#but his lack of a core is known

[lovesickeros]

putting my thoughts under the cut in case people dont want to spoil themself on arle voicelines

currently obsessed with the view our current harbingers have of the Tsaritsa. both childe and arlecchino greatly respect her even if arlecchino is dubiously loyal to the Tsaritsa at best. they both talk about her as a figure who is gentle and compassionate, completely at odds with both the organization she allows to commit horrible acts (dottore. its a lot of dottore. he canonically took children from the hoth under the old knave if they were no longer considered "useful" and used as test subjects). shes described as someone with no love left for her people yet the harbingers we've heard talk about her never seem to describe her in such a manner. of course, childe mentions she had to harden herself to complete her goal, but he still notes that shes too gentle. the more we learn about her the more i want to meet her purely because she is contradictions all the way down and its great!!! taking whatever scraps i can get and its perfectly in line with my characterization too so i stay winning

[hrrtshape]

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　become the laziest shifter ,

shifting is not a labour camp. you are not laying bricks. you are not a victorian chimney sweep, coughing up soot and hoping the foreman doesn’t notice you pausing for breath. shifting is supposed to be effortless.

　　　　here’s how to become one.

　ʚ stop trying so hard. seriously. shifting is not an algebra equation that needs solving. the more you obsess, the more you reinforce the idea that shifting is difficult, that it requires strain. it doesn’t. it’s like falling asleep. easy, natural, inevitable. you don’t need to ‘do’ shifting. you just allow it.

start ditching the obsession with techniques. they are tools, not commandments. if a method feels like a second job, drop it. some people shift while blinking. others shift mid-sneeze. some wake up shifted. some never have to think about it at all. you’re allowed to be one of those people. shifting doesn’t reward effort, it rewards ease.

people who shift aren’t ‘lucky.’ they just decide they’ve already won. embrace the delusion. belief isn’t something you prove; it’s something you wear like an expensive coat. you don’t need external validation. your reality is dictated by you, not by polls or peer reviews.

stop tensing up in bed like you’re about to undergo surgery. roll over like you’ve just been fed grapes by hand and have never known stress. get comfortable. let go. do you think nero worried about his shifting technique? no. he just made a decree and the world bent to him. you are your own emperor. decree your reality.

shifting doesn’t need to feel like a cosmic event. no need for vibrating, levitating, the heavens parting. sometimes it’s quiet. lose the expectation of ‘fireworks.’  sometimes it’s like slipping into warm water, seamless and smooth. don’t wait for ‘proof’. just shift.

stop acting like reality is a prison cell. you are not ‘trapped’. you are not ‘stuck’. you’re just sitting in one room when you could walk into another. no chains, no locks, just a door.

　　　　　　or how to . . 　　　　　　　　　　　　become the laziest manifestor ,

manifesting is not an unpaid internship. you are not earning it through blood, sweat, and desperate scripting at 3 a.m. manifesting is a birthright. a casual shrug. a ‘wouldn’t it be funny if. oh, look, it happened.’ you are not grinding for your desires.

　　　so let’s talk about getting everything you want.

　⭑ in its core, manifesting is just deciding. it is not a scavenger hunt. it is not an exam. it is not a ‘what if’. it is a ‘this is.’ people who get what they want simply assume it’s already theirs. they don’t waver. they don’t worry. they don’t ‘hope,’ they know.

stop micromanaging the how. do you manually control your heartbeat? do you stress over each individual breath? no? then stop hovering over your manifestations like an anxious project manager. you want it. it’s done. the ‘how’ isn’t your problem. the universe has already sorted the logistics.

start being delusional. your current reality is just a collection of past assumptions. want a new reality? adopt new assumptions. pretend you already have what you want. no, really. stop analysing. just be the version of you who has it. the world will catch up.

if you’re ‘waiting’ for your manifestation, you’re reinforcing that it isn’t here yet. and if you’re reinforcing lack, you’re just extending it. let go of ‘waiting.' live like it’s already yours. because it is.

the universe is not a vending machine you need to shake. detach. you don’t ‘make’ things happen. you request them, step back, and trust they’re coming. you ever seen a billionaire refresh their bank balance anxiously? no. they just know the money is there. treat your manifestations the same way.

you are already doing it. every single thing in your life right now, you manifested it. consciously or not. so you might as well start doing it on purpose.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　┊

stop making shifting and manifesting your part-time job. you are the main character, yes, but not the tragic, struggling one. be the one who gets what they want simply because they decide to. the one who moves through realities with ease, who manifests without breaking a sweat. become the laziest, most effortless version of yourself. because that’s the one who wins without having to lift a finger.

[bobananami]

VELVET ESCAPADES

SUKUNA RYOMEN

synopsis—a night out with your fiancé ends with you ruining his fun, then to him ruining you

tags—CEO au Sukuna. talks of marriage. brat reader. remote controlled vibrators. hidden exhibition. bondage (suspension). edging. orgasm denial. hints towards his abilities. fingering. pnv.

You weren't a coward. At least that's what you told yourself as you rushed down a hallway filled with grandiose windows and pristine carpeted floors. All part of the manor that hosted the gracious ball you and your beloved fiance were attending.

Said fiance was mingling around the dance floor, conversing with men of his caliber—or at least as close as they could get to his. All fancied up in suits and ties, they preened their wealth in hopes of showing off their status to both their women or in hopes of finding one—or multiple—to spend the night with.

Not that it mattered to you or your husband to be. Both of you were dressed immaculately, putting every wannabe rich boy and doe-eyed ladies to shame the second you walked in and beheld your shimmering dress and sharp, tailored suit.

Little did they know that under your fancy embroidered fabrics, Sukuna Ryomen was playing a game with you. A game that started with a little object in his right pocket that he constantly fidgeted with and ended with its second half buried up into your slick core.

You thought it would be fun in the car when he had proposed the idea. To see how well you could keep your composure when he held your pleasure and sanity in his hand, and in the end—if you did good—he'd reward you.

You should've known better. You should've fucking known better.

It took you half an hour to realize exactly how this game benefitted him and not you, for he denied you your pleasure every single time you were inches away from reaching it. You didn't know how he kept tabs on exactly how close you were, but you had little doubt it was related to his unusual keen eyes and ears, able to hear every stuttered breath and every skipped heartbeat.

The first time he’d done so, you casted him a wicked glare, eyes sharp enough to cut through the very walls of this building. He only met it with a smooth incline of his chin, his lips twitched into a smile so subtle, you wouldn't have caught it if you weren't on the receiving end.

The second time had you tapping your foot against the marble floor, your grip on the champagne glass tight enough to nearly shatter it. You didn't look at him this time, but just a second later, you felt a palm—his palm—on your shoulder and his breath against the end of your jaw. A single word was whispered from his lips as they caressed the shell of your ear.

"Behave."

Your shoulders trembled as you resisted the urge to snap your teeth at his chuckling figure.

The third time had you storming off into the hallways, muttering something about needing to use the restroom towards the frilly young lady that prattled off about some subject you never really listened to.

You couldn't catch a break.

Even in the wide expanse of windowed walls and red carpeted floors, you couldn't cool yourself from the heat that radiated in your core. The lack of sleeves and cool, ventilated air did nothing but show how tense you were. How two beads of sweat made their way from your forehead down to your jaw.

The bathroom wasn't much better, but it did offer you the privacy you wished you had.

Bzzz.

Your grip tightened on the white counters, your eyes screwed shut as you held in the little moan that threatened to escape.

You let your head fall back, the buzzing growing more intense and louder in the echoing chamber of the bathroom. Your chest heaved with every pant and your thighs pressed together as if they could ward off the sensation you begged to receive. The waters of pleasure grew into a wave, higher and higher as it reached the undisturbed shore that begged to be coated in oceanic salt.

Maybe he couldn't hear you. You're halfway across the damn house, behind the closed door of a bathroom. Maybe now you could—

But before you could finish the thought, the waters froze, then were pulled back by an unknown force.

You held in a howl of frustration, tears pricking your lashes that you held in for fear of ruining your makeup. You opted for stomping furiously on the ground.

How dare he? How dare he take your orgasm from you again?

Riiiiing.

You buried your hand in your purse, pulling out your phone. Your scowl only deepened the second you saw what contact dared to interrupt your internal tirade.

"Are you done throwing your little tantrum, princess?"

You didn't hesitate. "Fuck. You."

Three tuts were heard over the line, then his deep, smug voice. "Don't be like that, baby. You know better than to use that language on me."

"I mean it, Sukuna. Fucking—I hate you." The vibe in you suddenly went to its max, and you yelped in surprise, your shaky grip nearly causing you to drop your phone.

"What did I just say?" The static didn't really distort his words. Somehow, it only made them more menacing. Made you more inclined to obey his commands.

But the past hour and a half of teasing and toying with you as if you were nothing but a little rabbit to be played with during its hunt had your pupils narrowing and ragged breaths sourcing from anger, rather than desperation.

Fuck obedience.

You held the bottom of your phone to your mouth, making sure he heard every breath and syllable you spat from your venomous tongue.

"Fuck. You."

You hung up the phone shortly after. He wanted to play with you? You could play his game right back.

His contact appeared shortly on the screen again and you declined the call, instead going into his information and blocking him effective immediately.

You shut off your phone right after, getting rid of any location tracking he might've had with the device.

The glittering cloths of your dress wrinkled as you hiked up your skirt. The single stall bathroom was filled with hitched moans and whines as you pushed aside your laced panties, gliding two fingers deep into your pulsing cunt. All just to grab onto the silicone string of that damned vibrator and yank it out.

"We'll see how you fucking like this." You hissed angrily, tossing it into your purse with contempt.

So full of vitriol and spite, the satisfaction gained from shutting him out and ending his fun was enough for you to forgo getting yourself off in the pristine restroom and causing wonder for why you'd been gone for so long.

Little did you know that would be the biggest mistake of your night.

You flipped your hair back, testing your smile in the spotless mirror. Stunning. That's what you'd thought when you finally finished your makeup hours earlier. That's what your fiance had murmured the second he saw your finished look by the door to your home.

But now? Your smile widened to show your teeth, your canines as dull as a human could be, yet seeming as sharp as a panther when you beheld the molten lava in your eyes.

You avoided Sukuna the whole night afterwards, relishing in his darkened gaze when he realized what you had done.

You tossed him a look when he tried edging you again in plain sight and threw him a little wink before you took a sip of your champagne.

Dangling the glittery purse in your palm, you spun on your heel and went back to the bar to order a glass of refreshment.

He was beyond pissed, you could tell. You felt his eyes boring holes in your head as you turned your back towards him and you knew that if you were in the privacy of your own home, you'd be pinned to the ground with his clothed cocks pressing into your ass as he growled threats and promises into your ear.

Which was why the snake of delight slithered up your spine. He was in no position to do what he wanted right now. Not when so many people were watching.

Your thighs clenched at the idea of you finally having the higher ground.

Maybe now he'll know better than to cross you again.

You were so, so wrong.

A minute later you felt a grip by your elbow. You looked up to see the stormy eyes of Sukuna Ryomen, burning with ire.

You barely put the glass down before you were being dragged to the front door. As politely as he could display in this public setting. He stopped to talk to the host, but before you could get the idea to run, his grip turned impossibly tight.

Your eyes widened, and you looked up to your lover to see his jaw clench, even as he smiled and laughed with the blue eyed, white haired man before him.

You could barely bid your farewells before you were borderline tossed into your car.

The car was dark, the only light within from the radio by the front driver and the golden lights from the house outside.

Your pupils narrowed, and you snarled his way. "Why the fuck did you just—"

You felt two fingers press against your forehead and the last thing you saw was the steel cold face of Sukuna Ryomen and two very vivid scarlet eyes.

You awoke with a throbbing headache—the familiar aftereffects of the fainting spell. It wore off by the second, all the while you blinked away your blurry vision, trying to discern your surroundings.

Your neck ached and the muscles strained from the tension of your head hanging down. The reason why hit you soon after—your hands were suspended in the air. Red silk wrapped snugly around your wrists kept your arms pin straight above your head, its other end reaching the hook in the ceiling.

You tried shifting your legs, only to realize the same ropes were there too, tied artistically around your lower thighs to keep them spread apart.

Displayed like art for its intended audience.

Cold air wrapped around you like a glove, shifting your notice to your dress, or lack thereof. Where glittered fabric and shimmering satin had coated you before now laid nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Your eyes widened—

"You wake, finally."

Sukuna Ryomen sat lazily on the armchair across from you. His ankle was cross over his knee, his chin resting on his fist. He was still dressed in his nightly clothes sans his jacket. Drool pooled at the bottom of your mouth when you beheld the way his shirt stretched against his chest.

There was something in his other hand though. You noticed his thumb rolling against the edge of a small object. That should’ve raised the alarm in your head.

"What is the meaning of this?" Your words were slow. Careful. You weren't ignorant to the gleam in his eyes. In the dark room, lit only by the golden lamps beside your bed, Sukuna's ruby irises seemed to glow with lustful malice.

"You should know, little rabbit." Your fiance drawled, his tone lazy, yet you noticed the subtle edge with every syllable that dripped from his tongue. "You ruined my fun tonight."

You bristled in your spot, trying to ignore the flush that crept up your cheeks from his gaze raking over your nude figure. There was a hunger within them that made you wonder if he was planning how, exactly, he was going to devour you.

He leaned forward, flashing the tiny black object in his hand.

A remote of some sort.

"So I will be ruining you."

The small click reverberated throughout the room.

Not even a second later, you felt a small buzz inside your cunt. You jerked against the sudden feeling, now taking note of the small vibe nestled deep inside your walls.

Your surprised expression met the cunning of his and his smile grew at the realization blooming in your eyes at what he had planned tonight.

Another click and your gasp followed, your lips forming his name in a plea he'd be sure to ignore.

"Sukuna please—"

"Zip it." His sharp tone had your mouth clamping up. But he didn't ignore the way your pupils narrowed at his snippy tone. "You ran from me tonight. Blocked me. Took out the toy."

Bzz.

"Now you have no choice but to face your punishment, when tonight could've ended with satisfaction."

Click.

Bzzz.

"You fucking deserved—"

You didn't even blink before he was in front of you, your hair whipping with the effects of his lightning speed.

His hand gripped your jaw roughly, lifting your face to meet his.

"You'll take what I give you until you're a begging, writhing mess. Then I'll think about giving you what you want. But for now..."

You blink, and he's back in his seat, in the same exact position that you wondered if you had imagined him getting up in the first place.

His smile grew, baring his fangs of the wolf he never truly tried to hide.

"We have fun."

You were delirious, wound up infinitely from the pain and pleasure mixed into an intoxicating potion of ecstasy.

Sukuna kept you bound there for an hour. Two hours. Watching. Waiting.

His keen eyes observed every twitch and jerk as he kept that vibrator buried deep within your pulsing cunt and edged you until you were begging for him to grant you release.

You were hissing, spitting and groaning out insults like a feral kitten to the man that sat before you with a smirk carved into his beautiful face. His eyes held all the emotions you needed to see, glimmering with amusement and pity, as if you were nothing than a bunny caught in its hunters snare, to be eaten and savored. You were the one who bounced into his trap after all, you only had yourself to blame.

He could see the gradual shift in effects your little game was having on you. The denial to anger. The writhe and shift of your body as that vibrator nestled deep in your cunt was winding that worn rope tighter and tighter within you.

Your wrists must've been rubbed raw by now with how much you were twisting them in the silk knot that held them high above your head, the ones at your knees keeping your thighs spread perfectly so he could watch just how your heated core reacted to being denied its pleasure over and over and over again.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck you, Sukuna. Fuck. You." You spat, your words nothing but null venom. "Fucking h-hate you." Your voice hitched, words tumbling into a low whine that mixed with the crescendoing buzz of your toy. Your knees jerked, eyes squeezing shut as you got lost in the pleasure your torturer was granting you.

Sukuna merely quirked a single brow, leaning an elbow on his leg as he bent forward. "Do you now, doll?" The low baritone of his voice had you keening, your head shaking in a white lie.

"I do. F-fuck. I swear—hah—I swear I do!" You winced as your nails bit into the skin of your palm, your fists as tense as the muscles of your thighs. Sukuna's keen eyes watched as the crimson of your blood stain the red silk at your wrists, and his tongue swiped over his lips at the idea of taking your hand in his grasp and...

"Hm... okay then." The remote in his hand clicked, eventually reaching a stage with no change as he wound up the intensity to its max, and he relished in every jerk and twitch of your body as it tried desperately to chase that high he'd been artistically keeping from you.

Predatory eyes glimmered with entertainment as you panted, your voice reaching a high pitch as you moaned for him. As you whined and cried and sobbed. For someone who claimed to feel nothing but hatred for her fiance, you sure had a tendency to keep the syllables of his name flowing on your tongue.

That incessant buzzing hadn't stopped once in the past many minutes, pulling that fragile string tighter, tighter, and fucking tighter.

You'd survived the past two and a half hours of denial, relying on that armor of swears and insults. But it could only handle so much. You could only handle so much.

You realized now that you were laid bare, and the wolf in front of you was drooling at the maw as he took in your naked torso. At the exposed belly of the little rabbit he desired to ravish.

For a second, you froze, taking in your wicked fiancée. The way his irises seemed to glow red, his very presence emanating the sadistic glee at your struggle…

The whites of your eyes showed as you beheld your ravenous predator before you, and then you thrashed. Finally, finally that prey subconscious kicked in. Testing the integrity of the red silk that held you spread wide open for your dashing, torturing hunter, you tried curling in on yourself. Elbows flaring and thighs begging to close to hide your displayed abdomen and chest if only to protect yourself from the beast in front of you.

All the while Sukuna Ryomen's smile grew, showing his fangs and canines as you broke. Shattered.

Into a million pieces he would eagerly clean with his tongue.

"Fuck—Sukuna, please. Please!" Your arms tugged at the rope again, shoulders and triceps sore from the constant state of tension it remained in as tears streaked down the familiar path your cheeks, wetting the dried trail that had been there since the moment you woke up on this bed.

"Oh?" He was everything but shocked, but his chuckle grated against your ears and you sobbed once more, your throat bobbing with the pathetic sounds that followed. "So she finally begs."

You were so close. So damn close to ecstasy that you didn't bristle at his mockery, instead now focusing on switching methods and pleading for mercy.

"I want-" A hiccup, then the shake of your head to move the curl of hair that found its way to your face. "I w-wanna cum. Please, 'Kuna. P-Please!"

His sharp eyes gnawed at you—at the once thick metaphorical rope now grains away from snapping entirely and bringing your unsteady waters to peace.

You welcomed it—craved it. You wanted it gone, that growing itch deep within your core that you were so close to getting rid of. You wanted it gone.

"Beg me more." Each syllable was drawn out, his eloquence leaving no room for misunderstanding as you opened your tear laden eyes and set them upon his grinning expression. Cocky mother fucker.

But you couldn’t argue. It was futile. It always had been. From the second he started this game.

Your body bowed once more as you gave in entirely—a physical representation of how you finally became submissive to your master.

"Please. Please, my love. I'm begging. I—I'll do anything. Anything! If I could j-just—“

“J-just—“ His mocking tone sliced through your pleas. One second he was sitting in that damn chair, and the next he was in front of you. His head tilted, the true essence of the reigning predator he was in that very movement.

His calloused hand grabbed at your jaw, his tight, rough grip keeping your gaze directed up towards him.

"Come now, bambi... you can do better than that." You whimpered when he jerked your face forward. When he bent down until your lips were a mere breath away. "Beg."

You didn't know how to beg more than you already had. You only let out a series of sobs and unintelligible slurred words as he took off that vibrator again, yanking you down to earth.

"Hm." Sukuna watched you with amused scrutiny as you tried finding your way back to shore after being dunked under the ocean surface once again. He couldn't help but let his hand wander, his finger trailing oh so delicately down your neck, from your jaw to the clavicle that jutted out. Round and round your breast until he was cupping it. You could only twitch and whine and moan when he squeezed, his thumb and forefinger pinching against your peaked nipple.

"I shouldn't be giving you anything tonight after the stunt you pulled today." He guided his hand lower and lower, down your curves and your heaving abdomen. "But I can't help that you looked so fucking delectable at that gala tonight. I wanted to drag you to a bathroom and rip your dress to shreds." Your thigh tensed when his palm skimmed up and down the expanse of your skin. Over the ridges of looped silk that dimpled your fat under their tension.

You couldn't help but whimper when he cupped your mound. Neither could you help your embarrassed flush when he pointed out how he barely even touched you and yet his entire palm was covered in your slick and arousal.

Fucking filthy, he said.

All because of you, you couldn't help but respond.

The man who was not a man only hummed in response. His fingers slid between your folds, middle finger catching against your clit before he gave it a swift flick.

"Ngh—"

"Quiet, pet." He gave a light smack, and you jerked against his hold. Against the hold of that damn red silk.

He smacked you again, only to soothe the ache by pressing two, thick digits against your pulsating hole.

"You do not cum until I say so." It wasn't a request. He didn't care if you nodded in submission. Obedience was expected.

Your walls stretched deliciously as he sunk in his middle and ring finger, and you let out a long moan, high pitched and barely audible from hours of use.

Sukuna tched, moving the hand on your jaw to shove the same exact fingers down your throat. "I said be quiet."

You held in your gag at how deep they went. As well as your moan at how deep his other fingers went.

His thrusts were slow. The horrible, terrible man before you making you feel every grind and scissor and push of his two fingers.

Three digits each.

Six in total.

All making your head feel woozy and clouded as if you had taken a sedative.

"Stay with me, little doe."

He picked up the pace, and your lashes fluttered shut. Two tears rolled down your cheeks, released from your lash line the second your lids closed.

Please, please, please let me cum.

How pathetic did you have to be to beg him in your mind if you weren't allowed to do it verbally.

Your fiance seemed to read your thoughts, and a smug smile grew on his face. His fingers fucked into you faster, his palm now grinding against your clit with every shove of his hand into your sweet, begging cunt.

You were close. Oh so fucking close that you couldn't hide your whines anymore. Your internalized begging became verbal once more, even if they were muffled against his fingers pressed down on your tongue.

You opened your eyes to meet his once again, every request and apology written in them like the stars in the night sky.

Close, close. You were so close. Please, please, please, ple—

"Come."

Just like that, you fell limp, the ropes and his grip on your face being the only things holding you up as your vision turned white and your body gave into its carnal desire.

You felt lightning skitter up your spine and along every single bone in your body as you finally caved, orgasming on his relentless fingers.

The still bedroom air was filled with lewd claps of his hand continuing to finger fuck your tight cunt and the stuttered gasps and moans of relief and pleasure and ecstasy.

Finally. Finally.

His hand slowed, and you felt him pulling something out of your walls as he withdrew his hand from your throat.

A strong, albeit wet, palm cupped your cheek, and you stayed leaning against it with your eyes closed, catching your breath.

He let you, waiting as long as you needed to find your bearings before your lashes fluttered open, a tired—yet satisfied—emotion rolling beneath your rich irises.

Sukuna met yours with a cocky—and proud—look of his own. There was a tense moment of silence, before—

"Truly a shame I couldn't properly rip your dress off you tonight."

Your breathy chuckles told him all he needed to know. He'd have another chance, and you'd let him have his fun soon.

Very soon.

dividers from @/cafekitsune

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

call it quits or call it destiny | h. umemiya.

✮ tags ; afab + fem!reader(she/her pronouns, referred to as a girl, gets dressed up by tsubaki and kotoha), reader gets their hair braided (no desc of texture) and puts on makeup, lore heavy reader backstory + personality, deliquent!reader, gap moe, best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, themes of insecurity, mutual pining,the use of she/her for tsubaki, jealousy, confessions, loss of virginity, creampies / unprotected sex, oral (f!recieving), fingering, 18+

✮ wc ; 13.9k (dont. don't say anything)

✮ a/n ; me when i completely lose my mind because i have a weekend off. whats wrong with me.

anyways. there's no major triggers for this but be forewarned reader is meant to be very rag-tag deliquent type. she has a strong personality and generally is not feminine. she is like a mangy street cat a bit. also if u want u should listen to easily by bruno major while reading.

✮ synopsis ; you've been quietly pining for umemiya for a little over ten years with no plans of confessing.

you did not have a plan for what you would do if umemiya confessed to you first.

Once a day, everyday - Umemiya will come into your store, pause, smile, and confess his love to you before going off on his own.  

And once a day, everyday, you reject this confession with a soft huff  telling him to quit being stupid before shooing him away.  

It's become a ritual. A fixture in your daily routine that you're not allowed to ignore despite how hard you're trying.  

He's been doing it for three months, more or less. 

His reason for confessing everyday? Because he’s waiting on the day you confess back, of course. Which you've refused to do for the last few months and will continue to refuse for as long as you’ve got.  

It's not because you don't like him, alright? 

You've known Umemiya since middle school and you've liked him for about the same time. One of the core memories of your childhood is the day you met him, crying while sitting on a  swing-set, after what felt like the worst day of your life. 

( On the day you run away from home, you seriously consider not going back.  

You don’t really know how long you sit there. People walk by but most of them move on quickly. It’s mid-day before anyone bothers to stop and ask you something.  

 "I've never seen you around  before.” A strange looking boy approaches, friendly and unassuming but not entirely cheerful “Did you just move here?"  

You keep quiet, closing your eyes and hoping your lack of response is enough to push him away. Your hope fizzles out when you hear the swing creak as he sits besides you. 

"I'm Umemiya Hajime. I live close by." His voice is airy and causal. "I'm sorry you're having a bad day.”  

"Fuck off," You reply bluntly, frowning. “I don’t need sympathy. Leave me the hell alone.”  

He pauses before pushing himself slightly forward to barely swing.  

“I couldn’t leave you alone while you’re sad,” He voices willfully. "It might make you feel better to talk about it." 

In disbelief at his response, you finally look up and asses him properly. It doesn’t do much to change your initial unfavorable impression. White hair, blue eyes and a little taller than you. You’re definitely about the same age. All of that to say, there’s something weird about him that you can’t quite place.  

Despite his manner and way of speaking though, you don’t actually think he’s that weak which makes his whole aura even more unnerving to you. His attempt at being non-threatening doesn’t work for him. He’s being a real try-hard about trying to make you comfortable… 

Either way, he’s got an air about him that puts you on the defensive.  

 Talking to someone about it had never been much of any option, and somehow it pisses you off that he’s being so brazen about it.  

Maybe if you tell him about, he’ll stop prying into your business. Or maybe you’re just looking for excuses to let off steam. 

You don't care anymore. You wipe your nose with the back of your sleeve.  

"I don't live here and I didn’t move. I ran away." You reply.  

He keeps looking at you, curious, inquisitive and sympathetic.  

"Why?"   

"I broke a girls nose." You scowl. The words rise up in your throat like bile. Make you feel cornered. The wounds too fresh. "It—she bullied me for years for one. And I never fought back, it was all petty bullshit anyway and I didn't like getting calls home. I didn't care about that but she—it wasn't for nothing. She was causing trouble for Sensei."  

