outside. He looked around, and the girl was still fast asleep, slumped over the table like a rock.

He walked toward the table and sat across from her, then grabbed the computer and started typing away quickly. He had recently found a way to communicate with his family, but it was only for a limited time.

"Hello?"

"Oh, hello San! Got company?"

Straight to the point, just like his best friend.

"Kinda, yeah."

"Who is it, San?" came the voice of the leader, one of his hyungs.

"A girl."

"OoooOooo—"

"Please shut up wooyoung"

"San, why do you have a random girl in your nook?" Seonghwa, the oldest, asked, his voice stern.

"Hyung, guys... she’s from this school."

A brief silence followed. No one spoke, waiting for their captain's response. Soon, a sinister grin spread across the captain's face, sending an eerie vibe through the room.

"Well, tell me more about her, San."

---

Ugh, I hate waking up.

I stirred awake to the sound of rustling clothes. Looking up, I saw, surprise, surprise, that guy again.

San. I still don’t trust him. At least he didn’t do anything while I was asleep.

He was rummaging through the white outfits stacked in the corner.

He suddenly turned, as if he could sense me watching him. "You should wear this," he said, holding up one of the outfits.

"What’s wrong with what I’m wearing now?" I replied, feeling petty.

"Sure, if you want to get attacked by a processed, be my guest." He put the outfit back in its place.

Ever since I met this guy, he’s been going on and on about these “processed” things. What the hell even are they?

"I mean to ask… what is this processed thing you keep mentioning?"

He stared at me for a few seconds, then said, "Wear this. I’ll tell you as we venture out."

---

The outfit turned out to be surprisingly comfy. It was flexible and looked good too.

It was basically a white shirt, with a white jacket and a hood over it, paired with white trousers. Pretty neat.

We were walking down the stairs when he suddenly started speaking.

"This world is a post-apocalyptic world."

Well, that’s one way to start a conversation.

"The government wants to create emotionless puppets to work for them. This world is basically full of puppets—no talking, no expressing, and most importantly..."

I looked at him, waiting. What was he going to say?

"...no music or dance."

If this was a text conversation, I would’ve sent the crickets emoji. There’s no way in hell this man just said that.

"No… music?" I asked, my voice timid.

"Yes, no music. No dance either. My family and I have been trying to bring fun back into this world. But because of some technical issues, I had to stay here."

"So, you’re staying here for a reason?"

"Yes," San said, the lies sliding off his tongue. He didn’t have a choice. To go back, he had to lie. For his plan to work, he had to lie. Did he feel bad? Who knew. The process had almost taken his emotions away, but he escaped at the right time. "And since you’re here alone, why don’t you help me with my task?"

Okay, so he sounds sketchy, but it makes sense. Damn, this is harder than choosing which album to buy, and that shit is hard...

Okay, maybe he’s starting to become a little more tolerable.

"What kind of help?"

"For now, stop being a whiny kid and listen to me."

I take back everything I just said—this guy is still a bitch.

"I’m not whiny."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

I looked around and realized we were on the ground floor, near the gate of the field. It felt so strange to see it so empty.

The emptiness of the field stretched out before you, its silence almost deafening. The once-familiar grounds now felt like a foreign, lifeless expanse, devoid of the chatter, laughter, and energy that used to fill it.

San kept walking ahead, his posture straight and his steps confident, as though he had a destination in mind. You, however, lingered near the gate, staring at the field, a strange ache forming in your chest.

"Keep up," he called over his shoulder, his tone clipped. "We don't have time to waste."

Reluctantly, you followed, your footsteps echoing against the eerily quiet surroundings.

"So," you began, your voice breaking the silence. "This whole 'no music, no dance' thing... It sounds ridiculous. How does anyone even live like that?"

"They don’t. They survive," San replied without looking back.

The words hit harder than you expected. "What do you mean?"

He stopped abruptly, turning to face you. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes seemed to hold a depth of pain that made your stomach churn.

"I mean exactly that," he said. "The processed aren’t alive. They’re shells of people, controlled, used. No thoughts of their own, no emotions. Just... tools."

You shivered, though it wasn’t cold. "That’s horrifying."

"It is." His voice softened, just slightly. "That’s why my family and I were trying to change things. Music and dance... they’re not just entertainment. They’re freedom. Expression. Resistance."

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. For the first time since meeting him, you saw a glimpse of something more—a passion, a purpose that made him seem less like a cold, calculated stranger and more like someone who truly cared.

"But why you?" you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it. "Why stay behind? Why not someone else?"

San hesitated, his gaze dropping to the ground. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer.

"It wasn’t supposed to be me," he admitted quietly. "But plans don’t always work out. Someone had to stay, and I was the only one who could.”

San lied straight through his teeth, the words slipping out with practiced ease. But deep down, a twinge of guilt gnawed at him. He hated deceiving you, especially when you looked at him with cautious curiosity, as though weighing whether to believe him.

He justified it to himself—he didn’t have a choice. If he told you the truth, that he was here because of a mishap, because things hadn’t gone according to plan, you’d never trust him. And trust was what he needed from you. Without it, his chances of getting back to his family, his real purpose, would slip away.

So, he buried the guilt and steeled his resolve.

You didn’t notice the flicker of hesitation in his gaze as he spoke, his voice steady and unwavering. "Helping me is the only way to survive here," he said. "Together, we can fix this world, bring back what’s been lost."

He sounded convincing, even to himself. And when you nodded, still wary but willing to listen, he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

But as the two of you walked through the quiet expanse, San’s mind drifted back to the faces of his family, their smiles, their laughter. He thought of the nights spent planning, dreaming of a world where music and dance weren’t forbidden.

He clenched his fists. Lying to you wasn’t just for him—it was for them, for everything they were fighting for. He couldn’t afford to feel guilty. Not yet.

San’s mind was racing as he led you through the eerily quiet halls of the school. He knew one thing, which was informed to him prior by the captain. The principal’s office held the item he needed—the key to returning to his realm, to his family. But there was one problem: he couldn’t enter it himself. The rules of this world were annoyingly rigid—only a student or a staff member of the school could access the office.

And that meant he needed you.

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye as you followed, your expression a mix of confusion and determination. You had no idea how critical you were to his plan. Yet, despite his guilt over using you, there was no other choice.

“The principal’s office…” he began, breaking the silence. “Do you even know where it is?”

You nod your head.

San looked relieved “That'll make things easy”

You look at him, gesturing around. “Half of here looks like it’s been taken over by… whatever you call those things.”

“Processed,” San corrected. “And they’ll make reaching the office more complicated.”

You stopped walking, folding your arms as suspicion flickered in your eyes. “Why do you even need to go there? What’s so important that it can’t wait?”

He hesitated, weighing his words carefully. “It’s something that could help us. Something that might give us a chance to survive in this place.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either.

After a few minutes of standing in silence he breaks it “We need to go somewhere to get a little information first. It's for me if you're wondering”

“Library, maybe?” you suggested.

“Good idea,” he agreed. “But the library is likely crawling with processed. We’ll have to be careful.”

The path to the library wasn’t easy. Shadows seemed to stretch unnaturally along the walls, and faint, distorted murmurs echoed through the corridors. San moved with sharp, calculated precision, motioning for you to stay close.

At one point, you almost stepped on a loose tile, but San’s arm shot out, pulling you back just as a processed shuffled by, its vacant eyes scanning the hall. The two of you froze, your breath shallow as you pressed against the wall.

The position was simply vulnerable. San’s back pressed against the wall, while yours was pressed against his chest. His one hand wrapped tightly around the front of your shoulders. Another hand held onto the knife.

Once the danger passed, you whispered, “How do you know so much about avoiding them?”

San hesitated for a moment, then replied smoothly, “I’ve been here long enough to learn their patterns. Stick with me, and you’ll be fine.”

Finally, you reached the library. The massive double doors loomed before you, slightly ajar. Inside, the faint glow of flickering lights revealed rows of dusty shelves and scattered books.

But you both knew it wouldn’t be that simple. San stepped forward, scanning the room. “Stay alert,” he warned. “The processed aren’t the only thing to worry about in places like this.”

“What else is there?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Let’s hope we don’t find out,” he muttered, his hand subtly resting on the dagger strapped to his side.

The moment you entered, the library twisted into a neon-lit maze of mirrors, the air turned cold, suffocating, like the maze itself was alive and hostile. The mirrors stretched endlessly, reflecting an infinite number of you—and none of them felt right.

“San?” you called out, panic lacing your voice.

No response.

“SAN!” This time, your voice cracked, raw and desperate.

Then you heard it—a low, guttural hiss, like the sound of something primal awakening. Your heart leapt to your throat as a shadow shifted in the reflection, something dark and unnatural slithering behind the glass.

The black void creatures emerged, their shapeless forms twisting grotesquely as they crawled from the reflections into your reality. Their hollow, inky eyes locked onto you with an intensity that froze your blood.

Your legs moved before your mind could catch up, adrenaline flooding your system. You bolted down the corridor of mirrors, each step echoing with a deafening clarity. The neon lights flickered erratically, casting jagged shadows of the creatures chasing you.

Behind you, the whispers started—low, distorted murmurs that seemed to claw at your sanity. They grew louder, overlapping, forming a cacophony of voices that sent shivers down your spine.

The maze twisted and shifted with every step you took, the mirrors rearranging themselves as if mocking your attempt to escape. You turned a corner and nearly collided with a reflection of yourself. But it wasn’t you—it was something else, something hollow-eyed and smiling eerily.

You screamed and turned the other way, but the creatures were gaining on you, their movements unnaturally fluid, like shadows dragged against their will.

“SAN!” you screamed, your voice cracking as tears streamed down your face.

“I’m here!” His voice rang out, faint and distant, but it was there.

Your chest heaved as you pushed forward, your feet pounding against the mirrored floor. You glanced back and instantly regretted it. The creatures were right behind you, their forms flickering and writhing like living nightmares. One of them lunged, its clawed appendage slicing through the air just inches from your shoulder.

A burst of neon light blinded you as you stumbled forward, crashing into a mirrored wall. The surface rippled under your touch, distorting your reflection. You turned, back pressed against the glass, as the creatures closed in.

The largest of them, a towering mass of void and shadow, loomed over you. Its hollow eyes burned with a hunger you couldn’t comprehend. Its whispers turned into a deafening roar as it lunged.

“NO!” you screamed, bracing for the impact.

But then the mirror behind you shattered, and an arm shot through the jagged shards, yanking you back with a force that knocked the breath out of you.

You tumbled to the ground, landing hard on the other side of the mirror. The air was different here, colder but less oppressive.

“Got you,” San’s voice came, low and fierce. His grip on your wrist was unyielding, and his eyes burned with determination.

“San!” you gasped, tears blurring your vision.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered, his tone sharp and commanding.

The creatures weren’t done. They began slipping through the shattered mirror, their forms reforming with a horrifying fluidity. San pulled you to your feet, his gaze darting around, calculating.

“We’re not safe yet,” he said, his voice tight. “Run!”

He pulled you along as the creatures poured into the new corridor, their shrieks echoing through the maze. You ran as fast as you could, San leading the way, his grip never faltering.

Suddenly, you both turned a corner and saw it—a door at the far end of the maze. Relief surged through you, but your hope was quickly dashed. The door wasn’t ordinary; it was made entirely of thick, reinforced glass.

San stopped beside you, his face set in grim determination. "We’re almost there. Keep moving!" he barked, grabbing your wrist and pulling you along.

The creatures shrieked behind you, their distorted forms growing closer with every second. You both skidded to a halt in front of the glass door, and San quickly examined it.

“It’s locked!” you gasped, panic rising in your throat.

“Not for long,” San muttered.

“Huh?”

Without hesitation, he stepped back, his fists clenching. Then, with a guttural yell, he slammed his fist into the glass. A web of cracks splintered across its surface, but it didn’t shatter.

The creatures were nearly upon you, their whispers turning into a deafening roar. San didn’t stop. He struck the glass again, this time with everything he had, and the door exploded into shards with a thunderous crash.

“Go!” he shouted, grabbing you by the waist.

“Wait—what are you—”

Before you could protest, San lifted you effortlessly and hurled you through the opening. You landed on the other side with a thud, scrambling to your feet just in time to see him climb up the jagged edges of the broken door, the neon lights behind him casting an almost heroic glow around his figure.

San leapt through, landing in a crouch beside you as the creatures clawed at the shattered remains of the glass. He grabbed your hand and pulled you up.

“Run,” he commanded, his voice steady despite the chaos.

You didn’t need to be told twice. Together, you sprinted away from the maze, the sounds of the creatures fading behind you as the two of you finally escaped its horrifying grasp.

Both of you stumbled out of the maze, panting heavily. The moment your feet hit solid ground, the mirrors behind you shimmered and collapsed inward, dissolving into nothingness. The silence that followed was deafening, the only sound being the ragged rhythm of your breathing.

San slammed his fist against the nearest wall, his jaw clenched tight. “Damn it! We failed!” His voice echoed through the empty library.

You flinched at his tone, but you didn’t blame him. After everything you had been through, it was hard to come to terms with failure.

San ran a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable. “All of that, and we still don’t know what I needed to know. We’re wasting time we don’t have!” His eyes darkened, a rare glimpse of despair flashing through them.

You were about to try and console him when something caught your attention—a slight weight in your pocket that wasn’t there before. Your hand slipped inside, and your fingers brushed against the edges of a piece of paper.

“What the…” you murmured, pulling it out. It was old, almost fragile, the edges yellowed as if it had existed for decades. Strange symbols and scrawled writing adorned its surface.

“San,” you called softly. He didn’t respond, too busy pacing angrily.

“San,” you repeated, more firmly this time.

“What?” he snapped, turning to you, his eyes sharp.

You held up the paper. “I found this in my pocket.”

His expression shifted from irritation to confusion. He stepped closer, snatching the paper from your hand and scanning it quickly. His eyes widened as he read, his grip on the paper tightening.

“This… this is it,” he breathed, almost disbelieving.

“What is it?” you asked, peering over his shoulder.

San pointed to a phrase written in bold near the bottom of the page: “The Key to Realms: Chromer.”

“It says the key we’re looking for isn’t a traditional key. It’s a sand clock,” San explained, his voice filled with sudden urgency. “A sand clock called Chromer. And it’s in the principal’s office.”

Your brows furrowed. “A sand clock? Why would something like that be the key to anything?”

“It’s not just any sand clock,” San replied, his tone deadly serious. “The Chromer is a relic that connects dimensions. It’s what I need to go back to my realm. This is the information we were searching for.”

You both stared at the paper, the weight of its significance settling over you.

“But how did it get in my pocket?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

San shook his head, his expression unreadable. “I don’t know. Someone—or something—wanted us to have this. Whatever force controls this place isn’t done with us yet.”

The two of you exchanged a glance, the reality of the situation sinking in. The journey was far from over. If anything, it had just begun.

The hallways stretched endlessly ahead, dim and cold, as if life had been sucked out of the building. The air felt heavier with every step, and the faint echoes of your hurried footsteps reverberated eerily. San walked ahead, his shoulders tense but his movements calculated and sure.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t stop glancing nervously over your shoulder. The memory of those void-like attackers from the maze haunted you, and your gut told you they weren’t done yet.

“Stay close,” San said over his shoulder, his voice low.

You nodded, clutching your jacket tighter as if it could shield you. Suddenly, a shiver ran down your spine—an unnatural chill that made your skin prickle. Before you could react, a guttural sound tore through the silence.

They were back.

Out of the shadows, black void-like figures materialized, their featureless forms surging toward you. But this time, something was off. They weren’t even glancing at San. All their focus was on you.

“San!” you screamed, backing up instinctively.

San turned sharply, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. “Why the hell are they only after you?” he muttered, stepping in front of you.

One of the figures lunged, and he swatted it away effortlessly with his arm. “Just stay behind me!”

“I’m trying!” you yelled, dodging another swipe from one of the creatures.

