#did i plan for this to all be one scene? no

[no-144444]

2 hands-l.norris

summary: your stunt-driver pulled out the day before the shoot, good thing you're dating an f1 driver.

pairing: lando norris x fem! singer! reader

a/n: I, like everyone else, was convinced he'd be in the music video, but alas, no. so here's this to hopefully make up for that :)

kind of smut so 18+

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“Fuck,” you groaned, flinging yourself onto your bed. 

“You alright baby?” Lando asked, putting his phone down and looking at you. He very much appreciated the sight in front of him, his girlfriend in nothing but tiny sleep shorts and an old quadrant hoodie. He smiled as you crawled into bed with him. 

“The stunt driver for the shoot tomorrow just cancelled,” you frowned, cuddling up to his side. “We’ll have to reschedule, so then the release date of the song will be pushed back, and the release of the tour dates, and-”

“I can do it,” he offered. 

You snapped your head to look at him. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “What kind of car is it?”

“A McLaren,” you nodded and he smiled. “This is genius, and we don’t even have to show your face so it won’t reveal anything-”

“We could show my face and just tell people we’re together,” he shrugged, pulling you onto his lap so that you were straddling him. “It has been 2 years, and this song is about me,” he smirked. 

You rolled your eyes but nodded all the same. “I have an idea! Let me call the director!” you smiled, jumping off his lap as he frowned at the loss of contact. You quickly ran into your office to start making plans for the next day, excited at your new idea. 

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You had entirely rewritten the script for the video, but everyone was much more into the new version, so no one was that upset. Also, everyone was ecstatic that you’d finally decided to include Lando in a video, finally showing the public that you two were together. 

The first scene you two had to film was in the car dealership where you were buying a McLaren. You were wearing a simple but pretty dress with a black leather racing jacket. You caught Lando’s eye as he was reading over the script and he smirked, smacking your ass as you went by. You chuckled and hit his hand back, effectively shooing him away so you could get to your spot.

When you got to your spot, the cameras rolled and the director shouted action, and off you went. 

“So what’re you looking for?” Max F, the ‘actor’ playing the car salesman, smirked. Yes, you’d gotten Max in on it too.

“Something fast.” 

The camera flashed between the two of you, then to the orange McLaren behind you. 

“I’ll need a test drive,” you smirked, and the camera panned to Lando, clad in a beautiful purple and orange racing suit tied around his waist, a shirt with the car dealerships logo on it, and a smirk on his face. He jingled the keys and the intro to the song started playing, then they cut. 

“Perfect!” Kyle, the director, shouted. “We’ll get it from a few more angles, then move on.”

Next was a shot of the two of you in the car, Lando wearing sunglasses as he drove through the LA streets as you lip synced to the first verse of the song, the angles changing every few words. After shooting that a couple of times, you two got a break. 

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“You look fucking incredible,” he muttered, pressing kiss after kiss along your next as you two sat in your trailer.  “So fucking sexy.”

You chuckled,slightly pushing him off of you. “Calm down, Megan will kill me if I have any more ‘accidents’ to cover up.”

He shook his head, watching you as you got up. “You’re so beautiful,” he smiled. “So smart too.”

“Well, thank you baby,” you smiled. “Ready to take your shirt off?” 

He chuckled. “Oh yeah.”

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The next scene was pretty risque, it was the two of you in a motel bed ‘making out’ as you sang the chorus, his ‘2 hands’ all over you. On top of that, his hands were covered in lipstick kisses as well as the majority of his neck and chest, which you happily did. You’d both gone through a costume change, now you were wearing a black lacy bra and he was wearing no shirt, the both of you looking stunning (and slightly funny considering the fact that you were both just wearing sweats under the covers). 

“T-5 to action,” Kyle shouted, counting you two in. 

He pressed open mouthed kisses to your neck as you lip-synced the song to the camera over his shoulder, a sultry look in your eyes as you embodied the lyrics, grinding down on him slightly. After shooting it from a few different angles, you and the team called it a day, ready to come back tomorrow and finish it up. 

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Lando all but threw you on the bed when you got home that night, insatiable after a day of being teased. 

You giggled as he pulled your pants off, pressing kisses up your legs as he unclothed himself, muttering the whole way up to your lips. “So fuckin’ perfect baby,” he grunted. “Teasin’ me all day,” he bit into your shoulder and you moaned, making him smirk. “Such a bad girl.”

“You love it,” you smirked, wrapping your hands around his forearms and flipping the position so that you were straddling him, holding his arms to the bed. “You fucking loved it today.”

“Damn right I did,” he smirked. You let go of his hands to pull off your final item of clothing (your shirt) and his hands immediately went to caressing your thighs. His eyes grew wide as he watched you pull your shirt off, and you knew it would be a long night, but you weren’t complaining. 

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When you got to set the next day, you had an apologetic look on your face as Megan frowned, seeing the next hickeys on your neck.

“Is he a fucking vampire or something?” she scoffed, getting to work on covering them up. 

“Y’know what, don’t cover them,” Kyle interjected. “It makes sense with the video for her to have them.”

“Thanks Kyle,” Lando smiled, feeling like he was on his side. You laughed when Kyle rolled his eyes at him. 

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The next scene was just shots of the car driving through the LA streets, which Lando perfectly executed. He seemed to really be enjoying himself and the shots of the car were perfect, so you moved on to the next scene, which was you two at a gas station, dancing to the song as you lip-synced. It wasn’t difficult choreography by any means (Or else Lando wouldn’t have been able to do it), but it was a bit raunchy. Mostly just you dancing on his as he smirked or you pulling him closer and almost kissing him, but then just turning back to the camera and singing the next lyric. You were wearing the car dealership shirt with tiny shorts, and he was wearing a new collection quadrant hoodie and a pair of black jeans. 

You watched as he looked you up and down while everyone else was resetting the shot to film again because Lando ended up laughing. 

“Like what you see?” you smirked. 

“More than you know,” he smiled, grabbing a handful of your ass and pulling you in for a kiss. The kiss was hot and heavy with a promise of something more beneath, it made you excited for the rest of the day. 

After refilming that a couple of times, you moved onto one of the last shots of the video, you just lip-syncing the words as you sat on top of the car, Lando in various different positions. One of him pumping the gas, one of him opening the door for you, one of him in the driver's seat, one of him beside you on the hood of the car, another of the two of you making out against the door. Moving on from that, Lando went off to film some more of the car scene while you stayed back and filmed the dance break of the song. Those were the last things that needed filming, so you all wrapped up and thanked the crew, going back home after a gruelling day to get fucked by your hot boyfriend. 

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The video came out and fans went wild. They edited it, they started fanpages, they stalked your socials, and everything in between. You both decided to make a post.

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yourusername and landonorris

liked by pierregasly, landonorris, yourusername and 8,029,238 others

yourusername: 2 hands out now.

comments

landonorris: y r u so hot??? -> yourusername: idk come cool me down -> landonorris: RUNNING

mclaren: stream 2 hands for win in LV🧡🧡🧡

user83: BI PANIC WTF

user29: THE BED SCENE HELLO????

carlossainz: lando is no longer a little boy? -> yourusername: bro was never 'little' -> user21: WTF WTF WTF WTF

user6: MY OTP

user33: My ship is alive!!!!!!!

user74: ewww a vroom vroom guy??

user46: no way lando no- rizz bagged THE Y/N Y/L/N -> yourusername: it's a sad truth... -> oscarpiastri: @.landonorris you're going to take that? -> landonorris: yes. look at her. -> landonorris: actually don't. don't look at her. she's mine

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[hazelcallahan]

ok “all vi needed to do was call caitlyn cupcake to make her turn on ambessa” is a fun little bit that i will participate in but i really feel like it’s contributing to two major misconceptions/complaints:

1. that caitlyn’s heel turn was sudden, and

2. that vi and caitlyn have reconciled

so let’s break that down, shall we

1. every single hint was there that caitlyn was chafing against ambessa’s regime and doing every little thing in her power to resist without putting herself and her loved ones at great risk. from the first scene with maddie - hell, the opening montage - you can tell cait is fucking EXHAUSTED. weary. that’s a woman who has spent months suffocating, doing desperate damage mitigation when put into an impossible situation. she didn’t want the mantle of leadership, and what was she going to do, say no and let someone worse take it? so she’ll take it. she’ll ban the use of solitary confinement cells. she’ll argue against ambessa’s soldiers attacking civilians. she’s in too deep to really do much else.

additionally, there are hints that she’s been planning on ways to take down ambessa for months. that one scene with dialogue over them sparring is literally there to symbolize how every single conversation between them is a battle, both of them looking for openings, and no matter how hard caitlyn tries ambessa always seems to come out on top. you also don’t just come up with the plan she did entirely on the fly - tracking things like guard rotations is something only a schemer does.

2. sure, “cupcake” is a fun little pet name, but it’s so much more than that. the most obvious is an olive branch. vi doesn’t want to hurt caitlyn. there’s so much affection still there.

the bigger thing, though, and the thing i believe caitlyn is reacting to there, is it’s a sign of distance. vi used “cupcake” as a way to needle at caitlyn when they first met, when she didn’t quite trust her even though she’d broken her out of prison. after that, we hear her use it twice more in s1: on the bridge during their parting hug, and after the council meeting as she’s trying to leave. both instances where she, in that moment, believes they’re never going to see each other again, and so she has a vested interest in creating that distance. on the other hand, we hear her use caitlyn’s name after she hears the gunshot on the bridge, in a moment of genuine fear and affection.

come s2, vi doesn’t use “cupcake” at all in act 1. she used “cait” a lot. still a nickname, but also caitlyn’s actual name - i know you, i see you, i care about you. caitlyn’s observant enough to notice this, even passively, even if she didn’t realize it until she heard “cupcake” months later, but i can’t help but feel like she takes that nickname as a sign of how they’ve drifted. she feels like she has to start over again with this woman she clearly loves. the meaning is clear to her: i won’t hurt you unless you give me a reason to, i’ll work with you if that’s what you need, but i��m not going to let myself get close to you just yet.

[vampjaeyun]

NETFLIX & CHILL

PAIRING loser!jake x maneater fem!reader | wc: 1.2k

SYNOPSIS “Do you seriously not know the meaning behind ‘Netflix and chill?’”

WARNINGS reader is in heat lmfao, soft jake, dry humping, hickeys

NOTES IF THIS SEEMS FAMILIAR, ITS BECAUSE I WROTE THIS FOR MARK ON MY NCT BLOG!!! I revamped it because I wanted to post something for jake's birthday but I haven't finished the one-shot im writing for him, so enjoy this for now <3

happy late birthday to my side piece, xo

WHAT IS JAKE SIM HERE FOR?

Tapping at your thigh, your impatience grows after every second that passes.  

You're not typically this horny or impatient, but to set the scene, you met Jake on the first day of classes.  As everyone filed into the auditorium and the professor began rambling, he took the seat alongside yours.  Throughout the first week of school, you started talking to him, sharing mutual interests and small talk.  You think he's awfully cute.  So you went ahead and texted him, wanting to "Netflix and chill" this weekend.  Maybe you were being too direct, but the deed had already been done, so you chose to embrace it. 

He doesn’t hesitate with a ‘for sure’ text back, not asking further questions or details about your request.  You smile at that, itching to explore another side of the cute boy who you see in class. 

The day arrives, and he walks over to your flat, smiling affectionately as the door swings open.  You both laugh and fond over each other while he cooks dinner and joins you afterward at the dinner table. He's so funny and sweet you realize, finally conversing about things other than school; it influences you to increase your expectations, and you wonder why hookups aren't typically like this. 

Now you're both adjacent to each other, your body cuddling up to his side as the movie plays. It's amusing since Jake hasn't made a single move towards you all night.  Aside from the arm around your shoulder, he hasn't attempted to sneak his arm any lower.  And he hasn't turned to face you since coming in contact with the couch.   Perhaps he changed his mind?  The movie is almost over, and the line has yet to be crossed. But the voice in the back of your head tells you that just because he didn't plan to tonight doesn't mean he doesn't want to, right?  A glimmer of optimism just helps to persuade you more, and once you dig a hole, you only dig deeper.