Umemiya keeps to himself, humming in response to your troubles. Your voice breaks on your next sentence, chest tightening.  

"It doesn't matter what she does to me but—" Your hands ball up at your first. Your throat feels thick, eyes suddenly watering as your chest throbs . "Anyway, I couldn’t let it go like normal."  

He hums. "So you hit her?" 

You shake your head, sniffling. "Not at first. Just told her to shut up. Said that she didn't know what she was talking about. She hit me first..." You screw your eyes shut, sighing. "...said she was gonna spread rumors about him just trying to get under my skin and be malicious,” You lean back slightly and look up towards the gray sky. “I punched her after that."  

You realize he's looking at your bloodied knuckles, but he isn't making an expression that you can read easily. You don’t remember the last time you spoke to someone like this who wasn’t Tsukimori-sensei.  

"Are you crying because you got in trouble?"  

“Who cares about that?” You sigh “Sensei had to put his job on the line and take responsibility for me,” Your brow furrows in frustration. “He’s the one person I don’t want to cause trouble for,” You grip the iron chains of the swing set with a closed fist and finally admit what you’ve been avoiding to say out loud. “I don’t want him to hate me…”  

The kid besides you smiles  absently at your words. Half-way between listening and recalling something else, it seems like. You can’t help but wonder what the hell his deal is. You barely know him but you’re spilling your guts. 

He speaks after a long while. "I don't think he sees it that way. I think you should try to talk to him about it."  

You make a face, rejecting the idea. "What? No way." 

Umemiya shrugs, smiling - though it doesn't quite meet his eyes.  

"He sounds like he cares about you. If he knew your reasons, there's no way he would hold it against you. And it’s important to share your burdens with people who care for you." You look over and see him smiling somberly at the mulch beneath his shoes before returning back to what you’ve grown to know as his usual self. "Anyways, I think we should be friends. Tell me your name."  

You sniffle again. What a weird guy. Well you say that but 

You still give him your name. 

"What a pretty name," 

When you tell him to shut up again, your new friend Umemiya just laughs.  

And you find you feel just a little bit lighter.)  

That night, Umemiya walked with you to take the last train and told you to come see him again  with good news. 

You aren't sure what compelled you to follow his advice. Maybe because he was the first person who sat down and listened to you about it other than Sensei himself. 

Tsukimori-sensei was your school counselor and the only adult in your entire life that seemed to worry about. You didn't have any friends in middle school and you were a scary looking delinquent girl without a mother and a mostly absent father.  

But Sensei was always incredible gentle to you and incredibly kind. And despite what rumors that girl tried to spread  - he was never anything more than an important mentor.  

It was fucking embarrassing crying in front of him but because you were honest - you got to keep in touch with him. He attended your middle school and high school graduation - supporting you as you started to sort your life out. Became the closest thing you ever really got to a parental figure.  

Over time, you got close with Umemiya and developed strong loyalty to him. You attended an all-girls middle and high school the next town over - totaling one other friend in all six years of your remaining education. Lack of socialization meant that Umemiya somewhat became the very center of your existence. 

It was easy to visit him thanks to parental neglect. You sort of melted into his life. Tsubaki once called you his guard dog as a half-joke, but there's some truth to the sentiment. Quick to defend, quick to heel, and always happy to see him.  

You, like many people, owe Umemiya a lot. His meddling over the course of ten years gave you reason to push forward. He even encouraged you to try and attend school and not give up on living a half-decent life. 

You've got a never-ending list of short-comings but being with him didn't make you hate yourself. It made you want to be better because you knew Umemiya would accept you for whoever you decided to be.  

So despite your delinquency, you managed to graduate high school. Post-graduation, you attended a vocational culinary school and became a patisserie before moving to Furin for permanent residency. You opened a bakery and supply bread to Kotoha-chans diner.  

You made something of your life mostly 'cause of Umemiya. He's not your only friend anymore but he's still your best. Even though you never really pictured things like dating or romance - in some way it only makes sense that it'd be that meddling, kind-hearted idiot that you end up falling for it.  

Lovesickness aside, you respect Umemiya more than anyone in your personal life.  

He’s stuck around with someone like you this long after all. That means a lot to you.  

Somehow the two of you mesh well despite being totally opposite.  

You decided as soon as you realized it sometime in high school that you'd keep your feelings a secret for the rest of your life. You had a strong resolve in your beliefs about the whole thing which made it easy. You hid 'em so well even Sakura's stupid accurate romance detector didn't uncover them.  

When you picture Umemiya's future - it was easy to picture the kind of woman he would end up with. Another kind-hearted idiot like him, a social butterfly. Someone a little softer.  

In any case it definitely was not you. You didn't need it to be. You've received so much from him already, you never entertained the idea. Plus, Umemiya has dated other people over the years, so in your head there was never any hope to cling onto.  

For all reasons listed above, a requited romance is at the very bottom of your expectations.  

That's why you've been in this fucking conundrum.  

To say it was a complete shock to you when Umemiya openly confessed to you many months ago would be understatement of the goddamn century.  

He confessed right on the last day of Spring, totally out of the blue. 

(It’s a little unusual for Umemiya to call you at this hour. If it were anyone else, you’d be a little upset since you’ve gotta be up around four-am to get prepared for the day.  

It’s him though so you’re particularly tolerant, yawning as you find Umemiya on a familiar swing-set, still wearing your PJ’s.  

"Why am I out here in the middle of the night with you?"  

Your words lack any real malice as you sit down. Umemiya remains totally quiet. It's unusual for him to not immediately go on a tangent upon seeing you.  

"Oi. Earth to Hajime." You frown at him. "Did ya get beat up before coming here and scramble your brain? Give me the popsicle before it melts."  

He looks over at you and chuckles as he hands you the bag from the convenience store. You ignore his odd behavior and open up said popsicle before it melts  - carefully splitting it down the middle and giving him the bigger side before going to town on your own. He takes it from you but doesn't even bring it up to his mouth.  

Weird.  

"Did something... happen? Like seriously happen?" You take a long lick of your iced treat. It's melon flavored, your favorite. "Seeing you frown doesn't feel right. Gives me the heebie-jeebies."  

He cracks a little smile at that. It makes you feel better. He shakes his head.  

"Mm, nothing happened. I just have something I want to tell you."  

You nod in understanding. "'kay. Take your time."  

He blinks, surprised.  

"Hm? Aren't you gonna scold me for wasting your time?"  

"Nah. Whatever it is must be serious if it's making you all introspective or whatever. 's fine. Bring me coffee tomorrow and I'll forgive ya."  

His lip twitches up. "I l really like that about you."  

You feel yourself flush and wave a hand at him. "Ahh, shut up."  

He pauses for a second then shakes his head. "Mm. It's more like I like everything about you, actually."  

You twist your face in confusion. "What are you on about now?"  

"That's what I came here to tell you." Umemiya says after a deep breath. He says it so casually you wonder if you're mishearing him - leaning back to look up at the stars. "I really, really like you. I just felt like I had to tell you that"  

You stare at him in disbelief.  

"Wha—huh?"  

He doesn't even flinch as he repeats it.  

"I like you."  

"No the hell you don't."  

He furrows his brow with a light laugh. "I just told you that I do, silly."  

"But that's—" You don't say the word impossible. You really want too, but you know exactly how he would react if you did. You simply shake your head. "No, you don't." 

"I thought you might respond like this so don't worry but how about you?" He shrugs then looks at you intently. "I thought you might like me too."  

Your eyes go wide. Oh fuck.  

You feel like a deer caught in headlights. You know you should be happy about this, deep down. That'd be the normal response.  

But you just feel complicated as shit instead. Fuck does he mean? Umemiya.... likes you? There's just no way that's true. Not after all of this time. And how the fuck does he know you like him back when you've been keeping it in? 

You can't bring yourself to look him in the face and lie. Your heart rises to your throat as you shakily stand to your feet.  

"Stop...thinking whatever you've been thinking. I'm going home." You reply in complete panic. 

 The minute you say it, you turn on your heel so you don't have to look at his face. You don’t even want to know.  

And before Umemiya can catch you and try to talk it out, you bolt. 

What the fuck was that?)  

For the last few months, you've been avoiding the topic of conversation as much as you humanly can.  

The possibility of Umemiya even just accepting your feelings was already far beyond your imagination, but him returning them? Confessing first? That wasn't even in your realm of possibility.  

Ever since then, you've been losing your mind trying to force your life and train of thought to go back to normal. You’ve done all of the math on it.  

Realistically, you can't ignore him. Your lives are so mixed together it'd be impossible unless you went under protection and changed your name which you briefly considered. You thought of turning him down but you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t be able to actually do it despite how good you are at keeping it in. Either way, your best option logistically is feigning ignorance and trying to keep the whole thing out of your mind entirely which should've been easy.  

Tricking yourself into believing the whole thing was a dream? Lightwork.  

Except. Except.  

Umemiya just won't give up.  

He confesses to you again every single day. Worse, he doesn't care whose around to hear him. No one in your friend group seems even the tiniest bit shocked by it which doesn't help the situation. You can't get used to it, can't get used to him being so fucking cheeky as he stops you midway through normal conversation to tell you he loves you.  

He's persistent to a fault and while you've done well feigning immunity - you can't survive like this.  

You've graduated to tell him to go away and treating the whole thing like some big joke.  

But honestly? 

You're avoiding having a proper conversation about it. Umemiya is especially keen in not letting you forget that. And determined to make you confess.  

But you're not going to to let him sway you.  

You've got principles, after all.  

__  

After you close up shop on Friday, you get dressed to attend a kickback with all of your friends.  

It's a barbecue technically - commemorating the end of summer. Togame is really into grilling and in their weird domestic partnership, Chouji really enjoys hosting. They've done this once or twice a year ever since they started living together.  

Once you've finished cleaning up the store, you take the train to Kotoha's place - mistakenly assuming you'd leave as soon as you got there. However you failed to realize that Tsubaki and Kotoha would be getting ready together.  

You got jumped as soon as you walked through the door - so now you're wearing a different pair of clothes that Tsuabki got for you and waiting for them to finish getting you dressed up so you can leave.  

Tsuabkino is inches from your face while Kotoha braids your hair. You feel itchy and exposed but with both of them here there's no way you're going to get out of wearing it. 

"Can we just go?" You grumble, not enjoying the feeling of being poked and prodded.  

"No," Tsubaki insists, frown making her expression pinch. "You have half an eyelash on. Sit still." 

"He'll be happy to see you dressed up," Kotoha adds, trying to encourage you. You frown and look down.  

"Whatever. I don't care about makin' him happy."  

The both of them pause and stare at you until you fold under the pressure - screwing your eyes shut and making you flush.  

“Such a blatant lie.”  

Tsubaki giggles. “Right?”  

Your face feels hot. "Ahhh, alright already. Shut up."  

"Honest girls are much cuter," Tsubaki coos. You give her a half-assed glare.  

"Don't you like Hajime? Why're you trying to set me up with him still?" You mumble. You always think they’d make a perfect pair.  

"Of course I like him. He's my prince." She smiles at you. “But it’s a little different to how a certain someone loves him. And well, if you knew the way he looked at you…"  

You frown, feeling hot all the way up to your ears as you ball your fists up and look down at your lap. "Whatever." 

"You should stop trying to worm your way out of it," Kotoha adds, much less sweetly. "You know how he is. He couldn't give up on you for ten years like some idiot."  

You blink. "Huh? But ten years would mean -"  

Kotoha braids your hair even tighter making you wince. "I know. You're both stupid like that."  

"Don't be mean, Kotoha-chan. And you, be a little more honest, okay?"  

You sigh deeply. 

"Ain't like anything is gonna happen either way. I already told you both I'm not accepting his confession," 

"Cause you're a huge wuss, yeah we know."  

You elbow Kotoha lightly.  

"Maybe nothing will," Tsubaki hums mischievously.  "But it feels nice to dress up for him, right?"  

You pretend the thought doesn't make your hear flutter.  

Tsubaki does you the kindness of laughing lightly before moving on. 

__  

You arrive to the function an hour later than planned and stick mostly with Kotoha and Tsubaki until half way through the evening.  

Loosening up with a few drinks, the three of you part ways to catch-up with different people. It's not rare you see them, but it's not often everyones schedules allow them to be in the same place.  

Lucky for you, Umemiya does you the courtesy of not confessing during the first half of the night before food comes out.  

(Though you do spit beer in his face after he calls you pretty, which he takes on the chin after cleaning up.)  

After dinner, the function simmers down significantly. People quietly break off into groups and chat to each other into the late night. About that time people split whatever desserts they brought among guests.  

You brought cookies and something specifically for Chouji and Togame as thanks for hosting.  

Towards the end of the night, you find yourself sticking sort of close to Umemiya. Though he's having his own one-on-one conversation with Hiragi while sitting next to you , turned the other way.  

You busy yourself catching up to Suo, Sakura and Nirei - all of whom you consider yourself close to.  

Of them, you're the closest to Nirei which always surprises people. 

The kids a total wimp but he helped you years ago study to graduate so you're a little closer to him than everyone else. He's a great guy though and you hang out alone sometimes too.  

The conversations gone far left at this point in the evening.  

Suo leans back against his chair and looks toward Sakura besides him with a lazy smile.  

"Sakura-chan would make a great wife." 

You snort listening to them bicker. Sakura grows beet red, throwing an empty beer can at Suo's head that he catches gracefully.  

"Go die."  

"What? You're good at domestic work and you have a cute side, Isn't that all you need?"  

"Shut up. I'll kill you."  

As Suo breaks out into laughs, Sugishita comes down from the kitchen just in time to catch the argument. He crinkles his nose up.  

"Oh, Sugishita-kun. 'Sup."  

He nods to your greeting as he leans against the wood railing of the outdoor deck.  

"What the hell are you two talking about?" 

'What? You mean about Sakura being a good wife?" Suo asks. Sugishita crinkles his nose. 

"Don't phrase it so repugnantly but yeah I guess." 

"We were talking about marriage 'cause I was complaining at work."  

"What's happening at work?" 

Nirei sighs as he lays it out again to Sugishita after having given the spiel to the three of you once.  

"One of my superiors at work is a lot older than me and keeps bringing up marriage," Nirei explains woefully. "It's all he talks about. He thinks I'm seeing someone."  

Sugishita frowns. "Eh? What gave him that impression?"  

A good question you hadn't considered asking.  

You raise your brow at Nirei who laughs awkwardly while he holds your gaze.  

"You know that picture of us from highschool? When he came to the cafe at your school festival?"  

You smile spitefully, crinkling your nose in faux distaste. "The one wear we wearing those stupid maid costumes?"  

"Yup. That's the one. It's a good picture of us so I keep it on my desk and he saw it so..."  

"You keep a picture of just the two of you on your desk? No wonder he got that impression.” Suo adds.  

You sense Umemiya suddenly tense which you find weird. He's still talking to Hiragi though when you glance from the corner of your eye. You brush it off.  

Nirei blushes, elbowing him.  

"Shut up. I've got group pictures and stuff too. But he just singled out that one cause you know,"  

You nod in understanding before it dawns on you. Your eyes widen. "Oh, shit? Does that old man think you're dating me?"  

Nirei closes his eyes and sighs. "He won't even let me correct him." 

You pause before breaking out into genuine laughter.  

"Pfft, that's terrible." You reply sympathetically, taking a sip of your beer before giving a mischievous grin. "Maybe you can make it work for you though, eh? Tell 'em we got hitched forreal and then I'll call you on the phone and nag you to get home for dinner so you can leave earlier."  

Nirei acts like he's touched making you laugh even harder. "You'd do that for me?"  

You give him another toothy grin. "I'll even help you fake some wedding photos. We'll be accomplices." You lean back with a shrug. "You gotta wear the dress though." 

Sugishita laughs at that. "You being a blushing bride is a little..."  

You snort, shooting him a dirty look "Shut up."  

"Deal. Not a bad plan honestly." Nirei says with a sigh. "Whatever gets me out of the office early."  

"Even if that means being married to me?" You joke.  

He smiles at you. "Aw, what do you mean? That's the best part."  

You chuckle at him good-natuedly and the conversation quickly moves on.  

The alcohol is starting to make you dizzy so you eventually tune out as the four of them talk, glancing at Umemiya from the corner of your eye.  

You swear you catch a glimpse of his jaw ticking.  

__  

For the rest of the night, Umemiya is off.  

No one else can tell. You know that because the atmosphere remains light until everyone leaves around two-am. There's no blips or tension, no awkward pauses. 

But you know Umemiya. He's been real weird all night and it's bugging the shit out of you.  

It's a well past two now, and you've just left the late night cab you took with him. Umemiya lives close so he's walking you home.  

He's usually energetic after a get-together like that so his dead silence is weirding you out. You're pretty good at figuring his feelings out but for once you feel totally clueless.  

It feels as if even the cicadas and crickets have gone to sleep. There's nothing bu the streetlights overhead and soft glow of the moon, coupled with the soft click of your shoes on the pavement. Occasionally, a car will pass by.  

At one point, it becomes too much. There's still a few minutes until you're home.  

You stop in the middle of the sidewalk and turn around to look at him. Umemiya pauses, startled as he stops with you, and doesn't smile which only makes your concern worsen.  

"Oi. What's up with you?"  

"Hm?"  

You cross your arms over your chest.  

"Don't 'hm' me. You've been in a bad mood few for the last few hours. It's gonna bug me all night if I don't ask, so what's up?"  

He stares at you.  

"You noticed?"  

"How could I not notice?"  

"I was hiding it pretty well, I thought." He states more than asks, half-smile on his face.  

"Yeah. But well," You shrug. "I'm always looking at you for better or for worse. So. What's wrong?"  

He stares at you a long time before sighing, running his fingers through his hair. You've never seen him like this. You've seen him pissed off before, seen him mildly irritated - but never this... pouty? It's not like he's pissed.  

He's quiet, taking a deep breath of cool night air before sliding his hands into his pockets and taking a good look at your face. 

"Do you know that I like you?"  

Your eyes widen as you blink wildly.  

This is what he wants to talk about? 

He pins you down with his stare, hands in his pockets and intense as ever.  

"Don't even think about bolting this time, okay? I'm asking you seriously. Do you?" 

Your eyes flicker down the concrete - feeling extremely uncomfortable and suddenly sweaty. You shrug, unsure of what else you could say or do.  

"Hard not to know." You mumble. "You tell me everyday." 

"But do you get it?"  

Your frown deepens.  

"Of course not. How could I possibly get something like that, stupid?"  

He takes a deep breath. "But you like me, don't you?"  

Panic sets in. If you could sink straight into the Earth you would.  

"...Never said that." 

He calls your name quietly. "Look at me, at least. Stop running away from me and just look." 

You know you're being stubborn but you can't help it. You've kept it a secret for ten years and all of a sudden he wants you to tell him you like him? You've held it in for so long already and he's telling you not to run away.What other choice is there?  

One wrong move move and everything will come crashing down inside of you. You can't even lie about it either.  

Damn it.  

"I won't look." Your voice is warbly and it makes you feel so pathetic you could die, tucking your chin petulantly "Don't wanna,"  

Umemiya frowns at you.  

"If you say you don't like me I'll let it go."  

You remain very quiet and close your eyes tighter. He sighs softly, making your chest hurt.  

After a minute, you muster up the courage to be dishonest - determined to drop it at all costs. You're slow as you pick your head up.  

"I don't like you," You repeat slowly, carefully - trying not to stumble the words. "So quit it, alright?"  

He laughs humorlessly and holds your gaze.  

"That's the first time you've ever actually lied to me. You're terrible at it," 

"I'm not lying." You snap. Umemiya smiles somberly when he sees tears on the corners of your eyes. He steps closer to you. You freeze. When his hand reaches cups your cheek, you feel your legs lose all their strength and close your eyes. You're terrified to even look at him, not wanting him to see what you know is obvious on your face.  

He wipes them as he tilts your face towards him slowly. 

"Tell me, at least. If you're going to refuse me, don't I deserve to know why? Do you hate the idea of dating me that much?"  

You shake your head. "Stupid. How would anyone hate that?"  

"So I deserve to know why you're turning me down."  

A long moment of silence draws you out of your feelings. You guess that's fair enough. Maybe this way he'll leave you alone  - as long you're clear about your reasons. He’s the earnest type after all.  

You manage to suck up all your tears and clear your throat enough to give him an explanation. 

You step back a little from him, putting some distance between you as you stare down at the sidewalk. 

"You know... I respect ya more than anyone else. You've always been someone I admire. And I uh, owe you a lot. So I only want the very best for you and all." You scratch your neck, taking a deep sigh. "For me... regardless of my feelings, I want you to be with someone who really fits, you know? Well put-together and everything. Someone that suits you better"  

He pauses before frowning.   

"Regardless of your feelings? Does that mean you were willingly pushing them aside?" He says distraught. "For how long?"  

You shrug, trying to lighten the conversation. It’s too devastating otherwise. "About ten years, give or take." 

The sheer distress in his face makes you want to keep talking, just he doesn’t look so disheartened. Like some explanation will clear things up.  

"It ain't a bad thing, Hajime. You've given me a lot and I'm serious when I say I want the best for you. I love you, if that's what you wanna hear. I'm content just being besides you as your friend." You say with a shrug. "I can be kinda selfish but there's a limit to my greed,yknow."  

He looks like he's in shock. 

"Wanting someone to love you back isn't greedy or selfish."  

You find you don't have anything to say with that, but hope he drops it for the time being. 

Umemiya stares at you seriously. It makes your breath hitch meeting his eyes, blue with all the depth in the world. You feel like you can't pull yourself from his gaze.  

"And there was never a possibility? Not once that I could've liked you? That I wanted to be with you?"  

"It doesn't matter." You say. "And no, it never crossed my mind.."  

"Stop saying it doesn't matter. Of course it matters. Your feelings matter the most so don't toss them aside so easily. Do you really believe that you're not right for me?"  

You aren’t sure how to answer him.  

"You think you're not good enough for me." He says with some realization more than asks.  

It's the first time you see his face change. When you look up, he looks well and truly angry. The whole thing is confusing.  

"I'm sorry," You say. It’s such a timid thing to say but you don’t know how else to fix.  

"It's not—I just don't like hearing you talk about yourself like that. I don't like hearing someone I love get spoken about like that.” 

You ignore the sentiment again and wait in the quiet. You always thought this would be an easier conversation to have but it hurts.  

He sighs a bit, getting closer to you again. He’s less upset than before but there’s something else in his expression.  

"You wanted to know why I was upset earlier right? It's because of you and Nirei-kun." He admits.  

"What about him?"  

"You talked about marrying him so casually. I overheard and it bothered me all night."  

Your eyes go wide.  

"I—it wasn't serious."  

"I know that. I never thought I was that childish either but you being married to someone else as a joke." He laughs humorlessly. "I really hated it. That’s why I asked if you know how much I like you."  

You feel frozen in place by his admission. 

Umemiya steps towards you faster than you can muster up a counter for why he shouldn’t bother.  

His arms around you feel sudden. His grip on you is so tight, like you could slip through his arms all at once if he loosens it. He smells like cologne and beer and summer but it's not unpleasant. He rests his chin on your head and lets out a deep breath.  

Your chest is throbbing for different reasons now. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.  

"If you won't be greedy, then you should at least let me be." He lets out a long, tense breath "At least let me have what I want." 

You're stuck. Your mouth moves faster than your brain.  

"Why me? And why now?"  

Umemiya pulls away to stare down at you. You can't bring yourself to turn away from him. 

"It was always you. I felt guilty... for wanting to you that way when you were a precious friend. Wanting to treat you delicately when you were strong and proud." He admits. Hearing him say that out loud embarrasses you to no end, “But it was those things that made me love you. Strong yet clumsy. Prideful yet honest. Awkward yet trying to be gentle. Loyal. And always considerate of everyone. Of me, when I was taking care of everyone else."  

Your stomach feels like it's going to erupt. You're losing your resolve faster than you know how to mend it.  

"Stop saying stuff like that."  

Umemiya holds you tighter and shakes his head. "No. How else will I get you to change your mind?"  

"I won't change my mind." You say stubbornly.  

"I love you." He repeats.  

You squirm.  

"Stop it,"  

"I want to be with you. I want to kiss you. I want to hold you. I want to stay by your side forever. I want to do things with you and make you feel good. I want to make you smile. I want to grow old with you." 

Your hearts fluttering. Fuck.  

"Idiot. What are you saying? Let me go."  

"It has to be you for me. I won't have anyone else no matter what you think. The person I love is you. I love you."  

"Hajime." Your voice is shaking. 

His drops down to a whisper.  

“I can’t change how you think of yourself overnight but I can tell you that there’s no point in trying to push me away. Whether or not you accept  me, we’ll never stop being side by side - so please stop fighting it.”  

You put your hands on his chest, trying to push him away. “Stop it,” 

"Please tell me it's okay to love you how I want too," He says, soft and doting while he crushes you in his arms. "And please love me in return."  

You put your hands up to your misty eyes wanting to wipe them away as he melts through the rest of your resolve like it's nothing. It's hard not to be moved. You've been pretending for ten long years that you don't love him at all and he's declaring his love for you like it's the easiest, most sensible and sane thing in the world.  

A kind-hearted, willful, meddling idiot. How you are you supposed to push him away when he's holding you this tight?  

"Shit," You voice, huffing as your voice shakes. "Don’t be stupid, alright? If you’re so insistent, I wont let you back out if you meet someone else."  

He laughs wetly.  

"I already tried meeting other people, but it's still you. Always was."  

He smiles above you. 6'2 with watery eyes with the look of pure relief like it's the best news he's ever heard in his life. It's too much for you. Your heart is racing so fast you wonder if you're gonna die.  

"Can I kiss you?" He asks.  

Your eyes go wide as you look away, not wanting to look too eager. "That's..."  

He makes another puppy-dog kinda face. "Please?"  

You're embarrassed by how easy it makes you give in. "...Do whatever you want."  

He laughs bright and warm as his hands slide up to cup your cheeks and kiss you with all the passion he can muster. It's intense, almost suffocating the way he slots his lips against yours and breathes you in. He doesn't let you up from it, doesn't part from you for a second even when he pulls away - noses brushing and stealing the air from your lungs.  

It's your stupid first kiss and it's perfect - so perfect you wonder if you're going to wake up in a dream. He kisses you hard and makes you stand on your toes to chase his lips when he pulls back. Elated. Ecstatic when you grasp the front of his shirt and keep kissing him when he stops. 

He pauses before littering your whole face with pecks even as you weakly protest, unable to stop frowning but feeling the happiest you've ever been.  

There's so much longing in between you, you feel like you could die. You feel helpless.   

"Can I come home with you?" He asks, once he stops - only holding your hand a short distance away. "I want more time together." 

You feel your skin burn hot as you nod, all while trying not to read too much into it. 

"Yeah."  

__ 

You barely get to lock your door behind you before Umemiya crowds you in the door way.  

His arms circle around your waist, chin resting against your shoulder.. Broad chest against your back, you try not to flounder as his warm voice caresses your ear.  

You're going to die young if he keeps this up.   