Despite his best efforts, they kept finding ways around him, their movements unnervingly quick and calculated. San could only defend so much, and his frustration was mounting.

“You need to fight back!” he barked, slashing through one of the attackers with a weapon he’d conjured from seemingly nowhere.

“I don’t know how to fight!” you snapped, ducking as another creature swiped at your head. Your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst out of your chest.

“Then run smarter!” San shouted, his voice strained. “Don’t just run blindly—watch their movements!”

Easy for him to say. You scrambled to your feet after nearly tripping over yourself, your breaths coming in short, panicked gasps. The creatures weren’t slowing down. One lunged at you from the side, and you barely managed to dodge, crashing against the wall.

“Damn it!” San growled. He lunged forward, grabbed your arm, and yanked you toward him. “Stay close—closer!”

He practically dragged you down the hallway, his speed making it hard for you to keep up. His movements were fluid, each strike precise as he knocked away the attackers that got too close.

Still, they came.

Another void-like figure lunged directly at you, faster than the others. You couldn’t move in time. But just as its claws were about to reach you, San spun around, shielding you with his body. The creature’s attack hit him squarely in the back.

San didn’t even flinch.

“San!” you gasped.

“I’m fine,” he gritted out, slashing the creature to nothingness. “But you won’t be if you don’t stop being a damn target.”

“I’m not trying to be a target!” you shot back, the fear making your voice crack.

San sighed heavily, glancing at the path ahead. “We’re almost there. You just have to survive a little longer.”

“That’s not very comforting!” you hissed.

He didn’t respond, instead focusing on cutting a path through the swarm of attackers. The principal’s office was just up ahead, its door faintly illuminated like a beacon.

“Run!” he commanded, pushing you forward.

With every ounce of strength you had, you sprinted toward the door. The attackers closed in, but San was right behind you, clearing a path and yelling for you to keep moving.

You reached the door, slamming your hands against its cold surface. It wouldn’t budge.

“It’s locked!” you shouted, panic surging.

“Move!” San barked, his voice sharp. He didn’t hesitate, driving his fist into the glass pane. It shattered instantly, the shards spraying everywhere. Without a second thought, he gripped you around the waist and hoisted you up.

“Go through!” he demanded, lifting you through the broken opening and onto the other side.

You scrambled over, your heart still racing. San quickly followed, vaulting through the broken glass. He landed beside you, his chest heaving.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the chaos behind you finally falling silent. Then San glanced at you, his expression unreadable.

“You’re alive,” he said simply, his tone more relieved than he let on.

“Barely,” you muttered, collapsing against the wall.

He smirked faintly, brushing glass dust off his clothes. “Good enough.”

Your legs felt like jelly, your lungs burned from the constant running, and every part of you was screaming to stop. The fear, the chaos—it was all too much. You pressed your back against the wall, glaring at San as he dusted himself off like nothing had happened.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you snapped, your voice trembling with exhaustion and frustration. “This is insane, San! I’m not some fighter, I’m just... I’m just a student who got stuck in this nightmare!”

San turned to you, his sharp gaze softening ever so slightly. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, as if weighing his words.

“I didn’t ask for this either,” he finally said, his voice calm but firm. “But we don’t have a choice. You’re my only shot at fixing this mess, and I’m your only shot at surviving it.”

You scoffed, throwing up your hands. “Great pep talk, really. But I’m done, San. I can’t keep running and almost dying every five minutes!”

Instead of arguing, he pulled out his watch. The faint, flickering blue light of the device illuminated his face as he fiddled with it.

“What are you doing now?” you asked, exasperated.

“Calling my family,” he said simply, his tone uncharacteristically soft.

The watch buzzed faintly, then a holographic screen popped up, displaying blurry but familiar faces. You recognized one of them immediately—the leader, Hongjoong, with his sharp eyes and commanding presence.

“San,” Hongjoong’s voice came through, clear and steady. “You’re still alive.”

“Barely,” San muttered, glancing at you. “I’ve got her with me. We made it out of the maze, but things are getting worse. The attackers are targeting her now.”

“Why her?” Seonghwa’s voice chimed in, his tone calm but laced with concern.

“I don’t know,” San admitted, running a hand through his hair. “But it’s making everything ten times harder.”

Another voice cut in—Wooyoung’s. “Maybe she’s got something they want? Or maybe she just smells like fresh prey.”

“Wooyoung, not helpful,” Yunho interjected.

You felt scared. Being in the mercy of these unknown and certainly shady men. He can do whatever he wants to you. It all came down like a mirror shattering. Ironic

“Look,” San continued, ignoring the bickering, “we’re on our way to the principal’s office. We think the key—the Chromer—is there. But it’s getting harder to move without drawing attention.”

“You need to keep her safe, San,” Hongjoong said, his voice firm but an underlying meaning present. “Whatever it takes.”

San’s jaw tightened. “I know that, hyung.”

You sat quietly, watching the exchange. It was clear that these people weren’t just his team—they were his family, and their concern for him was genuine.

“San,” a new voice broke in, deeper and more commanding. It was Jongho. “Do you think she can handle it?”

San glanced at you, his eyes searching your face. “She’ll have to.”

Your heart sank at his words. He wasn’t wrong, but the weight of it felt crushing. You wanted to argue, to tell them all that you weren’t cut out for this. But something about the way San looked at you—determined yet oddly reassuring—made you hold your tongue.

“Stay in contact,” Hongjoong said. “And don’t do anything stupid.”

The hologram flickered and disappeared, leaving you and San in the dim light of the hallway.

He slipped the watch back onto his wrist and turned to you. “I know this is hard,” he said quietly, his voice softer than before. “But we’re almost there. Just a little longer, okay?”

You looked at him, searching his face for any sign of doubt. But all you saw was determination—and maybe, just maybe, a hint of trust.

“Fine,” you muttered, pushing yourself off the wall. “But if I die, I’m haunting you forever.”

San smirked faintly. “Fair deal.”

As San and you finally found the door to the principal's office, you both stopped in front of it. The door was large, dark, and imposing, a heavy weight hanging in the air as you both stared at it.

San’s eyes locked onto you, his face tense. “You need to go in there. The Chromer is in that office, and it’s the only thing that can get me back to my realm. You have to do this.”

You hesitated, feeling the fear creep into your chest. “I... I can’t, San. What if something happens to me in there? I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m not like you. I can’t fight.”

San’s frustration was palpable, his fists clenching as his tone grew more urgent. “We don’t have time for hesitation. You have to go in there and get it. Do you understand?”

You took a step back, heart pounding. “I can’t do it. I’m not strong enough. I’ve never been strong enough.”

Before San could reply, the watch on his wrist buzzed, and Hongjoong’s calm voice came through.

“Hey,” Hongjoong said, his tone reassuring yet firm, “we know you’re scared. But you have to do this. San needs you.”

Next, Seonghwa spoke up, his voice gentle but steady. “You might not think you’re strong, but you are. You’ve already done more than most people could ever imagine. You’ve come this far, haven’t you? That’s strength.”

You felt a sense of warmth from their words, but the fear still held you tight. Then you heard Jongho’s voice, clear and strong, cutting through the fog of doubt in your mind.

“Listen to me,” Jongho said, his voice carrying that same unwavering confidence. “You’re not alone. We’re all right here, cheering you on. I know it’s scary, but I believe in you. We all do.”

A slight shift in San’s demeanor caught your attention as he stared at you. His frustration softened, replaced by a look of understanding.

"Jongho's right," San added, his voice quieter now, tinged with sincerity. “I wouldn’t be asking you if I didn’t believe in you too. You’ve got this.”

The weight of their words, their unwavering belief in you, was enough to start dissolving the fear. You didn’t want to disappoint them—especially not San.

Yeosang’s voice cut in next, surprising in its warmth. “You’re stronger than you think. You can do this. We’re right here with you. One step at a time. Just trust yourself.”

Mingi chimed in with his usual confidence, “And if you need any backup, we’ve got your back. We’re with you every step of the way.”

Wooyoung added his usual teasing tone, “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, trust me. Now go show us what you’ve got.”

With each of their voices echoing in your mind, you felt the weight of your fear start to lift. You weren’t alone in this. They were all behind you.

You took a deep breath, summoning the courage you didn’t even know you had. “Okay,” you whispered, your voice steadier than before. “I’ll do it. I’ll go in.”

San’s expression softened, a quiet gratitude in his eyes. “Thank you,” he said, his voice sincere. “You don’t know what this means to me.”

You gave him a small nod, looking back at the door. The fear was still there, but now there was determination too. You weren’t just doing this for yourself—you were doing it for San and his family. And that made all the difference.

You stepped up to the door, your hand shaking slightly as you reached for the cold handle. Before you could second-guess yourself, you turned it, pushing the door open slowly. With one last glance at San, you stepped into the unknown, ready to face whatever waited inside.

San and you stood in front of the principal’s office. It looked imposing, with dark, heavy wooden doors that had a strange energy about them. The air felt thick, as if something was lurking just beyond those doors.

San, his face tense with anticipation, turned to you. “You have to go in. We don’t have time to waste.”

You took a step back, shaking your head. “I can’t... What if something happens to me? What if I get caught?” Your heart raced, fear creeping up your spine. You didn’t want to be the weak link, but the thought of stepping into that office alone was overwhelming.

San’s jaw clenched, frustration flickering in his eyes. His patience, usually so steady, was starting to crack. “We don’t have a choice! You’re the only one who can get in there. You’re the student. I’m not allowed in.”

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you muttered, looking away, unable to meet his gaze.

The tension in the air thickened. San’s hands clenched at his sides, his fingers twitching as if he was on the verge of snapping. But before he could say anything, his watch buzzed to life, and the voice of his captain echoed in the silence.

“San, calm down,” Hongjoong’s voice came through, cool and authoritative. “Let her breathe. You know she’s scared.”

San’s eyes hardened as he spoke through clenched teeth. “But we need this, hyung. We can’t afford to fail now.”

“I know,” Hongjoong responded. “But you can’t push her. You’ve trained with her, you know what she’s capable of. Give her a moment. We can’t force her to go in, but we can help her understand why it’s important.”

San's gaze softened slightly as he looked at you, seeing the fear written all over your face. He let out a slow breath and then spoke, his tone more gentle this time. “Look, I know it’s terrifying. But you’re not alone. We’re all here, and we won’t let anything happen to you. You just have to trust me, and trust yourself.”

You felt the weight of his words, but still, doubt lingered in your mind. “What if it’s too dangerous?”

Hongjoong’s voice came again, more insistent. “It is dangerous, but do you want to know what’s even more dangerous? The alternative. We don’t know how much time we have. You’re the key to all of this, and you can’t let fear stand in the way now.”

San stepped closer, his eyes unwavering. “We’ll get through this together. But you need to go in. Do it for us. For you. And for what’s right.”

You hesitated, but then San’s words sunk in. He was right. The fear that had held you back was still there, but so was the determination. You had come this far. You couldn’t turn back now.

Taking a deep breath, you nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

San’s expression softened with relief, but there was a hint of pride in his eyes. “Thank you.” He stepped back, his eyes fixed on the door. “I’ll be right here. Just get what we need.”

With a final look at him, you reached for the door handle, your fingers trembling slightly as you pushed it open. The darkness inside was almost suffocating, but you stepped in, ready to face whatever came next.

As the door clicked shut behind you, you could hear San’s voice, faint but comforting, echoing through the hallway. “You’ve got this.”

You pushed the door open, the sound of it creaking in the silence. Inside, the room was dimly lit, with rows of old bookshelves lining the walls. A desk stood in the center, cluttered with papers and objects that looked ancient and important. The air felt heavy with a strange energy, the kind that made your skin tingle and your heart race.

Your eyes scanned the room, and that’s when you saw it—the sand clock, sitting on a pedestal in the far corner. The chromer. It glowed faintly, its sands moving impossibly slow inside the glass.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breath as you walked towards it. Each step felt like it was pulling you deeper into the unknown. This was it. This was the key. You could feel its power, like it was calling to you, urging you to take it.

You reached the pedestal, hesitating for just a moment. Was this really happening? Was this how you were going to help San? You had no idea how this sand clock worked, but you didn’t have a choice. You picked it up gently, feeling the cool glass under your fingers. The sand inside swirled, almost like it had a life of its own.

Just as you turned to leave, you heard a faint creak of the floor behind you. Your heart skipped a beat, and you spun around, instinctively clutching the chromer tighter. But it was only the wind. There was no one else in the room, nothing to worry about—at least, for now.

You breathed a sigh of relief and made your way back to the door, keeping a sharp eye on the room around you. With one final glance at the sand clock in your hands, you pushed open the door and stepped out.

San was standing there, his back to the wall, waiting. His expression softened when he saw you holding the chromer. Without a word, he walked towards you, his hand outstretched.

“We did it,” you said, holding it out to him.

San nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips, though his eyes were full of concern. “You’re alright?”

You nodded back, still a little shaken but relieved to be out of there. “I’m fine.”

He reached for the chromer, taking it from your hands. As his fingers brushed against it, he let out a quiet sigh, as if the weight of the moment had finally caught up with him. “This is it,” he said softly. “With this, I can go back.”

You both stood in the hallway, the weight of your mission heavy in the air. It wasn’t over yet, but at least you had what you came for.

San gave you a long look, his eyes filled with gratitude. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

San’s arms suddenly wrapped around you, lifting you off the ground effortlessly. You gasped, your heart racing as you instinctively tried to push away, but his grip was firm, secure.

“Wait—San!” you stammered, panic rising in your chest. “What are you doing?! Put me down!”

His smile was wide, his eyes shining with pure relief and joy. “We did it,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “I’m not letting you go yet. You helped me get this, and you’re going to be safe with me.”

You squirmed slightly in his arms, but the more you tried to pull away, the tighter his grip seemed to become. The sensation of being carried—of someone else having complete control over you—was overwhelming, and you couldn’t quite figure out why it made you feel so vulnerable. You had always been independent, had always taken care of yourself. No one had ever carried you before.

“San, I—” You trailed off, trying to calm your racing thoughts. His steady heartbeat echoed against your back, reminding you how close you were to him. “Please, I’m not used to this.”

He slowed his pace slightly, as if sensing your discomfort, but he didn’t stop. “I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.”

Despite his words, a knot of unease twisted in your stomach. Your chest tightened, and your hands instinctively gripped his jacket, as if trying to steady yourself. You couldn’t explain it—the way he was holding you felt so... foreign. So intimate.

You swallowed, attempting to push the discomfort aside, but the fear still lingered. The feeling of being completely at his mercy, so exposed in his arms, made your heart race for all the wrong reasons.

“San, I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice small.

His steps faltered, and he looked down at you, his expression softening. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said gently. “I won’t hurt you. I’ll get you to safety.”

But the truth was, you weren’t just scared of being in his arms—you were scared of what this might mean. You weren’t sure how to handle the feeling of being cared for, of being protected in such an overwhelming way.

You didn’t know what to say, how to react to all of it, so instead, you stayed quiet, allowing him to carry you. You didn’t want to seem weak, didn’t want to burden him with your confusion.

And yet, despite your unease, a part of you felt comforted by his hold. Part of you felt... safe.

San adjusted his jacket as he stood in the middle of the chromer's glowing circle. The energy buzzed around him, and his mind was calm yet excited. This was the moment he'd been planning for days. He was going to ensure everything was set right — that you would go back to your world, and he would return to his with his friends.

As the chromer activated, the world blurred and spun, the familiar hum of its power resonating in his chest. Then, everything stopped abruptly. He felt solid ground beneath his feet, and as his vision cleared, a grin spread across his face.

He was back. The comforting sight of his realm and his friends standing nearby filled him with relief. "Finally," he muttered, stepping forward. But then, a small movement behind him made him freeze.

He turned his head slowly, and there you were, standing wide-eyed and just as disoriented as him. San’s smile faltered, replaced by a mix of confusion and disbelief. His friends, who had started to approach him with cheers of welcome, suddenly stopped in their tracks. Their gazes darted between him and you, their expressions mirroring the bewilderment in his heart.