He laughs at a comedic moment in the film and you find it adorable.  He’s so invested and that’s when you finally realize Jake seriously didn’t come here to have sex with you.  It’s not his intention at all. His kindness and investment into everything you both did tonight is probably an effort into a full-on date. 

But this only made you more horny and attracted to him.  Fuck, you want to jump his bones so fucking bad.  And shit, you feel terrible because your mind and body are telling you to rip off the bandaid.  The pulsing want you have for this man is almost uncomfortable.  

You’re cursing yourself but like a bitch in heat you’re already escalating the situation. 

“Jake, the movie’s almost over,” you look up at him. 

He’s chuckling at your random commentary then looking down at you, “Yeah, it’s almost over.” 

“It’s almost over, and I invited you to Netflix and chill,” you pout.  Maybe the phrase ‘Netflix and chill’ flew over his head but it couldn’t be. You recall texting him the exact words.  There’s no way someone could misinterpret that.  Right? 

He blinks at you as if he’s unable to process your response. 

“Aren’t we doing that right now?” he quirks.  Maybe he’s genuinely clueless or the facade is running right past you, but you are fully convinced Jake has no idea about the ulterior motive of the popular phrase.

No one could guess Jake Sim would be the one who doesn’t know this term.  Maybe a stereotypical nerd whose internet consumption is strictly educational research.  Never judge a book by its cover, they said.  But you haven’t fully related to the metaphor until now.  Jake Sim’s cover has the term ‘fuckboy’ written all over.  Right to the Chrome Hearts hoodie and silver chain that looks like it belongs there.  

It’s alarming.  So alarming, that you have to sit up from Jake’s side to face him clearly.  Your brain is moving at a million miles per minute as you try to grasp the idea of how Jake doesn’t know the popular booty-call slang, head tilted to the side and all.

“Is there something wrong?” he questions. It’s beyond innocent.  His wide eyes give away the sincere worry he has and all you want to do is jump his bones.  

You smirk, “Do you seriously not know the meaning behind ‘Netflix and chill?’”

He pauses, staring like a deer in headlights, “It has another meaning? What else would it mean?” 

“Jakie,” you inch closer to him, so much that your noses brush at the nickname. “You’re so cute,” you utter slowly as you straddle him with one leg on each side of his thighs.  Thankfully, you wore a skirt, so the thin panties are the only thing obstructing the feeling of the rough material of his jeans.   

The poor boy beneath you flinches as you move so seductively in slow motion.  You’re glancing up to gauge his reactions and you swear you see a shadow of darkness in those chocolate orbs.  If that wasn’t enough for you to completely lose control, you follow his tongue gliding along his bottom lip and all you want to do is bite his lips until they’re bleeding.

“Why’d you agree to my text, but won’t do just that?” his breath hitches as you slightly move around on him, but it doesn’t have much of an effect because you’re not directly where he needs it most. 

“W-what?” he stutters slightly.  So cute.

“It means,” you bring your lips to graze his earlobe. “You wanna fuck,” u purr and he freezes at the revelation. 

“You wanna fuck while some stupid movie plays in the background,” at this, your hips move directly above his crotch and the weight of your body forces him to groan softly in pleasure. 

“It’s j-just an excuse,” You whimper as you move sensually against him.  Jake's hooded eyes tenderly glance at you, his erection slowly increasing against his jeans as the scene progresses. Because of his hesitation, his hands have yet to find homage at your hips, and you almost grab them to move them yourself. “You can touch me, you know.  Don’t be afraid.  I’m all yours,” you rasp, and the boy you’ve been crushing on crumbles underneath your fingertips. 

You waste no time chasing more pleasure,  continuing to drag your lips against his neck, sucking and biting to leave rosy marks on his flesh. Your fingers tangle in his hair, unknowingly tugging on his locks, only for him to squirm beneath you.  His rough hands attempt to steer your hips and it's not quite enough for you to cum, but the zipper rubbing against your clothed clit sends a buzz up your spine, and you moan against his neck. 

"Will you do it?" You resume licking a stripe from his collarbone to his jaw.  When you notice the overflowing lust painted on his features, you can't help but beam a grin.  

"Yes," he gasps at the sensation of your motions against him.  

"I'll do it."

[stllmnstr]

sure thing [PREVIEW]

pairing: yang jungwon x f reader

genre: coworkers au, underground boxer jungwon

word count: TBD but likely around 20~25k

release date: nothing official but likely within the next couple of days!

note: tfw you watch the no doubt music video and then write 18k words in the span of 24 hours about office coworker jungwon that is also secretly an underground boxer hahaha relatable, right? anyway expect this soooooon

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[...]

“Oh,” you startle slightly, walking into the workroom and already finding it occupied. And of course you’d run into him here, of all places. Kneeling in front of the printer, his brow is furrowed in concentration as he tries to dislodge yet another paper jam. 

“Sorry.” You’re not sure what you’re apologizing for exactly, but it feels warranted regardless. “I’ll just leave, and—”

“___,” he cuts you off with the sound of your name. Looking down at him, you're met with the expanse of his back. A button down shirt tucked into dark pants. Standard work attire that has no business looking this ridiculously good on anyone. “You’re fine. You don’t need to leave. Just give me a second, and the printer’s all yours.” 

You nod, even though he can’t see you. If the lack of a verbal response bothers him, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he busies himself with the jammed printer, muscles of his back flexing slightly underneath the fabric of his shirt as he tugs at the stubborn papers. 

Cheeks heating slightly, you force your gaze elsewhere. 

“There,” he says after another minute of adjustments. Standing to full height, he turns to face you. “All fixed.”

Looking up at him, you’re about to offer a quiet thanks when your eyes land on his right cheekbone. Specifically, the fresh cut that spans the length of it. 

The gasp the spills from your lips is entirely without permission. But you can’t quite help it. The wound is quite superficial, surface level at most, but it mars his otherwise perfect skin in a way you weren’t prepared for. 

Without your permission, your fingers start to reach towards the injury. They make it halfway before you remember yourself, before you regain your sense of reality. Your hand falls limply back to your side. 

“What happened?” You breathe. 

Jungwon’s brows draw together in confusion for a moment before a flicker of realization dances across his features. 

“Oh.” He exhales, fingers tapping against the broken skin of his cheekbone lightly. “Nothing. I just, er, fell the other day.”

“You fell,” you echo. Like all of his other excuses, it’s vague. Flimsy at best. 

“Yeah,” he confirms with a slight nod. Again, he says, “I fell.”

It’s evasive. And it feels like more than just an explanation for his injury. 

It feels like confirmation of the distance between the two of you. His final assertion that you’re nothing but a coworker to him. Someone that he tells edited versions of stories to, someone that he keeps firmly planted an arm’s length away. 

Fine. If he wants to give you shitty excuses for his Friday nights and his absences at work events and now his injury that very obviously did not come from a fall, that’s just fine with you. 

After all, he’s nothing but a coworker to you either. The upcoming date you have planned with Jay is enough to prove it. 

“Well,” you tell him, forcing a smile. The fake, disproportionately bright kind that you only ever use with your coworkers. “I hope it heals quickly.”

And then you’re brushing past him, making your way towards the printer as if he’s nothing but an obstacle in your path. 

Collecting your freshly printed document, you turn and walk out the door without so much as a backward glance. 

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TO BE CONTINUED...

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note: office workers AND boxers enha in one music video was crazy work so now I am forcing you all to suffer with me. I have a couple of scenes to finish off, and this piece needs a solid round of editing, but I expect to be done within the next couple of days and then she's allllll yours. if you're excited, let me know!

all the best ♡

[viaviavie]

short drabble about overblot!jamil projecting onto you, but on the bright side, you're distracting him by feeding his ego! tw: it gets suggestive at the end

You swear you have seen this scene play out before. Perhaps it was in one of those old animated films you've seen before waking up in Twisted Wonderland, but the resemblance was simply uncanny. The feeling of warm gold gripping at your wrists made you grimace as you eyed its chain leading back to a haughty Jamil, seated upon the lavish cushions and fabrics. Students, or perhaps, slaves, tended to him from every corner, whether they were feeding him, fanning him, or guarding him. Luckily, at least he had some courtesy to let you keep your uniform, rather than give you a makeshift set donning Scarabia's colors.

God knows where Grim, Kalim, and the Octanivelle students were now. Wherever they were, you found some solace in knowing that Grim would at least remember you. If that direbeast were to ever make his way back, you would become his priority next to fixing this mess. The thought of not being rescued made you grimace, an expression that did not go unnoticed by this mockery of a Sultan.

The great Jamil spares your pitiful form a singular glance, piqued with amusement. "Prefect," The title slipped from his lips so smoothly, but the way he tugged you over with the chain was anything but gentle. Choking back a yelp, he watched as you scrambled to your feet and hurried to his side like his pet.

For a student with no magic, no family, and no knowledge of this world, it was a wonder that someone like you ended up in the eye of the hurricane. After all, Jamil thought of you to be insignificant to his wicked plan to usurp Kalim's position. It wasn't as if you had any real power to stop him, though he would be certainly amused if you tried to fight back. It would only give him a reason to put you back in your place.

Much to his surprise, however, you had been surprisingly obedient since he kept you captive and threw your companions to the other side of the realm. You did not wail or protest, nor did you struggle when he placed these chains on you. Instead, you watched along and nodded accordingly without rebellion.

And he adored every second of your obedience.

(Really, what else could you possibly do? There was too much risk in fighting back when Jamil looked like he could bite your head off! It wasn't obedience, it was absolute fright and wise decision making on your own reactions!)

Jamil was not too fond of you standing while he was lowered to the floor. With a single tug, you found yourself collapsed onto pillows, a knee trapped between Jamil's legs. Eyes wide, your cheeks had begun to burn red at how close he was, not to mention how your hands had been pressed to his chest. With a click of a tongue, Jamil raised a brow. "Clumsy." He allows you to readjust yourself, only satisfied when you sat on your knees with your hands clasped on your lap.

Perhaps that was the one thing he was intrigued by the most about you. Boring his dark eyes into yours, he leans into your stoic expression with a wicked smirk. He knows what you truly are, after all. "Delightful little thing, you are. You've seen right through my facades quicker than any of those buffoons ever had since my enrollment here." You cannot tell whether it is because of how close he was, or if it was because of his deduction, but he takes such amusement in the way your breath hitched.

"Pray do tell, what is it about you that gave you such foresight?" You swallow to yourself. Your lips had already parted but your teeth were clamped shut, as if you refuse to admit your secret. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem that Jamil appreciated your prolonged silence. A harsh hand gripped your cheeks, and you couldn't control yourself from reacting in pain. The viper forced you to look at him, and the snakes protruding from his body hissed and rattled with aggression. "You cannot fool me, prefect. I see right through you, even now." Still, he does not let you go. "To think that Azul fell for your naive and docile facade, he was a fool to let you retake Ramshackle dorm. I would have seen it coming a mile away."

You remain silent, pupils shrinking as he gripped your chin tighter. A grin of a snake overtook his features, and for a moment, you swear that his eyes were slitted too. "You and I, were are not so different." With his other hand, Jamil allowed his digits to play with the golden band around your wrist. "No one really knows what you're like. All they know is how agreeable and nice you are, and that is all that it takes to gain their trust." He gripped your wrist and suddenly, you find yourself pressed flush against the cushions and Jamil is on top, pinning you down as if you were prey. "Or maybe, that's all it took to gain more."

Still, you do not fight back. You stare at him with shock, frozen and uncertain on how to plan your next move. Jamil is looking for something on your expression, but not even he could force a reaction out of you. "Did you find me a fool, prefect? If one cannot wield magic themselves, surely, they can find others to wield it for them." His eyes narrowed with suspicion as his grip tightened even more. "You could have stopped with Housewarden Riddle, but you had wormed your way into Savanaclaw and Octanivelle. And now, you are trapped here with me." Jamil lowered himself into your ear, and you can feel that sinister smile.

"You and I are the same. I don't need my unique magic to make you admit it." It takes everything in your power to keep yourself from correcting him. A man who has worn a mask his entire life, and you, who only learns to adapt accordingly. He, who yearns to be something he can never be allowed to be, and you, who has been struggling to blend into a world that did not belong to you. You are not him and he doesn't seem to realize that. After all, when you live with envy, it becomes easy to believe that everyone out there is aching to be more than what they already are.