"I love you,"  

You flush. "Enough already. And let me go so I can wash up."  

"Do you need to sleep early? Thought you were closed tomorrow. Wanted to talk a little longer."  

You pause.  

"...Sleep?" 

"Hm?"  

You both freeze as the miscommunication dawns at the same time. You try to pull away from him as soon as you realize, skin burning hot. You're quick but Umemiya is quicker.  

"Hajime." You say gravely. "If you don't let me go, I'm gonna kill you."  

"No way," He laughs  as you attempt to wriggle out of his grasp. "Is that why you let me in? Were you expecting something?"  

"Shut up! Don't say anything, I swear I'll —"  

"Don't be like that, baby. I'm not making fun of you. Hey, turn around. Look at me."  

You're upset but you think the reason is more embarrassing then the feeling.  

"Don't wanna,"  

Umemiya laughs as he gently turns you around to face him. In your utter mortification, you can barely bring yourself to meet his gaze.  

"Stop staring."  

He doesn't.  

"Do you normally invite guys in just 'cause they ask?"  

"Wha—no! It's because it's you, stupid!"  

He smiles in satisfaction.  

"You shouldn't say yes so easily even if it is me. What if I took advantage of you?"  

You think he's just being smug for the sake of it, which is pissing you off. You grab him by the front of his shirt.  

"Fuck off. Maybe there's a reason I said yes."  

He pauses before his eyes widen. You push your hand against his mouth before he blurt anything else out but he's quick to pry your hand away.  

"Don't say it." You hiss.  

"I was planning on taking my time. I cherish you and I want to make sure you know that. I'm just a little surprised you’re moving so quick when you were telling me not too long ago."  

You can feel the tips of your ears growing hot, feeling even more self-conscious. "Whatever. If we're just going to sleep I still need to wash up."  

He keeps his arms behind your back so you can’t move.  

"Hey. Didn't say that. It's not like I don't want to do it with you. Just don't want you to regret anything."  

You give him an flat look. "I was prepared to give you my virginity and you're worrying about that. Unless you're planning on backing out, there's no way I would."  

"Your—" His jaw drops a little.  

You drop your voice down just a little close as you grab his collar.  

"If you get it, then hurry up and fuck me. Stupid Hajime."  

He gives you the dopiest smile you've ever seen while your face grows increasingly hot, leaning to in to press a kiss to your lips. He brushes his nose with yours. Laughter from deep in his chest.  

"Yes, ma'am."  

__ 

Once you give Umemiya permission to have you, you get the feeling that there really is no going back from here.  

You both know it. The tension in your bedroom is so thick you can barely breathe around it.  

Umemiya lands gently onto your bed - sitting up as he holds you by your waist and pulls you over to him. You're so aware of his touch it makes your nerves feel they're on fire. You're not a total virgin - at least not enough to be feeling this worked up over someones hands lingering on your waist.  

But they're Umemiya's hands—Hajime's hands, so you can't rationalize your thoughts of out it. His hands are strong and big, a little calloused and rough from the gardening and fighting. You can feel how much he adores you in a gesture so small it makes you concerned for your own heart thinking about how the rest of the night will go.  

He invites you into his lap gently, so pleased by the way you go to him so willingly. You spread yourself over him with your knees on either side of his thighs. He's big - wide and broad.  

Your barely hovering over his bulge as you lean your weight onto him. His hand barely brushes underneath your top, just barely touching the skin.  

You shiver.  

"Are you really sure this is what you want?" He asks. "I don't mind waiting as long as you need,"  

You give him an bored look. "Not very convincing when you're makin' a face like that,"  

He chuckles nervously. "That bad?"  

You nod before adding a little bashfully. "Dunno if I mind, though."  

He buries his fact against your chest all of a sudden making you jump.  

"The hell?"  

"You're so cute when you're honest like that," He mumbles into your chest, cheek pressed against your tits.  

"Jeez, shut up. What're you talking about?"  

Umemiya pulls back and leans forward - enough to breach the inches of space between you. Nose to nose, your eyes meet. A bated breath, you put your hand on his shoulders and work up the nerve to kiss him.  

It's chaste. Mostly for you to break the ice otherwise you're sure you're gonna pussy out.  

He smiles at you when you pull away.  

"See what I mean? So cute," He hums, and leans in again. "Come on. Kiss me again."  

Something about him is different when he tells you to kiss him. It's not smug or cheeky. But it's not casual either. Softness tinges his words, his touch - his whole demeanor screams like he loves you absolutely. It makes your heart rate pick up again, hands shaky as you try not to lose your nerve.  

He's restraining himself though. How he intense he could be vs how soft and calm he is being. You know Umemiya like the back of your hand so you want him to do what he wants. It's hard to find your voice.  

"You don't have to.." You cast your eyes down in embarrassment. "…hold back with me, either. I'm not some maiden."  

He smiles at you a little. "You really do know me better than anyone, huh? I was keeping it together pretty well."  

"Look I know I’m kinda difficult…I'm not real good with stuff like this either," You fidget with the collar of his shirt with your free hand. "But once I say yes I don’t back out. So don't worry about scaring me off or putting too much pressure on me or whatever. ...'s fine to just do what you feel like. I’m scared out of my mind but I wouldn’t do that to you,"  

“Don’t know how long it’ll take but I’ll do my best to make you feel secure. Might take some time but we’ve got our whole lives.” You flush at the implication. He smiles a little. "Whatever I want seems like a lot to give, though."  

"Well...depending on what, I'm might not be good at it,"   

He shakes his head. "I don't want anything like that."  

"What do you want then?"  

"You." He says easily. Your stomach flips. "All of you. I just want to make you feel so good you can't stand it. Want to worship you top to bottom. There's not a single part of you I don't want."  

You flush. "The hell... I meant like a blowjob or some shit."  

He laughs. "I know. And I want that too, another time." He hums, taking a deep breath. "Right now I just want you to feel so good for me. Is that okay?"  

You can't look at him. You can barely stand how bashful you're being, but you can't even play coy. Something in you is bursting at the seams.  

You love him so much you don't recognize yourself, or your voice, or how you're acting. It makes you sick but you can’t do anything but go with it. "Yeah. 's okay, if it's what you want."  

"It is," He says, leaning in. "All I've ever wanted."  

You ignore the latter half of his comment as he finally goes to kiss you again.  

He pulls your body close to him as you do. Until your chest to chest, arms wrapped around the span of his shoulders as you press your lips together soft and slow.  

He slides a hand underneath your top, undoing the clasp of your bra. He lets his palm stay on the center of your back while you keep kissing - straps of your bra falling down your shoulder as he splays his fingers to feel more of your skin and hold you. Hugging you close to him, his other arm wraps around your torso. His forearms feels especially strong they way they hold you by the waist.  

You're so close to him. Kissing him so deep, his tongue sliding against your lips. Something about the kiss is languid but the touch is so hot it makes your skin burn. You feel wrapped up in him, can't even tell whose heartbeat you're hearing. 

More of your weight ends up in his lap as you feel your knees go weak. Something hard presses against your clothed cunt and you gasp a little into his mouth.  

"Oh, shit." You mumble in surprise. Umemiya laughs.  

"You're making me feel good." He hums.  

Your face heats up. "I barely did anything." 

"You just being on my lap is more than enough."  

You make a face at him before rubbing yourself over the zipper of his jeans, slow and deliberate trying to get a feel for it. You hear him moan, nearly jumping out of your skin in surprise.  

The way Umemiya moans is a lot for you to process. Breathy and a little low. It resonates through your whole body like a caress.  

You make a few more tentative passes over his bulge, just to hear him do it again. Driven by your instinct more than anything, you lean into kiss at his jaw - making use of the limited experience you do have to try and draw more sounds from him.  

"What're you thinking about?" He asks, still breathless. Maybe amused.  

"Like the way you sound." You mumble in reply.  

"I thought I told you I wanted to take care of you, hm?"  

You frown. "So what? I can't touch you at all?"  

He thinks on it. "You can touch me everywhere else and you can have your way with me later, if you want it. I don't wanna cum too fast."  

"I'm just..."  

He shakes his head. "You're underestimating me. I'm still a guy, you know? With a woman I love at that. There's no way I would make it through our first time if I didn't focus on you. Don't pout,"  

Hearing him describe you in such an embarrassing way makes you flush. You roll your eyes half-heartedly. "Fine, whatever."  

He smiles.  

"Good girl. C'mere. Lay down."  

You decide not to think about how effected the praise makes you as you comply.  

Umemiya lays you down carefully, making sure you're comfortable before hovering over you. He looks a lot more imposing from this view - the dim lights of your room making his face seem more well-defined. Your nipples harden in arousal, peeking from underneath your shirt as he stares long and hard.  

"You're so beautiful to me."  

He leans down and presses a hot kiss to your jaw, just underneath your ear before slowly kissing down your neck. Open-mouthed kisses along delicate skin, tongue sliding over every patch he scrapes lightly with his teeth. You fidget underneath him, a dull throbbing between your legs. You try to figure out what to do with your hands but you’re too nervous.  

He kisses your throat where it's extra sensitive and you bite back and involuntary noise. 

"Don't hold your voice, please?"  

"It's embarrassing,"  

"It's not," He assures, bumping his forehead to your shoulder lightly. "I want to know what makes you feel good. Let me pay attention to you."  

You frown but nod ultimately.  

Umemiya isn't the first sexual encounter you've had in your life. You've done other things, but you've never really gone all the way with anyone. All of your other partners were mostly strangers - people mutually interested in using someone else to try and get off.  

This is the first time anyone has taken this much time with you. A little kissing and groping, sometimes touching your chest.  

No one's ever touched you like this, though.  

His hands feel like they're all over your body no matter where they actually end up being. Makes your heartbeat rain drumming on a tin roof. Makes your stomach tingle, a heat in your calves and a prickly feeling on your back. Your whole being drowning with pure anticipation.  

"Take this off for me." Umemiya mumbles. You nod, feeling absent as you wiggle yourself out of your tight little tee and toss it somewhere.  

The air shifts again when you're naked. His eyes drink you in, tracing the soft lines and edges of your body. Looking over scars and stretchmarks with pure, blown out wanting that shoots lust straight into your veins.  

You want him to fuck you so bad it's killing you but the very thought makes you feel so shy you could die.  

"You're beautiful," Sounds dirty the way he says, makes it spill from his lips like wine tipping over a glasses edge. "Perfect. Every inch of you is so perfect."  

He proves this to you by kissing you again. Running his hands over your skin. Up against curved sides and down against your arms, brushing the back of your biceps and forearms.  

Infatuation in his touch ruins you. Makes your voice let out. You can't think of anyone whose treated you so preciously in your entire life and you find you don't resent it as much as you should.  

(You find it feels so good to let someone touch you so kindly. A touch like you're being loved.)  

Nonetheless it's embarrassing. Of course it is.  

But it's so hard not to feel pulled in when you feel the way he kisses you. Draws a trail with his lips and tongue from jaw to shoulder blade - kissing down your biceps with his hands on your body, taking  gentle inhales of your scent.  

Anticipation makes your stomach tie in knots but finally he relents. Both hands squeeze the soft weight of your chest, palms brushing your hardened nipples.  

"Fuck."  

He laughs a little, heavy with want. "Yeah? Do you like being touched here?"  

"Mm." Is the best reply you can get out.  

He brushes against the tips with his fingers in a feather-light gesture, testing the waters before rubbing with a little more pressure. Your body jolts from the stimulation, wetness pooling and dampening your underwear. He leans in and takes one of your nipples into his mouth making another dull wave of lust wash through you.  

And he makes sure to pay attention to both. It's just like him to be so attentive to some shit like that. Your spine arches as he sucks on your sensitive nipples, letting his tongue flick across them and giving into a sweet friction. You buck your hips up against instinctively, gripping onto the sheets as your sense of restlessness grows.  

Your voice is whiny to your own ears but you can't calm down to save your life.  

"You're taking too long," You huff. He laughs lightly, looking up at you from underneath his lashes.  

"Don't be impatient." He tsks.  

"It's enough already," 

He shakes his head. "Nope. Still got a long ways to go. Promise you'll have me when you're ready for it, so just try and focus on feeling good."  

You make a frustrated sound. "It's embarrassing being the only one feeling good,"  

He pauses before standing up on his knees. He takes his black t-shirt off in one swift go until his torso is bare, and undoes the top button of his pants. He gives you a little glance. "Better?"  

There are too many layers of that to process in the moment it happens. You mumble. "A little,"  

He beams. "Good. Now let me take good care of you,"  

Sliding down lower, he kisses you from sternum to navel. Hands gripping at the softness of your sides, smoothing over the bare skin as he his thumb finds the waistband of your skirt. He glances up at you, silently seeking your permission. You nod back at him, watching him slide the short skirt away from your waist.  

The sudden air feels cool against your skin. He presses his cheek against your belly, both hands on your hips..  

"You're gorgeous. Even more gorgeous than I thought. I feel so lucky being able to touch you when you're this perfect.” He praises endlessly.  

You cover your face with your arm.  

"Ugh. Quit it. You're sayin' too much."  

"Seeing you get so shy when I praise you a little is so cute." He trails his lips down further and further - just above your sex before stopping. "You're so cute."  

He sits back, standing up and bending your legs slightly at the knee. You hold the position as you feel him massage your calve. Thumb drawing hard circles in the muscle, slowly working his way up to your knee. He kisses you afterwards trailing the same spot his hands were touching seconds ago before moving onto the other side.  

There's nothing you can call it short of worship. The nagging feeling that it's undeserved is washed away each time Umemiya holds your gaze.  

Devotion colors every touch no matter how small. And it’s so obvious, so prominent - it feels outright wrong to deny the fact it’s there.   

You think the closest thing you can compare it too is the way Umemiya gardens. A patience as his fingers root through earth and soil, a kindness towards delicate things that makes even hours of work under the sun look beautiful and easy. His expression is what's most uncanny - what makes you you feel so hot. 

An expression that says he loves doing it from the very bottom of his heart - not even a hint of apathy or complaint.  

A face that says he loves every long, drawn out motion and actions of repetition all fro the very core of him.  

Having it directed at making love to you so blatantly makes you more aroused than you know what to do with. You don't know how to let yourself be treated like the most cherished flower in Umemiya's garden - and you aren't so sure how you're meant to get used to it no matter how much it makes you feel...nice. You don’t have any other experience.  

Which is why you're trying to be patient. Trying to be at least temporarily secure in whatever he sees in you that makes him worship every inch of you, memorizing all your ins and outs.  

Umemiya places hot, wet kisses on your inner thigh before laying himself between your spread legs - breath barely hovering over your sex.  

By the time he gets there, you feel utterly melted into your sheets. Your mind is hazy, impatient and wanting as strong hands secure your thighs. He's so close.  

"I wanna eat you out. Is that okay?"  

"If you don't do something soon I'm gonna kill you."  

He laughs warmly. "I'll take that as a yes."  

You pause. Umemiya waits.  

"I didn't uh," You clear your throat. "Wasn't planning on getting laid so y'know. Haven't shaved in a while."  

"Were you worried that I'd change my mind? I like it for the record. Feels natural." Umemiya says. "It's your body so there's nothing I would dislike about it."  

"You're too much." You reply back in earnest. You cover your face with your arms. "So cheesy."  

"I'm being serious." He says suddenly solemn with how sincere he is. 

The sudden change is amusing. You pause before breaking into genuine giggles, unable to help yourself.  

"You're really somethin', yknow that?"  

He's quiet for a long time. Long enough for it to catch your attention, turning your gaze more clearly towards his face. Swiftly, he pushes himself up to catch your mouth in another kiss. It stuns you a bit, very different to all the rest. More teeth and tongue than lip.  

"I like you," He murmurs, forehead to yours. "How can someone be so cute?"  

"Would you quit embarrassing me and get on with it?" 

He smiles. "As you wish,"  

Umemiya settles back down between your legs after easing your panties off and putting your feet flat on the bed to give himself more access. You can barely look down at him doing it. His fingers brush the slick hairs back gentle as he uses his thumbs to spread your pussy apart and look at you more intimately.  

You can feel him. Feel his every breath and movement. He stares at you awestruck. "How is all of you so pretty? Even here it's such a beautiful color."  

"Stop looking so much,"  

He takes a breath, taking in your scent one more time before pressing a kiss to your clit. You make an attempt to squirm away from his grip as his finger dig into your thighs and hold you down. The strength of it knocks the wind out of you, forcing you into place. Umemiya pushes his tongue and gives you a long, tentative lick through the seam of your cunt.  

Your whole body breaks out into shivers at the sensation. The warm weight of his tongue on your sex makes feels like an electric current through water - your toes curling as he makes the same few passes over and over. He collects your pooling arousal on the tip as he drags upwards and flicks your clit tentatively. You grind against his face instinctually, hips chasing the pleasure. Amused laughter vibrates against your core as you do, mumbling at you to be patient while he's still face deep in it.  

You let out another pitchy whine before he finally stops teasing. He lays his tongue flat against your clit, cupping it lightly before drawing it around experimentally. He watches carefully as he plays around with pressure and angles - trying to see what makes you react the most. You can feel how closely he's watching you. 

You cover your mouth with your hand when he does find it, your voice breaking off as he licks carefully right where you need. He smiles into your cunt as he toys with your with the sensitive bundle of nerves, pleased by the change in your reactions. The obvious pleasure he's making you feel.  

Something blooms into your chest. You've never— 

"You're—" You close your eyes, hands tangling in the sheets as you break out into a fever. "Ngh, never had someone l-lick me,"  

He must've heard you because he seems to laser in his focus the minute you say it. He's lapping at your clit so deep, licking precisely and holding you with nose against your bush.  

You reach down tentatively, pushing back the hair falling in his face and he gives you a look so lovesick you want to run away. The pressure changes gradually, more intensely.  

It feels better somehow. Makes you feel restless. Your whole body curls in tight with want at the sensation of it, the lower expanse of your belly tensed. You're shaking as you drift closer to the edge, arousal upped by the wet sound of him sucking your clit.  

"Hajime," You warn, spine starting to arch as you helplessly try to pull away from the intense sensation. It's not familiar to your body, so much so your mind can barely make sense of what's happening to it, "Cumming—c-cumming!"  

Something in you goes undone as Umemiya keeps pace during your orgasm. All the tension inside of you suddenly comes loose - specks of white matter behind closed lids as you screw your eyes shut. Your back curves up into arch, your hips trembling, your insides pulsing. It comes running into you, crashing into your body as waves of pleasure drown out the noise in your head. He eats you out until you feel borderline hysterical.  

You feel melted and reshaped by him - yanking him off when he continues to be insistent after you're too oversensitive. He laughs when you pull him away, resting against your thigh as you take worn out heaving breaths.  

He kisses the inside of your knee as you calm down, bright smile on his features - painted pink with a slight flush. "You came. I'm so happy."  

You look at him in shock. "You're a scary guy."  

He pushes up to kiss your temple, voice soft. "Did I scare you?"  

Your stomach flutters, tucking your chin. "You were intense, but I didn't... hate it or anything."  

"Yeah?" He grins, pressing a few kisses to your cheek and face before whispering against your ear. "Then, is it okay to go farther?"  

You nod silently. Umemiya smiles.  

He stands up on his knees, pushing his hair back as your eyes are drawn to his pants. You reach out for the waistband of his pants unthinkingly, hooking your finger into it. "Isn't it stuffy?"  

He blinks, frozen before rubbing a hand across his face. "Ah a bit, but it's fine."  

"Take 'em off. Please?"  

Umemiya looks unusually distressed by the request, but follows through without another word. You watch him undress - revealing the tight black fabric of his boxer briefs snug against his waist. Your eyes go wide as you see the outline of his cock - head still half hazy. You voice your unfiltered reaction.  

"Your dick is so big,"  

He laughs breathlessly. "Are you trying to stir me up? What's with you?" He pauses to lay down besides you. You turn to lay on your side and face him a little better. "You're being cute. I'm not used to seeing you so docile."  

"Shaddup," You reply half-heartedly. Your body is still on fire but it knocked the wind of you to cum once already. "Your fault."  

He grins, a hint of smugness as he laughs. "That's true."  

"You gonna fuck me?"  

"Mm, yeah. Gotta open you up first or it'll hurt."  

"I've put stuff in before. Toys. Should be fine."   

"Still wanna play it safe. It's your precious first time after all."  

You make a face before pulling him into you, hugging him tight as your whole body breaks out in a shameful flush. "Then hurry up and do it already."  

His arms slide underneath where your laying, holding you to him as he hikes one of your legs up. He slides his free hand in over your leg - his forearm holding your thigh. You press your face to his neck and shoulder - hiding your expression. "Guess I should huh? You were always impatient,"  

You can barely tell him to shut up, the way your body waits for it. A warbled little noise leaves your mouth as he slides his middle finger through the sticky folds of your cunt - careful as it catches on your hole. Wet and so aroused, the first finger he puts in goes in completely smoothly with no real effort 

Umemiya speaks low and soft as he holds you. "I don't know if I can get used to seeing you like this. I'm glad no one else but me ever wil You’re really all I think about lately," He catches the lobe of your ear between his teeth gently. Your head spins. "People misunderstand you because you're prickly, you know? For a long time, only I knew what it felt like to be liked by you. I liked that,"  

"Why are you—mmgh," 

He slides another finger in carefully after the first one slides inside of you with no resistance. His voice is so hot against your skin, the low bass of it in your skull as he speaks so close to your ear.  

"Don't get me wrong I'm happy seeing you with so many people surrounding you. But I was a little sad too. And it kept getting worse over the years until I couldn’t ignore it. I couldn’t figure out why for a long time and then it clicked,” Umemiya explains. You realize half way delirious this is his real confession. God, you’re gonna kill him. “Suddenly it was all I thought about. I wanted to be special to you. I wanted to monopolize you. It was my first time having thoughts like that,”  

Another finger slides into you easily. Umemiyas fingers are so much bigger than yours. Thicker than they are long. The stretch is enough to make you gasp.  

“Hajime—“ 

He curls them up, careful until he finds the spot he’s looking for. Your body reacts, another sensation of pressure as his middle finger rubs tenderly against your gspot. You weakly try to wiggle away as he holds you firm.  

“I felt a little guilty, too. You’re my very best friend. You’re independent and diligent. Tough. But you know, when I saw you for those few months - all I could think about was how much I wanted to spoil you,” He whispers. Something in your body shifts the way touches you. Pushes in further and further - stretching until it’s easy for him to be inside. “Somehow everything I liked about you became so cute I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t help but want to dote on you over every little thing even though I knew better than anyone you didn’t need something like that.”  

Your eyes well up but not necessarily from emotion. Totally overwhelmed. You don’t feel like you’re gonna cum but there’s something else that’s waiting and each time he thrusts his fingers into you it comes a little closer. Your voice is shaking.  

“It—fuck, quit talking. Somethings gonna—“  

His smile grows a little. It’s the first time it looks so hungry.  

“I was happy in general when I realized you liked me too. Even when you were being stubborn, I liked the way you couldn’t turn me away. I liked how happy you looked talking to me as usual as if that alone was something so precious,” He hums, so focused and precise as he stretches you open on a third finger but never once losing his train of thought. Like saying all of these comes to him so easily it doesn’t matter. “I didn’t want to corner you. But it felt like I couldn’t rest until you were mine completely. Which is why I’m being so unfair to you. Why I’m so persistent. ” 

Your voice breaks on a whine. “It’s gonna come out—“  

“You make a pretty face when your heads filled with nothing but me. I don’t think it’s bad to wanna stay that way,” He hums, almost conversational as he presses a kiss to your skin. “Go on. Let go,”  

Something hot sprays between your legs as Umemiya fucks you open on all three of his fingers.  

A rush of warm liquid squirts onto your sheets as your legs shake wearily. Umemiya marvels at the mess. Your hands curl into fists, nails digging in your palms as he finally pulls them out - leaving you stretched, almost gaping.  

You lay limp in soaked sheets as you pull away from Umemiya with a very weak glare.  

He’s smiling at you, dopey and lovesick.  

“Too much?”  

Angrily, you smack at his bare chest over and over, trying to recover your pride.  

“You’re insane. What’s,” You swallow thickly. “What’s with you.”  

He shrugs. Wordless, he flips you onto your back again before hovering over top of you. Pressing his forehead to yours, he brushes your noses together and plants a tentative peck on your lips as if trying to gauge whether or not you’re upset. He melts when you kiss him back, smiling happily.  

“Were you like this with your other girlfriends? No wonder they broke up with you,”  

He laughs. “Mm, no? I was more of a gentleman.”  

You break out into another exhausted fit of laughter.  

“Pfft, yeah? Guess I’m pretty special,” 

“Yeah. You are.” He kisses you again. “Wanna keep going or are you too tired? I don’t mind if we sleep.”  

“Stupid. I said it already didn’t I? Hurry up and fuck me.”  

“Okay, okay. Let me go get the condom from my wallet,”  

You wrap your legs around his waist and stare up at him plainly as he tries to move, keeping him pinned in place. You’re frowning, brows furrowed with a hard glare. He stares at you.  

“Did you want something else? Water?”  

“Want you to fuck me,” You restate, arms reaching up to circle around his neck. “Just do it already.” 

He pulls back to look at you seriously.  

“Do you know what you’re asking?”  

You flush. “Of course I do. Stupid. Are you trying to get me to say it out loud?”  

“I might think I’m deluding myself otherwise.”  

You sigh, looking at him flatly as you try to tamp down the part of you that’s screaming to be more tactful.  

“Don’t bother with the condom, a-alright? Or pulling out,”  

He looks like he’s experiencing the shock of his life. “But…” 

“Stop being dumb or I’m never gonna have sex with you again.”  

He nods suddenly solemn. “Fine. But,”  

You give him another look that silences him. He sighs again, getting the message before kissing your cheek and pull back to sit up on his knees between your legs. Pulling his briefs down, his cock springs free. It looks a lot bigger than you saw underneath the fabric, weighed down from it’s own weight even though it stands up stiff. He opened you up with three but you wonder if it’ll be enough not to stretch you open.  

You reach your hand out to touch it tentatively, feeling it’s weight and heft. He clears his throat but seems content to let you. The palms of your hands cup the shaft, feeling all the veins pulse. The tip is sticky with precum. You pull your hand away, another sudden wave of self consciousness overwhelming you.  

Umemiya hovers over you again, placing he length of his cock against your pussy. You shift a little feeling it slide against you, hard and hot.  

“Gonna put it in now, okay?”  

Nodding, you put your legs up. You take a deep breath when the head pushes in, letting out an involuntary noise. You feel well-stretched but the thickness of his cock is still enough to make you feel it in your legs. Umemiya is focused above you, barely sliding the tip through your folds as you open up around him. The air feels punched out of your lungs on just the first inch.  

His face is strained is he holds his hips steady, leaning down to tap your foreheads together. “Feeling okay?”  

“Mm,” You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Fine. Feels different.”  

“Different?”  

“Yours is bigger than all the stuff I own,” You explain. “Feels hotter. Harder, too.”  