“San…” Wooyoung was the first to break the silence, his tone tinged with disbelief. "Who’s… she?"

San opened his mouth, closed it again, then ran a hand through his hair in frustration. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to be here. He had been sure the chromer would teleport you back to your world, far away from his chaotic reality. But somehow, you were here, standing in his realm, right next to him.

“I—uh—this wasn’t supposed to happen,” San stammered, glancing at you and then at his friends.

You looked at him, your voice soft but steady despite the strangeness of it all. “San… why am I here?”

Before he could answer, Yunho stepped forward, his tall frame imposing but his tone kind. “Wait, wait, wait. Are you telling me this is the girl you’ve been talking about?” He gave San a knowing look, a sly smirk tugging at his lips.

San groaned inwardly. “Yes, but—listen, this wasn’t the plan. She wasn’t supposed to come here.”

“Well, she’s here now,” Seonghwa chimed in, crossing his arms. His gaze flickered to you, assessing but not unkind. “What are you going to do about it?”

San’s mind raced. He turned to you, his tone softening. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how this happened. I thought the chromer would send you back to your world.”

You blinked, taking a hesitant step closer to him. “So… this is your world? Your realm?”

San nodded slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line. He could see the questions swirling in your eyes, but what caught him off guard was the faint flicker of awe. You weren’t panicking; instead, you were looking around with cautious curiosity.

“Okay, hold up,” Wooyoung interrupted, stepping between the two of you with a playful grin. “This is kind of amazing. She’s here, Sannie. Isn’t that… good?”

San shot him a glare. “That’s not the point.”

“So what are we gonna do now?” Mingi piped up, his voice heavy. He gestured at you dramatically, “we have a child with us”

You look at him with an offended face “I'm not a child. Just because you got an extra 1ft up your butt doesn't mean I'm a child”

San sighed, rubbing his temples. This was a problem. But atleast his friends were enjoying this more than they should, but deep down, a part of him couldn’t deny the strange sense of relief. You were here. With him. It wasn’t what he had planned, but maybe… just maybe, this wasn’t a bad thing.

“I don't know,” San muttered, glancing at you. “You’re here now. We’ll figure this out together.”

“i don't trust any of you, just take me somewhere safe”

San flinched slightly at your blunt tone. His friends exchanged amused glances, but there was a hint of curiosity in their eyes as they sized you up.As you walked, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of their gazes—some curious, others amused—but it was San's quiet presence beside you that gave you a strange sense of reassurance. Maybe, just maybe, you could trust him. For now.

"Safe?" Wooyoung echoed, placing a hand dramatically on his chest. "You wounded me! We are the definition of safe."

You crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, sure. If safe means being surrounded by a bunch of guys who probably argue over who gets the last slice of pizza."

Wooyoung gasped in mock outrage while Yunho let out a deep chuckle. "She’s not wrong," Yunho admitted, scratching the back of his neck.

"Guys, can we focus?" San snapped, rubbing his temples again. He turned to you, his expression softening despite the frustration evident in his voice. "Look, I understand this is overwhelming. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. But I promise, no one here is going to hurt you. You’re safe with us."

You glanced around at the group, noting the mix of playful energy and genuine care in their faces. Still, the situation felt too surreal, and trust wasn’t something you handed out easily.

"Fine," you said reluctantly, though your posture remained guarded. "But if anyone tries anything funny, I’ll…" You trailed off, looking down at your empty hands. "I’ll… figure something out," you finished awkwardly.

Seonghwa smirked, his voice calm and teasing. "Noted. No funny business."

Behind you, Mingi whispered loudly to Jongho, "She’s feisty. I like her."

San shot him a glare over his shoulder. "Not helping, Mingi."

Hongjoong and yeosang, who had been quietly observing from the back, finally decided to chime in.

Hongjoong adjusted his captain’s hat and gave a dramatic sigh. “So, let me get this straight,” he said, stepping forward and crossing his arms. “San accidentally brought you here, and now we’re babysitting?”

"Not a child," you snapped again, glaring at him.

Yeosang tilted his head, his calm demeanor in stark contrast to the chaos around him. “She has a point,” he said simply. “But the bigger question is, what are we going to do now? We don’t even know how she fits into this.”

You frowned, feeling like you were being talked about like some kind of puzzle piece. “I’m standing right here, you know. Maybe ask me instead of acting like I’m some sort of problem.”

San sighed, clearly at his wit’s end. “Hongjoong, Yeosang, can we not make this worse? She’s already stressed out enough.”

“Worse?” Hongjoong raised an eyebrow. “You mean worse than accidentally dragging someone into our realm? Yeah, okay, San, sure. Not worse at all.”

Yeosang shrugged, his expression unreadable. “Well, she’s here now. Might as well make the best of it.”

You glanced between them, trying to gauge if they were as unpredictable as the others. "Are these two always this cryptic?" you asked, pointing at Hongjoong and Yeosang.

“Cryptic?” Yeosang repeated, almost amused. “No. I’d say I’m more… realistic.”

“And I’m the strategist,” Hongjoong added, smirking. “Which is why I’m asking the important questions. Like what exactly you plan to do while you’re here.”

You sighed, exasperated. “I didn’t plan anything! I didn’t ask to be here!”

San, sensing the tension rising again, stepped in quickly. “Okay, that’s enough. We can figure everything out once we’ve all calmed down.”

Hongjoong shrugged, falling back into step with the group. “Fair enough. But don’t think I’m letting this slide, San. We’re going to need answers.”

Yeosang gave you a small nod, his calm gaze meeting yours. “You’ll be fine. We’re not as bad as we look.”

You weren’t entirely convinced, but something about Yeosang’s steady demeanor was oddly comforting. Still, as you followed the group deeper into the unknown, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of something much bigger.

The tent was much larger on the inside than it seemed, a testament to the strange realm you’d been dragged into. The small room San and Wooyoung led you to was simple but cozy—there was a bed with neatly folded blankets, a small wooden table, and a lantern casting a soft glow across the space.

“Here,” San said, gesturing toward the bed. “It’s not much, but you’ll be comfortable.”

Wooyoung grinned, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Don’t get used to the royal treatment, though. We’re only doing this because someone—” he threw a pointed look at San, “—messed up.”

San rolled his eyes, clearly ignoring Wooyoung’s jab. “Get some rest. We’ll figure everything out tomorrow.”

The two of them left, closing the door behind them. You sat on the edge of the bed, sighing as the muffled voices of the group reached you. They were having a meeting about you, their tones ranging from curious to concerned.

It was only then that you noticed something odd about this room. It felt… lived in. A small detail here, a personal touch there. Then it hit you—this was San’s room.

The realization was confirmed when you heard Wooyoung loudly teasing San outside.

“You’re really giving up your room for her? You’re softer than I thought,” Wooyoung said, cackling.

“Shut up,” San replied, sounding exasperated. “I brought her here. It’s my responsibility to make sure she’s okay.”

“You could’ve just given her my room,” Mingi’s voice chimed in, indignant.

“No way,” San shot back. “She’s my problem. I’ll crash with Yeosang.”

“I didn't ask for this, why does my consent not matter?”

Everyone ignored yeosang.

You blinked, surprised by the admission. He was going out of his way to make you comfortable, even at his own expense. Despite everything, a small part of you felt… touched.

Back in the main area, the conversation continued.

“So, what’s the plan?” Hongjoong asked, his voice sharp and commanding.

“We’ll figure it out tomorrow,” San said firmly. “She’s been through enough for one day.”

“You’re taking this pretty seriously,” Yeosang observed, his tone neutral but laced with curiosity.

“Because I’m the one who messed up,” San replied.

You lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. It was strange being in this world, surrounded by people who were so different yet oddly familiar. You couldn’t help but wonder how long this would last—and what San’s words really meant.

As the muffled voices outside the room grew louder, it became apparent that San's friends were thoroughly enjoying the situation at his expense.

You soon realised that wooyoung guy would not leave San alone about the fact that he has brought you here.

"San," Wooyoung's teasing tone cut through the chatter, "what’s the deal with you and the girl, huh? She gets your room and your undivided attention. Should we start planning a wedding?”

San groaned audibly, likely rubbing his temples again. "Wooyoung, shut up."

Mingi jumped in with a laugh. "Nah, but seriously, you’re awfully protective, don’t you think? I’ve never seen you this flustered."

“Maybe San has a crush,” Seonghwa chimed in, his usually composed voice dripping with amusement.

“I do not have a crush,” San snapped. "I’m just trying to fix my mistake. That’s it."

Hongjoong chuckled, crossing his arms. "You know, San, your ‘mistake’ is starting to feel less like an accident and more like fate."

Even Yeosang, who rarely joined in on teasing, raised an eyebrow and smirked. “You did seem pretty quick to give up your room for her. Very... gallant of you.”

Jongho grinned, leaning back against the tent wall. "Should we be worried? What if this becomes a thing? Next thing we know, he’s ditching missions to hang out with her."

“Guys,” San groaned, his voice rising in frustration, “I swear, if you don’t stop—”

“San and the mystery girl sitting in a tree—” Wooyoung started singing obnoxiously, only to be interrupted by Seonghwa laughing so hard he had to lean on Mingi for support.

“Alright, enough!” San finally snapped, his face undoubtedly red from a mix of anger and embarrassment. “She’s not a child, she’s not my crush, and she’s not my girlfriend. She’s just—she’s here because of me, okay? I’m taking responsibility!”

His declaration only earned him a chorus of exaggerated "ooohs" and smirks from his friends.

“Whatever you say, Romeo,” Hongjoong said, winking.

From inside the room, you couldn’t help but overhear every word. You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips. These guys might’ve been a handful, but there was something oddly comforting about the way they teased San. And for some reason, knowing he was defending you—even against his friends—made your heart flutter just a little.

The next morning, the sound of a light knock on the door pulled you from sleep. As you groggily opened your eyes, Jongho stood at the entrance, arms crossed, his usual stoic expression softening ever so slightly.

“Get up,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. “I’m in charge of you today. San’s orders. We’re starting with shooting practice.”

Still half-asleep, you blinked at him. “Shooting?”

Jongho nodded, walking over to a corner where a small handgun rested in a holster. “This world isn’t safe. You need to know how to defend yourself. If you’re going to stick around, you can’t be useless.”

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence,” you muttered under your breath, dragging yourself out of bed.

Once outside, Jongho led you to an open field near the camp, where targets had been set up against a cluster of trees. He handed you the gun, explaining the basics of safety and handling in his usual no-nonsense manner.

“Okay,” he said, stepping back. “Let’s see what you’ve got. Aim at the target.”

You took a deep breath, gripping the gun tightly and lining up the shot. To your surprise—and his—you hit the target on your first try.

Jongho raised an eyebrow. “Not bad,” he admitted, a flicker of surprise in his tone. “But your stance is all wrong. You’re gripping it too hard, and your feet are too close together.”

Before you could react, you fired again. This time, the recoil sent you stumbling backward, nearly losing your balance. Jongho caught you by the arm, steadying you with ease.

“Yeah, that’s what I mean,” he said, his expression softening just a little. “You’ve got good aim, but if you don’t fix your posture, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

He stepped closer, adjusting your grip and positioning your arms with surprising patience. His hands were firm but careful as he guided you.

“Feet shoulder-width apart,” he instructed, nudging your leg with his boot. “And don’t lock your elbows. Let the gun’s recoil flow through you, not against you.”

You followed his instructions, firing again. This time, the shot landed perfectly, and you barely felt the recoil.

Jongho nodded approvingly. “Better. Keep practicing like that, and you might actually survive out here.”

A small smile crept onto your lips. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

As the morning went on, the two of you continued practicing. While Jongho’s usual stoicism remained, you couldn’t help but notice the faint glimmer of pride in his eyes every time you improved. Despite his tough exterior, there was something reassuring about his presence, and for the first time, you felt like you could truly hold your own in this strange, dangerous world.

Later that day, as the group gathered around their makeshift campfire, Jongho casually brought up the morning’s events.

“She’s good at aiming,” he said simply, crossing his arms as he leaned back against a log.

Yunho immediately seized the opportunity, his face lighting up with a mischievous grin. “Oh, I bet she is. She already pierced San’s heart.”

The group erupted into laughter, a mix of playful jabs and exaggerated gasps.

“Classic Yunho,” Mingi chuckled, nudging San with his elbow. “You gonna deny it?”

To everyone’s surprise, San didn’t snap back or brush it off like he usually did. Instead, he glanced down at the fire, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks.

“I—” he started, but then shook his head, letting out a small, almost shy laugh. “I’m not even going to argue with you guys.”

The laughter paused for a moment as everyone processed what he’d just said.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Wooyoung leaned forward, his eyes wide. “Did San just admit to something? Did I hear that right?”

“Mark this day,” Hongjoong said dramatically, pretending to jot something down. “The day San didn’t deny his feelings.”

Yeosang smirked, his usual quiet demeanor replaced by a rare glint of amusement. “Looks like someone’s getting soft.”

San groaned, burying his face in his hands. “You’re all insufferable.”

“But you love us,” Seonghwa teased with a knowing smile, earning more laughter from the group.

Jongho, watching the chaos unfold, couldn’t help but smirk. “All I said was she’s good at aiming. You guys took it and ran.”

“Yeah, but you have to admit,” Yunho said, still grinning, “jongho said she hit the most important target without even trying.”

San rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. As much as his friends teased him, there was no denying the truth they’d managed to uncover so easily.

As you sat on the edge of the camp, your eyes drifted to where Wooyoung, San, and Yeosang were huddled together. The way they bantered and laughed, their easy camaraderie so natural, made your chest ache in a way you hadn’t expected.

They were teasing each other relentlessly, Wooyoung doubling over in laughter while Yeosang calmly delivered a comeback that made San groan dramatically.

You sighed, pulling your knees up to your chest. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. Not because you didn’t like them being close, but because you wished you had something like that—best friends who knew you so well, who could make you laugh even in the most stressful situations, who felt like home.

The loneliness you’d carried for so long suddenly felt heavier. You tried to push it away, but the thought lingered. What would it feel like to be part of something like that?

Wooyoung caught your gaze first, his playful smile faltering when he noticed your expression. Nudging San with his elbow, he nodded in your direction.

San followed his glance, his brows furrowing when he saw you. Without hesitation, he stood up and motioned for Yeosang and Wooyoung to follow him.

“Hey,” San called out as they approached. “What are you doing all the way over here?”

You shrugged, forcing a smile. “Just sitting.”

Wooyoung plopped down next to you, resting his chin in his hand. “You looked like you were deep in thought. Care to share with the class?”

Yeosang sat on your other side, his calm presence immediately grounding. “Something bothering you?” he asked softly.

You hesitated, not wanting to admit what you were feeling. “It’s nothing. Just… thinking about stuff.”

The conversation earlier left you feeling a little lighter, but not entirely. As the evening rolled in and everyone busied themselves with their tasks, you retreated to the small room San had given up for you. Sitting on the bed, you stared at the wall, lost in thought.

A soft knock on the door broke the silence. “It’s me,” San’s voice came through. “Can I come in?”

You hesitated, then called out, “Yeah, sure.”

The door creaked open, and San stepped inside, closing it gently behind him. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. “You okay?”

You nodded quickly. “I’m fine.”

San raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “You didn’t seem fine earlier. You’ve been quiet ever since. What’s going on?”

You looked away, gripping the edge of the bed. “It’s nothing.”

“Don’t pull that with me,” he said, his tone soft but firm. “You can talk to me. I won’t judge you.”

Something about his sincerity broke through the wall you were trying so hard to keep up. With a sigh, you finally admitted, “I felt jealous earlier. Watching you and your friends… I don’t have anything like that. I never did.”

San’s brows furrowed as he moved closer, sitting down across from you. “What do you mean?”

You swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat. “I don’t have those kinds of bonds. Not with my family, and definitely not with friends. I’ve always been… on my own. Watching you all laugh and support each other just made me realize what I’m missing.”