"What did you hope to gain from me?"

As much as you wanted to reply, you saw a glimpse of teal hair from the corner of your eye. Then you spot two heads of teal, and that fedora hat. Hiding your relief and excitement, you avert your attention back to Jamil. Holding back a gulp of courage, you sighed in an affectionate tone. “Jamil,” You breathed out, turning slightly to shield his view. “I never realized how attractive it was when you took what was entitled to you.” You felt him stiffen before he shifted towards you, almost suspicious of your words.

In an attempt to feed the lie, you mustered wonder into your eyes and smiled in triumph. "I did not hope to gain anything from you, Jamil. Rather, I was just looking for the right person to admire." You could sense that there was still distrust in his gaze, but nonetheless, he did not pull away. Instead, he allows a hand to play with your cheek, toying with your starstruck expression. "Go on." He purred, as if he were trying to milk more honeyed words from your lips.

And you would indulge him. "Riddle was only a little boy with a temper. A housewarden with such a short fuse would forever be blinded by his rage. An impulsive boy he was, and even now." You lie cleanly, leaning into his warm touch. He hummed, seemingly pleased. "Leona wouldn't care less about matters within his dorm unless it were to challenge his pride. He will forever be indulged in sloth. He knows nothing about hard work." It hurts you to say such things about your friends, but seeing Floyd give you a thumbs up from afar as he snuck through the crowd had eased the guilt.

Jamil is smiling now, allowing a hand to play with your hair. "What can I say about Azul?" You paused for a moment, watching as your friends halted from behind a pillar as you mentioned the Octanivelle housewarden. You sucked in a breath, and hummed condescendingly. "He is nothing without victims, and without his contracts, he is just as insignificant as everyone else without power." Jamil barks harsh laughter at your words, almost surprised himself but your 'true nature'. Luckily for you, he was so distracted by his wicked laughter that he does not notice you screaming a silent apology to a seemingly offended Azul.

Once he composed himself, however, his face darkened as he forced you to meet his gaze with a slight tug of the chain. “And Kalim?” His voice cut through the silence like the sharp end of the knife. For a moment, you swore you were going to falter into fear. “What of Kalim?” Jamil hissed, growing more agitated at the thought of his supposed master. Instead, you stare at him with narrowed eyes, mimicking his scorn. “A foolish boy who is undeserving of his position.”

You allow an impulsive hand to cup his cheek, and luckily, the gesture was welcomed. “It was a relief to see someone so capable take his place.” You sang with a villainous smile, fooling the viper perfectly. "You and I saw how he managed this place. If he was given a kingdom, it would have collapsed under his weight." Jamil shuddered as your hand trailed from his cheek to his neck, down to his collarbones. "It was not too hard to see who was truly ruling Scarabia. I knew immediately who was bringing glory to the name."

Hook, line, and sinker. Jamil fell for every bit of the act.

"Oh? You sing such sweet words, prefect. I prefer this 'honest' you. Perhaps I should keep you in a cage." Jamil relaxed onto his side, his back turned against the rebels who are attempting to hide behind the next pillar. Your attention on them was returned to Jamil as he leaned in close to you, sneaking himself into the crook of your neck. You felt his hand dance along your hip to your waist, making you shudder in his presence. "Wouldn't you like that, prefect? You would never have to pretend again." You find yourself biting on your lower lip as you nodded slowly. "Only for you, Jamil. You are the only one who saw through me." You breathed out as he looked at you once more, barely closing in the gap between your faces.

"Master, prefect." He smirked so boyishly for a moment, and it was enough to make your face red. "Call me 'master'." Your eyes fluttered shut on instinct as his lips finally touched yours, demanding just as the giver was. You felt your heart stop and your neck grow warm as he pushed into you, lowering you both until your head hit the cushion.

If your eyes were open, perhaps you would see the Leech brothers share stunned yet amused expressions at the sight. Kalim was certainly puzzled, maybe a bit scandalized and confused by the sight of Jamil being so forward. Grim and Azul could only stare with their jaws hung until Grim clumsily found himself stumbling onto a table with metal platters that fell with a loud clang!

The spell you had trapped Jamil in had broken in that moment. Eyes snapping alert, Jamil jolted up and whipped his head forward. "What was that?" He gritted out, about to look in the direction of the Leech twins before you yanked on his neck, pulling him back down. "Master, please let me have more." You murmur hastily as you forcibly wrapping your arms around his neck. With urgency, you pull him back into another kiss, rougher than the previous. Whatever resistance Jamil had in the beginning had immediately melted away as he fought against you, prying away your dominance and returning it to his hands that massaged and played with your hips. Purring into your touch, Jamil smiled against your lips. "What an honest pet." He murmured before diving in for more.

With dizzying affection, you lost yourself into Jamil. Perhaps he did not need his unique magic after all to draw out such a secret desire. However, you do hope that Azul and Kalim figure something out sooner before Jamil's hands wander any further from your hips. If you remember exactly how the story was supposed to end, the Great Seven only knew what was going to happen if you never got rescued.

[be-good-be-safe-be-kind]

.

part of what really gets me about this scene, besides for the larger context of the rest of the episode, is that this is elliot without mr. robot. or not entirely without him, just quieter/further from the front, and they're both just so fucking done with everything by this point. just absolutely resigned, one of those days where shit might as well happen, y'know, and you just let it (and encourage it a bit, because wallowing maybe feels… not nice, but appropriate).

taking off the shirt to show there's no wire, fine, elliot can protest but concede, looking away from andy and himself as he strips [not calling him 'hard andy' bc we do not need to think about that now]. the little look down and to his left mirrors his reaction after edward said "i wish i could have been a better father to you," and the camera stays where it is when elliot takes off his hoodie and t-shirt. it doesn't follow his motions; andy's eyes and hand do.

this is where mr. robot might scoff, point out that fuckers worse than andy have tried and failed to get to elliot. this is where he might make a show of it all, raising his chin and biting back, but he isn't here.

pants, also? elliot doesn't even open his mouth to argue. [which sorta ties back to a previous reblog about the flashback/opener to this episode, and elliot's (in)ability to say "no". like every small win elliot has, every small step forward, it becomes fifteen steps back]. he does move a hand to his crotch (whether to unzip the pants himself or try stopping andy from unzipping them is unclear), and the framing of it…. fuck, okay, so the camera/audience pov is behind elliot, and he's standing while andy is sitting, but the shot is elliot's lower back.

it's elliot's waist, around the height kid!elliot had been. the positioning, also, of kid!elliot in the theater has him more to the right, edward at the center/leaning left; here elliot is closer to the left while andy is on the right. the role reversal doesn't work, though, because it's still the fucking look up elliot does, same as he did as a kid. his head's bowed, after andy tells him to remove his pants, and he's standing, but that position gives him no advantage in this situation. again, the camera stays where it is, showing elliot's face and then his back when the angle changes, but not showing all of him at once.

"you don't strike me as a dummy with a death wish" before the "spin around" is a gut punch because if you didn't need the title and the previous 15 minutes of this episode to clue you in, we know from the pilot what elliot is planning on doing with a fucking baggie stuffed with morphine. elliot's thinking is flexibly grey at times, but very black and white in terms of other things. he frames his addiction as grey, because he can acknowledge it and monitor it with suboxone, but it's quite clear that another straw on his fragile back and he's done. [and andy knows it, too - option 3, which he says once elliot's pulled his pants back up]

mr. robot, arguably, is seated with andy. where edward used to be. where he never, ever wants to be, much less have elliot see him in such a position.

then there's the look again, a bit to the left as elliot spins. here the camera is pulled back a bit (not for this gifset, though), showing elliot's upper body and his underwear as he moves, but it's a wide shot. it places elliot in between two windows, with the lighting still dim, while andy stays in the corner as his eyes track elliot's movement. the camera here stays with elliot's shoulders or waist, displaying him in pieces, which tracks with where is head is at here.

[aquaticmercy]

Match

Summary : You finally found your intellectual match in Bucky Barnes.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x rare book dealer!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : You and Bucky are nerds (affectionate), mentions of his past. Sexual tension-filled philosophical debate. DC comics exist in the MCU as literature as per the guardians Christmas special lol. Cursing? Steamy not smut. Fluff!!!!

Word count : 5.7k

Note : This fic was inspired by that one scene in FATWS where Bucky said he read the hobbit. I just really like the idea that Bucky really really likes to read. Enjoy!

Rare books were not just a job to you, but a vocation. You spent your days seeking out treasures, preserving them, and connecting them with people who could truly appreciate their worth. Your little shop was a haven of creaking wooden floors and shelves brimming with the worn spines of countless literary works, sunlight streaming through the tall windows.

It was your home.

On a quiet Tuesday, the bell over the door jingled.

At first, you assumed the man who walked in was lost or killing time— maybe a tourist who thought your shop was an antique or souvenir shop (you’ve gotten a lot of those over the years). 

He didn’t fit your usual profile of a customer—no tweed jackets or scholarly glasses. No suit and tie, no clean white blouse. This one was confident, albeit rough on the edges. His leather jacket and heavy boots belonged in a biker gang, his long hair brushing beautifully against his shoulders. But it was his left arm that drew your gaze—a sleek, black metal hand peeking out of his sleeve, rippling slightly when he moved.  

You recognized him instantly: James Buchanan Barnes. 

The former Winter Soldier. 

A man who belonged to history books and legends. Seeing him in person was... surreal. No article had prepared you for the magnetism he carried, no photo did him justice.

Still, you weren’t one to swoon. And you definitely weren’t about to let him see you staring a little too long into his steely blue eyes. 

“Can I help you?” you asked, keeping your voice calm and professional.

For a second, he seemed to weigh whether or not to answer. “I’m looking for a first edition of The Hobbit.”

You blinked.

That wasn’t what you’d expected. 

“It’s in the case over here,” you replied, recovering quickly. You led him to the glass display where one of your most cherished possessions lay nestled, secure and pristine.  

He muttered something like ‘just like I remember’ as he gazed at the book, his voice close to reverence.  

“Big fan?” you ventured, curious.

His lips curved up, into a faint smile. He nodded. “Always admired how he built entire worlds. The languages, the histories.” He hesitated, his voice growing quieter. “He lived through hell in the trenches, too. And from that, he wrote something… hopeful.”

You hadn’t expected that depth of understanding, and your surprise must have been obvious. “What?” he asked, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Didn’t think I’d be the type?”

This was going to be fun, you thought.

You shrugged, trying to suppress a grin, “you’re not exactly my usual Tolkien collector.”

That earned you a sweet, gentle chuckle. “I didn’t think I’d be either, but I’ve always loved books,” he admitted, “They were one of the only constants after...” His voice faltered, remnants of his past briefly flashing behind his eyes.

You didn’t press. Instead, you followed his lead, steering the conversation back to Tolkien. “You're right about the worldbuilding. He wrote a full mythology— linguistic and cultural foundations and all. It’s like he created an alternate history.”

“Exactly.” Bucky’s smile returned, brighter this time. It had been ages since Bucky had an engaging, meaningful conversation that wasn’t about mission planning, let alone about a book. The heated, faceless debates with internet strangers—each convinced they were ultimately correct—definitely didn’t count. “It’s that attention to detail— You don’t see that much anymore.”

After that, the two of you fell into a rhythm, talking easily for nearly an hour. About Tolkien’s works, his love for language, and the way war had shaped his narratives. You even mentioned how Tolkien’s own experiences in World War I echoed the camaraderie and loss found in his stories. Bucky nodded along, sharing personal observations that surprised you—not just because of their insight, but because of how much he genuinely cared.

Back in the day, everyone saw Bucky as the classic jock, and to be fair, he was. But beneath the effortless charm, he was a nerd at heart—fascinated by books, obsessed with science, and captivated by innovation. It was Bucky who had dragged Steve along to the World Exposition of Tomorrow, it was Bucky who was eager to see Howard Stark’s presentation on flying cars. Back then, the future had been his fixation. It had been out of reach— a world of endless possibilities. 

Now, he was drawn to the past. 

He’d fallen in love with reading again. After all, he had a century of literature to catch up on. And with the internet at his fingertips, he had access to more knowledge and stories than he could have dreamed of. 