You feel his cock twitch inside of you suddenly, shocking you. He smiles sheepishly.  

“Gonna push in a little more, okay?”  

You nod, watching as Umemiya so slowly presses his cock into you further. Enough that it doesn’t hurt when you take him, as much as it just feels like something is inside of you. You feel a warm sense of satisfaction at how full you feel. You feel like him like he’s in your stomach, taking up so much space. After a while of pushing, stopping, and going again  - he finally bottoms out.  

“You feel incredible,” He murmurs, half-smile on his face. Your stomach flutters. “It’s hard not to cum right away. Feels so good inside of you. I love you.”  

You feel yourself twitch, frowning at the expression of delight Umemiya has. You put your hand against his fact to keep him away but he kisses your palm and moves it. Bottomed out, he grasps both hands and holds them  - pinning them to the bed as you watch him wide-eyed.  

“Think you’re used to it?” He hums, clasping your fingers together. “Is it okay if I move?”  

You feel so damn bashful. “It’s okay.” 

He kisses your forehead. “I’ll go slow.” 

As promised, Umemiya pulls out carefully before pushing back into you. You’re so wet that it slides in without any real friction. It takes a few thrusts of him going slowly for your body to get adjusted to the sensation. After a few motions, though - it starts to feel different.  

Starts to feel good. Really, really good.  

“Oh,” Your eyes flutter open. “Shit. You c-can go faster.”   

“Yeah?”  

You nod, trying not to seem too eager. 

When Umemiya picks up pace, you feel your  the whole lower half of your body weaken all over again. Something in your legs, your spine go soft against the bed underneath, a sudden unusual arousal swelling. Somewhere in deeper as he cocks thrusts against your gspot, knocking against it with more force than before. The change in pace coupled with the visual of Umemiya over you, face drawn together in focus as he fucks you is too much. Split open on his cock, you can hear how wet you are each time he moves.  

“Feels…” Your words come up empty. “’s so much.” 

“Yeah? Is it too much for you, baby?”  

You shake your head as your thoughts get increasingly cloudy. It’s like there’s nothing else your body can focus on. The way his cock drags against your sensitive, silken walls. The feeling of being full to empty and then full all over again. The way your pussy gets so much wetter each time he moves, sloppy and sucking him in so tight. You can feel your body want for him.  

Umemiya lets go of your hands, sliding one between your bodies. Palm resting on your sex, he lets his brush against your clit. The difference it makes is significant, makes your eyes go wide. He smiles a little, hair falling in his face as he pushes it up with his free hand.  

“That’s it,” He hums, contented to keep at it like this. “Feels good, right? Your holding onto me so tightly it’s hard for me to pull out even though you’re so wet.”  

You make a whiny noise and wonder if other peoples first times feel this good or if you’re just outrageously lucky. You decide on the latter he fucks you faster and matches his thrusts with the movement of his fingers. You’re warm all over - skin scorching as your hands find his biceps and shoulders to cling onto.  

Your voice is so whiny when you call out for him “You’re so deep, ngh.”  

He laughs, deep and raspy. “Yeah? Tell me what you’re feeling,”  

“It feels good when you’re in me.” You reply drunkenly. “Want it faster. Please,”  

He complies with your request almost immediately. You cry out loud, physically incapable of holding the sound in as he gets to fucking you faster and harder. Your pussy is throbbing. Senselessly horny, you pull Umemiya closer to you as he fucks you and smash your lips together. You feel so good, so thoroughly fucked and completely out of it. He’s in you but you want him even closer, want the scent of his skin to mark you.  

A second time your body builds up to that familiar feeling but it’s so much farther inside. An orgasm pulled right from your core. Stomach tied in knots as Umemiya fucks you hard, you wrap your legs around his waist and take him. 

“That’s it. You’re so good. Cum on my cock, sweet girl. Let me feel it” He murmurs against your skin, holding you close. “You’re making me feel so good. So cute. Go ahead, it’s okay. Let me see how good I’m making you feel.”  

Pliant to his request, you hold onto Umemiya for dear life as your body gives into second orgasm. Your nails dig into his biceps as the built up arousal gives way pleasure - and you cum hard with his cock sheathed all the way inside of you. All the wind gets stolen from your lungs as you press forward with another kiss, your whole body trembling violently as you let go.  

Umemiya sweet talks you through without letting go once, only stopping to take a pause when you’ve fully ridden out your high.  

You stare up at him in a daze as he takes a breather to kiss you, still hard as he’s bottomed out inside of you.  

“You gonna cum soon?”  

“Mm,” He nods. “Yeah I’m close. If I move, I will.”  

“’s okay to cum in me,”  

Umemiya laughs warmly. “I’m already about too. You’re not helping,”  

You smile a bit as you hug him close to you and tell him again that it’s fine. Before long, he holds you too, whispering the same three words into your neck as he finally lets it out. It’s a weird feeling, thick white ropes of seed spilling into the deepest parts of you.  

You don’t really hate it, though.  

“I love you,” Umemiya repeats. Tired you don’t try to fight yourself.  

“Love you too,”  

__ 

The next morning, you’re stirred away by the sound of your front door unlocking and the sound of Kotoha’s voice echoing through your apartment.  

You’re still half-way asleep, so it barely dawns on you that anything is off. Not cognizant enough to think twice, your body tries to go back to sleep.  

Or it does until you hear a very loud shout coming from your kitchen that wakes you up with a start.  

“No fucking way,”  

You sit up suddenly, hearing faint conversation before the sound of steps barreling towards your door. You just barely manage to pull the sheets up over your chest before she comes storming through the door of your bedroom.  

You watch her eyes scan your entire room, mentally collecting data before she finally lands on you. As your brain starts to load back in, your eyes go wide with horror at the look of pure scandal on her face.  

Fuck. You were supposed to be having dinner with her and Tsubaki tonight. Usually you confirm with them in the mornings since your up. It’s not uncommon for her to drop in when you don’t reply to check in since you live close by. 

Fuck.  

“You—Oh, I have to text Tsubaki-chan, I can’t believe—“  

Before she gets to finish her sentence, Umemiya appears behind her in your door way. The sight of him only adds fuel to the flame of your embarrassment. You went another round or two before bed last night and it looks like it too. Shirtless in sweats he left over a while ago, his biceps are covered in scratch and with a few hickies, he’s wearing his hair down with a cup of tea and a very apologetic smile.  

You cover your face with your hands unsure of how to deal with the feeling of pure mortification.  

Kotoha snaps a picture of your room that causes even more distress.  

“If you don’t delete that right now, I’m gonna kill us both.”  

“In your dreams.”  

Umemiya laughs warmly. “Please don’t kill each other.”  

He slides past Kotoha coming over to you. Bending down to kiss your forehead, he pulls the blanket up over you so you’re more well-covered. You give him an incredulous but Umemiya is unfazed - smiling as bright as ever. 

“Good morning,”  

“I can’t believe my eyes,” Kotoha says. She points at Umemiya. “You, go put on a shirt.”  

“Fine, fine. Stay for breakfast,” Umemiya says with a smile. “It’ll be nice having it with my two favorite people.”  

You make another face as Umemiya gives you a long, affectionate look before disappearing. She sighs as she looks at you, pinching the bridge of her nose.  

“I would ask if you’re gonna meet us for dinner but you don’t have a choice anymore so show up at seven. I’m gonna leave before that tactless idiot comes back. We’ll talk later.”  

You nod in understanding. She turns to leave but then turns back with a genuine smile.  

“And, well - congrats. He’s a tactless idiot but he does love you or whatever. Cherish each other,”  

You flush, nodding your head. “Yeah…thanks.”  

With that Kotoha leaves quickly. Umemiya returns still shirtless, pouting a little when he notices she’s gone.  

“She left already?”  

“Of course she did. I can’t believe you would invite her for breakfast.”   

Umemiya shrugs. “No point being coy about it. I thought it’d be nice. I was looking for a shirt but I guess I don’t need one now,” He sits besides you on the bed, turning to face with a goofy smile. “Anyways, good morning.”  

“You already said that.”  

“You didn’t say it back,”  

You frown. “G’morning,”  

He smiles suddenly  before grabbing you from underneath the blankets and sheets - pulling your naked body ontop of him as he grins. Sunlight pours through the window as he holds you to his chest, kissing the crown of your head before pressing his cheek into your hair.  

“Mm, yeah. It’s a really good morning after all.”  

“You’re stupid.”  

“And you love me,”  

You fail trying not to smile.  Damn him. You're so happy it hurts. You roll your eyes.

“I guess so.”  

[sjyuns]

NO DOUBT、I LOVE YOU! — ENHYPEN MEMBERS TELLING YOU THAT YOU’RE THE ONE!

hyung line!enhypen x fem reader 1000+ words warning kissing pet names jealousy drinking genre fluff, slightly suggestive mikaela’s note happy comeback! i jumped the moment niki sang the chorus. i got carried away as the members progress haha (jake i want you so bad) | collection

LEE HEESEUNG

The unfamiliar feeling of deep green envy bubbles up your chest and straight into your heart as you stare at your boyfriend — who’s familiar lean figure is nestled between Jay and another girl you’ve yet to get to know. And yet here you are by yourself, swept in coldness by the absence of your boyfriend by your side.

It was the first time you and Heeseung had argued since you got together five months ago — a rather long honeymoon phase. Your teeth gnaw fervently on your lips in slight panic, eyes glued on your boyfriend’s figure, overall too consumed with jealousy to notice his lack of comfort.

Even though Heeseung sits squished between two people, the lack of you makes his heart feel cold. And he notices the way your tongue sweeps over your lips, eyes darting away every time your gaze catches his. It’s too cute the way you’re obviously jealous.

“You jealous, baby?” Heeseung whispers, as he pulls you into an empty room, leaving his friend behind, “no need to be, you’re the only one that I want.”

Your lips part ever so slightly at the sudden confession, and Heeseung takes the chance to pull you in, placing his lips on your pillowy ones — slightly swollen from the constant biting. And the ever familiar feeling of his warmth returns back to your heart where it belongs.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, head dipped down,“I should have listened to you first before jumping into conclusions.” Soft fingertips dance against the skin of your chin as he lifts your head up to kiss you yet again. “I’m sorry baby, I should’ve told you before.”

“I love you.”

PARK JONGSEONG

Your footsteps are hurried as you rush into the nearby pub, eyes scanning around for your boyfriend, only to find him slumped in a corner — eyes half opened, slick backed hair with strands poking out, and tie half undone. His head drooping side to side as his mouth muttered incoherently.

“Thanks for coming, he wouldn’t stop blabbering about you,” Jake said, moving over to give you space to sit next to Jay. He opens his eyes at the arrival of a new touch, cheeks flushed a shade or coral red and eyes glimmering at the sight of you.

“Love,” he speaks out, face housing an uncontrollable, geeky grin as he stares into you, and your heart pumps irregularly in the name of love. “I love you,” he says, fingers tracing your features from your eyes to your lips — and it’s almost like he’s casting a spell the way his touch is so gently intricate.

“I love you, love,” this time he says it more firmly, as if it was a proven fact, something he had known for a long time. And you stare at him, entranced at his very rawness of love, smiling goofily at a side of your boyfriend you don’t see too often.

“Are you not going to say it back?” He frowns, eyebrows furrowed as strands of hair fall back onto his sweaty forehead.

“I love you too.”

SIM JAEYUN

You absolutely regret introducing your friends to Sim Jaeyun with the way they’re clamouring around him, eager to get to know him more — as if you weren’t the one to know him first. His signature styled hair and thick black rimmed glasses that sit perfectly on his nose — the very features that lured you in once now irked you to your very core.

“Where did you get the hot nerd from,” your friend squeals, “can you link me up with him? Heard he’s single.” Your jaw clenches, lips tightly shut as you give her a small smile. Your heart eager to correct her yet your mind telling you to slow down, that you and Jake were nothing other than just friends.

“Sorry, think you heard wrong,” an arm swings over your shoulder, pulling your body closer to his, “this one’s got me.” The deep aussie accent puts you into a daze once again as your head swivels over to look at Jake, lips brushing against his face from the lack of space between the two of you.

“Isn’t that right, princess?” He asks, a mischievous glint in his eye. And all you can do is nod as she leaves the both of you alone.

“Jake? We aren’t in a relationship,” you state, head tilted slightly. And Sim Jaeyun has never seen someone as adorable as you look right now.

“Now that everyone thinks we are, we might as well right?” The cheeky glint in his eyes never leaving as his fingers move to tuck strands of hairs behind your ear, eyes darting from your lips to your eyes and back before moving closer to press his lips onto yours.

“Now that you’ve kissed me, i’m yours forever baby.”

PARK SUNGHOON

Being roommates with the devil’s incarnate might be the harder thing on earth, not to mention how insanely hot he is. The underlying tension and long gazes at each other makes it hard to breathe even in the familiarity of your own house. He invades all your senses — from simple habits of walking around topless to his teasing comments that leave you flustered.

“Leaving so soon?” Sunghoon questions as he steps into the kitchen with you, away from the dining room full of his friends. “Don’t like me that much?” He grins, sharp canine fangs on display.

“Yeah that, and also i’m tired,” you answer back, holding back a yawn of your own. Sunghoon feels his heart sink slightly at the thought of your absence in tonight’s round of gaming — the smile you have when he lets you win. “I’m going to bed now,” you tell him, turning your back around.

“Where’s my goodnight kiss,” he jokes, leaning over the counter, lean muscles on full display under the tank he’s donned. You turn back, face red and flustered at the sudden direct comment — you’ve always thought that Sunghoon was good looking, yet you’ve never really made a move given your relationship as roommates.

“I’m not giving you a goodnight kiss, Hoon,” you lament, tossing the idea of him flirting with you out of your mind. “So you want me to give you a goodnight kiss?” Sunghoon asks, his tone void of any mischief, as his eyes stare into yours with some kind of want.

And suddenly it’s quiet, the muffled laughter from the dining room gone, leaving the two of you in serene tension. Sunghoon’s ring clad fingers dancing against the slight revelation of your waist, cold metal a stark contrast to the warmth between you two.

He bends down to kiss you, and it isn’t a short one off peck — it’s raw and passionate, as if he’s wanted this all his life. And when it finally breaks off, the two of you are left gasping for air.

“I like you,” he says, breathless, “actually I think i might be in love with you.”

This time you pull him into you.

© SJYUNS

[everythingspokenfor]

Currently thinking about arranged marriage au with Bakugou..

All characters are aged up 18+. MDNI

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

Husband!Bakugou who had known you for about 6 months before you both got married, your parents having introduced you two. Hoping to personally aid in love life of their children and praying to get grandchildren.

Husband!Bakugou who despite being uneasy by the presence of another person in his house, is quite considerate. Cooking meals for you whenever possible, keeping your favourite chocolates in stock, always making sure you feel welcomed.

Husband!Bakugou who has your schedule memorized, dropping you to the hospital everyday and picking you up as well.

Husband!Bakugou who never lets you feel left out, always mentioning about work, what he did that day, even the reports he wrote.

Husband!Bakugou who, 3 months after the marriage mentions his friends wanting to meet you, considering the marriage had been private, only close family was there. His friends knew about the marriage, had even seen photos of you but, were yet to meet you.

Husband!Bakugou who, on the way to his house, tells his friends to behave and cause a wreak havoc when they get there. Denki teases him, stating how Mrs.Bakugou already has him trained. Bakugou tells him to shut up but his ears did turn red.

Husband!Bakugou who sits back and lets you mingle with his friends, noting how you were already getting along with them so well.

Husband!Bakugou who helps you can after everyone had returned to their respective homes. Bakugou who stands beside you, washing the dishes while you dry them. Both of you working in silence.

"Did you enjoy today? Hopefully it wasn't to exhausting." He spoke.

"I was fun." You turned towards him. "It's good getting to know people."

The dishes were done, both of you now looking at each other, he turns to look at you before slowly leaning down and pressing his lips against yours. You instantly melt against him and wrap your hands around his neck.

A low hiss leaves his mouth at the coldness of your fingers. Bakugou let's his hands wonder, one hand holding your head while other going down and squeezing at your waist.

He taps your thigh, signalling you to lift it. Holding your thigh, he ruts his hips against your core. His bulge rubs against your clit. You let out a gasp, clit buzzing in joy. He leans lower trailing kisses down your throat, leaving behind love bites for you to admire later.

"-am takin' this off." He pulled your sweater off. He let out a groan, the sight of you in bra making his cock throb.

"wait- hold on." You pulled away. "We don- don't have condoms."

He looked at you bewildered, the idea of being cockblocked by lack of rubber and possibility of fucking you raw clashing.

"I'll pull out." He said before continuing to hump his cock into your cunt.

"You won't, we both know it."

He lets out a defeated sigh, before gently letting your leg down and moving to the living room.

He comes back with a thin blanket before wrapping it around your shoulders. "Go to bedroom, I'll be back in a minute." He kisses your forehead before he is out the front door.

Husband!Bakugou who is standing at the cashier counter impatiently, thinking about you laying in bed and playing with yourself with only three items in hand, pack of large condoms, unscented lube and your favourite post sex snack.

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

[aurorawritestoescape]

THE FUNERAL

Joel Miller x f!reader || 600 words

Summary: Joel fucks you at a funeral.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, spanking (1), hair pulling(1), rough sex, unprotected piv, creampie, degradation but it’s sweet, mention of death, infidelity, dark undertones. Reader has hair, wears a dress.

A/n: I just saw these two pics on Pinterest side by side and my brain birthed this. not beta-ed, barely edited. Hope you’ll like it<3 dividers by @saradika-graphics

MASTERLIST

You drag Joel to the bedroom by his big hand and as soon as the door closes behind you two, you kiss him with passion and hunger, that you haven’t known until meeting him.

“Take me, Joel.”

“Now?”

“Yes. All those fake tears and awkward condolences make me wanna scream. I‘d rather scream because of you.”

You’re heaving, suffocating with lust that is rippling through your body in waves.

Joel’s crooked smile tells you that he’s in and soon your cheek is pressed to the bed and his clothed hard-on is rubbing against your ass.

“You look so hot in black.”

His compliment makes you smile but the next moment a whimper crawls up your throat when his warm hands slowly glide up the back of your naked thighs, lifting the hem of your dress and exposing you. Joel growls when he sees that you’ve been naked and dripping under your mourning dress. The clang of his belt and the clothes rustling send shivers down your spine and then you moan with anticipation as his hot cock heavily lands on your ass cheek.

“Fuck me hard. Let me feel what I’ve done. Punish me.”

Joel chuckles but the sound lacks cheer. Bitterness coats his words.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, baby—“

He almost chokes when his tip pushes between your wet folds.

“— only waited for your rich old husband to die.”

“Meanwhile fucking you,” you add with a smirk and then gasp as his fat head catches on your soft hole and he slowly starts pushing it in.

“Damn, you’re soaked.”

“Been thinking about this all day. Couldn’t wait for you to ruin me.”

Instead of a reply Joel slaps your ass cheek and you jerk at the hard stroke.

“Such a slut. Horny for your lover at your husband’s funeral.”

You moan loudly, not caring who could hear you, when his thick member is spreading your walls so nicely, and you tremble at the delicious stretch.

“Say it again,” you whine.

You hear a smirk in his voice when Joel repeats,

“Your husband’s funeral.”

The sound you emit almost makes him spill inside you— it’s full of ecstasy and joy.

“Bad girl.”

He bottoms out and you clench the sheets, before he drags his cock out almost to the tip. You squeeze around his bulbous head, pussy greedy and desperate.

“Yes—yes—yes,” you chant as he starts fucking into your cunt with energetic thrusts, sending you higher to your peak.

Suddenly Joel grabs a handful of your hair and pulls you up against his chest. You don’t feel pain, just lust and pleasure are licking at your body, as his hips are hitting your ass, sending his cock deeper into your core.

His hot breath tickles your ear when he gruffs through the sound of skin slapping against skin,

“I’ll keep punishing you like this forever, baby. You’ll be my little cock sleeve. My personal slut with a dirty secret. We’re connected forever now.”

“Forever,” you breathe out and turn your head to latch onto his mouth.

The kiss feels almost violent, all teeth and groans, and you break it abruptly to search for his blown eyes.

“Promise you’ll protect me. Promise no one will know what we’ve done.”

Joel presses his sweaty forehead to yours and slows down his thrusts to whisper,

”I promise.”

With his arms holding you tightly, his stiffness languidly massaging your soft spot, you come on his thick cock and your pulsating cunt makes him squirt his creamy load against your walls. It’s hard to breathe in his steel embrace while he’s filling you full, but tears of happiness are flowing down your face because finally, finally, you are free.

Thank you for reading! Leave a comment and reblog if you enjoyed the story<3

MASTERLIST

Tag list:@milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesfaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40

[thriftedtchotchkes]

give in

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel shows you how to love yourself the way you deserve

warnings: 18+ MDNI, jackson era, soft!joel, age gap, comfort, smut, size kink, guided masturbation, mutual masturbation, fingering, exploring sexual trauma, mentions of guilt & shame, intrusive thoughts

word count: 2.8k

“Doin’ real good, baby. That’s it, nice and slow. No need to rush it.”

Joel needs you to believe it. 

He can feel your discomfort and sense the intrusive thoughts threatening to overtake you, but he needs you to know that everything you're doing right now is okay. 

It’s normal and natural, and under his roof, highly encouraged. All he's ever wanted is for you to feel good. For you to allow yourself the grace and gratification of coming undone at your own perfect hand.

But you live by an unspoken rule, one that doesn't apply to anyone else. There's nothing you love more than watching Joel touch himself, whether it's quick and dirty or drawn-out and meticulous, his body teetering on the edge of all-consuming release for hours. Yet, when it comes to your personal pleasure, there’s only shame.

He's beginning to realize that your aversion goes beyond a lack of education. You were young when the outbreak hit, and while FEDRA schools aren’t exactly known for their top-tier sex ed classes, that isn't what's holding you back.

There's something else there too, buried beneath the surface. A lifetime's worth of guilt and doubt that he alone gets the privilege of unraveling. So whenever you come to him for help, he leads you to his bed and gently coaxes you to self-completion.

He takes it slow and keeps his hands to himself unless you tell him otherwise—and you always tell him otherwise. But those are your boundaries to set. New rules to replace the old ones. 

Pressed firmly into your side, he whispers soft reassurances in your ear, his lips brushing the wispy baby hairs framing your forehead with every word. He swallows every gasp and moan, and cherishes the sharp sting of your nails biting into his skin as you reach your peak.

And when you come down from the clouds and turn to him with hazy eyes and a blissful smile, he knows it's all worth it. Even if it takes years more, he’ll continue to talk you through it, banishing the cruel thoughts that plague you and replacing them with the promise of relief.

Just like he is right now.

--

"Tell me what you're feelin'. I wanna know what's goin' on in that pretty head of yours."

You shake your head, exhaling a long, frustrated breath. Your body never responds to you the way it does to Joel, and on the rare occasion it does, it just isn't the same. It takes too long and there's none of the gradual build-up that allows you to lose yourself in it. Not in the pleasure of it anyway.

"S'a little...dry," you mumble, slowing to a stop. It'll start to burn if you keep going like this, but you're not sure what else you can do. Joel presses a gentle kiss to the shell of your ear before pulling back.

"Lemme see your hand, sugar," he says, gesturing for yours with his own. Confused, you remove your fingers from between your legs to hold up in front of his face. 

You're waiting for him to inspect them or come up with a valid reason why they're not working when he abruptly sucks them into his mouth. His tongue feels hot, searingly so, as he laves over the pads of your middle and ring fingers, then dips between them to caress your knuckles down to where they meet. 

A wave of heat almost identical to the one enveloping your hand begins to pool at the base of your spine, and you feel a sudden, heady whoosh at the apex of your thighs. If he could just keep doing that, exactly that, but further down your body—

But to your disappointment, he stops as suddenly as he started and slides your fingers from his mouth with a lewd pop before guiding them back to your core.

"How 'bout now?" he asks earnestly, and Christ. He's so good at that. He always knows how to work your body, even by proxy. 

You're wet. You don't even need the added moisture of Joel's saliva anymore. Just the action itself has you breathing heavier, eliciting a craving you never knew you had. Your fingers slip clumsily through the slick leaking out of you, and your eyelids flutter at the fleeting sensation of your fingertips catching your entrance. 

"B-better...feels better," you stumble over your words. Your fingers continue to explore your folds without your permission, stoking the fire in your belly. And also your doubt. "But I'm—J-Joel it's..."

That telltale embarrassment is starting to creep in again, reminding you that you're doing something wrong. It feels too good and you really don't want to stop, but what does that say about you? Sinner, slut. The intrusive thoughts are louder than Joel's gentle panting in your ear now.

As if he can hear them, he snakes a hand past your stomach to grip the soft plush of your thigh. He spreads you open, exposing your cunt to the open air as he massages soothing shapes into your skin, silencing the ugly words with his kind touch.

"S'alright, sugar, you can keep goin'. You liked that, right? That's good. You're treatin' your body the way she deserves," he says encouragingly. His hand inches closer to where you're dribbling onto the sheets, but stops the moment his thumb reaches your coarse curls. 

You ache to wrap your soaked fingers around his to tug him closer, but you know you can't. And that feels surprisingly okay. For the first time in a long time, you're actually keeping yourself sated enough without his help.

Now that your legs are parted, it all feels...different. Heightened, almost. It's because you're hyperaware of every movement you're making, you realize, and it turns you on way more than it should. Or no. No. Exactly as much as it should. 

Joel isn't immune to it either. 

As your bedroom fills with the sounds of crisp, rustling sheets and the slick motions of your fingers roaming your folds, you can feel Joel fighting harder not to rut into your side. His body is tense beside you, and the bicep pillowing your head flexes intermittently every time your hips swivel to meet your hand. His praise is also starting to take on an edge, tinged with something a little...filthier.

"Y'hear that? You're gettin' so loud, sugar. So wet," he grits out, his expression pained. "Just look at'cha. Needy, perfect girl. Doin' everythin' right."

His eyes dart up to your face, observing the delicate scrunch of your nose and your parted lips. He's watching you a little too intently, likely to avoid the image of your glistening palm and fingertips working to bring yourself closer and closer to the edge. You're making a huge mess.

And it's making Joel hard as a rock. Twitching and leaking, and temptingly bare against the sweet friction of your hip. You know he's doing everything he can to focus on you, but he can't even begin to imagine how much his reaction is spurring you on. 

More. You want to give yourself so much more.

"Joel, I don't think I'm doing it right," you twist to whine into his tousled, graying hair. You breathe him in, and the familiar scent of pine and suede makes your head spin and your fingers stutter. "S'not enough. I-I need more, I keep losing it."

He sucks in a harsh breath through his teeth, wrenching his gaze away from you to glance down the bed. He can't even hide how badly he wants to touch you. His cock jerks the moment he catches sight of you again, smearing precum across your skin, and you involuntarily mimic him, your hips bucking up into your unpracticed touch.

Blunt nails dig into your thigh before his hand trails back up to your stomach. It trembles as he guides you, languidly and with a hint of desperation. 