The room went silent for a moment. San’s gaze softened, his usual playful demeanor replaced by something more serious. “You’ve been carrying that around all this time?”

You shrugged, trying to brush it off. “It’s not a big deal. I’ve managed this far.”

San shook his head. “No, it is a big deal. You shouldn’t have to feel that way.”

You looked down, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just how it is. I’ve learned to deal with it.”

San reached out, gently placing a hand over yours. “You don’t have to deal with it alone anymore. You have us now. You have me now.”

His words made your chest tighten, but this time, it wasn’t out of sadness. It was the comfort you hadn’t realized you needed.

“You really mean that?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

San smiled, a warmth in his eyes that made you feel a little less alone. “I do. We’re here for you. And I’m here for you, no matter what.”

San's words lingered in the air, heavy with sincerity, but you couldn’t bring yourself to fully accept them. You’d heard promises like that before—words meant to comfort, to soothe—but they rarely held up. People always said they’d be there, and yet, when it mattered most, they disappeared.

You offered him a faint smile, hoping it was enough to convince him you were okay. “Thanks, San. I appreciate it.”

But deep down, the wall you’d built around yourself refused to budge. You couldn’t afford to let it down, not when experience had taught you that trust came with consequences.

San tilted his head, studying you for a moment. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

Your breath hitched, but you quickly shook your head. “It’s not that. I just… I’m not used to this. It’ll take time.”

He frowned, leaning forward slightly. “I get it. I can’t change what’s happened to you before. But I want you to know I’m not like that. None of us are. When we say you’re part of this now, we mean it.”

You wanted to believe him, wanted to let those words sink in, but the scars of broken trust ran too deep. Instead, you nodded, giving him another polite, distant response. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

San’s shoulders slumped slightly, like he knew he hadn’t quite reached you. But he didn’t push further. Instead, he stood, looking at you with a quiet determination. “Alright. Take your time. I’ll just have to prove it to you.”

You nod your head hesitantly. Doubts still circling your mind.

“You keep saying that, but I know you’re not gonna. You don’t have to tell me everything, but… I wish you would.”

For a long moment, the room was silent. Finally, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to do this, San. Trust people. Believe that they’ll stay. I’ve been let down too many times.”

San’s gaze softened, and he leaned forward slightly. “I get it. I do. But… not everyone is going to hurt you. Not me.”

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “How can you say that? You don’t know what the future holds. People change, San. They leave.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, his tone steady. “But I’m here now, and I’m not planning to go anywhere. I mean it.”

You looked at him, searching his face for any sign of insincerity. There was none. Still, you shook your head, your walls refusing to come down. “You don’t understand, San. I’ve heard those words before.”

He stayed quiet for a moment, then stood and extended a hand toward you. “Come with me.”

You blinked at him. “What?”

“Just… trust me. For tonight,” he said, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips.

Hesitant, you took his hand. He led you out of the room and through the quiet camp, eventually stopping in a small clearing lit by the moon. The rest of the group was nowhere in sight, leaving the two of you surrounded by stillness.

“I wanted to show you something,” San said, letting go of your hand and stepping back. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, worn object—a charm.

You tilted your head. “What’s that?”

“It’s something my mom gave me before I left home,” he explained, his voice carrying a mix of nostalgia and warmth. “She told me to hold onto it whenever I felt lost or unsure. And I wanted you to have it.”

Your eyes widened. “San, I can’t—”

“You can,” he interrupted gently, stepping closer. “You’re not alone anymore. And even if you don’t believe me now, I’ll keep proving it until you do.”

The sincerity in his voice, the vulnerability in his eyes—it broke something in you. Tears welled up despite your efforts to hold them back.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, your voice trembling.

“Because you matter to me,” he said simply. “More than you know.”

The walls you’d built so carefully began to crack. Slowly, you nodded, accepting the charm. “Okay,” you whispered. “I’ll try. For you.”

San smiled, his relief palpable. “That’s all I ask.”

As the night stretched on, the two of you stayed there, talking quietly under the stars. And for the first time in a long time, you felt a spark of hope—a belief that maybe, just maybe, you’d finally found someone who wouldn’t leave.

In the weeks that followed, something began to shift. San kept his promise, showing up in ways you hadn’t expected. Whether it was a warm cup of tea when you couldn’t sleep, a steadying hand during training, or simply sitting beside you in silence when you needed it most, he proved his words with actions.

The group noticed, of course. Wooyoung teased San relentlessly, while Yunho and Mingi exchanged knowing looks. Even Yeosang, usually reserved, smiled faintly when he caught you two sharing quiet moments.

Slowly but surely, you found yourself opening up—not just to San, but to the rest of the group. Hongjoong taught you about navigation, Jongho helped you refine your aim, and Seonghwa shared stories of his childhood that made you laugh until your sides hurt. For the first time in your life, you felt like you belonged.

One evening, after a long day of training, you sat with San on a hill overlooking the camp. The sky was painted in hues of orange and pink, the sun dipping low on the horizon.

“You’ve changed,” San said softly, his gaze fixed on you.

You raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Oh? How so?”

“You’re smiling more,” he said, his own lips curving into a grin. “And I think you’re starting to trust us.”

You looked out at the horizon, the warmth of his words settling in your chest. “Maybe I am,” you admitted. “It’s… nice, having people to rely on.”

San chuckled, leaning back on his hands. “Well, you’ve got us now. And we’re not going anywhere.”

You turned to him, your heart swelling with something you hadn’t felt in a long time: gratitude. “Thank you, San. For everything.”

He met your gaze, his eyes soft and sincere. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m just glad you’re here.”

As the sun set and the first stars began to appear, you realized something profound. This wasn’t just a group of people who had taken you in. They were your family now—a family you’d fought to find, and one you knew would stand by you no matter what.

And as for San? Well, maybe—just maybe—he was your beginning, the start of a life you never thought you’d have.

For the first time in a long time, you weren’t looking back at what you’d lost. Instead, you were looking forward—to a future filled with hope, laughter, and the people who made your heart feel whole.

[joeloverture]

comeuppance | qz!j.m. x f!reader

masterlist | notifs blog

pairing: qz!joel miller x f!reader summary: [post outbreak] when your recklessness causes an arms deal to go south, joel makes sure you regret it. warnings: (18+ mdni) qz!joel, age gap (late 20s/early 50s), written with hbo!joel in mind but with game!joel lore, guns, mentioned executions, misogynistic names outside (and in!) a sexual context, canon-typical violence as in murder (joel kills a soldier 'on-screen'), reader is a little shit but joel is worse, darkish & dubcon, spanking as a punishment, gunplay, attempted boot humping, degradation, humiliation, one kick to the cunt, mean!joel, orgasm denial [no use of y/n] word count: 2.7k a/n: this is my (admittedly late) submission for @iamasaddie's writing challenge 2.0! my prompt was 'you can't hide forever'. the genre was technically dark but joel himself isn't scarily dark here. thank you so much to aly for, once again, bringing this fandom together with her challenges. it's a steep task but she does a great job every time! and even more thanks to @joelsdagger and @lovesickonmybed for helping me brainstorm! (i have half of a brain without my wonderfully creative friends).

It only takes one deal gone south to fuck everything up.

You know the compass is already ticking that way the moment you and Joel, your longtime smuggling partner, enter the abandoned warehouse. Much like everything else in the Boston QZ, it’s falling apart. The corrugated metal walls are pitted with rust, and old blood is caked all over the floors. In another life, it might’ve been a slaughterhouse, but there’s no real way of knowing. It’s been long enough that any signage has deteriorated. The building’s state of decay, however, isn’t what messes things up.

It’s the singular man that walks in from the opposite side of the atrium.

FEDRA’s favorite executioner. Slitted eyes far apart, thinned out lips, and graying black hair. Rarely seen away from the gallows, only recognizable to you from all of the nightmares you’ve had of his face being the last you see.

If it were drugs, you’d think nothing of it. FEDRA soldiers buy quietly from you all of the time – but they have no need for guns that they don’t already have.

Joel steps forward, merchandise in the duffel bag over his shoulder, none the wiser. A knot ties itself in the base of your throat. You’re too busy trying to figure out what to do, what to do, what to do that you barely even realize that the soldier has a gun aimed right between your eyes until you’re looking right down the barrel.

Your hand jerks to your holster, drawing your pistol in one swipe.

“Drop your fucking gun!” he barks in your direction. It clatters out of your hands. “Don’t you dare fucking move.” Your hands fly up as you take a step back, nearly stumbling into a nearby crate. “Joel Miller and his bitch,” the man sneers. “What a lucky find. You two have quite the bounty on your heads.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Joel says, face completely blank.

“Easy for you to say,” the guard says with a nagging smirk. “Your little cunt here already did. Pretty fucking dumb not to check who you’re selling your merchandise to, huh?”

Joel tenses, ultimately huffing through his nose. “Can we get this over with?”

“I’ll make it easy, Miller. Come with me alive so I get paid, or come with me dead so I still get paid.”

Joel’s fingers twitch behind his back, and after almost three years of working with him, it’s impossible not to pick up on the subtext. Keep him busy. His hand is already reaching for the revolver in his back pocket.

“Turn the other way. I can make this worth your time,” you say. “But you’re lucky if those sons of bitches you work for even offer you half the reward they’ve posted for us. Dragging the bodies from Area 5 to the closest checkpoint… you’d have your work cut out for you.”

“Yeah fucking right,” he spits. “You two have been running around free for too damn long. Causing too much trouble. Not anymo–”

The man’s mouth freezes around the words by the time the bullet soars throat the canvas fabric of Joel’s duffel bag and through the man’s jugular. The soldier’s hands claw for his throat while he gargles on the blood as he begins the descent to the ground. New blood, still pumping directionless from the split artery, joins the old.

Much like him, where he’s slumping against the ground, chest moving until the very end, your hands clutch at your own throat. “We need to go,” you say, knowing the rest of FEDRA will come looking for the firefight at any second now. Joel doesn’t move. “Joel!” You reach out to tug his sleeve, but he doesn’t react. “Jesus– move!”

Joel turns to face you, gun still hanging from his hand. His fingers flex around the grip. “What the hell were you thinkin’, little girl?” You can hear his breathing, amplified from how close he is to you. His once inexpressive face is now red, lips curled, skin tight like a crushed soda can. 

“I– what?”

“Not vettin’ your buyers. First fuckin’ thing I told you all them years ago, wasn’t it? Gotta check so you don’t sell shit to the wrong guy, yeah?” He stalks closer to you – you stumble back.

Not vetting the now dead executioner, whose blood is currently creeping up to the soles of your boots. Your mistake, yes, a potentially catastrophic one that you’ll definitely never make again after this, but he’d been on your ass about finding buyers and after an entire day of burning bodies, the last thing you wanted to do was go asking around about the ‘John’ in search of guns that you’d talked to over the radio tower.

“We’re alive, aren’t we?”

Joel finally jerks his sleeve away from your grip. Your hand falls slack by your side, burning from his fire stoker touch. “And you oughta count your fuckin’ blessings for that. Dumbfuck of a girl, gonna get me killed,” he spits. Spittle flies across your neck. 

You flinch – and not because you’re scared. You’ve never seen him like this before. You hear noise in the distance, the moving of FEDRA trucks, no doubt. “Joel! We can do this later – we need to fucking go–”

“Then you better start running,” he says gruffly.

You don’t need to be told twice.

You sprint out of the atrium, cursing as your bloodied soles carve tracks behind you. A stack of crates blocks the door, which you vault over and shimmy your way through the broken glass panel. The hallway ahead of you is dark, and you have no idea where the fuck you’re going, only that you can’t stop. Each impact of your foot on the ground is like being struck by lightning, carbonating the racing blood pumping through your body. More glass crunches behind you, and a shock of terror pierces you when you hear Joel’s snarls filling the corridor.

There’s a metal cart in your way, which you send whirling in Joel’s direction. He grunts, presumably hitting him in the stomach before it goes clattering on the ground. You make the most of the diversion, hurtling forward and lurching through a cracked door.

Dead fucking end.

An office, by the looks of it. Desks all over the place, leftover tasks still pinned on cork boards from outbreak day, chairs on their sides. You hear Joel huffing and puffing behind you, and fear forks through you. You fall to your hands and knees, crawling underneath the labyrinth of desks and tucking yourself against a wall, carpet-burned hand to your mouth to muffle your breathing. Your chest avalanches with every single breath.

“You ain’t off the hook,” Joel says, voice getting closer with every word. You can hear the thump of his boots against the carpet. See the spread of his shadow roaming across the wall. You squint through the seam of two desks. He's looking over his shoulder when you haul yourself across the room to the next closest desk.

You look around for anything that might get you out of this long enough to slip back out of the door. If you can make it back to the apartment, maybe he can cool off on his own walk back. You reach up for a stapler and take a brief second to peek over a filing cabinet before flinging it against the wall. It snaps open, spilling decades old staples all over the floor.

“Only a clicker’s fallin’ for that,” he tuts at you. His boots land on the floor again, one, two, three steps closer to you. You wince, balling your hands into fists. 

All you can hear is the thrashing of your own heart. You scooch away from the desk – maybe if you throw something small at him, like a pack of sticky notes, it’ll be enough to abduct his attention long enough for you to slip by–

“You can’t hide forever,” Joel goddamn coos at you. You see him bending at the waist, scoping out the undersides of desks, seeking you out–

You crawl out from under the desk and book it to the door.

Stupid. Fucking. Idea.

Joel hauls you back by the belt loop, laughing as you cry out. You try squirming away, kicking at him, but his other arm wraps around your torso. It hits you then that you have no idea what he might do to you. You’ve trusted him with your life before, but what would he do when you risked his? You’d always been too scared to find out. He spins you, slamming you over the desk. You cry out as your chest meets the wood. His hand drags your wrists together, pinning them at the small of your back.

“Let me – the fuck– go!” you yell at him, trying to bend your elbow at the right angle to nail him in the chest.

He tightens his grip so much that you can barely move an inch. “Made your fuckin’ bed, gotta lie in it, sweetheart,” he tuts, shaking his head at you. His hand grazes over your ass, and you stiffen as he looms over you. He is just a man. Your mind spins to the worst-case scenario. No, no, no, no–

“How about an… old-fashioned corporal punishment to set ya straight?” Within the next second, he’s yanking your jeans down your thighs.

Oh. Oh fuck.

“Joel–” you exhale, breath shuddery. “Knock it off–”

“No panties? I was gonna be nice and spank ya over them…” Joel frowns at you. “Poor baby. ‘S gonna sting real bad.”

You snap at him, “What, you want me to go to the local QZ Victoria’s Secret?”

Joel swats, hard, across your asscheek.

You’ve seen how intense Joel’s brute strength can be. You’ve just never been on the receiving end of it. A cry pushes out of your throat, and you hunch over the desk as you struggle helplessly against Joel. Tears spring at your eyes.

Mercifully, Joel runs his calloused palm over the smarting skin. “Shh, shh, shh, shh. ‘S okay, Jus’ gotta teach ya a lesson. Make sure it sticks.” He strokes the nape of your neck as you whimper into the desk.

You tense up in preparation for the second hit, but, if anything, it just makes the impact worse. It prickles your other cheek, leaving your knees shaky. And God help you, your clit twitches. Twitches. Your thighs are already heating up, and you can’t help but squirm in a good way underneath Joel. A single tear slips over your waterline, and you have to tilt your head into the shoulder of your shirt to wipe it off. You don’t want him to see you weak – not that weak.

The next spank makes him grunt from how hard he swings his palm into your backside. “Joel!” you shout, pain nearly splitting you in two. Your feet raise off of the ground as you prop yourself up on the desk, kicking uselessly at his shins. All he does is chuckle at you.

Horror sinks like a cinderblock in your stomach when you realize that your hole, leaking slick, is practically fucking winking at him. You thank the darkness. It’s about the only good thing about this place.