40s Bucky would’ve had a heart attack from the sheer volume of information he could consume. For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t just chasing a vision of what might be—he was immersing himself in what already was.

Eventually, the conversation drifted to The Lord of the Rings. 

“Did you read the trilogy?” you asked.

He nodded. “Only a couple of years ago. I didn’t even realize it was published after… everything.” He paused, frowning slightly, as if reaching into the murky depths of his memory. 

Right. You did a quick mental tally based on the books you’ve read about him. The Hobbit was published in 1937, and The Fellowship of the Ring in 1954. Bucky was presumed killed in action in 1945 and captured by a terrorist organization. So, yeah—he’d missed it.

“Hydra,” you said the thought allowed before you could stop yourself.

You winced, bracing for impact. Oh no, you thought, have I crossed a line?

“You read about me?” he asked to your surprise, likely catching you deep in thought. 

You shrugged, trying to play it cool, though your heart still beat out your chest. “Superheroes are a popular topic for peer-reviewed journals and doctoral theses. There’s a whole academic subfield about the Winter Soldier— a lot about your role in the war, too.”

His expression was unreadable, but you thought you saw a flicker of something— amusement? Whatever it was, it eased the tension you had accidentally created, and the conversation resumed.

You’ve read plenty about Bucky Barnes—the sharpshooter of the Howling Commandos, Captain America’s trusted sniper. You’ve probably read more about him in the modern age: scholars debating the pardon of the Winter Soldier, professors discussing the Sokovia Accords— a conflict in which he’d been a major player in. You’d disagreed with the Accords, of course, but that’s a story for another time. 

Right now, your focus was on the man in front of you, talking about Tolkien and his wonderful languages. See, the peer-reviewed articles about him had painted a stark picture: a kind soul turned into a cold, unfeeling weapon. But they neglected to mention that even after everything, he was still a kind soul. In person, it was hard to reconcile the man before you with the image of a killer. 

The paper also failed to mention a pleasant surprise: his mind. You realised now that Bucky Barnes wasn’t just a soldier; he was sharp, curious, a man who loved literature and sought out conversations that challenged him. It was something the world overlooked.

Yet it was there, just beneath the surface.

“Have you read the Silmarillion?” you ventured.

“I tried,” He grimaced. “Felt like reading a textbook. Not sure I even made it halfway.”

“That’s fair,” you admitted with a laugh. “It’s not the easiest read. But it’s worth it, I promise.”

Bucky didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t shut the idea down, either.  

You made a snap decision. Reaching behind the counter, you pulled out your personal copy of The Silmarillion. It wasn’t a rare edition, but it was filled with your notes in the margins, a map you’d sketched for reference, and little Post-its marking key passages. “Take this,” you offered, holding it out to him.

He hesitated, not used to kindness from beautiful strangers. “You sure?”

“Absolutely. Hopefully the notes will make it easier. And don’t even worry about returning it,” you nodded, “It’s probably for the best. I obsess over it too much.”

He took the book, his metal fingers brushing against yours as he did, making your stomach flutter. “Thanks.”

“And if you’re curious about all those papers written about you...” You looked through bookmarks on your laptop, typing ‘James Barnes’ into the search bar. You jotted down a list of academic articles you’d read— some about his time in WWII, others about his unique role as a postwar icon. “Here. If you want to see what people are saying.”

He smiled that kind smile again, folding the paper carefully and tucked it into his jacket. “I appreciate it.”

When he left with the first edition of The Hobbit, your annotated Silmarillion, and your list of articles about him, you found yourself staring at the door long after it had closed, hoping it wasn’t the last time he’d visit your shop. 

—

Bucky started coming in more frequently, always buying another rare book— Hemingway, Orwell, Lovecraft. The pretense was paper-thin, though, and you both knew it. 

Sure, he enjoyed books, but by that point he knew he could’ve gotten cheaper copies on a bid online (rent in a big city was expensive)— and the books he bought weren't even that rare. 

Each visit turned into a lengthy discussion that carried you through the night, far past the shop’s usual closing time.  

One afternoon, he returned something unexpected: your well-worn copy of The Silmarillion. Admittedly, you’d  missed it—  its once-pristine pages now brimming with additional notations—his handwriting mixing with yours.  

“I had to,” he said, an almost sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Your notes made me see it differently. It felt like a conversation.” 

You opened it, thumbing through the pages, your eyes catching his commentary. He had sharp, incisive thoughts: challenging some of your interpretations, expanding on others, and sometimes adding playful jabs in the margins when he disagreed with your analysis.

“This is dangerous,” you said, glancing up at him with a teasing smile. “Do you really want a debate about Tolkienian theology?”  

“I’ve got time, doll,” he said with a grin, settling onto the stool by the counter. Your cheeks flushed at the nickname, hearts doing backflips in your ribcage.

And so, that evening, you indulged in the mind of James Buchanan Barnes, exploring his thoughts and musings about Middle-earth. For the next two hours, the two of you argued about the nature of Ilúvatar’s creation, the Fëanor tragic story, and whether or not Morgoth represented a failure of divine providence.  

“I’ll admit,” he said at one point, leaning back and crossing his arms, “I wasn’t expecting it to feel so... biblical.”  

“It’s a way to think about creation through the lens of fantasy,” you replied, your voice softening as you traced your fingers over the book’s cover. “There’s a reason people get lost in it.”  

He watched you for a moment, his gaze lingering, his smile fading into something softer. 

It wasn’t the only time your conversations would take a turn like this. A week later, gothic monsters were your battlefield.

Bucky leaned against the counter, an old edition of Dracula he had just purchased in his hands, the worn leather squeaking as he shifted. His brow furrowed in that way that always made you wonder what he was thinking— though you had a feeling he was about to pick a fight, again.

“You’re out of your mind if you think Frankenstein beats Dracula,” he said, glancing up, his blue eyes gleaming with mischief.

“I’m not saying they’re even comparable,” you countered, crossing your arms as you leaned against the opposite side of the counter. “They’re completely different genres. It’s not a fair fight. But if it were... Frankenstein wins. Hands down.”

Bucky chuckled, a low, warm sound that made it impossible not to smile. “You think that because you’re obsessed with sci-fi. If it’s got a fake scientist and a lot of regret, you’re sold.”

“And you think Dracula is better because it’s all dark and broody,” you shot back, arching an eyebrow, “sound familiar?” You smirked, mirroring his stance against the opposite side of the counter. “Besides, Frankenstein is a masterpiece—philosophy, morality, hubris—it’s got layers. What’s Dracula got? Melodrama?”

“Hey! Dracula has layers!” Bucky chuckled low in his throat, setting the book down. “It’s about primal fear, wrapped in ancient powers, wrapped again in the clash between tradition and modernity.”

“It is enjoyable, I must admit, but it’s just a glorified soap opera.” You groaned, though your lips twitched in spite of yourself. “Shelley’s work makes you think, you know? It’s art.”

“Art?!” he repeated, stepping closer, his voice dropping just enough to make your pulse skip. “It’s a guy making bad decisions and spending the rest of the book dodging the consequences.”

You straightened, eyes narrowing. “It’s about responsibility! The monster is a reflection of Victor’s failure. He’s abandoned and searching for connection—”

“And whining about it,” Bucky interrupted with a smirk, folding his arms. “Dracula doesn’t whine.”

The playful sparring faded when it hit you.

Frankenstein’s monster was created without consent, shaped into something he never chose to be. He was cast out, left to navigate a world that saw him as a mistake. The monster was isolated— burdened by guilt—the question of whether he was defined by the harm he’d done.

“Does he…” you started, gulping, unsure of how he’d react to an outright observation. “Does Frankenstein’s monster make you uncomfortable?”

As you stepped closer, his expression faltered, his eyes dropping to the book in his hands. Slowly, he set it aside, the movement deliberate. You reached out, your fingers brushing against the cold surface of his metal arm before resting there gently. “Does it hit too close to home?” you asked.

He didn’t deny it. A quiet laugh escaped him instead. He shook his head. “You’re too damn perceptive for your own good,” he murmured, his voice tinged with a longing for something you couldn’t quite place.  

Your fingers moved in slow circles against his metal hand, and when it twitched beneath your touch, you knew he felt it—knew he felt you.  

“The monster was never the villain,” you said, a fragile offering meant to soothe him. “He just needed someone to see him. He can be kind, too.”  

His gaze lifted, locking onto yours, and the raw vulnerability in his eyes stole the air from your lungs. For a heartbeat, the world stilled. 

Then Bucky’s smirk returned, smaller this time, as he leaned into your touch as if he craved it. “Nice try,” he said, voice lighter but still soft. “You’re not winning this one. Dracula’s better.”

You laughed, the tension breaking just enough to let you breathe again. “You’re impossible, Barnes.”

—

You were afraid you had scared him off after that, but to your surprise, he returned a week later, albeit a bit bruised from a mission.  

You’d been reshelving old graphic novels that day (First Edition Hergé that you were quite excited by), the quiet hum of the shop wrapping you in comfortable silence, when you caught sight of him out of the corner of your eye. His dark leather jacket hung slightly open, revealing a plain gray shirt that stretched just enough across his chest to draw your eyes. There was a faint cut near his jaw, still healing.  

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft as he approached. His eyes lingered on you for a beat longer than necessary. “You look beautiful today. Is that a new dress?”

Your breath caught, and a warmth crept up your neck as you glanced down at the simple, flowy dress you’d chosen that morning. “It is,” you admitted, looking back up at him with a shy smile. “Thanks for noticing.”

“Hard not to,” he murmured, his lips curving into a small, almost teasing smile before he turned toward the shelves.

You busied yourself with reshelving more books behind the counter, but you couldn’t help watching him out of the corner of your eye. His human hand traced idly along the spines, careful not to inflict damage. When he stopped, he plucked a rare-ish pocket 6th edition of Thus Spake Zarathustra from the shelf, his metal fingers glinting faintly in the light of the shop.

“You actually like this guy?” he asked quietly, lifting the book like he was sharing a secret.  

“Like is a strong word,” you said, stepping out from behind the ladder. His gaze caught yours, and there was a flicker of something playful in those blue eyes. Your pulse quickened, beckoning him to the counter. “He was no saint, but hardly anyone is. I… appreciate his contribution. It’s not his fault people misuse his work.” 

Bucky had witnessed it firsthand: fascists distorting Nietzsche's philosophy, disregarding its complexities, and twisting his ideas into a justification for genocide.

His lips turned upward, a lopsided grin that softened the sharpness of his jaw. His stance shifted, leaning against the counter with a practiced ease. His eyes flickered, taking you in, and when you crossed your arms, his gaze lingered briefly, enough to spark a bubbling heat beneath your skin.  

“You don’t think Nietzsche was a proto-fascist, do you?” you asked, tilting your head.  

“God, no,” he said quickly, amusement softening his voice. His grin spread, revealing the faintest cute dimple in his cheek. “I’ve read enough to know better. But I don’t exactly buy the Übermensch thing either. It’s too... self-centered for my taste. The whole idea of being ‘beyond good and evil’ feels dangerous.”  

“That’s fair,” you said, closing the distance between you as you reached for the book in his hand. Your fingers brushed his as you slipped it from his grasp, his touch warm, steady, almost deliberate. His eyes flickered down to where your hands had met. “There are many flaws in his thinking, but I don’t think the concept is inherently bad,” you continued, the air between you charged with tension. You tilted the book toward him, as though showing him something, though you both knew you weren’t really focused on the pages. “It’s about striving for a better version of yourself. I think he wanted people to create their own meaning, not follow blindly.”  

“Maybe,” Bucky murmured, his voice dropping an octave. He shifted closer, his fingers tapping lightly against the counter, the sound echoing in the quiet room. His metal hand rested at his side, the vibranium gleaming faintly as his other hand inched forward, almost brushing yours.  

His breath fanned your cheek as he leaned in, close enough now that you could see the stubble along his jaw, the way his lashes framed those blue eyes. “But there’s something so… wrong about thinking you’re the one who gets to decide what’s right,” he whispered, his voice like a secret meant only for you.  

He was close, dangerously so— that you could feel his breath on your nose.