"S'okay, just follow me," he instructs you, swirling his middle and ring fingers in a tight circle around your belly button. You shiver at the raspiness of his voice. "Right around your clit. Remember where that is?" 

But before you can shake your head, his arm slides out from under you and he shifts further down your body to lean over you, propping himself on his elbow. His fingers continue their path on your stomach while he moves lower to gently tug up the hood of your clit, revealing your swollen nub. 

"Fuckin' hell," he swears quietly under his breath, his stomach visibly tensing. He's careful to steer clear of everything else, giving you enough space to heed his lesson. 

"Alright, c'mere, sugar. There ya go. See? You remember," he releases you, shifting a hand to your thigh and wrapping the other tightly around the base of his cock. He keens, his back nearly bowing with the pent-up tension in his body. "That's it. Nice, tight circles. Just like when I make you cum with my mouth."

You choke on your next moan, squeezing your eyes shut as you're suddenly inundated with memories of Joel between your legs, fucking you with his tongue until you gush into his mouth. You press down harder, swirl faster. No guilt, no disgust. It all still feels so good. 

He notices the change in your breathing immediately and begins to stroke himself in time with the rapid rise and fall of your breasts. The hazel of his eyes darken to pitch black. A warning, preparing you for the ecstasy to come.

"Oh, you like that, huh? S'good, you're doin' so good. Can ya give yourself two fingers?" he croons, teasing just below the ridge of his cock with his thumb while he waits for your response. 

"I...yeah. Y-yes," you whimper, your brows furrowing as you slip your fingers lower to circle your entrance. But as you start to press into yourself, you hesitate. "W-wait, it feels like too much. I don't want it to hurt."

At that, he all but winces like he's in physical pain, and his hand shoots to the base of his cock again and squeezes.

"Christ," he grits through his teeth, but it sounds more like a growl. You never meant to make him fight his own body like this, but you won't lie and say you're not devouring every second of it. He exhales sharply through his nose to ground himself. "Does it feel good when ya take my cock?"

Those dark eyes are locked on yours, but somehow they're still so gentle. He's not saying any of this for himself. You can tell, it's all for you. Reminders that you can do this if you want it and that he'd never ask you to do anything that could harm you.

You nod quickly because it does feel good. You need him to know that having him inside you feels so, so good. 

"Look at those pretty, little fingers of yours. They bigger than I am?"

Your eyes drop to where his hand is still wrapped tightly around himself. He's leaking all over his fingers, thick and tinged an angry shade of red.

"No, Joel. You're bigger," you whisper, your pleasure intensifying the longer you watch him. His lips quirk into the beginnings of a smirk.

"Now, ya don't have to. You can get yourself there just like that. S'just as good," his drawl commands your attention. "But I think you'd like knowin' how it feels like to cum around 'em—"

The tips of your fingers begin to sink into your heat before he finishes his sentence. The sensation is...everything. Too much to keep your eyes from rolling back or your jaw from dropping. It's just so different. As you bottom out, you wonder how this is even possible for Joel. How he ever manages to fit.

"S'hard to move," you pump your fingers in and out experimentally, moaning quietly at the addictive way they drag against your walls.

You're not too naive to realize your body stretches to accommodate him, but you're too caught up in the sight of his hand resuming its previous pace to recall that knowledge. He looks a little desperate and sounds even more so.

"Fuck me. S'it tight? Tell me, sugar. Tell me how tight ya are," he pants heavily, unable to stop himself from fucking into his fist. You unknowingly match his pace, clenching around yourself every time your palm slaps into your clit.

"M'so tight, Joel. And wet and warm," your eyes flutter closed as you lose yourself in the beauty of your own body. 

Letting the slick sound of his hand slamming into his pelvic bone be your guide, you bring yourself closer and closer to your own distinctive state of nirvana. The same explosive release Joel gives you—you're finally allowing your body to experience it for itself.

"Joel, I'm...I...," you sob around your words, barely able to force them out as your entire being quakes with your impending orgasm. "...I can't—m'gonna cum, Joel, I can't."

Without warning, he throws a leg over your body to straddle your hips and crashes his lips into yours. He continues to work himself as he coaxes your mouth open, his tongue brushing yours fleetingly before he pulls back. 

"Let go, sugar. Give in to it, s'okay. I got ya, I'm right here," he breathes against your lips, and you tilt your head to meet them. When your head drops back onto the bed, your eyes are pleading. You need his help. 

And he understands. That's what he's here for.

"Cum with me," he murmurs, dropping his forehead to yours. "C'mon, perfect girl, you deserve it."

You believe him. The shame and never-ending guilt that twists and snags like barbed wire in your chest is nowhere to be found right now. There's only silence, save for you and Joel teetering on the cusp, and his tender reassurances in your ear. He's right. You can have this. 

"Ngh—Joel, it's...cumming. Fuck, fuck, m'cumming."

It creeps up on you, a gentle crescendo that abruptly peaks, then slams into you like a freight train. His name leaves your lips in a sharp exhale of sheer relief, repeated like a prayer while you ride it out. 

You're vaguely aware of a ragged, drawn-out groan above you as you soak the sheets beneath you, your cunt squeezing your fingers hard with every spasm, just like he said it would. You feel it all. 

Then you feel him splatter across your stomach and breasts in thick, white streaks, his release as messy and prolonged as yours. Gasping, you continue through your aftershocks together until sensitivity sets in.

Joel collapses on the bed next to you and immediately pulls you into his arms, uncaring of the sticky, drying mess smearing between you. He cups your cheek and kisses you, firmly but chastely, before reluctantly pulling away.

His eyes search yours carefully like he's looking for something. Peace, maybe? A sense of calm, an absence of the cloudiness he so often sees there and fights to keep at bay. Whatever it is, he must find it because then his lips are on yours again, a longer, deeper kiss that you melt into with loose limbs and a light heart.

"How we doin', sugar?" he asks tentatively as he parts from you. 

You take a moment to respond, appraising your body and everything it can sense right now. The wetness between your legs and on your chest, your aching wrist and thighs, and that sweet, pleasant buzz settling at the top of your spine. 

"Good," you tell him honestly. You gaze up at him with a blissful smile, preening at the affectionate one he gives you in return before burying your face in the crook of his neck. 

"Thanks for this," you continue, mumbling carefully into the warmth of his skin. "And for putting up with me. I know all of this is shitty and weird, and not fun. Just...thanks for never giving up on me."

He sighs, pulling you impossibly closer and enveloping you in his strong, soothing embrace. It feels safe here. In Joel's bed, surrounded by his scent and heat, and unwavering patience, you start to feel hopeful. He lifts your hand to his lips and softly kisses the pads of each finger, then the center of your palm.

"Ya don't have to thank me for any of that. We'll keep doin' this, s'long as it takes," he murmurs, urging you out of your hiding spot to meet his eyes. "Not a damn thing wrong with ya. Ya hear me? You're perfect."

Maybe one day, you'll be able to believe him outside of this bedroom. But for right now, you just feel lucky to be loved by a man like Joel. One who accepts your trauma and your past, and will always be there to protect you, even from yourself.

thanks for reading!

[theprissythumbelina]

So you want to write about horses.

Part 2 now out!

Or you're writing and horses show up. Or its a pre-industrial fantasy and your characters have to get somewhere. Or you have a faint idea of your MC's love interest showing up on a white stallion.

Whatever the cause, you're writing, and a horse appears. But you know nothing about horses. I can help.

This is a horse. Horses come in many sizes.

^ Big Jake, a Belgian Draft horse, and a roughly 5 foot woman for scale.

1 hand = 4 inches = 10.16 cm

Once a horse is smaller than about 14.2hh, it is generally considered a pony. In the modern day, ponies are not considered suitable for adult riders due to weight and height issues. Some pony breeds, such as Welsh, Fjords, ect. are known for being sturdy, and can more easily carry adult sized humans. Miniature horses should never be ridden by adults.

^The only suitable 'riding' a miniature horse should do

The above graphic mentions that horses are measured from the top of the withers, not the top of the head. But, what are withers?

The withers are where the horse's shoulders meet the spine, and the neck becomes the back. Withers are incredibly important for saddle placement, as a badly placed saddle in this area can prevent a horse from moving its legs properly, cause a large amount of pain, and even damage a horse's spine. Speaking of spines, this is a horse skeleton, with the withers pointed out.

Horses have four legs. Horses cannot have any fewer than four legs. They are obligate quadrupeds. This is, in part, due to their weight, as well as the construction of their legs and hooves. This is to say, that while cats, dogs, and other animals can be amputees, a horse, short of some incredible magic solution, cannot. Even a broken leg bone will cause a huge amount of problems, as all of the weight that leg would usually hold must be shifted to the other feet, and this causes a condition called laminitis, where the tissue that holds together the hoof and the toe bone becomes inflamed, and begins to separate. Once this happens, the hoof tissue dies from lack of blood, and the bone begins to rotate. This is extremely painful for the horse, and so often the best solution for a horse with a broken leg is to be spared that pain. Famous American racehorse Barbaro experienced a complex broken bone, which began to heal fine, but complications from laminitis in two of his other legs caused him to be put down. This is why media will almost always show a horse with a broken or injured leg being 'taken care of'.

^Barbaro, in his prime. Even the best veterinary medicine couldn't save him.

Now, racehorses like Barbaro are moving at the fastest speed and the fastest gait of the horse, the gallop. The patterns that horses move their feet are referred to as gaits, with most horses having four, with some breeds having five or more.

The first gait and the slowest is the walk. In the walk, all four feet move independently, which leads it to be called a four-beat gait, as the footfalls make a sort of drumbeat on the ground.

The next gait is the trot, a two beat gait with diagonal pairs of legs moving together.

^Diagonal pairs marked in red and blue

The trot is a very bouncy experience for the rider, and can be uncomfortable. Some riders will rise and fall with a pair of diagonal legs, called a posting trot, some will stand in their stirrups, called a two-point or jump position, and some will sit the trot, which requires a lot of core strength (seriously, if you want a strong core, screw the gym)

The third gait is the canter, a three-beat gait with a single diagonal pair. This gait is ridden sitting, and feels a lot like going over waves on a jetski. There is a rise, a scoop, and a fall feeling. The canter is also called a lope in Western riding, they are the same gait.

^diagonal pair marked in red

A gallop is sometimes considered a variation on canter, as it is similar save for the legs actually moving in a four-beat pattern. As you can see with the image of Barbaro, all four of his feet are moving in different patterns, at different times, even though the gallop is really a four beat version of the canter. Riders in the gallop rise off the horse's back into a raised position, which allows the horse to use the full length of its spine and musculature to get as much reach and speed as possible. It feels like riding on top of a train barreling down the tracks, at least until your horse takes an unexpected turn and the ground is suddenly the only thing you're riding.

^ I've been there. The trick is to push away and hit the ground rolling, it hurts less that way. And don't land on your head.

That's all for this post. I'll have more when I feel like it, and send me questions if you want to know more about specific things or need a writing question answered

Reblogs welcome and encouraged

@jacqueswriteblrlibrary for wider reach

[velvetlilacsdaisies]

Stay Still | B. Durran |

Bodhi Durran x fwb!fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: NSFW, SMUT, MDNI, swearing, p in v, (unprotected sex pls pls be safe), cockwarming, not proofread well, switch!Bodhi, possessive!Bodhi, bratty!reader, poorly written smut, smut with little plot

A/n: hehhe this came out of my ass idk what got into me during my reading bonanza last night 🤭. I just felt truly inspired to try to write a full smut. This is my first official smut I’ve wrote so I would love feedback to improve on it if you have it, but I hope you find this as fun as I did!!

You sighed boredly laying on Bodhi’s bed, stomach pressed against the plush mattress, idly looking over a book about runes you tried to occupy your thoughts with. It had been thirty minutes since you arrived at the Section Leader’s door looking for some company in nothing but your black dressing robe and matching tiny nightgown underneath. Anticipating when he opened his door, he’d haughtily pull you into his quarters and ravish you like a man starved…but no. He merely gave you a once over before letting you in, and sat back at his desk doing his research on wards for Xaden.

You wanted to help as much as he did with resurrecting the wardstones for your friends, but now it had impeded on yours and his arrangement. It’s been two weeks since you last found yourself in the embrace of the man you craved, and you were desperate for the attention you lacked. It had become an unspoken routine you two had secretly engaged in since after Threshing last year. Only using each other other than for just distractions from the trials of surviving the Rider’s Quadrant at night, while during the day you were just squad mates.

You could feel another wave of heat go through your core at the thought of the secret that the two of you shared. You had been fighting the wanton desire since the last time you had found each other. Not that you weren’t satisfied by Bodhi, but you never stopped wanting him it had become glaringly obvious for you. You had even resorted to giving into flirty banter with Ridoc in front of him to get the Flame Section Leader’s acknowledgment, left with not even a sarcastic remark or scolding look on his part. Since Violet returned from Samara, there was a dire urgency to find answers on the wardstone.

But today was exemplarily tougher to push that ache down. After a rather intensive Flame Section sparring session after classes, you had been forced to watch Bodhi spar without drooling. His shirt discarded halfway through the session when he was challenged by Sawyer, the sweat glistening off his chiseled muscles. As if he knew the effect he had on you. The relic that swirled over his bulky biceps and veiny forearms and his dragon relic that loitered on the back of his left sharp shoulder blade down to the side of his refined torso. You had to take an extra cold shower once all the girls left the locker room to calm the burning desire that consumed you which proved to be no help.

You got off the bed, and made your way to him feeling impatient as your core throbbed once more. His back was towards you, displaying his relics that you admired and worshiped in the solace of the night. Your arms wrapping around his chest from behind, your nails lightly scratching his broad bare chest.

“Boh,” you whined, nipping at his earlobe. “Are you done yet?” You asked, a simper to your tone. The arousal in between your legs getting too heavy to bare, and clenching your thighs was no longer an option to fight the want for him. You wanted him now. No—you needed him, and you weren’t going to deprive yourself another minute.

“I don’t have much longer until I finish this section.” He murmured. He screwed his eyes shut trying to focus on the text in front of him, tilting his neck out of instinct to the side letting your lips press needy kisses down to his shoulder.

He had known when he saw you at your door in your skimpiest night clothes what you wanted. Finally making a move in the unintentional stalemate between the both of you. It didn’t fall on to blind eyes the way you went out of your way to be bratty throughout the last two weeks, attempting to get a rise out of him. It almost worked, but never being a jealous man, and clever enough to see right through you. The flirty comments to Ridoc, the way he could feel your alluring eyes burn holes into him during any time he was in the vicinity of you. He almost felt guilty leaving you hanging and to resort to blatant facades of making him jealous, a silent plea to just take you already.

He wanted to do nothing, but to fuck you and remind you who you belonged to.

You looked enticing, and every primal thought that flooded his mind he pushed down to the back of his mind when you appeared in front of his door. The churam he smoked an hour ago doing nothing to stop his chest from hammering, and the blood rushing to his manhood, twitching, at the sight of you. He had to use every ounce of his self discipline to keep his composure in check, letting you in without pouncing, devouring you like he wanted. Xaden would arrive back in Basgiath tomorrow expecting intel, and he hadn’t gotten very far in his research besides dead ends.

Your name got stuck in his throat barely sputtering it out as you sucked on the spot that you knew drove him wild, the conjunction of his neck and shoulder.

You weren’t exclusive with Bodhi, but you had learned everything about him that made him tick. From the littlest things like how his eyes lingered when your flight jacket was slightly undone bearing the slightest bit of cleavage in the low cut tank top you wore underneath—to what made him absolutely feral—the feeling of your lips with your teeth marking his sweet spot that would be barely concealed by the collar of his tight black training shirt the next day. Noting how he would wear the mark proudly like the patches on his jacket. Having a boyish grin when a squad mate would bring it up playing coy. No one knew they were left by you.

“I’ll help you after…” you purred, your hands traveling down his torso to the waistband of his night pants. Fingers nimbly tracing the barely grown out hair that led underneath the cotton. “I’ve been waiting weeks for you.” You pouted before peppering more kisses on his cheeks, feeling satisfied at the sharp intake of air he took at the movement.

You would get your way, there would be no other outcome of you showing up at his door tonight than to be ruined by Bodhi Durran.

“I’m expected to have something to report on tomorrow.” He protested weakly, savoring your mouth against jaw, but still keeping his eyes on the parchment.

His dissolve was close to crumbling, feeling the cold fingertips slip underneath his waistband. All he wanted to do was bend you over his desk, imagining your cheek pressed to the ancient texts laid out on the wooden surface as he railed into you from behind. His cock hardened more at the idea of him inside you.

“Xaden won’t-” you were cut off by the scrape of the wooden chair against the stone floor making you stumble backwards slightly. Bodhi abruptly slid his bottoms down, revealing half hardened manhood, sitting back down in the chair.

“C’mere,” he growled. His tone had a dangerous lilt to it, only making the wetness that had pooled in your panties grow more. His usual warm brown eyes blown out filled with something more than lust.

Your throat ran dry, obeying as you stepped in between his legs. He leaned his forehead against your stomach, inhaling steady breaths as if he could smell your arousal. His rough hands gripping your bare outer thighs before slipping under your nightgown, roughly kneading the soft flesh of your ass. Then he hooked his fingers around the fabric of your undergarments dragging them down your legs.

“You want me to fuck you, but have another man’s name leave your lips?” He gritted out through his, barely speaking above a whisper.

Bodhi knew he was overreacting, but when his cousin’s name came out of your mouth, his primal instincts came bubbling to the surface. A feral fire fueling him, no longer to be tamed. How dare you bring up Xaden, when you came here solely looking for relief from him after acting the way you’ve been.

You were taken aback by the words, leaving you stammering. “I-I’m sorry, Boh..”

This was a new side to him, you’ve never seen before. A nervous pang made your heart skip a beat, though excited at the aggressiveness in his actions.

“You think I haven’t noticed what you’ve been doing the last two weeks?” He cupped the back of one of your thighs, bringing a leg over his. “Think you were being sly?” He questioned.

You shook your head furiously, forgetting how to speak momentarily.

He pinched the inside of your thigh, only adding to the fire that blazed in your core, a soft gasp leaving your slacked jaw. “Use your words, babygirl.”

“N-no,” the words airily released from your throat, a pink tint to your cheeks.

He smirked, a dry laugh escaping him. “That's what I thought.” He dragged your other leg over his so you were now straddling him, knees perched on the extra wide seat. “Since you want to be a brat, you can sit on my cock until I’m done here.” He held his member with one hand, pumping slowly. “You got it?”

You gulped, watching how it twitched ever slightly, and his shoulders relaxed as he held himself. Nodding eagerly, biting your lip, still looking between the both of you awaiting for him to be inside you.

His free hand wrapped around your hair, pulling it, forcing you to look in his eyes. “What did I say about your words?” He growled. A soft moan left your lips at the gesture. His darkened brown eyes wavered in hunger and pride at the reaction.

“Y-yes, please…” you begged, feeling him rub the tip against your slick folds.

“Good girl, so wet for me,” he groaned.

He slowly inserted himself at your entrance, his hand finding your hip to help lower yourself on to him until he bottomed out inside you. His thick member stretching you out in a blissful sting that he could make you feel. You both sighed at the feeling, and you rested your head in the crook of his neck holding on to him with a near death grip.

You could feel yourself throb as he went back to working. His hands lightly brushing your sides every time he flipped a page or went to jot a note down in his notebook, causing jolts to go down your body. You tried to grind your hips to provide the teeniest bit of relief, Bodhi would only grip your thighs with a bruising force.

“Stay still,” he hissed, his head rolling back as he felt you clench around him again. A small smirk graced your lips, an idea coming to your mind.

One of your hands slid in between you, and found your clit. You moaned, as your fingers circled the sensitive nub.

“Y/n…” he warned, listening to the sweet noises you made in his ear, gripping the quill in his hand tightly. He had thought he had the upper hand in this, but as you touched yourself, his cock warming your insides, he felt the remaining bit of his dissolve crumble. “You’re such a fucking brat.” He held your hips, halting your movements.

“Do something about it then.” You challenged, pressing a chaste kiss to his full lips.

He thrusted up into you, sounds sweet as sin coming from your throats. A wicked smile twisted on to your face, finally. “I fully intend to.” He mumbled, pulling you into another kiss, this time longer and heated. You nipped at his lower lip, earning a hiss from him as you slipped your tongue into his mouth.

Drilling into you at a slow agonizing pace, your tongues fought for dominance, the kiss becoming broken up between strings of noises leaving the both of you. The slow burn pleasure painstakingly from the pace he had set. You tried to lower yourself up and down to go at a faster pace and to your dismay he slowed his movements more, squeezing your hips in caution.

You pulled away panting, “more.” You were a whimpering mess, frustrated to find your release. “Please, Bodhi.”

“Just because you get what you want doesn’t mean you still can’t be punished.” A lazy smirk etched on to his broad jaw. “I have to remind you who you belong to.”

He slowly thrusted up into you again, making you cry out. His face contorted to a look of pleasure as he provided deep slow strokes into you, the sight of him biting his now bruised lip heavenly.

“I’m yours, please.” You begged, nails biting into his shoulders. “Only yours.” You cried when he thrusted particularly harder when you said that.

“Y’ feel so good around me.” He drawled. “Like your pussy was made for me, sweetheart.” His words caused an effect on your whole body from your pussy clenching harder around him to your heart swelling from the praise.

The atmosphere felt entirely different from the usual casual hook ups from before. His forehead resting against yours, occasionally nuzzling your nose with his whispering lines of worship for you taking his time.

“Feels so good,” you panted, looping your fingers in his curls at the nape of his neck. You could feel yourself go dumb as his fingers found your clit, circling it with the same agonizing pace of his cock. You don’t know how much of this you could take. “Please, please, please let me ride you.”

“Do you deserve to ride me?” He taunted in between thrusts.

You nodded vigorously, “please let me make you feel good, Boh. Please.”

He stopped playing with your clit, bringing his fingers to your swollen lips. You sucked your juices off of them, tasting yourself as he leaned back in the chair.

“Mm, since you’ve been begging so nicely.” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

The moans you released as you fucked yourself onto Bodhi’s cock were angelic. Letting you lower yourself up and down, watching as you got lost, getting drunk on his manhood. His hands had a firm grip on your waist, helping guide you down his length.

“That’s it, ride me like the good slut you are.” He watched your cunt sink onto him, swallowing his length whole.

You could start to feel the familiar coil of release start to come undone, and you knew you weren’t gonna last long. The sounds of your slick and his pants encouraging you to go faster.

Bodhi sensed the way you gripped him, you were going to climax, and met your rhythm bucking his hips upward. “You gonna come f’me?” He asked.

You could only mewl in response, the pleasure rendering you speechless as you rode him harder. Your vision blurred with stars, your body going rigid from the surge of tingling pleasure that electrified your body. The coil finally unraveling in your core as you orgasmed. You let out a throaty moan that was muffled by his lips, kissing passionately.

The tawny skinned man didn’t stop his movements, feeling his own release chasing yours. His aching cock twitched in need of relief. He muttered curses, his pace getting sloppier as he whimpered your name.

“Come for me, Boh.” You whispered softly. His arms wrapped tightly around your midsection, clinging to you like his life depended on it as he kept fucking you.

You felt the twitch, and his release shoot into you, a guttural groan following it. Feeling the mix of your arousals seeping out of you, his cock throbbing.

The heavy breathing from the both of you was the only noise in the room, you two staying in the position. You lightly scratched his scalp letting him regain his composure, his arms loosely holding you still. After a minute, he leaned away looking at you silently.

The intense gaze made you self conscious, clearing your throat as indication you were getting up. His arms only tightened around you once more, but he let his cock sink out of you, feeling your releases cover both of your thighs.

“I should get going,” you stated bluntly.

“Stay the night?” He reached over for the t-shirt that was crumpled on the floor beside his desk. Gingerly wiping you off first, being extremely gentle and careful to not be too abrasive with your sensitive parts, before he cleaned himself off.

You blinked in surprise, he never asked that before—let alone so nonchalant. You two never stayed too long in one another’s quarters after, let alone spend the night with one another. This would encroach the boundaries you mentally placed on this arrangement, ultimately entangling what you had already felt for the man in front of you.

“Aren’t you worried someone will see?” You asked warily.

He offered his usual boyish grin. “That’s kind of the point, sweetheart.”

Personally the pacing was weird for me to write, but I hope it gave you guys what you needed! The idea of fwb possessive Bodhi now has me in a chokehold lmao. Like I said, I am always open to improvements and feedback as this was a bit out of my comfort zone 🫶🏻🩷

[kibblbread]

AK!Jason doesn’t really like anything.. but he really likes spending time with you.

There isn’t much joy in his life, and when he does experience it, it’s pretty hard to tell. Very hard in fact. When Jason is his absolute happiest it’s truly rare that he’s fully conscious or not coming down from a state of extreme distress and panic.

More recent anecdotes of him happily existing involve him waking up or falling asleep alongside you, preventing a loved one from being fatally hurt, or brutalizing soneone that hurts you. Pretty scary, but these aren’t things he wants to acknowledge in the slightest or ever make known to you. External validation is necessary for him to truly feel good at this point in his life, which is something you’re privy to— just not the extent obviously.

When JT is hardly awake or really beginning to fall into what’ll be a comfortable dreamless sleep, he feels safe and secure enough to relax properly. He’s being held, allowed to be perceivably weak in a way that he deems acceptable. He can bury himself deep into the warmth and softness of your body to be protected from the nipping cold of Gotham.

It’s such a special time for him, a sacred moment that he cherishes.

You are his one precious piece of bliss.

Jason doesn’t acknowledge your gentle scalp rubs and lip balm coated kisses outside of a slight tightening of his grasp on your t-shirt. Greedily and lazily claiming his lover and her kind gestures of affection.

This is the most common and most easily detectable example of happiness from Jason. It’s somewhat complex without any explanation but still worth noting to an observant s/o of JT. I think that Jason himself though wouldn’t identify this experience (or lack of) is actually happening beyond him being happy to snuggle every once in a while. Being able to be excited to be touched instead of anxious or irrationally annoyed, it doesn’t occur to himself how often he’s in a nasty mood.

Preventing a loved one from being hurt only gives a small sense of joy that’s usually overshadowed by guilt and anger. The fact that the situation happened in the first place is somehow his own fault in the mind of Jason. But there are times where you’re able to thank him immediately after the fact, those are the times he can feel ego. That pat on the back is always a major surprise to him! Any gratitude he receives in moments so stressful boost his confidence a lot. When you do that he doesn’t have to much time to think about every specific way he fucked up, instead he’s concentrated on rationalizing why you’re complimenting something that in his head could’ve been somehow avoided.

You give him a quick hug and smile up at his faceless red helmet, telling him things could’ve ended terribly if he hadn’t been there. There is a small ping of joy radiate from within his chest. The positive reinforcement of your small affirming touches and verbal encouragement give pause to the harsh self criticisms. While the ultimate core emotions attached to this moment would be some initial surprise and frustration, there will always be a lingering feeling of pride that he got to be your hero.