“You don’t like that?” he mock-pouts at you. It’s enough to make you throb. The opposite, you’d say if you could.

A series of spanks follows, but at least these are lighter, and in rapid succession. Still, you jerk with each impact, squirming so that your fingers dance in his grip. “Stupid little girl. Thought you could sell our shit to a FEDRA bitch and get off scot-free? Really thought you could get away from me, huh?”

You try clamming up, desperately attempting to close your legs together. You squeeze your thighs together, relieved at the pressure – and then you hear a resounding click behind you.

You still.

Joel’s gun, still fucking hot from the bullet it’d fired right into the executioner’s throat, traces up the small of your back… all the way to your throat. “Could put one right here,” Joel whispers, more to himself than you. “Show ya what happens to girls that don’t follow orders.” He jams it into your skin, and you hiss at the pain, at the bruise it’s sure to leave. And in spite of it all, you fucking gush. God, you’re fucked up.

He wouldn’t kill you – he needs you more than you need him. But common sense isn’t enough to prevent the thrill, the arousal smiting your body from head to toe.

“I’ll reconsider if ya give it a kiss.” He nudges the barrel carefully against your lips and you stop breathing for a second, maybe two. “Go on. Give it some lovin’. Suck it like a cock. I know you’re good at it. Hear all the guys you bring over.”

You whimper at the thought of Joel listening to you getting your hook ups off – at the thought of him fisting his own cock while he listens. Obediently, you part your lips, slowly, ever so slowly, taking the gun down your throat. It fills your mouth up in such a strange way – all hard edges. It’d be freezing cold if not for the fact that it’s a weapon of death, a scythe in its own way. One press of the trigger, and you’d be just like the guard. You suck even harder at it, eyes rolling back in your skull. Your thighs twitch, stripes of slick running down your thighs. 

Joel reaches between your legs, grabbing at the meat of your inner thigh to spread you open. Instead, he gets a handful of the arousal that’s been pooling between your legs since he first bent you over the desk.

You freeze, pausing your ministrations on the pistol. He himself freezes before he drags his hips over your folds. His finger pads hover over your swollen clit before he properly rubs you once, and then twice. Your hips cant into the closest thing – his hand.

Joel makes a disgusted noise and swats your leaking pussy before shoving you forward and stepping back. You’re panting, properly fucked out even though he’d barely touched you. Cross-eyed, tongue hanging out, face hot. He looks you up and down, brows furrowing with revulsion. “Horny fuckin’ bitch. Creamin’ all over me. That long since you got action that a spankin’ and a gun in your mouth is all it takes to get you riled up? Pathetic.” He shoves the gun back in his pocket, still shining with your saliva.

He wipes your wetness all over your leg, grabs the back of your collar, and drags you to the floor in one foul swoop. You fall on your hands and knees again, ass still stinging from his treatment, lightheaded from how needy you are. Even his brutal treatment makes you whimper. 

You reach for his calf, pulling yourself up to brace your dripping cunt against his boot. You rut against it, not even fully cognizant of your movements as you roll your hips, praying that he lets you have this if nothing else. Your orgasm, wetting his boot thoroughly. Your scent, clinging to him on the walk back to the apartment. You buck into the boot, moaning as the toe bumps against your clit. It might be enough, if you could just do it one more time–

Joel tears his shoe out from underneath you, face pinched with aversion. “No!” you cry, still grabbing for his calf. You fall onto your back, legs spread and panting. Your ass needles from his spanking. The ceiling tiles spin above you. 

The same toe you’d been humping kicks into your cunt, and you yelp, curling in on yourself. Another tear slides down your burning cheek as you reach down to cup your sore pussy. Even that pressure feels like touching a live wire. 

Joel looks down at his shining boot and makes a disgusted noise. “Does humiliatin’ yourself always get ya dicked down?” 

He turns around, already walking away from you without a care in the world. The gun grip pokes out of his pocket, taunting you.

“Pull your goddamn pants up and get a move on. Curfew’s soon.”

[lemonlover1110]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬

Satoru Gojo

[Chapter 9] Tantrum

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Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

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You’ve known Satoru ever since you were five years old, and yet you’ve never realized just how spoiled and entitled he is. Sure, you knew that his parents would buy just about anything he wanted and he never had to face any consequences but you never really notice. Nor did you care. Not until he’s right in front of you, in front of your desk, and he tells you,

“You’re fired.”

It catches you off guard. You’re completely confused, and you don’t gather your thoughts in time. When you’re about to question what he means, he’s locked in his office. You knock on the door, and when there’s no response, you knock much harsher. He ends up opening the door, a brow raised as he asks, “Did you not hear me?”

“You can’t fire me.” You tell him, and he hums as he pretends to think about it. You’re about to call his mother to tell her about the situation, but Satoru slams the door shut which startles you.

“I want you to pack your shit up and leave this building, you’re fired.” Satoru says. You’re opening and closing your mouth, trying to think of what to say. A comprehensible sentence isn’t forming in your head. “You’re not doing your job properly.”

“I’m not doing my job properly? Last time I checked, I was. I’m just not fucking you like you want me to!” You raise your voice and his eyes widen at what you say. He didn’t realize how outspoken you’ve become, but hearing you say that is a reality check for the man.

“How dare you say that?” He responds, making you roll your eyes. You unlock your phone and look for his mother’s contact. Meanwhile you tell him,

“You’re a fucking horrible person. Why are you trying to take my job away from me when I’ve excelled at my job? Because we have a past together? I’m sorry for dating you, I guess.” You finally find the contact and when you’re about to call her, he takes the phone from your hands.

“Are you trying to call her? What business do you have with her? Why is she employing you?” He asks the questions that remain unanswered. You’re also not giving him an answer. He scoffs at your silence before saying, “Reason doesn’t matter. I’m the boss, and you’re fired.”

“You’re an entitled son of a bitch.” You take your phone back. You’re about to call his mother but you pause. You take a deep breath before you say, “You know, I’m glad you left me. If we had gotten married we would’ve gotten divorced within a year.”

“So suddenly you can remember we have a past together.” He says, making you click your tongue against the roof of your mouth. You chuckle, rolling your eyes.

“You were the one who told me to forget about our past while we worked together, why are you mad that I wasn’t bringing it up!” You argue, and he’s gathering his thoughts while you dial his mother. You put the phone on speaker, and he says,

“There’s no way you’re calling her.” And when she picks up the phone, he hears her voice. There’s no way his own mother would side with you of all people. He’s holding back a smirk, waiting for you to say something, to ridicule yourself.

“Hey, Mrs. Gojo. I’m with your son right now and he’s trying to fire me.” You inform her, and you both hear her sigh. Satoru is waiting for it. She’s going to tell you off, she might be putting up a tough act with him but when it comes between you and him, she’ll obviously side with him.

“I’ll talk to him. Don’t pack your stuff up, he’s just throwing a tantrum.” And she hangs up on you. You smile at Satoru, batting your eyelashes before you tell him,

“I’ll let you handle her. Have fun.” Just as you speak his phone rings, and he sees his mother’s name on the screen.

You’re not sure what you’re expecting that same day when Mrs. Gojo texts you to meet up at a restaurant at lunch. Maybe she wants to talk about Satoru’s awful behavior with you and apologize– You doubt that she’s apologizing, that’s certainly the last thing she’s going to do. You’ve known the woman so long, and you don’t remember her ever apologizing.

You get to the restaurant, and luckily for you, it isn’t something that’s high-end. It’s nice, but nothing extravagant that’ll make you feel bad about how you look. You walk into the place, and tell the hostess the name that the reservation is under, and she leads you to the table. A sigh escaping your lips when you see her and who she’s with. Of course.

“Mrs. Gojo… Gojo.” Your eyes shift from the mother to the son. You know there’s no way you can escape from this, so you might as well sit down comfortably. “What’s the reason for this meeting?”

“I can’t have you two working together while you bicker like children. I need you two to make up.” She says, and you click your tongue. You clear your throat before you tell her,

“Mrs. Gojo, I think it’s best to hurry up with hiring another secretary for your son. As much as I try to ignore it, we have a past together and we simply can’t get along even in a professional manner.” You try your best to be honest with her. You would’ve gladly been demoted back to Shoko’s secretary, but not fired by him. Especially since you know that he did it without his mother knowing.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, dear. I put you as Satoru’s secretary because that’s what I think fits best.” She responds. Satoru pinches the bridge of his name while your nails dig into the cloth of your skirt. Right, your opinion doesn’t matter. She’s the one that makes all the decisions around here. You stare at Satoru, waiting to see if he’ll actually say something to her.

To no surprise, he bites down his tongue.

She takes a sip from her water before she clears her throat. “I should get going, you two figure it out. I told the waiter to keep his eye on you.”

This reminds you of when you were kids and Satoru would snatch a toy out of your hands which would ensue an argument. You were always forced to make up, of course Mrs. Gojo wouldn’t be the one to force you because at the time she didn’t want her son to be friends with you. It’d always be your mother.

You’re tempted to leave when she leaves, but you stay in your seat. You’re hungry, you might as well order something. He doesn’t seem like he’s going to leave either. When the waiter comes around, you both order something.

You sit in silence, awkwardly looking around the place. After around a minute or so, you take your phone out. You open the couple of messages you have from the nanny, and smile as you see your son. He’s playing with the toy cars that his grandmother got him, and you take this opportunity to glance at Satoru and then at your son. You hate how much they look alike, and as you look back and forth you realize they look more similar than what you had in mind.

“How’s Ren?” He asks, and you nearly drop your phone. You furrow your brows as you take a big gulp from your glass. Can he read your mind? He awkwardly looks around before he asks, “Is that not the name of your cat?”

“Yeah.” You laugh. It takes everything in you not to burst into a fit of laughter. You completely forgot that your son is now a cat. You take a sip of water before saying, “He’s good.”

“Maybe we can make up if you show me a picture of your cat.” He says, and you roll your eyes as you shake your head.

“I decide when we make up, after all, you tried to fire me.” You point out. He really can’t argue with that. You tap your finger against the table before you tell him, “I guess you can talk about what you wanted to talk about so badly. Remember when you asked me to dinner?”

“Yeah… I’ve thought about it and that won’t end well.” He confesses. He can’t get rid of you, he doesn’t know why his mother is insistent on you two working together. “I guess… How have you been doing the past five years?”

“I’ve been…” You take a deep breath. You found out your boyfriend got married months after breaking up with you, you had a baby alone, have been raising him alone, overworking yourself to ensure Ren has the best possible upbringing. You’re tired. You sheepishly smile, “Fine. I’ve been fine.”

“You look tired.” He says. You have no idea why his words make your eyes fill up with tears. You chuckle, standing up to use the bathroom.

“That’s what happens when you work for your mom.” You respond. He doesn’t know what else to say, but it’s fine, you walk away to use the bathroom. He bounces his leg as he waits for you. He has to think of what he’s going to say to kill the awkwardness that goes on at your table

There’s a vibrating sound on the table, and he sees that you’ve left your phone. Satoru gets a great idea, you might not want to share much about your life but you’ve left your phone behind. He doubts your password has changed. He holds back, it’s an invasion of your privacy. But if the phone that’s across the table were to magically land in front of him and light up, it wouldn’t be an invasion of your privacy if he just glanced at it.

He’s fighting back on grabbing the phone and checking everything that you have there. His hand lands on the table and he slowly moves his hand. And just when he’s about to reach the phone, you’re back. You ask, “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.” He tries to play it off, his hand going to his side of the table and he puts his elbow on the table before his head rests on his hand. You try to act as if you didn’t see him reaching for your phone. You came back when you noticed you had left your phone and you feared this would happen. “So um… Are you seeing anyone?”

“I don’t have the time.” You share. Your food finally gets to the table and you get your utensils to begin stuffing your face. “I was about to ask you the same question.”

“Right.” He awkwardly chuckles. You both begin to eat, and his eyes can’t stop looking at you as you try your best to keep your tableside manners. Satoru can’t eat, his appetite goes away. His stomach growls, wanting food but the thought of eating makes him want to puke. He wipes his mouth with a napkin before he clears his throat. “I apologize for firing you… You are doing a great job and I just–”

“Got in your feelings.” You finish his sentence for him. He ends up sighing. You’re right. You shrug, “As long as you don’t let it happen again.”

“I won’t. I promise. Next time around it’s up to my mom.” He responds.

“So we’re stuck working together forever.” You joke. He ends up laughing. He watches you eat, and you feel awkward since he watches you like a hawk. When you swallow the mouthful of food, you ask him a question that keeps bugging you, “Are you and Sayo thinking of having kids?” 

“Kids! Kids… Um, we haven’t talked about it. Don’t think she wants them.” He answers, and he sounds unsure about it all. You find it odd considering that’s his wife of five years, but it’s none of your business. You know Satoru wants kids but perhaps he’s changed his mind. “So um… You and Suguru.”

“What about us?” You slightly tilt your head to the side. Satoru doesn’t want to bring it up. He doesn’t want to give you ideas, but he already mentioned Suguru.

“You two seem… Friendly.” He asks, and you know what he’s insinuating. 

“I wish… I don’t think he’s into me.” You confess since he hasn’t bothered to contact you ever since he found out about Ren, and Satoru won’t mention the past. He won’t mention it because if he hears that you’ve started dating Suguru, he just might lose his mind.

“How could he not?” He says, and you feel your face get warm.

“Let’s not.” You reply, and he bites his lip. He ends up nodding in agreement. He would have talked to you for hours a couple of years ago, but he doesn’t find a topic to talk about. You don’t know each other anymore.

You keep eating quietly since neither of you want to talk more deeply about the past, and when you’re finished, Satoru calls the waiter to cover the bill. To your surprise, Mrs. Gojo got it covered. You both stand up and exit the restaurant. 

You don’t bother saying anything else as you begin to walk to your car, and you assume that Satoru begins to walk the other way until he calls out your name. You come to a full stop and you turn to look at him. You sweetly smile at him, before you ask him, “What’s up?”

You don’t know what to do when he wraps his arms around you. He hugs you so tightly that he sucks the air out of your body. You’re not sure what to do– Whether you want to hug him back or just awkwardly stand as the man that you’ve loved for so long hugs you. He’s been waiting to do it for five years. 

And he’s waiting for you to hug him back, but you’re not budging. Until you feel a droplet on your shoulder. His head rests on your shoulder and he sniffles. You finally hug him back, “Don’t cry, Toru. You have no reason to cry.”

It’s muffled but you’re sure you hear an,

“I’ve missed you.”

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Series Synopsis: A series of (mostly) unrelated one shots, featuring Oliver Aiku somehow getting involved with the love lives of various Blue Lock characters — whether he wants to or not.

Chapter Synopsis: Oliver Aiku isn’t sure which entity he’s wronged to earn this kind of treatment, but somehow, in the days before the match against Blue Lock, he’s stuck watching over the team’s newest addition: Sae Itoshi, a rude midfielder who’d rather be in Spain (or in hell) than hanging out with him. Things get a little more complicated, though, when a cup of shitty coffee leads to a crush and Aiku is forced to intervene.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Sae x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 7.9k

Content Warnings: crack fic, sae my awkward goat, love at first sight, oliver aiku is such a bitch but he’s funny so it’s kind of okay, reader has to work in customer service 😓, this is really dumb please don’t judge my writing off of it, sae is 100% ooc don’t come at me i KNOWWW, split perspectives (it makes sense in the story), sae slander (from aiku), reader is a fan girl but she keeps it 𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖙, reader’s dad has cameos but he’s just chilling tbh

A/N: the people wanted sae’s version to be posted first so uhhh here we are!! LMAO it kind of got a bit long (as usual) but it’s very silly and goofy!! anyways so this is the first entry in “oliver aiku’s guide to getting girls” i hope you all stick around for the rest 🤩‼️

Oliver Aiku likes to think he’s a fairly nice guy. He visits his grandmother every weekend, he rescues kittens from gutters (okay, it only happened once, but he still did it, so it counts), and he’s good enough at being captain of the Japanese U-20s that none of his teammates really hate him, so all in all, he can’t be doing that bad of a job. Yeah, he’s pretty sure he’s a great person, a stand-up fellow, an upstanding member of society — so why the fuck is Sae Itoshi glaring at him like that?