The bell above the door chimed suddenly, breaking the moment like shattered glass. Dr. Hart, a lecturer from the local university, stepped inside, a bundle of papers tucked under her arm, and smiled in greeting.  

She was a returning customer, here to pick up a special edition of Conversation on Botany that you had tracked down for her.

“That’s $40, Mr. Barnes,” You took a small, steadying breath and waved at Hart with a thumbs up that said I’ve got your book.

His lips twitched into a knowing smile. Hr reached for his wallet, pulling out a few bills. As he handed them to you, his fingers brushed yours again.

“I’ll see you soon,” he promised, his voice soft, almost teasing.

—

The tipping point came late one evening.  

You’d spent the last few hours catalouging a shipment of rare books, the shop’s air thick with the comforting scent of old leather, yellowing paper, and the faint hint of dust that always seemed to cling to ancient texts. The shop was silent save for the scratch of your pen against paper as you logged the latest arrival.  

The peace shattered with the familiar jingle of the bell above the door.  

“Shop’s closed,” you said without looking up, your voice automatic, your focus still on the fragile spine of a sixteenth-century text.  

“Good thing I’m not here to shop,” came the deep, unmistakable voice of Bucky Barnes.  

Your hand froze, an involuntary smile tugging at your lips. You looked up, finding him leaning against the doorframe with that trademark blend of casual confidence and smoldering intensity. His black Henley stretched across his chest, the sleeves pushed up to reveal his forearms—a sight you tried not to dwell on for too long.  

“What are you here for, then?” you asked, arching an eyebrow as you tried to sound indifferent.  

“Conversation,” he said simply, stepping further inside.  

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you returned to your work. “You came all the way here just to talk?”  

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he teased, his lips turning into a sly smile as he perched on the edge of your desk. “I was in the neighborhood.”  

You rolled your eyes but didn’t bother responding. Bucky always had a way of pulling your attention, and tonight was no different. You tried to focus on the delicate bindings in front of you, but his overwhelming presence was impossible to ignore.  

When he reached for a book from the nearby stack—a copy of Meditations by Marcus Aurelius—you finally gave in.  

“Stoicism?” you asked, your tone light with playful mockery. 

He flipped the book open, his fingers grazing the thin pages. “You’re really surprised? I thought you’d figure that about me,” he said, glancing up at you with a hint of a challenge in his eyes. “Marcus Aurelius had a lot to say about self-control.”  

“And yet here you are…” you replied, gesturing to where he was leaning across your workspace, a soft furrow of amusement on your eyebrows. You decided you could be flirty— eyeing the undone button of his Henley, showing a hint of his skin underneath. “...testing mine.”  

The corners of his mouth curved. “Guess I’m doing my part to help you practice.”  

You shook your head, half-smiling. “It’s not just about self-control, now is it? It’s about accepting what you can’t change.”  

He tilted his head, agreeing with you. “Or a way to stop drowning in things you can’t fix.”  

From there, the conversation unfurled like a thread you couldn’t stop pulling. Philosophy, morality, the nature of good and evil—it didn’t take long before you were fully engrossed, debating with a ferocity that surprised even you. Bucky was sharp, quick-witted, and maddeningly good at challenging your points. Every time you thought you had the upper hand, he’d counter with something so precise, so well-argued, that you couldn’t help but admire his mind.  

As the debate shifted, you sat on your desk, its surface cluttered with books that were hard to find, but not rare enough to be put in a glass case. Your focus was solely on Bucky, who was pacing the room with measured steps, his hands brushing against the edges of shelves every so often as though grounding himself.

“Alright,” you said, leaning forward, crossing your legs. “Here’s a question for you: Should Batman kill the Joker?” 

Slowly, he turned and walked closer to you, his shoes thudding softly against the floor. He stopped just short of your legs, leaning forward slightly, his gaze locking onto yours, making your pulse quicken.

Oh, that piqued his interest.

“I should’ve known you’d bring up Batman.” Bucky’s lips curved into a smirk, eyeing up the first print of 90s DC comics in the corner of the room that hadn’t been there two days ago— a fresh delivery, perhaps? You were always very topical, and the recent restocks somehow always made their way into conversation.

“It’s a valid moral dilemma,” you said, straightening, your chin lifting slightly. 

He tilted his head, his expression a blend of amusement and challenge. “Why don’t you tell me?”  

“Of course he should,” You didn’t hesitate, the answer rolling off your tongue with absolute conviction. “The Joker is a mass murderer. Every time Batman spares him, more people die. His refusal to act is just as bad as pulling the trigger himself.”  

Bucky’s smile lingered, but his gaze grew darker, ever so slightly. “So you’re saying Batman’s refusal to kill makes him complicit?”  

“Yes,” you said firmly, leaning in slightly, the heat of the argument pulling you closer. “Batman’s morality is Kantian—rigid rules and all. But if he were more… utilitarian, he’d save more lives. The greatest good for the greatest number. One life to save countless others.”  

“That kind of math doesn’t scare you?” Bucky asked, leaning back as though to put some distance between you, though his eyes stayed locked on yours. “Once you start deciding whose lives matter more, where do you stop?”  

“It’s not about worth,” you argued, the intensity rippling from him unnerving but impossible to look away from. “It’s about outcomes. If you can prevent suffering, don’t you have a responsibility to do it?”  

The silence that followed felt heavier than it should’ve. His jaw clicked a bit, tightening as he considered your words. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, shyer.

“If that’s your stance, then maybe someone should’ve killed the Winter Soldier years ago.”  

His words hit you like a punch in the gut, your breath catching. The implication of his statement filled the room, coiling tight around your chest.  

“Bucky,” you said quickly, panic creeping into your voice, your fingers twitching toward him but freezing halfway. “That’s not—”  

The corner of his mouth curved into a small, fragile smile. “Relax,” he said, holding up a hand, his voice dipping into something gentler. “I’m not offended. This is just a debate, right?”  

“It’s not the same,” you insisted, your voice gentler, almost pleading. You stood from your desk, hesitation in your chest as you reached out— you were scared he might pull away, “you were brainwashed.” Slowly, you pressed your hand to his cheek, his stubble rough beneath your palm. It was a wordless apology—a pathetic attempt to comfort, to reach him where words had failed. 

To your surprise, he didn’t stop you. Instead, he leaned into your touch. 

Bucky, slid his arm around your waist, testing the waters. His eyes flicked to yours, searching for any sign of rejection, any hint that he’d crossed a line. But there were none. Instead, the subtle hitch in your breath and the way you leaned into him told him everything he needed to know.

He shook his head, rubbing soft circles on your hip as if to say you’re okay. This conversation is more than okay. “But in the grand scheme of utilitarianism, it shouldn’t matter, right? My life was a liability. More people would’ve been saved if I hadn’t been around to hurt them.”  

His words settled over you like a storm cloud. The silence stretched, your carefully crafted argument unraveling in the face of his lived experience.  

He leaned forward then, bridging the space between you, his arm pinning you in place. “Maybe I understand Batman better than most,” he said, his voice quiet but intense. “Killing someone doesn’t always fix what’s broken. It just leaves you with blood on your hands.”  

Your throat tightened, the words sticking. He was too close now, the tension between you buzzing like a static current.  

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but he heard it.  

“Don’t be.” His words were soft as he pulled you closer. There was always a hint of warmth in his eyes, an unspoken kindness you admired.

The room felt smaller now, more heated. You opened your mouth to respond, but his words had stolen all the air from your lungs.  

He leaned in, his voice dropping. “It’s easy to talk about morality in the abstract. But when you’re staring someone in the face—when it’s a real person, and not just an idea—it gets a lot harder to play God.”  

Shit.

He was right.  

Maybe utilitarianism wasn’t a steadfast rule. Maybe it couldn’t be, not when you factored in the messy, unpredictable depths of human existence. Lives weren’t just numbers to balance on a scale—they were stories, choices, pain, hope. And Bucky… Bucky was proof of that.  

Your thoughts churned as you looked at him.

You felt your conviction unravel. It wasn’t just that his argument was sound—though it was (infuriatingly so)—it was the way he’d delivered it, the personal truth lending it undeniable power. And that’s when it hit you. That’s why you found him so damn attractive.  

Sure, he was gorgeous. The sharp lines of his jawline, the piercing blue of his eyes, the way his Henley stretched over his shoulders like it had been designed with him in mind. But that wasn’t it. Not entirely.  

It was him. His humanity. His thoughtfulness. The kindness that softened the edges, the depth that came from wrestling with his own darkness and coming out better on the other side.  

And he was brilliant. For the first time, you felt like you’d met your match. Someone who met you on your turf and stood his ground, someone who didn’t just nod along or agree to avoid conflict. Someone who could challenge you, who could look you in the eye and make you see the world differently.  

You thought you’d built your worldview on unshakable foundations, but he’d cracked it wide open, and now all you could do was stare at him with the dawning realisation that this wasn’t just attraction. It was something deeper, something that terrified and thrilled you in equal measure.  

He wasn’t just a match for you physically; he was your intellectual equal—a rare kind of connection that made your pulse race and left your thoughts spinning.

Before you could stop yourself, before you could think it through, you leaned forward and kissed him.  

It was impulsive—a collision of lips born from the fiery tension that had simmered between you for weeks. It was everything unsaid, every glance, every near touch that had lingered just a fraction too long, all boiling over in one moment. He froze for the briefest heartbeat, but then something in him snapped. His hands found you, pulling you closer, his grip possessive, almost desperate. Your hands made their way through the soft strands of his hair, landing comfortably around his neck.

The kiss, slow at first, quickly became frantic. Neither of you could get enough. The only thing that mattered was him—his lips on yours, his touch, the way his body pressed against you like a promise. 

When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, his forehead rested against yours, his lips curled into a breathless smile. For a second, he could forget about everything that has happened to him. For a second, he was truly, utterly safe in your arms.

“I didn’t think you were the type to kiss someone in the middle of a moral argument about Batman,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, his lips grazing yours with every word, sending shivers down your spine.

“And I didn’t think you’d let me,” you replied, your voice laced with a mischievous edge.

His eyes darkened, his smile widening just enough to make your heart race before he closed the distance again, capturing your lips in another searing kiss. This time, it wasn’t careful or calculated—it was raw, fervent, consuming. Your back hit the desk behind you, his hands sliding around your waist and around the curve of your bum, firm and deliberate, setting every nerve in your body on fire. 

“The books,” he mumbled against your lips, glancing at the teetering stack beside you, the volumes threatening to topple.

“I don’t care,” you said breathlessly, and to prove your point, you swiped the entire stack to the floor with a crash. The sound echoed, but you barely heard it over the roaring thump of your heartbeat in your ears. 

They weren’t too rare. You’ll just put them on the discount aisle tomorrow. 

His response was a low, guttural groan, his lips finding yours again, His fingers tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make your head tilt back, exposing the sensitive curve of your neck. He didn’t waste the opportunity, his lips and teeth trailing along your skin, finding the spot just below your ear that made you gasp. 

“Did I manage to change your mind this time?” he murmured against your ear, his voice rough and unsteady as his lips brushed against your jaw, then lower, tracing a heated path along your collarbone. 

You managed a breathless laugh, your fingers slipping under his shirt to trace the veins under his skin, his muscles tensing under your touch. “Okay, so maybe ‘the greatest good for the greatest number’ isn’t always the best approach when you’re the one holding the short end of the categorical imperative,” you whispered, your voice trembling with desire.

His laugh was husky, his hands lower to grip your thighs, pushing himself flush against you. “God, you’re something else,” he said, his lips finding yours again, this time slower, deeper, as though savoring you. When he finally pulled back, his voice was hoarse. “Do you want to go on a date?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “You’re seriously asking me that now?” you asked, breathless. With your hands trailing over the planes of his chest, his breath mingling with yours, it seemed a bit out of order, but you weren’t about to complain.

“Yes,” he said, his words dead serious despite the way his hands clutched at your shirt, his lips finding the hollow of your throat. He kissed the spot slowly, firmly, making your legs feel numb. “I mean it,” he added, his voice softer, yet no less insistent.

You let out a breathless laugh, tugging him into another kiss, the kind that left no room for doubt about your answer. “Then yes,” you murmured, your voice low and teasing as you pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “We’re going to have a lot to talk about.”