As for getting a lick-back for your sake, lol, he’s pretty fucked up about it. Whether it be a lowly henchman/gang member or a notorious villain, he doesn’t know when to let up— or if he wants to. Deep down Jason derives a sick sense of joy from maiming people. It’s not his fault, but it’s his responsibility to face this dark and crooked part of himself. He knows it spooks you, it spooks all his loved ones, but he can’t help it can he? He can’t help being the twisted mangled thing Joker forced him to become.

Jason just wants you to feel safe.

He almost never feels safe so this is a favor from him to you of course..

For you to feel safe around a psycho like him.

[aweina]

ᰔ. wrong package : mike schmidt — suggestive warning !! + ft. secondhand embarrassment.

next door neighbor mike who randomly appears in front of your doorstep, an unusual flushed look in his tired features. neither of you have been formally acquainted, if you don’t count the forced awkward exchanges when getting the mail outside.

although, mike was good looking despite his unkempt demeanor — the remnant memories of his stiff politeness and husk voice had you fawning over him for as long as you were made aware of his presence. but it seems like he’d rather get to work or rest at home than getting to know any of his neighbors.

but now, he stands in front of you shifting one foot over the other — his wavering eyes settling onto the torn box in his grasp rather than your face. there was a bob to his throat, swallowing down on his thickening saliva in anticipation.

“uh sorry to bother you, but i’ve actually gotten your package on accident and ummm … i opened it.” his fumbling words shot through his lips like he’s in a rush, but you still manage to make his statement coherent.

he directs your curious eyes over the beaten package and immediately, your polite smile turned into a silent scream. the rabbit vibrator that you ordered online was hastily covered in some old newspaper — what mike probably did beforehand out respect of your already invaded privacy. the hot pink color and obnoxious packaging taunting you. your name was bold and printed on the delivery sticker, sparing you no excuses for your erotic purchase.

your dilated pupils and now flushed complexion made mike feel apologetic, yet somewhat amused. his encounters with you were a rarity, but he made sure to remember those moments. like when you would focus on reading the mail beside the shared mailbox, the way your face looked so cute carefully squinting and mumbling each word. or even that time you mistaken his sister as his daughter, the same dust of pink settled onto your cheeks like it did now.

mike formed an impression that you’re put together and tooth achingly innocent, but after accidentally opening your package — his superficial thoughts about you has gone down south and into the depths of a more lustrous head space.

how would you look like using it? what would you sound like? crude and carnal ideas spilling over the mental image of your face, his senses clouded with this new epiphany.

he carefully hovers his hand over yours and guides them with a phantom touch, placing the package gently in your stiffened grasp. the furrow in your brows and lack of response made him worried you might pass out — but then you began to sputter a shy “thank you”, your quivering eyes never meeting his. it was a nice look, he couldn’t deny it.

“i won’t tell, promise.” his previous nervous manner completely melted away as he teases you for a bit, his pointer finger pressed against his friendly smile — like it could somehow permanently seal his lips from exposing your status on your sex life.

you nodded, not trusting yourself to speak — not when you heart feels like it’s about to explode while your body temperature is fighting between haunting chills or overwhelming heat. the gaze in his eyes was much more darker and relaxed than before. weirdly enough, you trust him like you’ve known him your whole life. mike gives you a friendly farewell before he makes his way back into his house.

slowly shutting the door with a solid click, you immediately pathetically fall to your knees and shriek in absolute horror — the box crashing down with you and revealing the one thing that made this rare exchange so humiliating, embarrassment settling so thick in your core. your hot neighbor knowing you’re sexually active? currently getting off to a dingy sex toy? you cannot go back outside again, not if you’re going to possibly see him. hell, you cannot even use the toy without thinking of mike. it’s like he cursed it with some spell, the whispers of his name draw closer each passing second whenever you gaze at the toy.

his ears perk at the bloodcurdling scream that pierced through your closed windows — one so loud and dramatic, it sounded like an active crime scene. he couldn’t help but helplessly laugh into his baggy sleeves, prickles of tears in the corners of his eyes. it’s been awhile since he’s laughed like that, it was needed. returning back home felt less eventful, your embarrassment still making him chuckle under his breath and somewhat eager to see it on you again.

of course, there’s no shame of getting yourself off, but if you needed a helping hand — mike would gladly come over and do his due diligence to be the perfect neighbor. with his new image of you carved into his mind and colorful second impression of you, maybe it’s time for him to make a more formal introduction of himself, once you actually start recovering from your eternal embarrassment.

[literaila]

slip-up

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: megumi says something he's not supposed to

warnings: bit of sad megumi (same babe), gojo is a terrible comforter, reader doesn't get a lot of screen time but she's always there, a good lack of conflict resolution

a/n: the one-shot that started this series. i figured it was time to give it up

last part | next part

*

year four.

megumi doesn't notice the slip-up right when he says it. he's not even really paying attention to the conversation. 

instead, he's thinking about the homework assignment he was supposed to turn in today--the one that gojo refused (couldn't) help him with. 

"my mom usually drops us off," he's telling his teacher, trying to be polite like you taught him and not start whining (like gojo taught him). "but she's out of town right now, so gojo dropped us off instead and he gets the times confused..." 

in all honesty, megumi could blame this whole thing on gojo. because it was his fault. 

usually, you woke him and tsumiki up, pulling on his hair when he whined into the pillows, packing their lunches while they both sat at the table, eating cereal or tamagoyaki. usually, you reminded megumi to tuck in his shirt and helped the two of them get their books together, taking an occasional moment to shout at megumi's budget dad to get up before he was late. usually, you walked them to the door, kissing them both goodbye and watching both of them until they closed the door. 

later on, you'd be there again, welcoming them home with another smile, asking about their days. forcing them into a thorough recap. 

but today megumi woke up with a sore neck and gojo smiling at him, asking if he was planning on being buried in his bed. 

because even though megumi heard you tell gojo that he needed to help out, step up, the mornings while you were gone, all of you should've known better. 

megumi hasn't even ever seen gojo out of bed before nine-thirty. 

so here he was, with his shirt untucked, his homework missing, and a bag of lollipops that gojo packed for lunch. 

here he was, three hours late for school, trying to explain to his teacher that it wasn't his fault. 

and here he was, accidentally calling you mom. 

but megumi doesn't even realize that until his teacher smiles a little bit, telling him that she understands, asking him when his mom gets back. 

megumi freezes. 

the word repeats in his mind, and he finally realizes his slip-up. 

sure, he's heard tsumiki call you it before--because for all intents and purposes, that's what you were. after four years of your unconditional love, the two of them knew, truly, that they could depend on you. 

but megumi has never had a mom, and he doesn't now. 

so it's still gojo's fault when the first tear rolls down his cheek. which megumi promptly wipes away. he's not going to cry--he's not the sort of kid that cries. he prides himself on it, actually. not needing the same sort of attention that he's seen his classmates get, never feeling things that deeply. 

but he's crying now, and his neck still hurts as he turns away from his teacher, going to sit down at his desk. 

and megumi isn't the type of kid that cries, but when he puts his head down, his cheeks feel a little damp. 

*

megumi's got a headache now--another reason why he doesn't cry--and he sort of wants to curl up in bed until tsumiki gets home, and then convince her to run away with him. 

but he doesn't. 

when gojo unlocks the door, megumi goes through it without stopping to look around. he drags his backpack to his room--gojo watching the whole time, of course--and closes the door before the man can say anything stupid. 

he can't deal with him right now. or ever, actually. 

megumi sets his backpack up against the wall with a brief thought about homework and the class he's going to miss because of this, but he doesn't care enough to dwell on it. 

everything about him feels stiff, like glue got between the seems of his very core. 

he's ten years old. he shouldn't have to worry about anything. 

he takes off his blazer, sets it on his desk with sweaty palms, and feels quite naked--even with the layers of clothes and lack of eyes. and his head hurts. megumi wants to get up and restart his day just so he can tell some version of his former self not to be so stupid. 

but he knows that's just the guilt talking, so he ignores that too. 

and it's only ten minutes into his glooming that there's a knock on the door, and gojo doesn't knock, so megumi knows immediately that something's wrong. 

he's lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, but he leans up on his elbow when you peek your head into the room. 

for a brief moment, megumi is so relieved to see you that he almost jumps up and clings to you--like some child would. 

he wants to hold onto you and beg you not to leave again, because everything seems to go wrong when you’re not there. he wants to tell you that he’s scared, and that he’s not sure what to do.

but he refrains, and blinks idly, confused about why you're here, and why his heart hurts just from looking at you. 

“hey, you okay?” you whisper, taking a step into the dark room. you don't look banged up, and megumi wonders what gojo said to get you to come home. he probably told you that megumi was dying, or something. 

you sit on the edge of his bed, and your hand is on his forehead before megumi can blink. “you feel sick?” 

megumi nods, but his eyes don’t meet yours. it's a small enough lie. 

“i’m sorry. did satoru give you any medicine?” 

“did you have to come home for me?” 

you smile, slightly. “no, buddy, don’t worry. it was easier than they said, just a grade one. plus i kinda rushed it cause i missed you guys.” you push his hair out of his eyes, “now, medicine?”

“i don’t want any.” 

“if you don’t feel good—“ 

“actually,” he interrupts. “can—i, um, i don’t really want to talk.” 

you pause, eyes roaming over his face. “oh. okay. that’s fine.” 

you remove your hands from him immediately, walls of metaphorical space flying up between the two of you. “i’ll leave you alone. just ask if you need anything, okay? i’m going to go unpack.”

he nods and you give him a little grin. 

and right as you're at the door, he falters. he doesn’t really want you to go. he wants you to crawl into bed with him, treat him like he's actually sick, and let him lay with his head in your lap. he wants to ask you the same question that's been in his head since he said it, but he can't. 

“y/n?” he whispers, instead, your name feeling wrong in his mouth. 

“yeah?"

“will... will you get gojo?" he asks, even though it's not what he wants to say at all. "i want to talk to him.” 

“gojo?” you frown, looking at him. “yeah. of course, yeah. i’ll go get him. one sec.” 

and when you close the door, megumi feels like he’s said something wrong. slipped up again. 

he sits there and waits, feeling incorrect in his body. he wants you to come back and tell him that it'll all be fine, but he knows that you won't. if there's one thing you're good at, it's respecting boundaries. 

and megumi has a lot of them. 

gojo doesn’t knock when he comes into the room, and megumi is so lost in thought that he jumps as soon as the door clicks open. 

megumi’s neck flies as he looks at him, wide eyes. he's already sat up, preparing himself for an influx of anger. 

“is this about your lunch?” gojo asks, immediately, words fast and smooth. “because that wasn’t my fault. i thought your school did that.”

“you bought us our lunchboxes,” megumi argues, “you made me get the weird one with the dragon.” 

“do not insult dracomon like that.” 

megumi rolls his eyes. “whatever.” 

“so, you wanna talk to me, huh?" gojo sits on megumi’s desk chair, legs hanging off the sides. “i think this is the first real conversation we’ve ever had.” 

megumi rolls his eyes again. 

gojo waves a hand. "alright. what is it?" 

megumi pauses. he can't ask gojo. even if he had an answer, it would be the least trustworthy version of one. 

he scratches his neck, not sure how to lie about this. knowing that he's not supposed to lie in the first place. 

he's doing everything wrong today. 

gojo shakes his head, white hair the victim of many fashion crimes. “spit it out, kid. i just did you a huge favor, and i don’t have time for the attitude.” 

“you didn’t do anything,” megumi frowns, crossing his arms. 

gojo snorts. “you think they just say ‘come get your child’ when you’re crying at your desk?” he asks, rhetorically, and megumi’s face goes still. “no, they disrupted my nap, saying that you needed to be picked up and handed me a card for a child psychologist.” 

“they told you?” 

he nods. “and i didn’t tell y/n,” he grins, self-satisfied. “so you’re welcome.” 

“why not?” 

“because she would’ve freaked out, and i don’t need that, and i’m pretty sure you don’t want that…” 

megumi nods immediately. 

“it can stay our secret if you tell me what’s going on. i’ll edit the report when y/n asks,” then he turns, looking at the door. “even though she’s already listening in.” 

“really?” megumi bites the inside of his cheek, checking the crack under the door for feet. 

satoru kicks him. “no. she’s in her room. now, talk. i don’t know how long she’ll take.” 

megumi swallows. he doesn’t really want to ask—not his only real question—but he’s already gotten this far. 

at least it doesn't matter what he says, because no one will believe anything gojo makes up anyway. 

“megumi…” gojo prods. 

“do you know where my mom is?” 

there’s a pause. a very long pause where megumi feels like he’s being scrutinized.

he can tell that gojo is looking at him very closely, a microscope to megumi’s cell, even though he can’t see his eyes.

“i—“ gojo pulls a strand of hair by his ear. clearing his throat. “i, um, im not sure. why?” 

“no reason.” 

there’s a very weird wince on the man’s face. “do you want to… talk about them? your… parents?” 

“no,” megumi says immediately. 

gojo sighs. “look, i’ll tell you if you really want to know—“ 

“i don’t care. i just… i don’t care.” 

“…okay.” 

“okay.” 

the two of them are both lying. they have the same neck-scratching, and looking away tells. if you were in the room, you would be monitoring both of them very harshly. probably scolding them for the look on both of their faces.

gojo’s expression is so much weirder than megumi’s ever seen it. “are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” 

“i just wanted to know if you knew,” megumi says, crossing his arms, then doing it again. “i don’t care about them. they don’t care about me.” 

“well, i don’t know that—“ 

“no. you and y/n took us in and they didn’t care. so why should i?” 

“right.” gojo nods. “right we… took you in.” 

megumi nods, as a finality, and then deflates a little bit. 

he doesn’t care about his mom—whoever she is, wherever she might be. he doesn’t. he just… also doesn’t want to replace her. 

it feels wrong to think about. she doesn’t care about his life, so why should he care about hers? 

it's a stupid sort of guilt. if tsumiki said anything like it, megumi wouldn't talk to her for a week. 

but it's the sort of guilt over you, and a woman he knows nothing about. someone he doesn't really want to know about. 

maybe that makes it worse. 

“did someone say something at school?” 

megumi frowns. “no. why would they?” 

gojo shrugs. “kids are jerks,” he answers, simply, and then mutters “i would know…” under his breath, making megumi want to punch him again. 

“no one said anything.” 

“then why were you crying this morning?” 

“i wasn’t crying.” 

“hey,” gojo frowns. “crying is fine. it’s good.” 

“i know,” megumi crosses his arms. 

“okay, then.” 

megumi doesn’t even know why he wanted to talk to gojo in the first place. 

“look,” gojo sighs, his fingers tapping along the body of the chair. he whispers something that sounds suspiciously like “y/n is so much better at this,” and then meets megumi’s eyes—metaphorically, of course. everyone knows that gojo doesn’t have any eyes. “if you want to talk about your parents, we can talk about them. tsumiki asks questions every once in a while. and…” he breaks away, shaking his head. “if there’s something i don’t know, then i'll—we’ll figure it out. i’ve got eyes everywhere.” 

gojo is grinning at his little joke, but megumi’s frown deepens. 

"i don't care about them," he says, again, as a reassurance to them both. 

"they are your parents, you know?" he holds his hands up in defense, probably from the glare megumi is giving him. "i'm just saying. curiosity is normal." 

"how would you know?" 

gojo sighs, tilting his head back. he looks almost hurt. "i'm wise. i've got years of experience on you." 

"no, you don't." 

he shakes his head. "now i'm going to start crying." 

megumi stares at him. if he could trade gojo for literally anyone else in the world, he would. 

and yet, he doesn't want to talk to you about this. he doesn't want to talk at all. and he does. 

at least he knows that gojo won’t take any of this too seriously. that he won’t get to the bottom of the problem, like neither of them wants.

"do you think..." megumi starts, whispering. "do you ever regret taking us in?" 

gojo swallows. he looks almost hesitant to answer, but megumi knows that must be wrong. gojo has never hesitated a moment in his life.

"well, you guys are pretty mean to me. but no, we don't regret it. why would we?" he asks, teasing, like always. "children are for chores." 

megumi shakes his head. 

"you should--" gojo scrunches his nose. "i can get y/n. she's got better answers, anyway." 

"no!" megumi holds his hand out when the man begins to move from the chair, heart racing. "i don't want to talk to her." 

"did something happen with you guys? you think someone might mention it to me..." 

"no, nothing happened. i just... want to talk to you." 

gojo snorts, but he sits back down. "whatever you did, i'm sure it's not that bad. remember that time i set tsumiki's hair on fire when she was gone? that was bad." 

"i didn’t do anything. i'm not like you," megumi scowls, looking away. 

"would you like a reward?" gojo asks, dryly. "most people wouldn't openly admit that. i admire your confidence." 

both of them are silent, megumi considering the consequences of just saying the words out loud, nonetheless to gojo--who definitely won't know what to do with them. 

after a minute, gojo clears his throat. "okay, megumi. my turn. do you regret coming here with me? instead of going with your family? you'd be clan head someday, you know." 

"that place with the freaky shed of weapons you showed me?" 

"yup." 

"no," megumi doesn't have to think about that. "tsumiki's with me here. and i--"

i like it here, he almost slips. i love you guys.

megumi sighs. he doesn't want to say that to gojo. 

but the older man looks like he already knew what he meant, a dumb smile on his face. "good. okay. well, i don't know what's wrong with you," he gives megumi a pointed look, saying that he actually does. "but i'm sure it'll all work out. you've got me here, so there's nothing to worry about. and y/n would kill me if anything happened to you, so. don't worry about your parents, kid." 

megumi blinks at him. because his problems can be summed up with a quick "yeah, that's cool." 

he rolls his eyes. 

gojo's hand nudges his knee. "you can still ask if you want. anytime. we love you, you know? y/n more than me, but still..." 

megumi shakes his head. "well i love her more than you." 

"good. tsumiki's my favorite anyway." 

"good. she's the only one who can deal with you." 

"good," gojo retorts, like a child. 

he leans in, ruffling megumi's hair as he does it. "even if you are pretty annoying, i'll still do some research for you. see about your mom." 

"you don't have to--" 

"i can't pick you up every time you're crying in class," gojo shrugs, so simply. definitely a joke in the words, but no teasing. "and i won't tell y/n. but you should talk to her. she worries." 

"i know." 

gojo smiles. "okay. as long as you know." 

the two of them sit there for a while more, gojo making an awful comment every couple of lapses in silence, megumi answering with an equally sarcastic retort, and the two of them not minding at all. 

and megumi still can't get the question out--are you his mom?--but there's the undeinable feeling that no one else can answer it for him anyway. 

and gojo seems to know that, so he doesn't say anything about it. just lingers there, like an illness, waiting until megumi is okay, or maybe waiting for him to ask something else. 

even though megumi doesn’t want to give the man any credit, he knows that gojo understands a lot more than he lets on. and, just from the weird little prideful looks he gives him every time he says something, megumi knows that he probably gets what this is about.

but if gojo isn’t going to say anything, then neither is he.

still, it’s nice to have him here.

there’s no comforting glances, or squeezing of hands with gojo. no acute words and adept gestures.

megumi has never expected gojo to overcome his tendency towards immaturity, or to become something that he’s simply not.

but there is just this. just the man who’s been there for long enough for megumi to notice. to understand that he’s not going away so easily.

and it’s nice to have you both. (megumi won’t admit that the gratitude he has for his makeshift parents is much stronger, more vehement than any worry about biology, or being left behind).

eventually, megumi's eyes begin to droop, and even though his headache is less stress-induced, it's still there, a gentle pounding at his skull. 

like a reminder that things are going to change, even if he doesn't want them to. that he's growing up, and he can't protect everyone from his emotions forever. 

but megumi doesn't have enough energy to think about it. so he lays down against his pillows, eyelids fluttering open and closed. 

and he can just see it when gojo sneaks out of the room, whistling softly as he leaves, purposefully leaving the door open. 

megumi should've gone to live with that clan. 

*

"hey," you stand from your chair, looking not at satoru, but behind him, like the essence of their conversation is going to follow him through the door. "what'd he want? is he okay?" 

you dance on your feet awkwardly, looking like you were waiting that whole time (you were). 

satoru smiles, leaning on the counter to stare at you, at your nervous little lip bite. "he's fine." 

"is he feeling really sick? he told me he didn't want any medicine, but if he's got a headache or something, then i could give him a pain reliever. did he seem bad? should we take him to the doctor? i can probably schedule an appointment--" 

you're cut off by satoru as he nears you, crushing you against his chest in a hug so tight that it knocks the air from your lungs. 

seriously, jujutsu sorcerers and their sheer amount of muscle training are ridiculous. 

"satoru--" you squeeze out, but he holds you even tighter. 

"it's all good," he says like it's an answer, and he sounds like he knows something that you don't. probably because he does. 

but after a moment you relax into him. even if you have to bribe him with cuddles, someone's going to tell you what's going on... 

*

next part | series masterlist

[stellamarielu]

talk too much

declan o’hara x female reader

summary: you're painfully introverted causing your boss to go out of his way to meddle in your personal life in a desperation to feed his rather unprofessional infatuation with you.

content: fluff, mutual pining, workplace conversations, casual flirting, implications of cheating oops fuck off maud, just cutesy boss!declan who talks too much and shy!reader who keeps to herself but they both have a little crush on each other! very wholesome!

author’s note: just 3k words of mutual pining and workplace crush declan core. this request sparked my interest and i thought i’d write a little something for it🤷‍♀️ do with it what you will.

You were a quiet person. You preferred your own company and despised parties. Not to mention your hatred for public speaking and meeting new people. It had been that way since you were a kid, you just always kept to yourself; the textbook definition of introverted. 

When your degree in journalism landed you a job at Corinium Televison it wasn’t exactly what you had in mind for your career, but upon meeting Declan O’hara you were laying your apprehensions at the door.

He was charming, charismatic and confrontational. Your opposite in every way, yet you adored working for him. He was the kind of journalist you admired, the kind who would do anything for a story and push boundaries. You felt honored working alongside him.

He was an open book when it came to his job, willing to tell you anything you wanted to know and teach you everything there was to learn. As his assistant you spent most of your day listening to Declan talk, in the short time you had worked for him you felt like you could write a biography on his life– well his professional life at least. 

Declan on the other hand knew little to nothing about you. You were this quiet young thing that catered to his every whim, oftentimes knowing exactly what he needed before he even did. It amazed him how hard you worked; how knowledgeable you were, but how little you made your presence known. Anyone else half as good at their job would make it a point to be loud and obnoxious about their successes, but not you.

You were an anomaly to him. 

He watched as you sat across from him sorting through a heap of editorials and tabloids. You were silently working, as usual, but the lack of noise in the room was eating away at Declan. He needed to fill the emptiness, or perhaps he just wanted to hear your voice.

“Didn’t you mention you took a few classes in gender studies in school?” 

Declan’s question had your hands pausing their current task of flipping through news articles. 

How did he remember that? 

It was something you told him in passing. A whisper from your lips as he was scoffing at something sexist Tony said to another employee. You made a snide comment under your breath that only Declan caught which then led you to inform him of your choice of studies in college.

But that was weeks ago, and now he was casually bringing it up while you both looked over materials to help with the next taping of his show. 

“Just thought it could be helpful given the circumstances.” 

He was referring to next week’s guest being a morally corrupt and painfully problematic politician. 

“Yeah, I did.” You didn’t look up from the papers as you spoke. 

“It actually had me thinking about changing my major for a bit.”

You weren’t sure why you were delving into your educational history.

Then again, it was Declan.

He was always asking you questions, and you were always answering them. He had a way of making you divulge things, which made sense given the nature of his job and how good he was at it.

You briefly peered up at him to find his eyes already fixed on you. It was almost unnerving. 

Your lips quirked in an unvoluntary smile as you watched the man across from you grow interested in something as trivial as your collegiate experience.

It was funny how involved in the conversation he’d become. His hands were no longer holding newspapers, instead they were folded and resting gently on the desk in front of him. His eyes were focused on you from underneath his glasses– the ones he only ever wore while the two of you rummaged through articles on your lunchbreak. 

“Why didn’t you?” His question was genuine. The inflection in his voice and the way his stare stayed on yours had you squirming in your seat. It was silly really, how uneasy he made you feel. It was as if he were interrogating you when it was just one simple question. 

“Um, I don’t really know. I guess I was just so far into my major it felt like I’d have to start over if I switched directions.” 

You averted your gaze back to the papers on the desk, picking up the first headline you saw and pretending to scan the words on the page. 

“Well, maybe I’m biased, but I’m glad you stuck with journalism. Don’t know if I’d have you here if you didn’t.” His words had a certain spring to them, which was rare for most people to hear but you had gotten quite used to the welcoming tone. 

You just offered a warm smile as you kept looking over the materials in front of you, barely meeting his eyes that were still glued on you. 

It drove Declan insane, the way you would politely dismiss him when he tried to get to know you.

Come to think of it, he hadn’t held a conversation with you for longer than ten minutes. But for some reason it was all he wanted to do. He was fascinated by you. It was like he had this need to figure out every little detail about your life.

Why were you so hard to crack? More importantly why was he so infatuated with you?

Maybe it was because he had grown so used to being able to read everyone but he could never read you. It was like you had a way of sneaking through his expertise and he found himself obsessing on it; wanting to prove to himself and to you that he could make his way past the guard that you held up so tightly. So, he remembered every little detail you shared with him and took notice of even the smallest things you let slip through the cracks of your solitude. You may have been selective in your communication but it didn’t stop Declan from piecing you together. Every conversation shared between you had him filling in the puzzle bit by bit.

“I’m sorry if I talk too much.” Declan had turned his attention back to his desk as he apologized.

You stopped rummaging through papers to look up at him, a smile slipping onto your lips before an almost silent chuckle fell from them. 

“Well, isn’t that your job? To talk to people?” You were still softly giggling as you spoke.

The sound had a certain warmth spreading through Declan’s chest. Your laugh was such a delighted sound, so gentle and sweet– almost melodic. He was trying not to question the innate pull he felt toward you upon hearing the noise; tried not to listen to the little voice in his head that was telling him to say something else just to hear it again. 

“Yes, but not you. I’m not meant to be cross-examining my employees.” 

He cringed as the word employee left his mouth. He didn’t like referring to you as that. He saw you as more of an equal. The power dynamic between a boss and their employee was something that Declan wasn’t fond of. Plus, given the way his mind would often wonder to rather unprofessional thoughts about you, he felt much better about viewing you as just a coworker. 

“I don’t mind.” Your response was quiet as you offered him a soft smile. 

Although, that wasn’t the complete truth. You very obviously did mind. Both of you knew it.

You were always so apprehensive to chat with the man, but that was only because you had just a teeny tiny crush on him, and it made your already shy disposition seem even more withdrawn. If it were up to you, there would be absolutely no small talk between you. All you wanted was to avoid conversations with him so your attraction would eventually diffuse, but he made it nearly impossible by always insisting you join him in his office to help with projects. 

“Are you going out with everyone tonight?” Thankfully Declan was veering your conversation a different direction. 