“What?” he says, because it was fine for the first, say, twenty minutes or so, but now it’s gone from annoying to just plain concerning. “Something going on with you?”

Sae stares at him for a moment longer, and Aiku wonders if he’s trying to communicate via telepathy. That’s a skill he’s never picked up, though, so he can only wait for Sae to speak up, which, thankfully, he eventually does.

“This coffee is shit,” he says. The way he speaks is dull and blank, his lips pinched together and his brows low over his eyes. It’s kind of a shame, in Aiku’s highly professional opinion. He’d be handsome if he smiled more; or, if not handsome, at least approachable enough to not scare away every single girl that dared to even glance at him.

“It’s not my fault,” Aiku says. “Take it up with the barista or something.”

“You’re the one who brought me here, so it is your fault,” Sae says. Aiku crosses his arms, because isn’t Sae younger than him? This feels like a level of disrespect he shouldn’t tolerate, prodigy or not.

“Nuh-uh,” he says. In hindsight, it’s not the most mature response he could’ve come up with, and Sae seems to agree, snorting derisively before using a napkin to dab at a drip of coffee running down the side of his cup.

“What a captain,” he says with a sigh. “No wonder you guys need me to play for you against those Blue Lock idiots.”

Aiku should be offended, he really should be — and he is! He is, and he’s just about to muster up some scathing retort that’ll definitely leave Sae Itoshi trembling, but then Sae’s standing up with purpose, so now he’s just intrigued instead of insulted. He follows after him as Sae holds the coffee in one hand and marches towards the counter, and when he realizes what’s about to happen, he preemptively cringes.

“Don’t yell at service workers!” Aiku says. It would’ve been heroic if he had said it loud enough for Sae to hear him, but unfortunately, it’s more of a whisper than the brave shout he had intended for it to be, so he just looks kind of stupid, as if he regularly talks to himself or something.

“Hey,” Sae says to the boy at the counter. He’s young, probably no more than fifteen or sixteen, and Aiku prays that he’s not the target of Sae’s ire. “Who made this?”

The boy squints at Sae’s cup, reading the receipt, and then he smiles innocently. “That was Y/N. Did you want to talk to her?”

“Yes,” Sae says bluntly. Aiku is about to thank whichever deity was watching over him and that boy alike, but he pauses when the rest of the kid’s statement registers. Her? Her? Is Sae seriously about to yell at a girl for making bad coffee? If she’s hot, he’ll kill Sae, no doubt about it. “And tell her to make it quick. We don’t have all day, and she’s already wasted enough of our time.”

Yeah, he’s definitely going to kill him. 

“Y/N,” a voice whispers. You’re untying your apron — your shift is just about over, and you’re ready to clock out, but for some reason your young coworker is peering into the kitchen nervously and gesturing for you to come with him. Normally, you’d tell him to handle things himself, but he’s new, so you decide to be responsible for once and follow after him, muttering curses to yourself as you retie your apron.

“What’s the matter? Did you spill something?” you say. He shakes his head, raising his hand and pointing at the counter, where two customers are waiting. You frown, because you’re pretty sure you already gave them their drinks, so there’s no reason for them to be standing there, unless maybe they want to reorder. “Wait. Did you call me to take their order? No way! My shift is over in thirty seconds!”

“No, no, I didn’t,” your coworker says. “They want to talk to you.”

“Me? Like me, specifically?” you say. He nods.

“Yeah, they asked for you by name and everything,” he says earnestly. “I think they’re mad, though.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, because the last thing you want to do is deal with a couple of prissy customers, especially not when you’re supposed to be heading home already. However, your coworker seems to be on the verge of tears, and some kind of sisterly affection tugs at your heartstrings, so you pat him on the shoulder and take his spot at the counter.

“Hi, this is Y/N. My coworker told me you needed to see me. How can I help you?” you say. Your voice is chipper and your smile is false, but they don’t need to know that. You’ve been working at the coffee shop for long enough that you’re practiced at pretending, and you know for a fact that your coworker is standing shyly at your side, probably astonished by the quality of your performance.

For a moment, neither man speaks, so you get to stare at them and make your own assumptions about who they are and what their backstories might be. It’s kind of like a hobby, a pastime for when things are slow or you’re generally annoyed about your job. You’ve developed it over the years, and luckily, these two are prime candidates for the game.

The one on the left is tall and broad, with dark hair and mysterious eyes. Curiously, one is a bright green, while the other is a softer violet, and there’s a few-days-old stubble growing on his square face, like a shadow running along his jaw. It gives him a rough appearance, like he owns a motorcycle and frequently wears leather jackets, but you want to believe that he’s gentle at heart. Maybe he has a fondness for baby animals or he likes to bake cookies or something along those lines.

The one on the right is shorter than his counterpart, and his hair is red like a sunset, pushed carelessly out of his haughty face. He’s wearing a sweater that matches his eyes, though the teal of the knitted fabric is much more muted, and you’re about to come up with some kind of fantastical explanation for who he might be when you realize that you know him.

He clears his throat, and you scramble to stand up straighter, internally screaming, because what are the odds that you’ve somehow managed to piss off the star player of your favorite soccer club’s youth team? You wonder what your father will think of you now. You wonder what you think of yourself now. What should you do? Should you tell him you recognize him? Ask for an autograph? Or should you play it cool and pretend like you don’t know him? What if he yells at you?

Actually, you wouldn’t mind it as much as normally do. When everyday customers start screaming at you for some perceived wrong that you’ve supposedly committed, you typically tune them out, and then you make fun of them with your coworkers in the back, but if it’s Sae Itoshi…well. you’ll certainly listen to every word he says, and when you return to the kitchen, you’ll write them down somewhere so you can remember the moment forever.

“He didn’t like his drink,” he says, pointing at the dark haired man.

“What?” the man shrieks. The pitch is higher than you would’ve expected from someone of his size, but it appears he realizes that, too, because then he’s coughing. “I mean, what? What are you talking about?”

“You were just complaining, Aiku,” Sae says. “You even made me come up here and get mad at this girl for you.”

The other man, who you guess is named Aiku, is turning a strange shade between magenta and beet-red, and you’re surprised there isn’t steam coming out of his ears. Given that you don’t really care about him that much, you’re instantly irritated again, because why would it matter if he didn’t like his drink? Still, you have to keep up appearances.

“My apologies, sir. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?” you say. 

“No!” Aiku says. “No, it’s — hey, Sae, you were the one who was all upset, so why are you putting it on me?”

“Hm?” Sae says, obviously uninterested in the conversation already. “I dunno. Maybe it happened like that, or maybe not.”

“I’m sorry,” you say again, more than a little bewildered. “Ah, I’m new here, so I’m still learning.”

Aiku, who has returned to a more normal and human color, smiles at you kindly, and he’s about to respond, ostensibly to reassure you, but then your damned coworker pipes up: “No, she’s not.”

“Ah, sorry?” Aiku says.

“She’s not new,” your coworker says again.

“‘New’ is a subjective term,” you say mechanically, wishing that it was acceptable for you to turn around and hit him in public whenever you wanted.

“I don’t think anyone would consider you to be new when you’ve been working here for three years,” your coworker says. You can imagine the innocent, guileless expression on his face right now. You want to do something violent to it.

“Ha, ha,” you say. You think your eye might twitch, too, but if Aiku or Sae notice, then neither of them point it out. “What a knowledgeable fellow we have back here.”

“It’s alright,” Aiku says. “I didn’t mind the drink. Sae’s the one who threw a fit about it.”

“I liked it,” Sae says stubbornly. “It was fine.”

You step in before Aiku can turn magenta again, because that’s probably unhealthy for him, and you don’t want to be held liable for a customer dying on your watch when you’re not even being paid for it.

“Anyways, is that all? I’m actually done with my shift, so if you guys don’t need anything else…” you trail off, though inside you’re screaming something along the lines of Sae Itoshi, please notice me and give me your autograph and oh, if you could fall in love with me, too, that would be amazing!

Of course, you can’t verbalize anything like that, so you just smile and wave until the door slams shut behind them. Then you’re yanking your apron off and balling it up before chucking it at your coworker’s face. It hits him in the nose and slides to the ground; he gives you an offended look before picking it up.

“You’re lucky it was only an apron,” you say. “You owe me big time, you little shit.”

“Huh?” he says.

“I won’t forget this!” you warn him, stomping towards the small locker room, where your precious phone is waiting for you. “You’re a major-league jerk, okay? Don’t ever ask me to cover another shift for you again!”

“Huh?” 

“What the hell was that?” Aiku snaps as soon as they’ve left the cafe, because this is totally not what he was expecting when his coach told him that he had to treat Sae nicely and make him feel welcome. 

“What was what?” Sae says. He’s sipping on his coffee sedately now, even though he was complaining about it only minutes earlier.

“Since when was I the one who was upset about my coffee?” Aiku says.

“I have a bad memory,” Sae deadpans. “I guess it could’ve been either of us.”

“That was not believable in the slightest,” Aiku feels the need to inform him. Judging by Sae’s expression, it wasn’t meant to be believable, though, and Aiku sighs. “Seriously, what’s your deal? You were just going crazy and glaring at me because you thought the coffee sucked, and now you think it’s good?”

“I should’ve waited for it to cool,” Sae says. “It’s better now. I was being hasty.”

“Uh-huh,” Aiku says. “Sure. Let’s do something else tomorrow. I don’t ever want to go back there. I don’t think I can face that girl again. She was so hot, too, and now she probably thinks I’m some ungrateful asshole…”

“I want to go back,” Sae says immediately, throwing the now-empty cup into the nearest trash can. Aiku furrows his brow at him, trying to puzzle out this latest contradiction and finding himself utterly unable to. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Aiku repeats dubiously. Tomorrow he has practice, and technically so does Sae. However, they both know that Sae doesn’t need anything as ridiculous as practice in order to win against a team of eleven high-school forwards, and he’s fairly confident that his coach will tell him to accompany the bratty Itoshi instead of showing up, since the JFU is pulling out all of the stops if it means getting Sae to stay in Japan for good.

“Tomorrow,” Sae reaffirms.

I’m a nice guy, Aiku tries to remind himself. This is what nice guys do. I’m boosting team morale. Yeah. That’s all. Captain’s duties.

Still, as he chases after Sae, who apparently doesn’t know what the word ‘stroll’ means and prefers to do everything at a brisk pace more akin to a jog, he thinks that this entire ridiculous assignment feels more like a babysitter’s duties than anything. 

“Are you serious?” your father says. In the background, the TV is playing a game between Re Al and Barcha, which is rather fitting.

“Deadly,” you say, untying the laces of your sneakers and putting them with the rest of your shoes. “It was actually him.”

“Sae Itoshi,” he says, shaking his head. “He’s back from Spain?”

“Seems like it,” you say, though now that he mentions it, you’re as confused as he is. Why is Sae Itoshi here instead of Madrid? You glance at the TV — Barcha has just scored, and the cameras are sweeping through the crowds, showing the excited fans cheering — and wonder if maybe he was fired or something. You doubt that that’s what happened; after all, he’s a consistent player, and the last time he was in a match, he even managed to outmaneuver that freaky striker who plays for Bastard München, so it would make zero sense for Re Al to let him go. Besides, even if they did, you’re sure there’s dozens of clubs that would be willing to take him, so there must be another reason for his presence in Japan.

“Huh,” your father says. “Well. Good for him.” 

“I guess so,” you say. “If I ever see him again, I’ll ask him what he’s doing in town.”

Your father chuckles, taking a sip of his beer and giving you a thumbs up. “Yeah, you do that. Let me know what he says.”

You laugh, too, sitting down at the counter and eating a plate of reheated leftovers, because you know as well as your father that the idea of you ever seeing Sae Itoshi again is more than a little far-fetched. But it’s a nice thought, and anyways the chances are never zero, so for the moment, you allow yourself to imagine. 

Aiku is seriously questioning if Sae Itoshi was sent to this earth — or at least to this country — as some kind of punishment for him. He’s not really sure what’s done that would invite such cosmic retribution, but maybe it’s one of those…what did that girl call them? Karmic debts? She had said something about the sins of his past life and all, though he can’t recall the specifics.

Wait. That’s wrong. He just never learnt them in the first place, so how could he remember them in the first place? He had broken up with her before she could explain her theories to him. This prompts a wince from him, which is further fueled by the way his t-shirt sticks to his back with sweat. It’s a distinctively uncomfortable feeling, and he’s contemplating complaining, even though it probably won’t do much.

“Shut up,” Sae says.

“I didn’t say anything!” Aiku protests, more than a little spooked, since he actually had been about to say something before Sae had cut him off.

“I can see you making faces at me,” Sae says. Considering Sae is walking ahead of him and to the side, Aiku’s not quite sure how he could tell anything about what sorts of faces Aiku is making, but unfortunately, he’s uncannily correct as always, so Aiku schools his expression into a smooth, neutral one that won’t beget reprimand from his companion.

“I can’t believe you insisted on going here straight after practice,” he says.

“This is the same time we went yesterday,” Sae says. He’s kind of an insufferable smart-ass, Aiku thinks to himself, though he’d never say as much to Sae’s face. After all, unlike his counterpart, he’s considerate like that, and he always has been.

“So? We didn’t have practice yesterday,” Aiku says. “You couldn’t even let me shower?”

“You take forever in the showers,” Sae says. This is rich, for Sae is notoriously obsessive with his skincare, and of the entire team, he takes far and away the longest to get ready. But, then again, Aiku supposes that idiocy is one of those illnesses which spreads further and further until all of one’s perspectives are tainted with the virus.

“I could’ve been quick,” he says. “It would’ve been better if I could’ve at least rinsed off so I didn’t look so gross. I want to impress that Y/N girl if she’s there again today.”

“You’re not her type,” Sae says dismissively. “So why bother?”

“How do you know? Are the two of you childhood buddies or something?” Aiku says. Sae glances at him, and of course he’s way too holier-than-thou to properly sneer, but the corners of his lips turn downwards to the same effect.

“Not too hard to figure out,” he says. 

“Well, hold on just a moment! I got the vibe that she was totally into me yesterday!” Aiku says. He actually did not get any such vibes from the barista; the only thing she seemed into was clocking out, but he’s Oliver Aiku. If he can’t get a girl, he can’t do anything. Besides, it’s not like Sae would be able to tell one way or another — Aiku and his teammate Sendou have a theory that Sae was created in a lab as some kind of experiment to make the world’s best midfielder, because the guy really doesn’t have any knowledge or concern for anything that’s unrelated to soccer.

True to form, Sae blinks unsurely. “Really?”

“Yeah, one hundred percent,” Aiku boasts, although then he’s narrowing his eyes, because such a question is so out of Sae’s character that for a moment, he wonders if there’s been a mistake and he’s actually taken some other team member of his along for this ridiculous errand.

Messy red hair. Teal eyes. Forehead creased with a frown. No, it’s definitely Sae Itoshi, that’s for sure. Just Sae Itoshi in a mood that he’s never seen before. If they were a little closer, he’d ask him what’s the big deal now, but as it is, the question would probably go unappreciated.

“Hm,” Sae says. “Whatever. We’ll see.”

“Sure,” Aiku says slowly, reaching out to hold open the door of the cafe so he can enter behind Sae, since his lovely, amazing, wonderful, kindhearted teammate so generously left it to slam shut in his face. 

What a total dick. He makes a mental note to ask the JFU for a raise, because whatever they’re giving him at the moment is definitely not enough. 

“They’re back again!” your coworker says. You’re still mad at him for yesterday, so you’ve been giving him the silent treatment the entire shift. It hasn’t gone unnoticed, but his pitiful attempts at reconciliation never include an apology, so you haven’t budged yet.