And boy, were you excited to talk to this man— a man who could turn the simplest circumstances into a philosophical debate, someone who wasn’t afraid to dispute your ideals. 

Someone who was your match.

“Later,” he rasped, his voice gravelly with need, his hands trailing up to tug his henley over his head in one fluid motion. The sight of him stole the breath from your lungs, but you didn’t have time to appreciate it before he was kissing you again, his bare skin pressed against you as he lifted your shirt off. “We can talk later.”

-end.

[mvrkieboo]

Old Bloodhounds

P50 | screw the rebellious teenage phase

TW : violence, suicide scene, and slight gore

Mark was jumping in his seat, and Yuno couldn't stop laughing at Mark's display of unadulterated joy and excitement. It was kind of cute, seeing how happy he was on Yuno's behalf, now that he's officially a music artist now. Geonwoo and Woojin were beaming at the front seats too, glad that Yuno is finally achieving his lifelong dream.

"You've been dreaming about this ever since we were kids, Jae. Oh my god, you're a singer now. A full-fledged singer, with a record deal under one of the biggest labels in our country!" Mark exclaimed, slamming his head back with a big smile on his face.

"Thanks, dude. I owe it to you guys—I wouldn't be here now if it wasn't for your work in managing the MNA Week." Yuno laughed, ruffling the younger man's hair.

"My mom said your highschool friends just arrived at the café—everyone is just waiting for us to arrive now." Geonwoo showed the text messages he exchanged with his mom, and Soyeon even sent a picture of Yuta, Doyoung and Jungwoo posing with Yuno's dad under the café lights.

Yuno nodded, feeling good with himself that he opted for an intimate party among close family and friends only. Well, family with the exception of you. Yuno wasn't that surprised when Mark told him that you declined the invitation, because you already made plans with Junyoung for tonight, but the disappointment was still there, palpable and aching.

He rested his head against the car window, looking at the city lights shining in the nighttime. He wondered if you and Junyoung were among the crowd of people moving along on the sidewalk, and he wondered if you were truly happy after pushing everyone else away. He hoped you were—no matter where you were and who you were with—but he can't help and feel bitter that him, Mark, Geonwoo and Woojin weren't part of your current happy life now.

If you were so happy with Junyoung, then so be it.

"We're here!" Woojin exclaimed, and Mark practically hopped out of the car.

Jaehyun's smile returned.

At least he could be happy with the people you had left behind.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Sure, you had left your phone and wallet at the apartment, but he didn't specify that you should have left all of your phones—so you had tucked Yuno's old phone under your bra on your back, confident that Yoonsu wouldn't notice it since you were also wearing a thick leather blazer that you had stolen from Yuno's wardrobe (so you at least had another thing of him with you while living with Yoonsu).

You made sure to block Detective Do's number and turned the phone off beforehand, knowing Detective Do was driving himself crazy in trying to reach you—but you promised you would turn it on once you had the chance, so they could track down your location. It was the least you could for Detective Do's sake, to ease his job. For now, however, you wanted the detectives to be several steps behind before you could get Yoonsu to tell where Junyoung was buried.

"This is our stop." Yoonsu muttered stiffly. The stop was in downtown Seoul, streets littered with old and underdeveloped buildings.

He stood up and roughly pulled on your arm, it even caught the attention of the other passengers. You smiled stiffly at them while Yoonsu practically dragged you out of the bus, his face all stoic and icy. It was uncharacteristic of him. Yoonsu would always taunt you with an ugly smile on his face, always taking the opportunity to insult you and rub salt into your wounds—but he had been quiet for the whole bus ride.

And you've always been aware just how angry he was with you, but he's never displayed his anger in such a raw manner before. You gulped, now fully convinced he did notice that the blackmail file he had over you was wiped out of his phone. That's why he was extra pissed.

He dragged you all the way to the destination, walking ahead with his hand gripping on your arm as you walked behind him. The more you walked, the more you understood that he was definitely dragging you to that one abandoned building at the very end of the street.

However, because he was so busy 'guiding' you to your intended destination, and as you got near the abandoned building, you took the opportunity to reach behind you from under your shirt and turned on the phone, pulling it out of your bra and discreetly throwing it into the unattended bushes so the impact wouldn't make a sound.

Yoonsu didn't notice a thing.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Kyungsoo, we got something!" Chanyeol—who works for Gangnam PD's Cyber Crimes Unit—yelled through the phone.

He cringed at the oaf's deep ass voice yelling into his ear, but decided to ignore it, because he was busy trying to find you. Just why did you have to follow Yoonsu? That was your chance to escape—you could've finally been free of him!

No, you just had to go off on your own again—still stuck in your rebellious teenage phase. Screw the rebellious teenage phase, Kyungsoo mentally cursed.

"We suddenly got a signal from her alternate phone—it's pinging in downtown Seoul, near an abandoned factory. It was shut down years ago because it got busted as a drug production base. I'm confident this is where Yoonsu took her." Chanyeol explained carefully and efficiently, fingers slamming on the keycaps of his keyboard before continuing, "It's 25 minutes away by car from where you are right now—but if you floor the pedal and take some totally illegal shortcuts—"

"15 minutes?" Kyungsoo spoke hopefully, already getting inside the car with Taeyong driving.

"10 minutes."

"Send me the location."

Taeyong took out the revolving red light and stamped it on the roof of the car before flooring the gas pedal. Now that they also got to ignore red lights and make other cars on the road get out of their way, they can reach you sooner than 10 minutes.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It took forever to reach the underground level of this building, and it didn't help that the limited light almost had you tumbling down the stairs if it weren't for Yoonsu guiding you so confidently through the dark.

Once you felt that your feet were on solid floor, Yoonsu swung at you, managing to land a punch hard enough that it had you lying on the floor. You tasted blood, and your right cheek ached like a bitch. The fucker just broke your nose. You groaned at the pain, holding on to your nose as Yoonsu went down to straddle you, pulling on the lapels of your leather blazer.

"How did you do it?" He gritted out.

"Do what?" You bit out, the blood that dripped into your lips sputtered out as you talked.

He gave you a harsh slap on your face, that had your teeth tearing the inside of your cheek. What a mean piece of shit, for slapping you where he had just landed a punch on you. Your right cheek was going to swell up into a puff.

"How did you wipe away the file without me noticing, you slimy bitch."

You spit out the blood and began to laugh, wheezing and cackling like a hyena. Oh, you had the sense that he had decided to kill you tonight. Landing blows on your face without a care of the consequences—he was crashing out, and it was a hilarious sight to behold.

Not as smart as he thought he was, huh?

When you saw his arm rising to land another blow on you, you quickly caught it, twisting it as hard as you could, giving yourself the chance to slip your leg up from under him and kicked him in the stomach to get him off of you. The kick had him wheezing, holding on to his stomach as he lied on his back.

Thank god for the self defense lessons Geonwoo and Woojin had put you through. In fact, you were just thankful for Geonwoo and Woojin in general.

"I stole my brother's old phone and sim card, used it to contact Detective Do. You didn't even notice it—because you're not as smart as you think you are, bastard." Your voice sounded guttural, like an animal growling.

When you went to kick him while he was down, he caught your ankle and pulled on it, causing you to fall on your back, the back of your head making an impact on the floor. That wasn't good. That was going to hinder you. You can already feel your world spinning.

Well, at least you didn't black out—so that counts as something, right?

He stood up and pulled you along as you tried to focus, trying to will away the spontaneous major headache. He punched you in the stomach, and that was a low move on his part—because he had kicked you in the stomach a week ago. It was cheap shit. Him calling you a slimy bitch? He was the slimy one.

But all those years of wasting away, not able to afford the luxurious lifestyle anymore, losing access to top notch personal trainers and private gyms—he's gotten skinny, his combat skills turned rusty. He's gotten significantly weak, that's why cheap shots and blackmail were all that could do now.

When you realised it, you laughed again, even as you held your stomach because laughing was making it hurt, but you didn't give a shit. God, he's gotten so pathetic. It's fucking hilarious.

"You think you're slick? You think you're smart, princess? You knew the blackmail was gone, but you followed me here anyway like some kind of idiot—for what? Have you gotten used to me pulling on you by your leash, bitch?" He was practically frothing at the mouth, spit flying out as he spoke to you, pulling on your hair so you could face him directly.

"No," You muttered out, gripping on his collar and pushing him into an emergency box containing a fire extinguisher, and the glass shattered when his head made impact with it, "I knew that if I let Detective Do take me away from you, you'd just kill yourself, because you'd realise you've lost everything at that point."

Pulling away from him, you returned the favor and landed a cheap shot on him too—a kick to his groin, hard enough it had him kneeling on the floor at the pain, sputtering out insanely vile curses at you. You stood above him, wiping away the blood that dripped down your chin.

"And I want to know where you buried Junyoung. Since I already told you how I wiped out your blackmail file, it's only fair—" You paused, feeling a sick sense of satisfaction rush through your veins when you actually managed to kick him in the stomach this time as he writhed on the floor, "—you tell me what I want to know now. I played your game, Yoonsu, but I also got to win it too—so give me my prize, you fucker."

Then you gave him another kick, this time harder than before, as it sent him sliding on the tiled floor.

He mumbled out something you can't quite hear.

"What?"

He mumbled again.

You crouched next to his writhing form, pulling his head up by the hairs of his scalp, making him wince. He didn't realise you could be this violent. He wanted to laugh when he realised the psychological torture he put you through was what pushed you to the brink like this.

"Oh, sweetie—I buried him at your highschool, at that abandoned plant nursery your students stopped working on. I gave those poor neglected plants some good fertilizer."

You let go of his head at his answer. Yoonsu wheezed some more, until he suddenly stopped.

"I'll bury you there too. Since you love him so much, I'll let you rot away alongside him."

You instinctively tried to distance yourself from him at his sudden change of air, but he was faster. He sat up, and you suddenly felt a sharp pain in your mid torso.

As you glanced down, you saw that he had stabbed you with a big glass shard of the broken emergency box you shoved him into. You gasped when he pulled it out of you, only for him to stab you again, in a lower spot than the previous stab wound. He watched as you fell on your back, hands frantically trying to cover where he had just stabbed you.

The stairs rumbled, and Yoonsu glanced up to see it was that pesky Detective Do at the top of the stairs along with a man Yoonsu didn't recognize—he deducted it was probably Kyungsoo's newest partner.

When Kyungsoo saw you lying on the ground, blood seeping through your white shirt as you desperately tried to cover your wounds up with your hands, he felt his heart stop. Right next to you, Junyoung—no, Yoonsu—Yoonsu was sitting next to you, holding on a big glass shard that was slathered in blood.

He had stabbed you.

Yoonsu stabbed you.

Then Yoonsu pointed the glass shard to himself.

"NO—"

He stabbed himself in the throat.

Kyungsoo and Taeyong ran to you both. The older detective went to the criminal while the younger one went to you, pressing on your wounds to hamper the blood loss. Kyungsoo observed the glass shard in Yoonsu's throat. Judging from how much blood he was losing in a rapid rate, there was nothing he could do. Yoonsu hit his own artery. Nothing could save him, but you however—

Kyungsoo took out his walkie talkie, requesting an ambulance for you. He let out a loud 'THANK FUCK' when the nearest ambulance was just close by since this part of downtown Seoul needed constant assistance from emergency responders anyway.

He turned to you. Kyungsoo focused on pressing one stab wound while Taeyong on the other, both men didn't care that your blood was staining their clothes.

"Kid, don't go to sleep, okay? Fuck—just—you just—" Kyungsoo can feel his heart dropping as the seconds went by, and suddenly 5 minutes felt like too long for the ambulance to come by.

"...hold on?" You let out weakly.

Kyungsoo nodded, feeling his tears welling up in his eyes. By no means was he still a rookie, to still get so emotionally worked up over a case and its victims—but you were different. You were already one of Yoonsu's victims when you had to work as a stripper for him all those years ago, but here you were again. You had been tormented by Yoonsu again. You got hurt again.

And you were still too young to be going through this.

"Old plant nursery, Cheongdaebi Highschool..." You whispered.

"What about that place?" Kyungsoo spoke through the tears, straining his ears to listen to you better. He recognized Cheongdaebi High—it had been the high school you attended.