“Oh god no.” After the words left your lips you almost clapped a hand over your mouth.

You didn’t mean to be so blunt, but every Friday a bunch of people from the office went out for drinks at Bar Sinister. They always invited you but you constantly turned them down. The idea of it sounded like your own personal hell.

Declan’s eyes shot up to you at the way you answered his question. He was chuckling at your brutally honest response, the sound of his laugh low and rough.

“I didn’t mean for it to come out that way… I just- I have plans.” You were fumbling out your words, trying to cover up your complete disinterest in after-work activities with your coworkers.

“Oh really? And what are these grand plans?”

Declan was prying as he always did and you felt compelled to answer even though there was no reason to be discussing your weekend plans with your boss.

“A movie night.” 

Your answer was short and simple. It had Declan raising an eyebrow.

“Ah a movie night. Sounds like a special occasion.”

“Very special. My couch and I are really looking forward to it.”

The sarcastic exchange made Declan chuckle yet again. You’d never seen him like this, so giddy and entertained by your words. 

“Well it sounds lovely. Wish I had more nights like that honestly. Can’t tell you the last time I sat and just watch a good film”

“You and Maud never watch movies?”

You weren’t sure why you brought his wife up. He had mentioned her a few times but kept their relationship private for the most part. Maybe bringing her name into the conversation was a subconscious way of reminding yourself that he was taken. 

“I can’t remember the last time Maud and I did anything like that together.” His voice was quiet as he spoke about his wife. You could almost hear a hint of resentment in his words.

Declan wasn’t expecting you to bring up Maud. At the mention of her name he realized something. He had stayed loyal to his wife for years while she cheated on him. He never touched another woman let alone looked at anyone with romantic intentions. But the way he thought about you– it was as if he might as well of been having an affair, and he didn’t even feel guilty about it. Maybe he had finally given up. Maybe the way that you looked at him, the way you talked to him, the mere thought of you, had him realizing that his marriage was doomed and there was still hope for him to start new with someone else. With someone warm, and kind, and passionate. Someone who shared his ideals and interests. Someone who would watch movies, criticize politics and discuss literature with him. Someone like you.

He forced himself to stop going down the rabbit trail of imaginary scenarios in which the two of you were romantically involved. He was quickly reminded of the fact that you worked for him as he watched you sitting across from him very clearly uncomfortable by his depressing commentary about his marriage. Not to mention you barely knew each other outside of work, he was being utterly ridiculous.

“What about you?” He changed the topic, grabbing a random newspaper off the desk and pretending to thumb through it as he continued his question.

“You have a special someone joining you for your big movie night?”

He couldn't help but inquire about your dating life. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't spent an ungodly amount of time wondering if you had a boyfriend.

“No, just me... maybe a few snacks.” You didn't bother to look up from your reading as you answered.

“No boyfriend?” 

“No boyfriend.”

At that, your gaze met his again. Your expression was curious and a bit tickled at his effort to dig into your personal life.

“I find that hard to believe.”

The two of you were looking right at each other. Declan let the comment fall from his mouth without really thinking. The furrow of your eyebrows in confusion had him realizing that he spoke the words out loud.

“Why do you say that?” Normally you'd let the conversation go, hoping you could just get back to work without any further discussion but you couldn't help but wonder what he meant by that.

“Well, it’s just…” 

Declan thought for a moment, figuring out how he wanted to proceed. Did he cross a line and tell you the truth or did he remain professional and clean up his mess before it was fully spilled out between the two of you. 

“You’re brilliant, and thoughtful, and beautiful.” His eyes were on yours as he spoke, deciding to take the chance of making things awkward and paying you a rather allusive compliment.

The way your expression subtly lit up when he called you beautiful had him thankful for taking the risk. It even gave him enough motivation to finish his thought. 

“I just feel like a young woman like you could easily get any man you wanted, that's all.” 

With that he had rendered you completely flustered. Thank God he couldn’t hear how fast your heart was beating.

Your eyes flitted down to the papers on the desk as you quietly murmured a “thank you”, unsure if you could make eye contact when you acknowledged his words. 

“I’m sorry if that was… “ Declan started to speak, but then quickly let the words trail off once he noticed you were throwing yourself back into work.

“I’m gonna shut up now.” He decided to finally let you have a moment of silence, retiring to the work ahead of him.

The two of you were quiet but Declan's mind was racing, he was worried that his comment had made you uncomfortable, and he had no idea how to fix it.

Then he looked up again and saw the shy smile that you were desperately trying to hide as you held documents in front of your face, pretending to read them. He saw the slight changes in your body language; the crossing and uncrossing of your legs, the fluttering of your eyelashes, the way your fingers were tapping against the papers in your hand. You were fidgety. Could it be his words that made you so flustered?

Declan couldn’t stop the smirk from forming on his lips at the idea of you being all ruffled over him paying you such a small compliment. It was cute– endearing even. He'd never seen you like this.

“One more thing.” His voice was once again filling the room.

You looked up with your eyebrows knitted in confusion, prompting him to go on. 

“If, for some reason, you ever find yourself going out with everyone one of these nights, let me know. I’ll join you.” He didn't look at you as he spoke, just kept his eyes trained on the work in his hand.

“We can have a drink, and you can let me annoy you with more questions without it disrupting your work ethic.” He continued to work as he aimed his words in your direction.

His invitation was casual and nonchalant but it had your smile growing wider. You were sure he was expecting you to turn him down the same way you did with everyone else, but the little devil on your shoulder, that rarely got its way, was desperately whispering in your ear to take him up on the offer.

“Next Friday it is.” Your voice was gentle but steady as you accepted his invitation.

At your words his head shot up and his expression was undeniably smug.

For some reason you suddenly felt nervous. It wasn't like it was a date or anything, half of the office would be there, but for some reason the thought of being with Declan outside of work had a fluttering sensation filling your stomach. 

“Perfect, I’ll hold you to it.”

He was flashing you a friendly wink, but it only added to the embarrassing way your body was reacting to him; blood rushing to your cheeks, stomach in knots, and a giddy smile threatening to take over your face. You had to force yourself to look back down at the words beneath you.

You were in trouble.

You could hardly hold a conversation with the man without stumbling over your words and swooning in his presence and now you were agreeing to get a drink with him? A drink, in a bar, with no work to distract you. But it was just as coworkers, right? Friends, and nothing more. He just wanted to get to know you because you worked for him. Yeah, that’s what you’d tell yourself so you could muster up the courage to not flake on the impending date with your boss who called you beautiful straight to your face. It was no big deal really. 

And then before going back to reading, you looked at Declan one last time only to see that he was the one focused on work now. But the soft smile lingering on his lips was impossible to miss.

my masterlist

[ghostboneswrites2]

Crush

This one is for the sensitive girlies with emotional regulation issues that find themselves hopelessly attracted to emotionally unavailable men. (Aka me) Idk how I feel about it tbh. We’ll see.

Summary: While on a Rick-ordered fishing trip with Daryl, things are tense and uncomfortable. Emotions run high, things are said. (Prison Era)

Warnings: fem!reader / age gap (reader is in her early-mid 20s) / swearing / dramatic and angsty / mean!Daryl

Masterlist // Taglist

Seductive Summer - D.D. Fic Challenge

Dividers by sister-lucifer

A bead of sweat trickled down your temple as you licked your lips, mouth dry from the hot sun. You blinked, eyes fixated on rough hands and bulging muscles as the thin fabric of a black button-up struggled to contain their mass. He moved with precision, callouses delicately threading the line through the pretentiously small hole of the fishing hook.

“Ya gonna help or sit there lickin’ your lips like a bitch in heat?” Daryl finally snapped, growing tired of the sensation of lustful eyes boring into him. In a feeble attempt to mask your shame, you rolled your eyes and huffed, annoyedly picking up a hook to thread your own line through.

This wasn’t a rare occurrence. If anything, it was the norm. Daryl, the handsome but brooding archer, simply trying to complete whatever tasks had been delegated to him on any given day, while the young twenty-something years old Y/N gawks at his physique. It got under his skin, to say the least. He was a man of responsibility, and he found his inner workings far too complex for some little girl with a childish crush to ever understand.

He’d allow it for some time — the stares, the gnawing of your lips, the way you tended to linger around wherever he went — and then the flattery would wear off quickly, and he’d be sure to make it known. It wasn’t like it was a secret that you adored him. He knew it, you knew it, everyone did. You could barely keep your eyes off him from the moment you met him.

Still, despite the judgmental onlookers and his not-so-subtle lack of fondness for you, you just couldn’t help your thirst. To put it simply, you were down bad.

When Daryl had finished his half of the lines he moved on to fashioning small fish traps to place in the stream. He noticed you seemed lost in thought, attention set on the task at hand for once, instead of his big arms and broad chest, or the way his sweat always perfectly follows the framework of his—

“Ya draggin’ your ass on purpose?” He asked, breaking you free from your thoughts.

“I’ll finish when I finish.” You fired back.

That was another thing that irked him to his core. You were so childish. Any hint of criticism or expression of his discomfort always resulted in you sulking or catching an attitude. He didn’t have time to coddle your feelings.

He shrugged you off and focused on nestling the first trap strategically between some stones. As he worked his way down to the last trap, he wondered to himself why Rick always sent you out to fish with him. As previously mentioned, everyone knew how you felt about Daryl, including Rick. Most people also knew that the feeling was not mutual, and in fact, there might have even been some resentment on Daryl’s end.

Truth be told, Daryl didn’t exactly know why it was such an issue. Aside from your youth, which he felt he did not share, you were fairly pleasant in the beginning. Your sweet grin and generous nature weren’t exactly unwelcome at first. It wasn’t until your efforts became too blatant that he felt himself physically recoil at the sound of your voice. As soon as he noticed that people were catching on, watching in awe every time you’d approach him with some fresh water or a snack, a flip switched in his mind. You were no longer a lovely addition to his daily proceedings, but a nuisance to his inner peace.

That was when you changed, too. You noticed the contrast in behavior immediately. It was a talent of yours — or maybe a curse — to be so perceptive. You’d been that way your whole life. Always walking on eggshells, analyzing every word spoken or facial expression made.

When Daryl’s friendliness transformed into indifference, you found yourself trying harder and harder, only to feel more and more disappointment with each failed attempt at gaining his affections. You frequently scolded yourself for the pathetic behavior, which was what you were doing while you slowly threaded fishing lines through the hooks. Any woman with respect for herself would have abandoned ship at the first signs of angry seas, but you were the kind of captain that preferred to drown with her vessel.

Soon enough you’d finished with your hooks and Daryl had placed the last trap. With haste, you both worked to tie worms to the hooks and cast the lines, hoping by this time tomorrow to be returning to camp with a fish dinner. The stream was half a days hike east of the prison, so usually teams of two would take a two or three day ‘vacation’, as Glenn and Maggie would call it, and bring back as much fish as they could.

Once all eight lines were cast, you planted your makeshift rods in the dirt and got to work building a campfire while Daryl hurried to try and get a few squirrels to eat. At least, that was his excuse. In reality, Carol had packed enough food for the both of you. He just wanted to get away.

By nightfall, he was back, cleaning a raccoon and preparing it for the fire. You already had the tent pitched and water boiling to drink, so you were just relaxing with you feet in the cold creek.

Daryl was nice enough to let you know when the raccoon was ready, so you ate at the fire with him in silence.

“I’ll take watch tonight.” Daryl announced as he shoveled the last piece of meat into his mouth.

“You take watch every time.” You pointed out. It was true, he always kept watch on fishing trips.

“What, ya wanna stay up all night? Be my guest.” He retorted.

“I’m not saying that, I’m just saying you don’t have to stay up every time.” You droned.

“Well it ain’t like ya ever volunteer.” He scoffed.

“Because you always do it first.”

“Yeah, ‘cause ya never speak up the whole day we’re workin’.” He argued.

“Okay well I’m volunteering now.”

“Well, forget it, ‘cause I already said I’d do it.”

“Fine.” You shrugged.

With a huff, you pushed yourself off the ground, swiping dry leaves from your jeans as you marched over to the tent to retrieve a sleeping bag for Daryl. You dropped it on the ground beside him. It landed with a soft thud.

“The hell’s that for?” He asked.

“Use it or don’t. I don’t care. Carol packed it for you.” You said bitterly.

You retired to the tent after that, working on taking your gun apart and putting it back together for practice. When you grew tired of that, you dug in your bag for a cigarette and stealthily unzipped your tent, scanning the coast for any signs of Daryl and his deep scowl that he seemingly reserved for you only. The fire had died down to smoky ember, but you could just barely make out the stillness in the dark. Nothing was moving, which meant Daryl had probably stalked off somewhere, and you could be alone.

You never really liked being alone, but at least you were free to be yourself, unperceived by others.

You found yourself a nice stump to sit on before you lit the cigarette, savoring the first drag before slowly exhaling.

“That best not be one of mine.” A husky voice startled you from the dark. Your attention snapped toward the trees as his looming figure emerged from the shadows. You rolled your eyes and turned away again.

“You mean the stale ones you lifted off a rotting body? No thanks.” You snarked.

“Whatever.” He tutted, twitching his neck to flip some hair out of his eyes. You could hear his footsteps fading away behind you as you tried to enjoy your smoke without his miserable aura around to cloud up the fresh air. To your surprise, he returned moments later with a cigarette of his own. He leaned back against a tree across from you, sliding down until his ass hit the ground. His face illuminated behind the flame as he flicked his zippo open. Subtly, you watched while the shadows danced across his chiseled features as he guided the tip of his cigarette into the flame with his lips.

With a metallic click, the lighter flipped shut and he was shrouded in darkness once more. Your eyes thoughtlessly followed the small red orb of his cherry as he pulled on his cigarette and dropped his hands back into his lap. He didn’t say anything, and it was a tad too dark to really be able to tell, but you knew he was watching you, just as you were watching him. The minutes ticked by as your cigarette faded to ash. Just as you leaned down to snuff the butt in the dirt, he cleared his throat.

“‘M gon’ tell Rick not to send ya out here with me no more.” He informed you.

“Why?” You asked defensively.

“‘Cause you’re too slow. I’ll get more done with someone else.” He explained.

“Like who?” You insisted.

“Like someone who ain’t so distracted.” He sighed with exasperation. He didn’t really even know why he told you that. He was considering telling Rick not to send you with him anymore, but he hadn’t really decided one way or another yet. He guessed he just had to cause tension to keep himself from staring at you too long.

“Yeah.” You scoffed. “That’s why.”

“Well, why the hell else would it be?” He snapped.

“You just don’t wanna be around me.” You mumbled.

“Maybe I wouldn’t mind it if you’d act like a fuckin’ adult!” He raised his voice now, and you regretted saying anything. He could sense you shrinking back from his harsh tone, which only angered him more. “All ya do is stare at me all fuckin’ day and pout like a schoolgirl when ya don’t get your way!”

Tears welled at the rim of your eyes, sniffling as you swallowed a lump in your throat. You hated being yelled at, being cornered, being made to feel like a vulnerable child. You hated that he could affect you that way.

Quickly, the pain and anxiety melted away. You began to feel angry. Enraged, even, at the fact that he could treat you so harshly. What had you done to deserve that? Why did he think it was okay to be so cruel?

A rush of adrenaline washed over you as you abruptly stood to your feet, trembling as your emotions overcame you.

“Excuse me for trying! For being kind! For putting up with your piss-poor attitude and still thinking the fucking world of you! All I do is try to treat you the way I wish someone would treat me! No matter how fucking awful you are to me!” You shouted, bitter and full of resentment.

“So why the hell do ya still try?!” He shouted back, pushing himself off the ground and towering over you. In the dark, your most visible feature was your big wet eyes glistening in the natural light of the moon. His eyes flickered between them, somewhat intimidating by how expressive they were. A man like him spent his whole life perfecting his mask, hiding his true feelings from the world, protecting them beneath the surface of his hardened shell.

“Because I love, Daryl!” You shrieked, voice coarse from strain. “I love. I have so much love to give and nowhere to fucking put it! And — and I see you and I see a man who’s never felt love and I—“ You paused to let out a sob and catch your breath. “Because for whatever reason, I saw you and decided you were the one that I needed to love and that doing so would make everything else make sense.”

Daryl seemed taken aback by your confession. He didn’t know how to process any of it, so he instead decided to push you away even more.

“I don’t need your fuckin’ love, alright?” He spat, emphasizing the word love as if the word disgusted him. “I don’t need it, and I don’t want it.”

His words stung as they approached you from gritted teeth. The blow was harsh enough o knock you down from your rage-high.

“Well…” You croaked, sniffling as you wiped remnants of fresh tears from your cheeks. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, you found yourself at a loss of words. Maybe there was nothing else to say. “Glad we cleared things up, then.”

You spent the night silent in the tent, tears spinning down your flushed cheeks as you stared blankly at the worn fabric above you. Eventually you fell asleep, but you got little rest. Daryl gathered all the fish the next morning while you tore down the campsite. The hike back home was spent feet apart, both of you ensuring to keep your distance. Your stoic expressions didn’t go unnoticed upon returning to the prison, but luckily nobody pried. Carol, Maggie, and Beth cooked up the fish and some fresh garden veggies while you snuck off to shower and Daryl disappeared to wherever.

You skipped dinner, hiding away in your cell with a sheet hung up for privacy. You actually fell asleep fairly quick, exhausted from the vast range of emotions you experienced in such a short amount of time the night before.

Daryl, on the other hand, laid awake on his cot for a majority of the night. His mind’s eye repeated the events of the night prior, peppered with correlated instances from times passed. Carol had told him once that he was too hard on you, that you were just searching for anything that would make you feel good in such a rotten world. She was right, he knew that, and yet he could not bring himself to allow it.

He didn’t see how nobody else saw it the way he did. Would it not have been easier keep things simple? It made more sense to him for things to remain above the surface level, where emotions and deep connections could not harm either of you. To grow attached in this world was surely a fools game. So why did everyone seem so hell-bent on making friends and falling in love? Why were they willing to take the risk?

He was exhausted the next morning. By the time he fell asleep the sun was creeping over the horizon. You were a bit better off after a full night of sleep. Your eyes were less puffy than the day before, and your stomach was aching for a bite to eat. Daryl had no appetite or energy. He stayed in bed well past noon.

You didn’t see him until dinner that night, not that you were looking. For the first time in a while, you decided to allow yourself some peace.

Since you’d slept so well the night before, you offered to take over watch for Carol, which she accepted gratefully. You brought yourself a cigarette and one of the books from the library to entertain yourself. Just as you settled in and got comfortable in the tower, the hatch opened and Daryl emerged with his own items for amusement.

You didn’t say anything as he lifted himself up. You just watched him quizzically. He paused when he noticed you sitting there.

“I got watch tonight. Told Rick.” He informed you.

“I took over for Carol.” You countered blandly.

“Well you’re relived.” He pushed.

“No thanks.” You brushed him off.

“Ain’t askin’.” He said.

“I was here first.” You shrugged, lighting your cigarette and flipping to the first chapter of your book.

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere so ya might as well get on.” He urged.

“I’m sure the fence could use some relief from the walkers.” You suggested.

“So why don’t ya go and take care of ‘em?” He retorted.

“Because I’m on watch.” You countered.

Daryl sighed in defeat.

“Got an extra one o’ those?” He asked, gesturing toward the cigarette.

“Only brought the one.” You replied.

“Look,” he began, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. “‘M sorry I was an asshole, but it can’t be the way ya want it to be.”

“And what way did I want it?” You quirked a brow.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make shit hard. Ya always do that.”

“So then the simple solution would be to leave me alone. I get it. You don’t want me.”

“It ain’t about wantin’ you, girl!” He groaned in exasperation. “It’s about protectin’ you! Protectin’ me! Protectin’ everyone!”

His chest rose and fell as his fists clenched at his sides. You stared up at him and fawned under his blazing eyes.

“We can’t… I can’t.” He insisted.

Silence consumed you both in the night. The tension was so palpable that it drowned out the nightly buzz of crickets and frogs in the trees. Daryl felt he had said too much already. He should have just let you hate him and left it be. He couldn’t, though. As much as he wanted to be cold, hard, and arrogant, he was very much a soft soul with a longing for genuine connection.

With a deep sigh and an expression of defeat, he retreated back to his cell without another word to you.

To be continued… Maybe??

tags: @kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader @ryoujoking @blackvelveteen1339 @yondus-girl @ladylincoln @sunshinebug9 @saylum559 @yoowhatthefuck @duffmckagansbandana @celtic-crossbow @virginsexgod69 @dazzling-roaring-20s @l0kilaufeys0n7 @uhnanix @superbowlisgay @liizzygrant @eddiemunsonsupremecy

[othernightslikethis]

THE WHITE EMPEROR

Cap 1 here

Ningning x Male Reader x Winter (aespa)

3k words

There were two things your very core despised more than the colour green—which, for some reason, you had always loathed above all else—boredom and loneliness. And yet, it was precisely these two afflictions that now imposed themselves upon your existence with inexorable voracity.

Flat on your bed, staring at the ceiling like a shipwrecked man drained of strength, you lay prisoner to your own inertia. Your leg bounced incessantly—sometimes in aimless frenzy, sometimes in a more measured rhythm—as if that minuscule movement could somehow ease the crushing monotony consuming you. Sleep, ever elusive, refused to grace you with its veil of rest, even as lethargy spread through your limbs like a slow-acting poison.

The irony lay in the fact that this idleness did not stem from a lack of purpose but rather from a cruel, exasperating wait. Only a single day remained before you flew to London, yet each second stretching between you and that coveted moment felt like an eternity. Time, relentless and mocking, dragged itself forward with deliberate slowness, seemingly revelling in your torment.

Fate, a capricious creature of surprises, had a peculiarly fortunate misfortune in store for you. To your unexpected delight, an event of considerable excitement presented itself. The shrill ring of the doorbell—once a source of irritation and exasperation—echoed through the house with vigour, its sound travelling through the rooms until it reached the upper floor. Curiously, the very noise that had tormented you for an entire year now brought inexplicable relief, as though it heralded something of utmost significance.

With a drawn-out sigh, void of enthusiasm, you emerged from your sluggish haze, abandoning the bed with no particular haste. Your limbs, weighed down by idleness, moved with reluctance as you rose, utterly indifferent to the idea of dressing with greater propriety. Composure gave way to urgency as you descended the stairs, each step creaking beneath your indolent tread.

The night air, cold and slightly damp, slipped through the cracks of the windows, pricking at your bare skin. Yet, such discomfort barely registered, for your mind—still shrouded in the fog of unrested sleep—was wholly fixated on the source of the interruption.

At last, reaching the door, your hand hesitated on the handle. A moment of uncertainty lingered between you and whatever lay beyond. But with one final resigned breath, you turned the latch and opened the door.The silence blanketing the space was abruptly shattered by a lively, resonant voice from the doorway.

— How long do you plan on standing there lookin’ like a dead fish, bro?

Before you, dressed in casual attire, stood none other than Vinícius José Paixão de Oliveira Júnior—or, as he was more commonly known, Vini Jr. His eyes, alight with an energy impossible to contain, flitted upwards to where the unmistakable figures of Rodrygo Goes, Jude Bellingham, Kylian Mbappé, and Eduardo Camavinga loomed. Last, but by no means least, stood Antonio Rüdiger, adorned with a hat so utterly bizarre that its eccentricity was rivalled only by the effortless ease with which he wore it.

— We’ve come to drag you out for a bit. A farewell party—what d’you reckon? — Vini announced, a mischievous grin playing at his lips.

Time granted you all of two seconds to process the situation before the entire group, like a relentless tidal wave, breached the sanctity of your home without the slightest hesitation. Caught in the sudden invasion of your peace, your only response was to shut the door behind them, a quiet chuckle escaping your lips. Shaking your head in amused resignation, the hint of a smile still lingered on your face.

— I really do love these guys.

Strobe lights flashed at a frantic pace, reflecting in the eyes of those who stared at them, while deafening music pulsed from every corner of the room. And yet, far from being a nuisance, that chaotic symphony had a hypnotic allure—something that, strangely, you found enjoyable.

The table where you and your friends were gathered boasted a medley of drinks, each glass holding a different concoction, and the air buzzed with an ephemeral sense of celebration—a welcome distraction from the impending departure awaiting you at dawn.

Vini, ever the exuberant one, leaned towards you, giving your shoulder a light tap to steal your attention. His expression bore an almost childlike anticipation, certain that he’d draw the words from you that, deep down, you knew had to be spoken.

— So then? You and that girl you’ve been into… What’s the deal? — he asked, his voice laced with genuine curiosity.

You sighed deeply before bringing the glass to your lips, allowing the whisky to burn its way down your throat with a mix of sting and comforting warmth. The faint touch of honey attempted to temper the alcohol’s harshness—but to little avail.

— Feels like I’m talking to a ghost. — you murmured, setting the glass down with a dull clink. — She barely bothers to reply to my messages. One moment, she treats me with absolute indifference, and the next, she throws me a few scraps of attention. It’s like she sees me as a bloody pet—gives me a momentary treat, and there I am, wagging my tail and begging for scraps of affection.

The weight of frustration crashed down upon you so heavily that your head fell against the table with a dull thud—a quiet, resigned groan slipping from your lips amidst the indistinct murmur of the room

Rüdiger, in an almost paternal gesture, placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, while Rodrygo, his expression sombre, crossed his arms and took a slow sip of his drink before stating, with cutting pragmatism:

— And you’re just gonna stay like this?

His tone held no condescension—just a blunt, matter-of-fact certainty. Vini, nodding vehemently, reinforced the sentiment: — If she treats you like that, maybe it’s time to move on, mate. There’s no shortage of hotties in the world

— Leave him alone — Mbappé said as he settled beside you, sliding a drink in your direction. — He needs time for himself.

Just then, Mbappé and Camavinga arrived with the next round of drinks. The older Frenchman led the way, while the younger trailed just behind, tilting his head inquisitively.

Eduardo, however, remained standing, arms crossed over his chest, his expression scrutinising as he asked:

— What’s this all about?

Rüdiger, with a knowing smirk, tossed out a teasing reply:

— Our dear little Japanese friend is suffering over love.

— I’m Korean! — you snapped, irritation flaring as you scowled.A chorus of laughter erupted around you, a mix of exasperation and begrudging amusement washing over you.

— "Same thing!" someone called out between chuckles.

— My man, have you actually told her how you feel?

The silence that followed answered for you. Your hesitant glance and slight shake of the head were enough for Mbappé to exhale thoughtfully, drumming his fingers against the rim of his glass.

— Hmmm… Then maybe you should. — He raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip. — She’s not a mind reader, man. She won’t know how you feel unless you tell her.

He let the words settle before setting down his drink with finality.

— But for now, forget about all that. Go dance. Leave the overthinking for later. Tonight’s your send-off—make the most of it! We’ll see you in a year!

The last sentence was repeated in unison by the group, followed by an enthusiastic toast. The clinking of glasses echoed in the air—a fleeting moment of celebration before the night continued.