He waits for you to respond, but you’re pretty sure he’s making stuff up to get you to pay attention to him, and anyways they could be in reference to anyone, so you continue to pour milk into a cup, acting like it’s an all-consuming task which you cannot possibly complete without the utmost of concentration.

“I’m being serious! Y/N, it’s Sae Itoshi and, uh, that other dude!” he says. Your hand wobbles for the briefest moment, but you conclude that he’s most likely lying, so you steady yourself and continue pouring the milk. “Fine, be that way! I’ll serve them myself!”

You can’t even say something snarky in response, because that’ll still be a win on his part, so you huff particularly loudly to no one in particular and leave it at that.

A few minutes later, he’s back, looking so contrite that if you weren’t upset with him, you’d actually be worried. Unfortunately, you very much are upset with him, so you find it on the whole to be rather hilarious and have to suppress a laugh. 

He must take your amusement as a signal to talk, because he speaks eagerly and quickly, stumbling over his words and clasping his hands together in front of him.

“Y/N, Y/N, they’re insisting on seeing you, I told them you’re working right now — I’m sorry, I’m not supposed to do that, right? But I did, and now they really want to see you!” he says.

You’re still not entirely convinced, but if this is an act, then it’s a dedicated one, and you don’t think that he possesses that much dedication in all of his body, so maybe he’s actually telling the truth.

“Fine,” you say. “But if you’re lying, I swear I’m telling our manager to fire you.”

“I’m not!” he squeaks, darting back to the counter, rocking back and forth on his heels as he waits for you to catch up to him.

When you reach the front, you’re surprised to see that it is in fact Sae Itoshi and…whoever that other guy is. Aiku? Yes, that sounds right. It’s Sae and Aiku, and one looks supremely inconvenienced — this would be Sae, of course — while his friend is running a hand through his sweaty hair, flashing you a grin.

You smile back at him, because that’s what you’re trained to do, and you don’t want your coworker to tattle to your manager that you’re not abiding by the cafe’s standards of customer service. Then you stare at them until one of them starts speaking, because that’s what your entire job is, and no matter how badly you want to start gushing to Sae Itoshi about how big of a fan you are, you have to remain professional.

“Is there anything I can do for you two?” you finally say. This prompts Aiku to nod, nudging Sae in the side, which earns him a dark glare.

“I want the number two, and he’ll take the number five,” Aiku says when Sae does not speak up. You want to tell him that nobody orders like that, but you’re not supposed to and it’s really not that big of a deal either way, so you just ring up the order.

“Sounds good. Would you like to pay with cash or credit?” you say.

“Credit,” Sae says, pulling out a card that probably has a monthly spending limit higher than what you make in a year. “And we’re splitting the bill, just so you know.”

What you want to say is Wow, Sae, you’re somehow even cooler in real-life! Who’s your favorite soccer player? What’s your favorite food? Do you like Spain better, or here? What you actually say is: “No problem. I’ll have those right out for you.”

“Thanks,” Aiku says. He’s kind of charming, in a sense; you can think of several friends you have that would probably swoon at the way his smile stretches across his face, but you don’t really see the appeal. Or, maybe you would normally, but at the moment, he’s standing next to Sae Itoshi, so it’s a little hard to focus on him at all.

“Yeah,” Sae says. “Thank you. Y/N.”

He’s probably just reading off of your name tag in an effort to seem more friendly and relatable and humble and all. It’s a classic PR move that he was probably taught as soon as he joined Re Al. You know about it, though, so it shouldn’t work on you. It won’t work on you. He’s just doing what he’s trained to, the same as you are.

It works on you. You run to the back and hide your face in your hands and squeal, because Sae fucking Itoshi just said your name. 

“Holy fucking shit,” Aiku says.

“Are we just listing curse words now?” Sae says dryly. “Bitch, cunt, hell. There’s three more for you.”

“You like the barista!” Aiku accuses. If Sae was drinking something, he would’ve spit it out just then, but he’s not, so he just chokes on his saliva. 

“No way,” he says.

“Yes, you do! How else can you explain this?” Aiku says, pitching his voice up in an imitation of Sae’s. “Yeah. Thank you. Y/N. Since when do you say thank you to people?”

“Since always? I have manners,” Sae says.

“I’ve never heard you say it,” Aiku says.

“Maybe that’s more telling about you than me,” Sae suggests. Aiku scowls at him.

“You definitely like her,” he says. “No judgment here, man. She’s pretty.”

“Whatever,” Sae says. “Even if I did like her — mind you, I don’t — she’s clearly into you.”

“Me?” Aiku says. “I was just messing with you earlier, you know. Anyways, yeah, I think she’s hot, but, like, you’ve never liked a girl before, right? So I wouldn’t get in the way of that. This is a big step.”

“You’re not getting in the way of anything. Do what you want,” Sae says. 

Aiku’s already pulling out his phone and texting Sendou: big news. Lab experiment just evolved. Feels attraction and jealousy now.

“Uh-huh,” he responds absentmindedly. Sendou texts back with about fifty mind-blown emojis, and he snickers to himself, liking the message.

“Anyways, who told you I’ve never liked anyone before?” Sae says defensively. Aiku just about drops his phone, leaning forwards in interest. Could it be? Are he and Sae actually bonding? Is Sae about to tell him about his first love — who apparently is not this barista?

“I just guessed. Was I wrong?” Aiku says. He’s already trying to come up with who Sae might’ve liked — a childhood neighbor or friend? A women’s soccer player he admired? A girl he saw once in Spain but never again? Oh, that last one is particularly romantic…he’s just about accepted it as fact when Sae glares at him.

“No,” he says. Aiku’s dreams are shattered in an instant, but he can only shake his head while chuckling, both because Sae has inadvertently admitted that he actually does like that Y/N girl, and because he was an idiot for believing that ‘Sae Itoshi’ and ‘romantic’ could ever belong together in one sentence.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

“What do I do?” you say. You and your coworker are back on speaking terms, mostly because you have no one else to talk to and are so desperate that you’re willing to temporarily forgive him. 

“Make their drinks?” he says. You give him a dirty look as you begin mixing up their orders. 

“Not about that. I’m such a huge fan of Sae’s, and this is the second time I’m making a drink for him. It’s kind of like fate, don’t you think? Should I try to talk to him or something?” you say.

“Do you want to?” your coworker says. It’s a slower time of day, so he has nothing to do but sit and watch you — at least, nothing immediate. There’s certainly things he could be doing, but you’re not about to chide him when you’re the reason he’s slacking off.

“Obviously! But what am I supposed to even say? I’ll sound like a creep if I just start acting like a fan-girl!” you say.

“That’s true,” your coworker says. “You kind of sound like one even now…”

“Ugh, if you’re not going to be helpful, then go organize the storeroom or something!”

“What about her makes you like her?” Aiku presses.

“Are we still on this?” Sae says, as if they’ve been talking about it for hours. “I don’t like her.”

“It’s not like you talked to her for a while…was it really just her looks?” Aiku says. “Damn. Didn’t think you were the shallow type.”

“I am not the shallow type!” Sae says.

“That sounds like something that a shallow person would say,” Aiku teases.

“Shut up,” Sae says. Aiku doesn’t have enough fingers or toes to count how many times Sae’s said that particular phrase to him. Maybe if he counted all of the fingers and all of the toes of every single person in the world, he would get kind of close to what that number might be. “I’m not shallow, I don’t like her, and she’s obviously way more interested in talking to you than me, so get off my back.”

Aiku whistles. “Someone’s jealous.”

“I’m telling the JFU that you were the one who sent me back to Spain,” Sae informs him bluntly. Aiku isn’t sure if that’s a joke or a legitimate threat. It’s hard to tell with Sae sometimes.

“Are you serious?” Aiku says.

“Deadly,” Sae says.

Yep, Aiku decides. He’s serious. 

“If only that Aiku dude wasn’t there,” you lament, setting the first drink in the pick-up area and calling out Aiku’s name before returning to finish Sae’s drink. “It’d be way easier to talk to Sae without someone there to judge everything I’m saying.”

“Do you think he’d even care?” your coworker says. You shrug.

“No idea. It’s intimidating to talk to guys around their friends, though. You’re a guy yourself, so you wouldn’t get it,” you say.

“Are they even friends?” your coworker says. “Doesn’t seem like they get along that well.”

In unison, the two of you turn so you can look at the duo, who are sitting at a table right within your line of sight. As your coworker said, they don’t look like they’re friends in the slightest. Aiku is sipping on his drink with a smirk, and Sae looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, doing anything else, than be sitting there with his not-friend.

“The point still stands,” you say. 

“Guess so,” your coworker says. Just then, Sae Itoshi happens to glance over, making direct eye contact with you. Your eyebrows raise, and your face warms as you realize you’ve been caught. Aiku turns to follow Sae’s line of sight as you weigh your options. Should you pretend like you weren’t doing anything? Should you wave?

You decide to just smile again before returning to the drink you were supposed to be working on. Your coworker, who saw the entire exchange, cannot stop laughing.

“It’s over for you,” he says. “He definitely thinks you’re a creepy fan-girl now. You can kiss that autograph goodbye.”

“You’re lucky I’m too lazy to remake this drink,” you say. “Because otherwise, I’d spill it on you.”

“That’s against company policy,” he says.

“By accident, of course,” you say with a malicious grin.

“That’s against company policy, too!” 

“Look, she just smiled at you. I bet she was looking at you the entire time,” Sae says coolly. “You should ask for her number. You already said you think she’s beautiful.”

“I said she’s hot. I’m not all poetic and shit like that,” Aiku says. “And I wouldn’t do that. It’s against the bro code.”

“We’re not ‘bros’, so you can put that out of your head,” Sae says.

“What if I help you get her number?” Aiku says. Sae tries very hard to maintain his nonchalant look, but Aiku can tell that his curiosity has been piqued. “Will you consider me a bro then? At the minimum, will you tell the JFU that I’ve done a great job at showing you around and making you feel welcome?”

Please please please please please I really need a fucking raise Sae I’m broke please please please — 

“Sure,” Sae says.

“Sure?” Aiku says. “Yes! Okay, this will be easy.”

Sae scoffs. “Yeah, okay. If that’s what you think.”

“Believe me,” Aiku says. “You’re in the presence of a master.”

Sae doesn’t even dignify that with a response beyond the most disgusted look Aiku has ever seen on anyone, Sae or not. He’d say something, but he’s pretty sure he deserves it at least a little, and anyways a possible raise is way more important to him than being right, so he keeps his mouth shut, simply giving Sae a double-thumbs-up. He’s going to ace this new assignment, and then maybe he’ll actually be paid what he’s worth instead of pennies on the dime.

You’re about to call out Sae’s name when you realize that for some reason, both Aiku and Sae are standing there and waiting for you. You furrow your brow, because it’s both a menacing and a comical sight — the hulking Aiku, who looks like he’s about to go punch a criminal on television before flipping his hair and telling the ladies that there’s enough of him to go around, and the slender Sae Itoshi, who you can’t imagine doing anything but slamming a winning pass to one of his teammates, invariably leading to a soccer ball in his opponent’s net.

“Uh, hello,” you say.

“Hello,” Aiku says.

“Hi,” Sae says.

“I have your drink,” you say to Sae.

“I know,” he says, taking it from your hand. Of course — why else would they be here? They must’ve seen you finishing up the drink and rightly assumed that it was theirs.

“Right,” you say. Neither of them go to leave, and now you wonder if they just don’t understand social cues or something like that. “Did you guys want to order something else? My coworker would be happy to take you at the counter.”

“No,” Sae says.

“Okay,” you say slowly. “Well, I hope you enjoy your drinks.”

“We will,” Sae says with the utmost of confidence. Aiku groans and then thumps him on the back. You have a feeling you probably don’t want to know what the significance of the gesture is, but then you realize that this is probably the only chance you’ll get to have a proper conversation with Sae Itoshi, so you shove your concerns aside.

“Wait! If it doesn’t bother you too much, can I ask you a question?” you say. It’s an incredibly awkward way of going about it, but given how awkward this entire interaction has been, you don’t think it’s a huge deal. 

“Go ahead,” Aiku says. You weren’t asking him, but you guess the permission covers them both, so you square your shoulders and face Sae Itoshi, who seems entirely confused that you’re looking at him instead of Aiku. You’re not sure why he would be, since between the two of them he’s the celebrity, but maybe there’s some weird dynamic going on that you’re unaware of.

It doesn’t matter to you, though. You only have one thing to ask. You’ll never cross paths with Sae again, will you? So it’s fine. You can act a little embarrassing, and anyways, you barely make above minimum wage, so if your manager gets too upset and fires you for ‘unprofessional conduct’ or something, it won’t be a huge loss. It’ll be worth it, even, considering this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance and your coworker is busy reorganizing the storeroom like you told him to, so he’s not around to spy on you and report back to your stodgy old manager.

Taking a deep breath, you open your mouth and begin to speak. 

Aiku hadn’t dared to even dream of the possibility that the barista might already like Sae, too. Why would she? Sae had just been all weird and rude to her in the couple of times that they had spoken, so all in all she’d have to be somewhat of a masochist, or a Re Al fan (which was essentially the same thing, given the losing streak that Re Al had been on for the last month or so), to be into him. But sometimes miracles did happen and baristas were masochists, because the girl was turning to Sae with shimmering eyes and a hopeful expression and it was all going to go so well—

“What are you even doing in Japan in the first place?”

Did he hear her right? Sae is bewildered as well, but Y/N isn’t acting like she’s just asked the most ridiculous question she could’ve possibly asked. What is Sae doing in Japan? Well, he happens to be a citizen of the nation, so there’s one explanation…Aiku wants to facepalm, because now his plans have been ruined and Sae’s confidence has probably been crushed.

“Pardon?” Sae says. Aiku had told him not to act so cranky and old-man-ish when he approaches the girl, but honestly, at this point, there’s no helping him, so he doesn’t even bother with a correction.

“Why are you in Japan?” she says again, all bright and innocent and cheery. It somehow feels like she’s been faking things so far, and that this is the real her, which she’s been holding back up until this point. Aiku isn’t so sure if that’s a good thing; privately, he believes it would’ve been better if she kept holding back just a little bit longer. Long enough for her to reject Sae — who still claims he’s not into her and is just trying to ‘be friendly’, as if friendliness is something he’s well known for — and then move on with her day.

“My passport expired?” Sae says, phrasing it more like a question. “So I had to come back and get it renewed?”

His voice ticks up at the end of every sentence unsurely. It’s almost cute, like he’s a little baby chick. Aiku’s fond of chicks, so he decides he’ll step in. Just this once.

“He’s visiting from Spain to play for the Japanese U-20 team in an upcoming exhibition match,” he explains.

“Oh, wow,” she says. “But I thought you said you would rather give up on soccer or play with German college kids than ever play soccer for Japan?”

Aiku raises an eyebrow. He wasn’t aware of such sentiments, and though he’s not exactly shocked, he can’t help feeling a bit miffed. When he glances over at Sae, there’s not a trace of remorse on his face, and so he wrinkles his nose.

Forget the raise and the baby-chick-esque mannerisms alike. He’s done helping this ungrateful, no-good, lame-as-hell, girl-repelling loser for free. If Sae wants any further assistance, he’ll have to beg for it. 

“How did you know I said that?” Sae says. You clap your hand over your mouth when you realize you’ve exposed yourself.

“I, um, I was just guessing!” you say.

“Guessing?” he repeats. You swear, because that’s actually a worse explanation than the original one, and then you hang your head, because if the cat’s out of the bag, then there’s no way you can put it back in.

“It’s a quote from one of your interviews,” you mumble.

“What?” It’s Aiku, who immediately frowns when he realizes he’s butted in. Sae gives him an odd look out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m a big fan of yours,” you say. “The last game you played in, when you stole the ball from that Bastard München striker, was amazing! To tell you the truth, I’ve been trying to figure out why you’re in the area instead of back in Madrid. It’s a little unbelievable, you see.”