"Junyoung's body...please find him this time..." Your hand went to his, weakly gripping on his wrist, as Kyungsoo whispered out his promise to you to uncover Junyoung's body, his tears landing on your body.

Then your hand also went to Taeyong's.

"Remember the note I gave you, Detective Lee..." You turned your head to look at Taeyong next.

"T-The note?" Taeyong choked out, momentarily confused, then finally remembered that day in the café when you suddenly popped up, "Yes! The note! I'll let them know, Y/N. I promise I will."

You smiled, the corner of your lips barely moving, and your eyes began to flutter open and shut rapidly, making the two men panic.

"Fuck—Y/N! Kid! DON'T—"

"Detective Do, we've arrived at the abandoned factory! Where are you and the victim?" A voice from Kyungsoo's walkie talkie cut through his yelling.

Taeyong sprinted to the stairs, yelling from the top of his lungs to grab the paramedics' attention and letting them know they needed to bring the stretcher down with them.

When you were getting wheeled into the bus, Taeyong urged Kyungsoo to accompany you to the hospital, as they watched the paramedic zip up the body bag over Yoonsu's body. The younger detective could see Kyungsoo had an emotional tie to you, so it should ease his mind for a bit if he got to ride with you in the ambulance.

"What about you?" Kyungsoo asked hurriedly.

Taeyong took out a piece of folded up paper from his jacket's inner pocket.

"I need to inform her family."

prev | masterlist | next

A/N : WARRRR ISSSS OVERRRRRR 😫 YOONSU'S FUCKING DEAD BITCHES

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

• taglist • [CLOSED]

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[loseractivities]

Ok time to yap about Billy Loomis. What is bros sexuality?

Billy is 100% gay. I also think that he’s on the aromantic/asexual spectrum, with the best label fitting him being demiaroace. In simple terms, I think the only way he feels authentic romantic/sexual attraction is when he has a very deep emotional, (whether he likes to admit that or not), bond with someone.

People often like to bring up his romantic relationship with Sidney and his sexual affairs with other women, one of which we have proof of in the later movies. Because he was dating Sidney before his mom even left, and they were known to have started off “hot and heavy”, (as Billy likes to call it), he didn’t really have any reason to be doing that. Or did he?!

It goes without being said that Billy is a conventionally attractive white male in the ‘90s. In the movie, we already see Billy’s efforts to appear as normal as possible, wearing bland clothes with little room for interpretation and speaking very little to others. Which leads to why Billyboy was sleeping with girls when he was a big fat QUEER!! …

Billy loves control! He loves it, he loves planning everything out and acting it out like it’s a movie because of his dumb special interest. He loves predictability, he loves feeling normal, and he loves having control over people. What better way to feel in control, (perhaps of his own sexuality), than by sleeping with and casually dating girls!! It makes so much sense.

How does Stu play into this?

Well firstly Stu is Billy’s only real friend. Through subtext we can tell that Billy trusts Stu a lot, considering he trusted him to 1. Call Sidney while he was in jail. 2. Be ghostface with him and have him not tell anyone. 3. Literally fucking stab him… The list goes on. People like to say that Stu didn’t know Billy’s real motive too, which is fucking stupid because why wouldn’t Billy tell him this?? One entire year between murdering Sidney’s mother and then eventually attempting to murder her and all her friends, and you’re telling me Stu wouldn’t have suspected a thing? Just for fun?? Yeah right!

Also people try to say “okay, well then why did Billy stab him so much in the kitchen if he wasn’t trying to kill him”? Firstly it was always part of the plan for Stu and Billy to be the only survivors because only one survivor is extremely suspicious. Secondly you can tell he was just not thinking clearly, he acted on his anger and lost focus of his goal (KILLING SIDNEY??NOT HIS BF??) which is something he NEVER DOES!!

Man,, the whole final act is my favorite, because it really shows both Billy and Stu coming apart and quite literally COMING OUT as the killers. Come on guys. Media. Fucking. Literacy. They literally penetrate each other right in front of Billy’s girlfriend, and that shit was freaky as fuck.

ANYway I’m going off on a tangent. I do wanna talk about why Billy didn’t explicitly say anything about being gay when he so very obviously is. Billy, in all areas, is much less obvious than Stu.

He’s closed off, secretive, keeps up a pretty believable facade to everyone until the finally is able to drop the act. It makes sense he isn’t as physically or verbally affectionate with Stu, and for this reason people are more inclined to believe Stu is gay and in love with Billy more than Billy is gay and in love with him. Well, in order to get a good sense of Billy’s relationship with Stu, you have to look deeper. Let’s start with some things from the script, since there are very few scenes with the two interacting.

Stu and Billy, in the script, are best friends, have known each other since kindergarten, and are partners in crime. Billy obviously is capable of forming strong bonds and connections with very specific people. Even unhealthily so, and we see this in the relationship he has with his mother. He idolizes her, victimizes her, makes her more than she was as a coping mechanism and never officially comes to terms with the fact his mom probably wasn’t as great as he remembers. And when his mom leaves, he breaks, needs control (as stated previously) because his life is suddenly unstable and who does he turn to? Stu!

Also I just wanna say when Stu drapes over his back Billy leans into him okay thanks. Body language in this movie means SO FUCKING MUCH TO ME these actors did amazing. When Billy follows Sidney inside the look of CONTEMPT ON HIS FACE!! The way he looks through his eyelashes. The acting is impeccable Skeety, I love you!!!! 😐😐 Also the way Billy looks at Stu before stabbing himmm…He;s in love I promise. In whatever way he knows how

Lastly the boy has autism

Passionate interests, he loves horror movies and constantly references them throughout the film. Even at unconventional times, like when his girlfriend is venting about her dead mother. Eye contact and too much staring. Meltdowns when overstimulated. The whole last act was just him stimming and destroying shit because stuff didn’t go his way. Bad reactions when plans are interrupted. At the staircase when Sid runs away he punches himself in frustration. Talks with hands in Sidney’s room about The Exorcist. Favorite person/people (his mom and Stu). Extremely overdramatic. When he got fake stabbed. When he falls down the fucking stairs for no reason. Finally, just socially awkward. Any word out of his mouth makes people uneasy. Ez

…Finally for Billy I js wanna say he arches it a lot and I think only someone who takes it like a good boy wpu;ld do that Ok im done by.e

LIKE AND SUBSCRIBE FOR MORE BANGERS LIKE THIS ONE

[o3o-lapd-o3o]

okay here's part 3! (still no dinner scene sorry, but we're slowly getting there!) (this is a long one heads up)

the post/thread that started this whole au

dinner scene: part 1 | part 2

*back at the palace*

penelope: i wonder how it went…

penelope: *starts walking toward the entrance for the palace gardens*

penelope: *notices odysseus running through the gardens towards the very same entrance*

penelope: *was concerned until she could clearly see a joyful look on her husband’s face*

odysseus: *sees penelope and heads towards her*

penelope: *notices and opens her arms for an embrace*

odysseus: *grabs penelope by the waist and twirls her around in the air* good morning wife, did you miss me?

penelope: *holding onto odysseus’ shoulders laughing*

penelope: good morning husband *leans down to kiss odysseus*

penelope: *looks him in the eyes with a smile* more than you know.

odysseus: *smiles back with eyes full of adoration*

odysseus: *goes in for another kiss*

*a while later after many more morning kisses between the two*

*penelope & odysseus now walking arm in arm back into the palace*

penelope: so, i’m assuming by the look i saw on your face, your friend agreed to dinner?

odysseus: uh yeah, surprisingly he did. no forcing or threats needed.

penelope: *hums and holds a finger to her chin in slight thought*

odysseus: *wondering what she’s thinking of* penelope?

penelope: *giggles and looks at odysseus* maybe you’re already more friends than you thought?

odysseus: *blinks repeatedly and then shakes his head*

odysseus: my love, trust me… the god of the seas and i are not friends

odysseus: *looks down in thought* after everything that’s happened, i don’t think we could ever be

penelope: *stops walking and turns to odysseus who has also stopped walking*

penelope: *holds her hand to odysseus’ cheek* i thought you said after all these incidents on the sailing trips with our son, that you had put that behind you?

odysseus: *leans into her hand and reaches to hold it with his own*

odysseus: *sighs* i- i have. i admit that while it’s a lot of fun being able to mess with him… all that anger & resentment i held has left me.

penelope: *gives a small smile*  

penelope: how do you know that lord poseidon hasn’t too? maybe he’s learnt to forgive?

odysseus: *thinks back to the moment he held his hand out to poseidon while on his raft, asking him the same question*

odysseus: … *blinks the memory away*

odysseus: yeah… i don’t think so, i tried that once already…

odysseus: *grabs both penelope’s hands* anyway! that doesn’t matter-

odysseus: *lets go of her hands and once again links his arm with hers*  what matters is… what the cooks have planned for breakfast!

penelope: *letting the subject drop for now*

penelope: *smiles* i don’t know about breakfast… but i’m sure that after you and our son’s fishing trip, i would say fish is the plan again for lunch *laughs*

odysseus: *laughs with her* yes, we certainly brought enough back.

odysseus: though speaking of our son. just how excited do you think he’ll be when i tell him the good news?

penelope: oh, i am sure he’ll be delighted! why don’t you go wake him for breakfast and let him know?

penelope: *unlinks their arms, turns and gives odysseus another quick kiss* i shall see you soon my dear husband

odysseus: yes soon, my lovely wife *watches her go down the hall until she out of sight*

odysseus: *turns to head the way to his son’s bedroom*

*odysseus arrives at the door leading to telemachus’ room*

odysseus: *knocks on the door*

odysseus: telemachus? are you awake yet?

*after hearing no response & no noise to signal movement*

odysseus: *gently opens the door and heads inside*

odysseus: *looks across the room to the bed and sees his son still fast asleep*

odysseus: *makes his way over, while looking at the walls covered tapestries of monsters, -also seeing ones he himself has faced- all slightly starting to fray from the years they’ve been hanging there*

odysseus: *sees the newest tapestry above telemachus’ bed -one he knows that penelope and athena had weaved together- the tapestry of him, penelope & telemachus also including a owl sitting on telemachus’ shoulder*

odysseus: *smiles* *gently sits down on the edge of his son’s bed*

odysseus: *reaches his hand out to stroke telemachus’ hair, like he would do when he was just a baby*

odysseus: *in a soft voice* telemachus, son it’s time to wake up

telemachus: *makes a small groan at being woken up*

telemachus: *voice heavy with sleep* father?

odysseus: *pulls his hand back & chuckles to himself at his son’s sleepy confusion* yes, it’s me, did you sleep well?

telemachus: *now slightly more awake* yeah, i dreamt of the dolphins we saw a while ago-

telemachus: *sleepiness long gone and now slightly excited* -did you manage to speak to lord poseidon?!

odysseus: *smiling at his son’s excitement* i did indeed

telemachus: annnnnd?

odysseus: he will be at dinner tomorrow

telemachus: *leaps forward at his father and hugs him* yes! thank you for asking him!

odysseus: *hugs his son back* i promised i would didn’t i?

telemachus: *lets his father go and gets ready to get of bed* i need to start planning for tomorrow-

odysseus: *laughs and stops his son from running off* yes you can, but later. first you need to wash yourself up and get down to dining hall

telemachus: how come?

odysseus: it’s morning remember? the cooks have made us breakfast and your mother is waiting for us to join her

telemachus: oh yeah! that makes sense.

telemachus: *gets out of bed more calmly* okay well i’ll wash up quick and be there shortly

odysseus: okay i’ll see you there *watches his son leave*

odysseus: *to himself* i guess i’d better make my way there mysel-

*a small breeze hits him and then a soft hoot of an owl sounds out*

odysseus: *turns to see athena in owl form sitting on the perch by the balcony, that odysseus had made for telemachus’ room*

odysseus: *hands on hips* so how come when i was young, you had me up for training everyday before sunrise, yet my son gets to lay in?

athena: *turns back into her normal appearance* good morning to you too odysseus

odysseus: don’t change the subject ‘thena

athena: *shrugs* what can i say? times have changed

odysseus: *drops his arms and laughs*

odysseus: *looks back to the (family photo) tapestry* indeed they have

odysseus: *looks back to athena* so, breakfast?