---

Winter felt restless, to say the least. Anxiety coursed through her veins like an insidious poison, undermining her usual tranquillity. She had sent him a message three hours ago, and the silence that followed had become an unbearable weight on her chest. It was an unusual absence, unsettling, almost unnatural. She was used to receiving his response instantly, as if his very existence lingered on the edge of hers, always ready to dispel any shadow of uncertainty. What had once seemed charming now felt deeply disquieting.

Why hadn’t he answered? What was keeping him? Was it merely a distraction, or was something more serious standing between them? Under normal circumstances, she might have convinced herself that he was sleeping, wrapped in the languor of slumber. But no, Winter knew—with the unshakable certainty of one who observes a sacred ritual—that he never slept without receiving her goodnight. It had become an unbreakable tradition, a habit deeply rooted in their routine.

Restlessness settled in like a weed, choking her thoughts. With every passing minute, her mind wove increasingly disturbing scenarios, as if the absence of a single response could herald impending disaster. Almost involuntarily, her fingers hovered over the screen, hesitant, torn between reason and the impulse to send another message.

Letting out an audible huff, Kim Minjeong was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t even notice Yu Jimin—Karina—settling beside her with quiet serenity. The leader, observing the vacant, distant expression on the younger girl’s face, reached out gently, resting her fingers on her shoulder in an attempt to pull her back to reality. But there was no response. Persistent, Karina insisted, giving her a light shake several times until Minjeong finally emerged from her daze. She blinked a few times, visibly confused, before lifting her gaze to the other girl.

— What? What happened? — she asked, her voice slightly hoarse, as if she had gone a long time without uttering a single word.

— Nothing in particular… It’s just that you haven’t said a word for nearly two hours.

As she spoke, she raised a hand and, with careful precision, placed her fingers against Minjeong’s forehead, subtly assessing her temperature. Her expression remained unchanged, but there was a trace of concern in her voice.

— I was worried.

Winter shook her head, forcing herself to push aside the thoughts that had insidiously invaded her mind. At last, she abandoned the brooding that kept her bound to that figure whose affection for her was so glaringly obvious. Who, after all, could ignore such evidence? And yet, she had never managed to discern whether, deep down, she could ever truly return it.

She had never been granted the boldness to do so, leaving her only with hesitation and the gnawing guilt of keeping him tethered to her so mercilessly. Sometimes, she saw herself as a jailer of emotions, depriving him of the freedom to seek love elsewhere, though never out of deliberate cruelty. Perhaps it was fear. Perhaps it was the selfishness that pulsed within her in secret.

But for some unfathomable reason, merely imagining the possibility of him falling for someone else made her stomach churn, as if a venom coursed through her veins, robbing her of breath. The mere thought of his eyes—once fixed solely on her—turning towards another, of his smiles, his gestures, his very essence ceasing to belong to her, was an intolerable affront, an unbearable misfortune.

He was meant to be hers—from his first breath to his very last.

Two pairs of footsteps echoed through the room, accompanied by the sound of suitcases being dragged along the floor. Suppressed giggles dissipated into the air.

— She’s thinking about her prince charming! — Aeri teased, a sly grin on her lips.

Karina, slightly furrowing her brows, turned to her friend, arching an eyebrow in evident confusion.

— What are you on about? — she asked, doubt clouding her gaze.

— She’s talking about [Y/N.] — Ning chimed in, exhaling a sigh laden with exasperation before throwing herself onto the opposite sofa, arms crossed over her chest. — I don’t get what she sees in him. A rude, ill-mannered man with… Urgh! The most insufferable arrogance. I hate that man!

Her tone dripped with resentment, and the irritation that coloured her expression made her disdain painfully obvious.

— Oh, him. What’s her problem? Did they have a row or something? — Giselle, saying nothing, merely shook her head in response. — So?

The young woman, visibly exasperated, let out a sharp huff before finally voicing her grievance:

— That bastard! Not only did he spill orange juice all over me, but he didn’t even bother apologising! And to make matters worse, he had the audacity to say that if I was going to be a whiny baby, I should just wear nappies! The nerve of him!

Karina and Giselle exchanged a knowing look, as if trying to gauge how seriously she was taking her outrage, while Winter, unable to hold back, let out a quiet chuckle, covering her mouth in a feeble attempt to disguise her amusement.

---

The journey unfolded without incident, and the presentation in London proceeded in an orderly and formal manner. However, the reception was far below expectations—an inadmissible slight for someone of his stature. After all, it was a loan for a season and a half, but even so, his arrival should have been met with the pomp and reverence befitting his name. What kind of insolence was this? In just a year on the Old Continent, he had amassed more titles than those dull, uninspired nobodies had won in an entire decade. And yet, his arrival was marked by an infuriating coldness.

There was no frenzied crowd, no eager reporters vying for his words, no paparazzi scrambling for the best angles of his figure. No bombastic headlines, no fanfare. Nothing. They treated him like some random nobody, a mere afterthought, and the sheer audacity of it all made his blood boil. How dare they? How could they ignore his greatness? Talent and glory should speak for themselves, yet here, they seemed invisible. The silent disregard gnawed at his pride, fuelling his indignation. He was a blazing star, a force of nature destined to make history. And yet, here he was—cast into obscurity by a bunch of visionless fools.

London had better open its eyes and bow, for soon enough, it would have no choice but to kneel before his grandeur.

Even so, he was compelled to report for training that very same day, with no room for delays or indulgences. With meticulous resignation, he donned his gear, adjusting each piece with an almost mechanical lack of enthusiasm. A club staff member had been tasked with showing him around—a formality he found utterly tedious, devoid of charm or novelty.

The tour dragged on at a sluggish pace, punctuated by dull descriptions and robotic gestures. The staff member, diligent in his duties, detailed every facility with almost solemn seriousness, while he, in turn, absorbed the information with blatant disinterest, as if every word were a distant echo incapable of sparking even a flicker of curiosity

When he was finally given permission to begin training, his steps towards the pitch were slow, lacking vigour or determination. There was an air of laziness about him, a sense of weary indifference in the way he moved, as though every metre covered was an unnecessary burden. As he set eyes on the impeccably manicured pitch—an emerald carpet many would consider a sacred altar to the sport—he felt nothing but sheer boredom. A yawn escaped his lips, an uncontrollable reflection of his apathy, dissipating into the air like an unmistakable signal of his utter indifference.

Then, he felt an unexpected touch on his shoulder.

Upon entering the facility, he was greeted by a man slightly shorter than himself. His features betrayed his Korean heritage—just like his own, the idol of his national team, Heung-min Son. With an affable smile and an air of camaraderie, Son extended his right hand towards him in a gesture of courtesy.

— Welcome aboard, mate!

His face bore a friendly expression. His hand remained suspended in the air for a moment, waiting to be accepted. He considered the gesture briefly, contemplating whether to return the courtesy. But then, a sardonic smile curled his lips, and a low chuckle escaped his throat. He shook his head in refusal and turned his back on Son without hesitation.

— I’m the star here, old man.

As he walked away, Son remained there, his hand still hanging mid-air, his lips slightly parted in perplexity, his eyes widening just a fraction as if trying to decipher the logic behind such a blunt, unexpected reaction. However, after a brief moment of hesitation, he merely shrugged, resigning himself to the lack of explanation and choosing not to dwell on it.

Still, he observed him closely, noticing how he remained slightly apart from the others, detached from the interactions around him, sitting in wait for coach Ange Postecoglou, who would soon be giving instructions for training. There was a subtle melancholy in his posture—or perhaps just an involuntary sense of displacement, a feeling that he was a stranger in a sea of familiar faces.

And then, before he had even noticed the approach, someone sat beside him.It was Richarlison.

— Don’t even think about opening your fuck mouth, you donkey.

His response came swiftly, laced with contempt, cutting off any attempt at conversation before it could begin.

The striker, however, seemed entirely unfazed. He merely raised an eyebrow, as if hostility were nothing new, and shrugged indifferently—suggesting that, from the very start, he had perhaps never intended to say anything at all.

---

Throughout that week of gruelling training sessions, the Tottenham squad clocked onto the half-arsed effort you were putting in. Your shots were limp, completely lacking any proper power, like you couldn’t be arsed to give it some welly. Your movement, meanwhile, was lethargic, not a shred of graft or determination. Slacking off had become your most glaring trait, and the blasé way you treated every drill reeked of silent arrogance — a proper delusion that your spot among the starters was set in stone, no matter how pony your performance. But that bubble burst in the most humiliating way. On the eve of the clash against Brentford, as you scanned the starting XI list, your eyes scoured the names once, twice, three times, hoping to find yours. No such luck. Reality hit like a ton of bricks: your name wasn’t there. Your heart skipped a beat, proper gobsmacked, and like a mug, you checked again, squinting for a typo, a mistake, anything to explain the snub. But nah. No getting around it.

The air rushed out of your lungs in a proper rage. Your fingers tangled in your hair, yanking hard, as you exploded with a torrent of proper meltdown:

— THE ACTUAL WHAT?! — you bellowed, your voice bouncing off the changing room walls, dripping with disbelief and proper cheek. — WHO DOES THAT COACH THINK HE IS?!

The silence cracked with a calm but firm voice behind you:

— Your coach. — Turning, you faced Kulusevski, staring you down like he’d seen this tantrum coming a mile off. — S’only natural a player who can’t be arsed starts on the bench — he carried on, all chilled, almost taking the piss. — If you’re not grafting in training, why’d you expect a spot among the starters?

A mirthless, bitter laugh slipped out, stewing with that toxic mix of indignation and scorn bubbling inside. This twat who’d nicked your spot had the bare-faced cheek to chat like it was nothing, like he hadn’t proper mugged you off just by existing. Who the bloody hell did he think he was?The rage lit you up, proper fuming, moving sharp and narked. On a proper strop, you spun on your heels and charged at him, shoulder-barging him proper. The clash was a proper clatter, catching the lad off guard and slamming him to the deck before he could blink.

— What a fuck liberty, mate.

---

The match kicked off without you getting a sniff of the pitch, and no one needed to tell you how proper gutted you were. The team’s shambolic mess of a performance had zero tactical shape—proper car crash stuff, made even worse by the gaffer’s cluelessness. His decision to leave you rotting on the bench filled you with silent rage. Not even a hint of you coming on, like, he didn’t even glance your way! What’s that bloke’s problem? Instead of firing you up to work harder, it just made you couldn’t-be-arsed in training. A proper spiteful lethargy took hold, this involuntary sod-it-all attitude showing in your half-hearted drills and calculated sulking. Every drill, every shout from the coaches, your mind drifted further, already convinced you’d never get a proper chance under a gaffer who picked the squad like he was drawing names from a hat.

But then, as if fate decided to take the piss out of your sulk, the unexpected happened: when they announced the starting XI for the League Cup semi against mighty Liverpool, your name was in there. The initial shock turned into a mix of disbelief and proper disdain. Was this the gaffer’s desperate Hail Mary? A random whim? Or some weird power move? Didn’t matter. Like it or not, you were starting the biggest game of the season. Now, with the training-ground sulk behind you, it was time to decide: prove your worth proper, or let the apathy win and fade into irrelevance.

Soulmate ❄️

"Im playin' today."

"That's great, I've been kinda busy, but I swear I'll watch the highlights"

"Better do it, gonna play like always 😜"

Pocketing your phone with a smirk, you got your head straight. You pulled on the number eleven shirt—never your favourite. You’d always fancied the number ten, proper iconic, the maestro’s number… or maybe twenty-eight, a nod to the day you first locked eyes with Minjeong, that split-second moment etched in your mind like it’s framed in gold.

Taking a deep breath, you climbed the stadium stairs, boots clattering on concrete. The distant roar of the crowd mixed with the changing-room banter, a proper buzz of anticipation. Your chest tightened with nerves and adrenaline, the weight of the coming battle on that sacred turf. At the tunnel’s edge, you paused, shut your eyes, and let the cold wind slap your face—game on.

It’s gone past the 61st minute of the second half, and you couldn’t be more off the mark. The match had been a proper shambles for you, a right spectacle of frustration and gloom. The bloody ball barely came your way, dodging you like it couldn’t stand the sight of you, and your own teammates—far from linking up with you on the pitch—acted like you were a ghost, useless and aimless, blithely ignoring your existence.

Even when the round thing did finally land at your feet, your noggin couldn’t conjure up a decent move. Your attacks crumbled against the relentless wall Liverpool had thrown up, every defender like a slab of granite. And to top it off, you couldn’t be arsed to track back and help defend, leaving a gaping hole in your lot’s backline. The cost? Brutal: two lightning counterattacks from the opposition, both turned into goals that rubbed salt in the wound. Deep down, you knew—your half-arsed effort had weighed heavy in the collapse. But you weren’t the only one having a mare that night; your whole squad looked knackered, proper lost.

There was this cursed lethargy in the air, a sluggishness that turned your team into a piss-poor parody of itself. Football, in all its glory, demands grit and fire, but your lot just lay down, gutted and hollow.

Not that any of this bothered you much—you’d already made peace with the disaster. At least until your eyes caught that sodding electronic board glowing in the shadows, flashing your number without a shred of mercy.

— What?! — you barked across the pitch, half-laughing in disbelief. — Nah, no fucking way.

You shook your head, raking your hands through your hair, biting your lip till the metallic tang of blood hit your tongue.

— Fuck this.

You finally caved, trudging off the pitch without so much as a nod to anyone, straight down the tunnel to the dressing room.

Two hours after the final whistle, the worldwide web had turned into an absolute circus. Gutted and seething, you nearly launched your phone at the wall, as if that could wipe away the torrent of abuse flooding your mentions. The headlines were merciless, screaming in block letters about a collapse that’d seemed unthinkable. The story was unanimous—no sympathy, no doubts:

Moon [Y/N], the Biggest Disappointment of the Season?

Korean Star in Decline

Moon [Y/N]: Understand How He Went From Olympus To Becoming Football's Biggest Failure In Recent Years

Some Spurs fans were practically calling for his head on a pike while others defended him.

@fanaticalspur876: Moon was clearly lazy, just see for yourself!

@Yuliandremoslc: Someone told [Y/N] he could play football, and he believed it!

@hosterbigwf: We gotta be patient. Moon will get the hang of it and be our star player!

"Blimey, what’s the bloody issue with these blokes? Clearly, I wasn’t the only one to cock things up, to fail miserably at meetin’ the expectations that, God knows why, were piled onto me.

You, clockin’ the situation, shook your head with a mix of resignation and proper disdain, choosin’ to ignore the whole kerfuffle. But how’d you manage it? Bloody hell, how! You distracted yourself, chuckin’ yourself into hedonistic binges. Lost in huntin’ down raves in London—ones that’d make you forget the bloody shambles your life’d become—you decided to stumble into the first dodgy joint that crossed your path.

Gettin’ in wasn’t the hard part; the real struggle was keepin’ your act together. Pissed as a newt, you could barely stand upright. Before you knew it, you were lurin’ toward the dance floor, driven by some primal urge. There, you started grindin’ against some random bird, a total stranger who, despite her delicate appearance, radiated a vibe that didn’t match her frame. She was a good eight inches shorter and slim-built, almost fragile, you thought. But sod it, you were dead wrong! Fragile? Not a chance. Her arse kept rubbin’ against your thigh so insistently that your knob, already at full salute, felt ready to burst.

Her scent was weirdly familiar, like a distant memory, makin’ you wrap your arms round her waist, feelin’ her warm, smooth skin against yours. Your fingers trailed down, explorin’ every curve, till she leaned back with a soft sigh, her head restin’ on your chest.

— Please… Fuck, you’re so hard I’m goin’ proper mental. Let’s find a better spot… — she purred, with a sly grin that screamed both cheek and impatience.

You, playin’ along, let out a low chuckle and leaned in closer. Your lips met her neck, kissin’ it with a mix of tenderness and proper lust. She arched her head back, givin’ you more access, a silent, fiery invitation.

— You’re a bit keen, ain’t ya? Who said I wanna leave? — you shot back, tone dripping with cheeky defiance.Then her hand, quick as a flash, grabbed the bulge in your trousers, makin’ you jolt and yelp:

— Wow! hell! What’s that for?!

— “Can’t stand man who play daft. I’m gaggin’ for it, you are too—let’s skip the faff and just fuck already. — she fired back, no-nonsense, her bluntness borderline brutal.

— My flat’s nearby. Let’s go.

She turned around, and that’s when you got a proper look at one of the most fit birds you’d ever laid eyes on. Her eyes, near hypnotic, seemed to throw your whole world off-kilter.

For a split second, a weird déjà vu gripped your chest, like you’d met somewhere in another life. Both of you frowned and blurted in unison:

— Do I know you?

The synced words froze the moment—a beat of shock—before meltin’ into pissed, careless laughter. Without another word, you both staggered toward your flat, lurchin’ down the street like two sods surrendered to chance and pure, raging horniness."

---

When the two of you stumbled into the flat, you could barely walk without tripping over every bloody thing in your path. Your mouth was locked deep in a snog with the woman whose name you couldn’t even be arsed to ask, but who—with proper skill and heat—dominated your tongue like a proper expert. Her hands, quick and sly, slid under your black shirt, scraping lightly at your ribs, drawing out a muffled groan you could hardly stifle.

Your hands, once resting on her waist, slid down to her firm thighs, gripping them hard before hoisting her onto your lap. She didn’t hesitate, wrapping her legs around you, breaking the kiss just long enough to fix you with a blazing stare.

— Hhhnm, you’re fit — she whispered, breathless, trying to catch her air. — Tomorrow… I’ll… I’ll proper regret this…

She sighed deeply before a proper moan slipped past her lips as your teeth grazed her bare neck. Even as she bit her lip to hold back, she couldn’t stop grinding against you while you sucked and kissed her skin.

— You’re dead sensitive here — you murmured, earning a squeak as she shoved you back toward her neck with her hands.

A laugh slipped out, but you carried on for a bit, finally tossing her onto the bed to take in her full glory. Her lips were swollen from snogging, a slick of spit glistening at the corner of her mouth. Her neck was littered with bruises, and her chest heaved as she fought for breath.

Your hands moved to her earrings, carefully removing them and setting them on the dresser. Then you knelt before her, grabbing the hem of her dress and peeling it off slow, leaving her in nothing but a lacy white lingerie set.

— You’re like a goddess — you gasped, laughing under your breath. Leaning in, you pressed soft kisses to her flat, toned stomach, feeling her shiver and arch toward you. — Christ, you’re hot. Proper hot.

The only reply was a faint, languid moan—nothing like the loud, over-the-top noises you’d expect. Maybe she was too shy to let go, or maybe she was just the quiet type. Either way, it didn’t matter. With proper skill, you undid her bra, freeing her tits, and a smug little laugh escaped you.

— You pissed?

— Proper wankered.

— Just don’t spew on my bed, yeah? I’d owe you one.

She laughed, but it quickly turned into a sharp, ringing moan that filled the room. Your mouth latched onto her nipple, greedy, as her back arched and her body writhed. Your right hand squeezed her other breast, while your left slid down, slow and deliberate, to her soaked knickers.

— You’ve drenched these — you rasped, voice thick.

— That’s your fault — she shot back between gasps. — I’m proper soaked for you. Hurry up and fuck me already!

Her voice, though shaky, had an edge that vaguely reminded you of someone—though you couldn’t place who.

— Patience, babygirl — you replied, half-authoritative, half-seductive. — You’ll get what you want… if you’re a good girl for me, yeah?

She whined and clamped her thighs around your hand. You smirked.

— You like being called ‘babygirl,’ eh? Proper naughty, you!

You sang the words, sliding your hands up her body to her waist. With steady fingers, you tugged her knickers down, letting the fabric glide over her legs. Every inch revealed felt like a victory. You kissed her calves, working your way up to her thighs, where her arousal was already slick. The wetness was mad—had to be because of you, right? You’d stick with that to keep your ego intact.

When you finally tasted her, it was like the universe had cracked open. Even if you weren’t usually fussed about the flavour, hers was addictive. Your finger circled her clit, precise, and she gasped, slapping a hand over her mouth. You stopped.

— What’re you doing? I want to hear you — you ordered softly.

You smacked her thigh three times, leaving red marks. Instead of fighting, she yanked your head back between her legs.

— Then shut it and eat me out already, you sod!

You obeyed, diving in like a man starved. Your tongue worked her over—licking, sucking, worshipping—and her moans drove you wild. She squeezed your head with her thighs, forcing you deeper.

— Yes, you bastard! Eat this pussy! — she cried, writhing. — This what you like, eh? Licking me like a proper obedient pup! That’s it, baby! Don’t stop!

She threw her head back, eyes wide, as you pressed her thighs harder. Not to suffocate—you wanted her to clamp down. She grinned, wicked.

— Christ, you’re fit… I’m gonna… Fuck!

You kept at it, feeling her shake. Her legs trembled until, with a muffled scream, she came hard—body arching, crushing your face into her. Her juices flooded your mouth, and you drank her down like a man possessed. When her legs finally gave out, you pulled back, breathless.

— Fuck… Never had anyone come that hard on my tongue — you muttered, admiration in your tone.

— Fuck, I’d love to suck you off right now, but I reckon I can’t even stay on me feet this second. — She pauses, catching her breath. — fuck me. Now.

You don’t show a hint of hesitation, guiding her firmly onto the bed. Settling between her thighs, you lean toward the nightstand—but she slaps your wrist away sharply.

You don’t show a hint of hesitation, guiding her firmly onto the bed. Settling between her thighs, you lean toward the nightstand—but she slaps your wrist away sharply.

— No condom.

Her tone brooks no argument. You briefly consider protesting, but let’s be honest—what bloke in his right mind would turn down bareback with a bird this fit? Your brain and your cock are in full agreement. Smirking, you line up against her slit but hold back, teasing her by sliding along her folds.

— Please… I’m begging… she whimpers. You almost pity her—almost—before leaning close to her ear and growling:

— Beg harder.

— Please! I need you inside me—every fucking inch. Don’t torture me! I need it so bad… Ruin me, stretch my cunt to fit your shape, fuck!

— Hmm. Good girl.

You murmur—then thrust into her without warning. You don’t wait for her to adjust to your length, nor care if it’s pain or pleasure twisting her face. You set a brutal pace, pounding into her like a piston. Soon, the slap of skin, the creak of the bed, and the thud of the headboard threaten to bring the walls down. Her eyes roll back as she lets out a piercing moan.

— That’s what I want, fuck! Stretch and wreck this cunt! She’s all yours, you bastard! Fuck me!

Her screams climb as you pull out and slam back in. She’s babbling now, words crumbling into gasps and cries.

— M’brain’s turning to fucking muuuuuuush!

Her legs lock around you, heels digging into your arse. Grinning, you drive deeper—if not for the booze, you’d swear you could see the outline of your cock straining her belly. Her nails claw down your back, leaving red welts that sting like hell. You dip your head to suck a nipple, and the overload of sensation wrings a shattered gasp from her.

— Fuck, you’re so tight and wet, shit!

— Love my tight little cunt, don’t ya? — she pants, voice wrecked. — Wanna come inside, yeah?

You lot spent the rest of the night fucking like two rabbits in heat, going at it in every corner of your flat—spots you didn’t even know existed, positions you’d only seen in pornos. Even managed to smash your Tv — proper accidental-like, mind.

---

The woman was now on all fours, her raised arse flushed a bright crimson, marked by at least a good dozen slaps—the bruises nearly purpling by this point—as his cock pounded relentlessly into her cunt, driving with rough urgency. Their moans filled the room, echoing in a symphony of raw pleasure. Her eyes stayed shut tight, while his, sharp and hungry, fixed on the hypnotic slap of her arse cheeks against his shaft. Suddenly, her shoulders buckled, and she collapsed face-down onto the bed, arse lifted even higher, presenting herself wantonly for him to keep ploughing into her.

With a deliberate smirk, you slicked a finger with spit, paused for a beat, then guided it slowly to her backside, pushing it in without haste. She stiffened, a low, throaty groan escaping her.

— Oh, fuck, oh fuck! that’s new… Don’t you fucking stop! Today I’m your filthy whore—go on, spill your cum in this depraved little cunt! — she cried, voice trembling between submission and wild ecstasy.

---

She’d taken the reins, riding him with untameable fire, her hands—gripped by a near-feverish desperation—clutching his waist, steadfast and ravenous. Her body moved in a frantic rhythm, swinging between reckless rises and plunges, peppered with brief, calculated pauses where she’d twist and writhe along his length with a skill that left him gobsmacked. For a blink, his mind wandered, wondering if this bird might’ve been a dancer or summat, ’cause her movements dripped with near-choreographic precision, like a proper pro in the body arts.

His gob, though, was dead set on another job—mouthed at her tits, suckling and lapping with a hunger verging on proper primal. Clocking the sheer intensity of his bliss, she tossed out a remark dripping with cheek and sass:

— Oh, good boy! You’re like a greedy little bairn goin’ at me tits! Don’t fret, baby… Mommy’s got you!

---

— You’re moaning like a bitch in heat! My neighbours heard you. Got no shame, have ya?

The pair of you were drenched, the sound of water crashing down on your bodies in the shower doing sod-all to drown out the squelching, filthy noises you were both making. His hand fisted in her hair, twisting it into a messy plait—a proper half-arsed ponytail that screamed how rushed this all was. The water, pouring in a steady torrent, nearly managed to sober him up, but not enough to clock who she really was—not yet, anyway. Bit by bit, he noticed her legs were trembling, proper on the verge of buckling, so you grabbed her tight, spun her round to face you, and hoisted her up into your arms, settling her onto your lap.

Sharp as a tack, she got the message and shot back with a deep, blazing kiss, like she was trying to violate his mouth with pure, unrestrained passion.

---

Her legs, clasped round your neck with a languid fervour, while the curve of her back, taut as a bow, arched like a hillock bathed in twilight’s glow. The lady, whose voice had melted into husky sighs and broken whispers, had spent her strength on cries that once echoed off the chamber’s vaulted ceiling. You breathe deep, and your movements, once frantic, shift to a solemn, almost liturgical rhythm. She, cracking open her bleary eyes, stares at you with saucer-like pupils reflecting flames of unquenchable yearning.

—Fucking come inside me! Fill my womb, you bastard! Knock me up!

She pleads, voice tremulous as an autumn leaf, while your hips, now swaying to a sluggish tempo, trace slow, concentric circles in the humid ether. That gut-wrenching knot, known to lovers since time immemorial, twists your insides. Your brow grows heavy, cyclonic vertigo storms your mind, and the edenic ache of long-held restraint crests into inevitable release. With one final, desperate plunge, you drive into her like a ship into a tempest, and your spunk, in pulsing spurts, bursts forth.

As the blinding orgasm fades, more sober than pissed, the booze finally hits proper—leaving your eyelids leaden. You’ve just enough awareness left not to collapse atop her and crush her to death, but not nearly enough to stay awake.

---

I swear down, I’ve sat through this whole chapter at least six times 🥹🥹🥹.

Not gonna lie, I’m proper rubbish with all the smut stuff—honestly, this is me first proper crack at it, so go easy on me, yeah?