“Ah,” Sae says, and for some reason he looks uncomfortable. “Well. Yeah. It was just the issues with my passport and all. I decided to play for the U-20s because I was offered a good deal, but it’s right back to Madrid for me after that.”

“That makes sense,” you say. It’s awkward again, but in a different way. You don’t know what to say. You don’t think he does either. His drink is probably cold now, and you’re surprised that Aiku’s eyes aren’t stuck in the back of his head, given how frequently he’s been rolling them. “Can I have your autograph?”

“No,” Sae says immediately. You’re a little taken aback, and to be honest, he looks kind of horrified himself, but you know better than to nag, so you only nod at him.

“No worries—” you begin before you’re cut off by a grumbling Aiku.

“He’ll give you his number instead. Here,” Aiku says, listing off a series of digits too rapidly for you to remember. “He’ll write it down, for you, right, Sae?”

And then, to your utter disbelief, Sae Itoshi is pulling out a pen and a piece of paper from who knows where, and he’s humming in agreement.

“Right,” he says, and then he’s handing you a note with his phone number written on it in neat print and his signature in flowing cursive. “You can call me later. If you want. Y/N.”

The way he speaks is stilted and low, but you don’t mind it. Tucking the piece of paper into your apron pocket, you beam at him.

“Alright,” you say. “I’ll call you. I still have more things to ask you, so it’s good that you gave me this.”

“Yes,” Sae says. “Yes, you can do that if you’d like.”

Then he and Aiku are leaving the coffee shop, their drinks in hand, and you’re standing there in awe, wondering if that actually just happened or if it was nothing but a particularly vivid flight of fancy. 

If it’s the latter, then you almost hope it’s one you don’t ever escape from. 

“You’re welcome,” Aiku says as they leave the cafe. 

“I didn’t say thank you, you lukewarm oaf,” Sae says. Aiku shrugs. He’s hard to ruffle, after all. It’s the reason why he stepped in and rescued Sae from that little mistake of his. He just couldn’t bear the thought of his dear junior losing the girl of his dreams because of a slip of his tongue, even if aforementioned junior is the insufferable smart-ass type.

Well, the thought of the money he’ll make if Sae speaks of him highly to the JFU doesn’t hurt, either, but that’s less altruistic, so he prefers to stick to the first explanation.

“I bet you feel it, though,” Aiku says.

“Shut up,” Sae says. 

It’s a good thing babies are born every minute. Otherwise, given how frequently Sae says that particular phrase, Aiku really might run out of things to count on. 

You’ve typed the number on the piece of paper into your phone, and now you’re staring at it blankly, wondering if you should press the green call button. What if it was a prank? What if it wasn’t? Because then you’ll have to actually talk to Sae Itoshi, and you’re not so sure you can do that.

In a fit of inspiration, you slam your index finger against your screen and hold your phone up to your ear. It rings a couple of times, each subsequent one worsening the pit in your stomach, but then it stops ringing entirely, which can only mean one thing: Sae, if this really is his number, has answered.

“Hello?” you say.

“Hello?” he responds. “Y/N?”

“Yes!” you say. “It’s me. Y/N. Like you said.”

“Cool,” he says. “It’s Sae. Which I guess you knew, since you called me.”

“The confirmation was nice,” you say, internally sighing in relief. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he says. It’s mannerly but also a little sarcastic, albeit not in a mean way. You don’t mind it much. “You said you had to ask me some things?”

The two of you spend the next few minutes in a setting kind of like an interview, in that you drill him with questions and he answers them all patiently. He’s kind about it, humoring you even though he doesn’t have to, and he never threatens to hang up, which you do appreciate.

“Would you mind if I ask a question, too?” he says when you’ve taken a break to drink some water.

“Go ahead! Although I’m not as interesting as you are,” you say.

“I think you’re probably way more interesting,” he admits. “Anyways. Are you free next weekend?”

“Uh, I think I have a shift on Saturday, but to be honest, my coworker owes me, so he can cover it. Why?” you say.

“The exhibition game that I’m playing with the U-20s for. You should come watch,” he says.

“Oh! Sure, where should I get tickets? I’d have gotten them already if I knew you were playing,” you say.

“I’m allowed to invite someone,” he says. “Friends or family. So I’m inviting you.”

“Don’t you have actual friends that you can invite?” you say before gasping. “Sorry! Sorry, that was super insensitive and rude of me. Of course I’m honored to come, I’m just confused about why I’m the one you’re inviting. Me. I’ve literally made coffee for you twice, and that’s about it.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” he says before pausing. “Um, look, Aiku told me to say this, so if it’s uncomfortable, then blame him…but I think you’re, er, beautiful?”

Your mind short-circuits. “Huh?”

“I don’t know! He’s the one who has experience, I’m just taking his advice!” Sae says, his tone souring immediately afterwards. “Trust me, it’s not like I want to. There’s many things I’d rather do than follow Oliver Aiku’s advice, but at the moment, it’s the best I can do.”

“Beautiful,” you repeat. It’s such an elegant adjective. You’ve been called pretty before, and there’s been a fair share of guys who have considered you to be hot, but beautiful…it’s nice. It’s really nice.

“Yeah,” Sae finally says. “Basically.”

“I’ll be there,” you say. There’s something like a scream bubbling in your throat, but you fight it back, knowing that it’s of the utmost importance that you maintain a relaxed demeanor.

“Great,” Sae says. “See you.”

“See you,” you say, and then you hang up before he can say anything further, because you’re already on the verge of combustion and you don’t think you can handle anything more.

Throwing your phone across the room, you give in and scream. There’s thundering footsteps, and then your father is throwing the door to your bedroom open, whipping his head around wildly.

“Is everything alright? Why are you screaming?” he says, heaving for breath, probably because he just sprinted from his spot on the couch to your bedroom in record time.

“Sae Itoshi!” you say.

“Yes?” he says, the rate of his inhales and exhales lowering as he realizes there’s no active threat to your life or property. “What about him?”

“He told me I’m beautiful and invited me to watch his game next weekend,” you say, knowing that this is going to make your father — a fellow Re Al fan — freak out.

You wait, counting down as he processes the news, unable to contain your exuberant grin, knowing exactly what’s coming. Three, two, one—

“What?”

[neumonia]

pair: Senku x gn reader

smut

Ever since being un petrified, Senku had taken a liking to you. You were the only person who knew more than base level science.

You wake up out of your bed in Ishigami Village, it was sunrise and you get up looking for Senku, and you find him. Although he’s sleeping on the floor. It seems like he was trying to finish making a camera. He was almost done but probably collapsed due to burn out over the past days. You carry him to his bed and finish making his camera.

He wakes up and sees that he’s in his bed, confused because he swore he passed out on the floor. He goes to the lab and sees that the camera was finished. By whom is his first thought as the camera is working correctly. He then glances at a note on the table stating “Hi Senku Chan, I finished your camera for you. That’s it!” Senku knew exactly how to reward you for your good work…

You and Francois pass out food to the villagers while Senku observes looking at you only, with your silky h/c hair and bustling body, his looks are nothing but seductive and tempt. Especially after your helpful work this morning. You go through your daily activities during the day like training with Kohaku or talking to Chrome about his love for science. But a focal point in your day was how Senku was stalking you. Albeit very obvious it still intrigued you.

Especially when you were by Chrome, it seemed he was seething when you were by him. His gaze was so dominant, you felt puny compared to him even though you were taller than him. The day is over and the sun is setting, you haven’t seen Senku in a while. You go back to your home and walk into your room. You sit on your bed and suddenly Senku appears, you stare at him while he walks to you. “Good job y/n, you made me very proud with your good work. So you deserve a reward.” He walks in front of you while a tall 9 inches bulges in your face.

You see it twitch, happily inviting you to succumb to it. You oblige and devour his cock whole, and go forwards and backwards until you sense him about to cum. You swiftly pull back and see Senku immediately gets pissed off. You get giddy seeing his mad face. “What’d you do that for!?” Says Senku. You say in reply “I thought it would be funny!” You’ve never seen Senku like this before.

Just to tease him a bit more you lay on the bed and spread your legs out begging Senku to teach you a lesson. Out of no where Senku jumps on top of you and pins both of your hands above your head. He inserts his dick and starts fucking you relentlessly. You’re cries and moans only make him go faster while he calls you a bitch, whore, and “personal cumsock” he doesn’t let up until you both cum at the same time. He then relents to you this, “Don’t you dare toy with me again. Or else I won’t hold back.” He then kisses you on the cheek while you lay in the bed immobile because of his dick. He leaves the room. You think to yourself “ I’m gonna have so much fun in this stone world..!”

If you enjoyed this please tell me

Any problems or tips please do tell me!

This is my first time

[tea-writes19]

snapshots | s.w.

pairing: sam wilson x f!torres!reader

summary: being the new falcon’s sister comes with some perks

warnings: latina reader, friends to lovers, reader is sam’s social media manager, swearing, fluff, comedy, suggestive content, minor ca:bnw spoilers, slow burn

a/n: based on this request!! i hope this lives up to your expectations nonnie! also i’m not latino so i apologise if the spanish and mannerisms are off! ps i’m sorry this is so late, i fell into a bit of a writers block

liked by joaquintorres, samwilson, and others

yourusername: new job alert🗣️📢

tagged: @/samwilson

view comments below

user1: ooohhh can’t wait!!

user2: congrats!

samwilson: you couldn’t have picked a better photo?

yourusername: it’s called authenticity samuel

yourusername: now let me do my job

samwilson: 🤲🏾🤲🏾

user3: can’t wait for more pics of sam like this😭

user4: frfr

user5: same😭😭

joaquintorres: you think this is how nepo babies feel?

user6: 😭😭

yourusername: guess you could call me a nepo sister

user7: omg omg omg

user8: best social media manager goes to y/n🏆

yourusername: i’d like to thank the academy…

user9: pls you’re so funny✋😭

yourusername: i try🤷🏻‍♀️

liked by sarahwilson, joaquin torres, samwilson, and others

yourusername: i call this one the ‘they suck at pool’

tagged: @/joaquintorres @/samwilson

view comments below

user14: tagging them is hilarious work

user15: ^^^

user16: tbf i would so do that too😭😭

sarahwilson: invite me next time so it can actually be a competition

yourusername: why do our brothers fucking suck??

sarahwilson: bc we got all the cool genes😎

samwilson: what one of us is captain america again?

user17: 😭😭

joaquintorres: that is so not true!! @/mamatorres mami y/n is being mean

mamatorres: y/n be nice to quino

yourusername: @/joaquintorres snitch

user18: can’t believe joaquin snitched😔

yourusername: he’s a little bitch i know😐

joaquintorres: I GOT YOU A JOB!!

yourusername: okay? you’re still a little bitch…

samwilson: i’d like everyone to know i came in 2nd

yourusername: 2nd place is just the first loser

samwilson: 1st is the worst, 2nd is the best, 3rd is the one in the polka dot dress

user19: not the school-yard rhyme😭😭

joaquintorres: i would rock a polka dot dress and you know it

samwilson: brb petitioning to change your uniform

user20: love how y/n is feeding us with candid sam pics

yourusername: have to pay the bills somehow

yourusername added to their story —>

[caption: mami asked him to take the trash out and this was his reaction; hispanic men ain’t shit]

story replies

joaquintorres: PLEASE I DID IT RIGHT AFTER THIS

yourusername: yeah bc mami threatened you w/ the chancla

user21: you’re so right girly

user22: when you’re the first-born daughter in a hispanic household😔✊

yourusername: PREACH🗣️

user23: dated a mexican boy in high school…it didn’t end well

user24: why are they always mama boys too😩😩

liked by samwilson, mamatorres, joaquintorres, and others

yourusername: dream team: they fight bad guys and i post about it⭐️📷

tagged: @/joaquintorres @/samwilson

view comments below

user24: the best team!!

samwilson: if anything y’all are the sidekicks

yourusername: i’m going to tell sergeant barnes you said that

samwilson: don’t you dare…

user25: i’m crying😭😭

joaquintorres: surprised how nice you’re being

joaquintorres: you’re up to something aren’t you

yourusername: wouldn’t you like to know weather boy

user26: and we love you for it!!

user27: i bet sam is so happy y/n finally posted a good pic of him on her page

yourusername: he’s jumping up and down as we speak

user27: love that😭

user28: omg🤣🤣

user29: video of y’all swapping roles for a day when

samwilson: never bc y/n would die and mama torres would kill me

joaquintorres: but at least i’d get the full inheritance

yourusername: you guys have no faith in me and it shows😒

user30: damn is joaquin single🥵

yourusername: the fuck?! don’t thirst for my brother on my account

joaquintorres: yes i am!

liked by yourusername, sarahwilson, buckybarnes, and others

samwilson: downtime in delacroix☀️🌊

tagged: @/yourusername @/sarahwilson @/casswilson

view comments below

user31: y/n and no joaquin??

user31: suspicious

yourusername: had so much fun!

sarahwilson: you’re welcome anytime!! loved having another woman in the house

yourusername: oh you bet your ass i’m going to abuse that welcome now🤭

samwilson: i never should’ve introduced you two

user32: omg please tell me you and y/n are dating!?

user33: fr…bit strange how only she was there and not joaquin🤨

user34: YES!! i so hope they are

buckybarnes: tell sarah i say hi

samwilson: no

sarahwilson: hi bucky😁

joaquintorres: can’t believe i had to spend the week in meetings in dc while y’all swam in the ocean

yourusername: suck it bitch😎🖕

user35: justice for joaquin✊😔

user36: ^^^

samwilson: oh god they’re thirsting on my page too😖

yourusername: disgusting🤢🤢

joaquintorres: @/samwilson @/yourusername 🖕

user37: brb planning a trip to delacroix now

user38: oh my god stalker alert

user39: leave sam’s family alone!!

yourusername: i want everyone to know i’m a boss at water-gun fights

casswilson: best team😎

yourusername: you know it🥳

samwilson: whatever😒😒

liked by sarahwilson, joaquintorres, samwilson, and others

yourusername: southern sunsets >>>

tagged: @/samwilson @/sarahwilson

view comments below

sarahwilson: miss you already!!!

yourusername: wish we could have stayed longer😩😩

user40: slide 3 looking a bit sus y/n

user41: ^^^

user42: fr…

user43: i need to know where those swimsuits are from🙏🙏

joaquintorres: latinas latinos*

yourusername: 🙅🏻‍♀️🙅🏻‍♀️

user44: 😭😭

samwilson: told you the south is good for some things…

yourusername: beignets😩

user45: mardi gras😩

user46: sam wilson😩

yourusername: ^^^

user46: wait a sec—

user47: i need to know what’s going on between y/n & sam

user48: oh to be a fly on the wall

user49: yessss

yourusername added to their story—>

[caption: back to your regularly scheduled programming]

story replies

user50: the leg placement👀👀

user51: wanna tell us smth y/n??

user52: more joaquin incoming🥳🥳

yourusername: NO—

joaquintorres: oh thank god…please save me from ross

liked by samwilson, mamatorres, sarahwilson, and others

yourusername: life recently :)

view comments below

samwilson: surprised you didn’t put an ugly pic of me

yourusername: don’t worry i debated it

user53: IS THAT SAM?!?

user54: i feel like a spy searching for clues

user55: omg so real😭

user56: i wanna be y/n when i grow up

user57: y/n doesn’t post for 2 months and comes back to soft launch

user58: she’s so me coded

user59: i wonder what joaquin thinks of their relationship😭😭

user60: omg he’s so the third wheel i bet

joaquintorres: love how i’ve just been cut out from your posts…

yourusername: the fans were getting too thirsty

samwilson: it was stressin’ us out

sarahwilson: i’ll kill sam if he hurts you

buckybarnes: i’ll kill him for a slice of pizza and a cold drink

joaquintorres: i’ll kill him to be added back in your posts

samwilson: you all suck🖕

user61: 😭😭

yourusername added to their story —>

[caption: that is america’s ass😏🤭]

© tea-writes19 do not repost, translate, or copy