athena: *smiles* let’s go.. my friend

odysseus: *smiles back and then heads out telemachus’ room with athena*

[aeliem]

1st horseman - Conquest

(click for better quality)

timelapse and rambles under the cut

i finally fucking did it hell yeah!!!

ok so i had the idea to have each bad sans (killer, dust, horror & nightmare) as each of the horsemen of the apocalypse. i started it about a months ago, planning to release it on halloween (turns out that didnt really work out as you can see)

but now its finally done! the 4 drawings are all finished, im gonna post them over the course of this month so i have time to focus on comics (i have one comic in mind especially where all the scenes are done, i just need to make a clean script and makes the actual pages) (and maybe writing? i've been reading stuff on ao3 and im getting inspired)

also some stuff in the drawing (easter eggs? idk)

the purple color on the bow end & feathers is the KR/karma color (or at least close enough) Dust's eye is red & cyan (obviously), but i always headcanon him as having more patience than perseverance (except purple on red looks like shit so i draw it cyan anyway), but i did add a small sliver of purple between the 2 colors the text in the background is the message you get at the end of a fight when leveling up, and this one specifically (200 XP 0 gold) is for papyrus

anyways

Why Conquest for Dust?

part of it was by elimination, but between the 4 choices i feel Conquest matches best thematically. famine is out of the question, death feels too important to be him, and civil war is too chaotic/not really as calculated as i imagine him to be.

conquest's elements are: the color white, a bow, and the themes of conquest, but also "noble" war (between countries, by opposition to civil war) or religious war. white isn't especially about dust, but the bow i feel works because he would fight at a distance (and generally try to distance himself from what he's doing)

Dust's story is all about fighting an enemy who's on the other side of the barrier (the human), so linking it to war makes sense, and he thinks going on a killing spree is the only way he can save everyone/make things right, so the "noble" side of it matches pretty well. (also conquest can be/has been interpreted as the christ/antichrist, and i headcanon Dust has a huge savior complex so this absolutely matches)

enough ramblings, here's the timelapse!

[bananayuyu]

Heart Burn

Pairing: Yunho x f reader

Genre: fluff

Word count: 1.4k

Summary: You and your boyfriend have been planning this fun little scene for weeks now. Unfortunately your stomach has other plans.

Warnings: suggestive stuff, established relationship, reader has bad gut pain, (no smut but they are playing out a fantasy scene in the beginning kind of)

A/n: My tummy hurts and I want him to love me :(

All you'd wanted was for the scene to go well.

It had been in your calendar for three weeks now. You'd finally told him, in the cold comfort of the night, that'd you'd had this fantasy ever since you met him. Ever since you met him at his old law office, when you went with your friend to be moral support.

The suit really did it for you, you can't lie. You'd visited him at work many times just to see him in it. God did you wish he could take you right there, right in his little office, only unzipping his pants enough to fuck you.

But today as you stand in his apartment, the cool stone of the countertop hitting your lower back, you just aren't in the mood.

Your stomach is fucked, has been all day, and you don't know what it is. You haven't eaten anything you shouldn't, haven't done anything different. You've taken all your meds, like you always do. You even rested today in preparation for this, making sure your schedule was clear. But you haven't been able to eat since the late morning, and you're exhausted despite the rest.

"Hello, can I help you?" Yunho quips, stepping out of his tiny home office to greet you as if you were a perspective client.

"Hi, sir, I'm here to meet with Mr. Jeong," you say, bowing your head to him.

"Ah, you must be y/n," he smiles, bowing in response. "I'm ready for our meeting, if you'd like to follow me." He holds out his arms towards his office, waiting for you as you step past him through the door. He's moved the setup of the room around a bit, to accommodate the night's activities, so his desk is now in the center of the room, and one of his dining chairs has been placed in front of it. "You can have a seat in this chair here," he says, pulling it out for you. You sit down gently, trying to remain focused, trying to get into the scene, into the right mindset. But you just can't.

Yunho walks around to the other side of his desk, sitting down in his chair and ruffling with some papers. He plays the part so well, so easily, and you know if you weren't in so much pain that you'd be eating up every second of it.

"So, we're here to discuss your grandmother's estate, is that correct?" You just nod along, letting him lead you in the made up story. "What exactly has been the problem?"

"It's my mother, sir. She is determined to keep the money and assets away from me and my sister, even though my grandmother stated she wants it to be split between us. I just wanted to make sure we had the right legal protections in place," you say, hoping it sounds plausible enough to suffice.

"It's good you're getting ahead of this. Or I'm assuming you are, your grandmother hasn't passed yet, has she?"

"No sir, but her cancer has returned and she's decided she doesn't want treatment this time. She's on hospice. We probably still have a few months with her, but we don't know exactly," you say, sighing.

"I'm so sorry to hear that. I hope my help can ease some of the stress you must be feeling. Are you feeling okay?" Yunho cocks a brow, looking straight into your eyes. He's a bit surprised with the direction you're taking the story; it's much darker than he expected, and your sigh sounded all too real. He knows you're not that good of an actor.

"I'm fine, sir," you respond, but tears are brimming a bit, and you're clenching your arms around yourself because of the pain in your guts.

"Are you cold? I apologize, the heat isn't so great in this room," he says, staring at you now with extreme concern.

"A- a bit, sir," you nod, staring down at your crop top, depressed by the bloated look of your abdomen. You'd planned this outfit weeks ago, just like you'd planned his, but your body didn't really feel fit for it this afternoon when you put it on.

"Let me grab you something," he says, stepping up from his desk and leaving the room, returning not long after with one of his zip up hoodies.

"Here, you can take this. I keep it here in the office in case I need to work late and it's cold," he smiles, the words tumbling out of him with such ease. You snake it around you, wrapping it tightly instead of zipping it up, curling up into a ball on the chair. "Can I help you zip it?" he asks, looking for an in to touching you, and finally getting this scene more underway.

"Sure, thank you," you say, and he fixes you with a look that you know all too well. "Thank you, sir," you correct yourself, watching as his expression changes and he squats down in front of you, zipping up the hoodie for you.

"There, does that feel better?" he asks, rubbing a hand down your upper arm, smiling up in such an endearing way. But just as he does that a sharp pain snakes up your esophagus, and you can feel your whole gastrointestinal system is on fire. You wince, but try to hide it, nodding your head to answer him.

Suddenly his face changes, and his body language too.

"Baby, what's wrong?" he asks you, his voice different, not in character anymore. You just stare at him wide eyed, confused. You hadn't used your safe word, or said anything else to break the scene. Even if you maybe should have.

"I'm taking us out of the scene for good tonight if you don't tell me what's wrong," he says, voice stern but loving.

"My stomach," you sigh, looking beyond him, tears brimming again.

"It just started hurting?" he asks.

"All day," you shake your head, frowning.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks, taking your hands in his.

"We'd been planning this for a while," you pout, still not looking at him.

"Baby, we have all the time in the world to do these things together. If you're not feeling well then we should reschedule. How you feel is what matters most," he says, and the tears start flowing, your breaths getting shaky. "Shh, come here," he coos, bending forward to pull you into a hug, tucking your head into his shoulder and holding it in his hand.

"I'm so sorry you're not feeling well, love," he says, placing a gentle kiss on your temple. "Have you eaten anything today?"

"Only breakfast," you mumble into his shoulder.

"Poor thing, you must be feeling exhausted," he says, and you nod into him. "Can I run you a bath?" he asks, and you mumble mmhm in response.

A few moments later he's off to start it, returning to carry you to the bathroom, slowly taking off your clothes. He knows the scene won't be happening tonight but he still loves getting to see you naked, even when you're feeling so shitty and constantly telling him to look away.

"You're so pretty," he says, and you whine in response, staring down at yourself. "I wish she'd fucking behave," he points to your stomach, leaning down to place a gentle kiss just to the right of your belly button. "She needs someone to punish her and make her get in line," he jokes, and you laugh too.

He then starts stripping off his clothes too, his beautiful suit taking a while to fully unbutton. You watch in awe from the bathroom, as he stands in the hallway, gently placing his suit back on it's hanger in the closet.

"What?" he asks you, quirking a brow jokingly. You roll your eyes, looking away briefly, but not able to keep your eyes away from his naked form for long. "You can't stop staring," he says, smirking, finally moving back in to join you. He helps you gingerly step into the tub, stepping in along with you. He sits himself behind you, his strong legs stretching out along the bottom of his large tub, and he carefully places you on top of him.

You whine and lean your head back, another pain striking somewhere in your small intestine. But the heat of the water is very relaxing, making things feel like they're moving in the direction they need to be, in the direction of feeling better.

"Come here, my love," Yunho says, wrapping his arms around you, kissing your forehead. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," you say, closing your eyes and letting your body completely relax against his.

Soon you're out, the warmth and comfort lulling you out of this reality, and finally you're getting the rest your body really needed tonight.

[wannabanauthor]

I have a BuckTommy idea/prompt:

Tin foil hat time

What if Chimney was trying to get Buck to date again so he could tell Tommy and get Tommy to realize what he’s lost?

So Chimney sets Buck on a blind date with a super hot gay guy, but it’s all apart of his plan. He knows Tommy well enough to know what restaurants he frequents and what nights.

But before Buck arrives, the guy finds Tommy sitting at the bar in the restaurant and starts flirting with him. Maybe the guy even mentions that he has a hot date in a few minutes with this bisexual guy.

Once Buck shows up, the date gets up and greets him, and makes sure Buck doesn’t notice Tommy.

Tommy, however, sees the whole thing, and panics because he didn’t expect Buck to start dating again so soon, and Buck’s date is an asshole for flirting with Tommy before Buck showed up.

So Tommy is stuck between letting the date happen and probably progressing, or he can be honest with Buck that his date was flirting with him until Buck arrived.

Tommy calls Chimney in a panic, and Chimney tells him “you should definitely let Buck know that his date is a flirt”.

Tommy is torn on what to do, but Chimney gives him that final push. Instead of confronting them, Tommy texts Buck “your date was flirting with me before you showed up”.

Buck gets the text is excited to see it’s from Tommy, but then he reads it and goes bright red.

Meanwhile his date asks “is something wrong?”

Buck says “Yeah, you were flirting with my ex-boyfriend before I showed up.” He looks around for Tommy and sees him leaving out the front door.

Buck ends the date and follows Tommy outside to confront him.

He’s nervous but is happy to see Tommy again, but he’s also a brat and gets snarky with Tommy and calls him a coward for leaving him twice.

They start arguing about their breakup, and Buck says “I’m in love with you, asshole, that’s why I asked you to move in. I wanted a future with you. It you didn’t want one with me.”

Tommy is stunned and starts to cry, but Buck is not having it.

He starts asking “Why am I not good enough to fight for? Why did you leave me? You wanted to protect your heart, but you destroyed mine.”

Tommy says, “I’ve been through this enough times to know when it’s time to go. You’re still new to things. It wouldn’t have worked out between us.”

Buck says, “I’m not those other guys! I’m me, and you keep dismissing my feelings as if I haven’t been in a relationship before. Just because you’re my first boyfriend doesn’t mean my past relationships don’t count toward dating experience. Do you not love me, is that what it is? I’d rather you tell me the truth so I can move on.”

Tommy whispers, “I’m in love with you too, and I’m scared you’re going to leave me. I’m sorry, I should have been honest with you from the start or even before we made it to six months. I just wanted to enjoy myself for once and not think about the future , but I fell in love with you so hard and unexpectedly that I didn’t know what to do.”

“Do I need to propose or something to convince you that I’m serious? Hell, should we drive to Vegas to get married to prove to you that I’m in this for the rest of my life? What do I need to do to prove to you that you’re my last?” Buck asks, crying now too.

That of course spooks Tommy again, but Buck isn’t allowing him to leave this time.

“Tell me, please,” Bucks says between sobs.

Tommy kisses him. He lets his hand wander through Buck’s curls, and pulls away when he needs oxygen.

“I love you so much, it hurts,” Tommy says.

“Then stay. Talk to me. Let’s try counseling or something. There has to be a better way than just ending things,” Buck suggests and Tommy nods.

Buck has a huge grin even with the tears. He kisses Tommy, and they just hold onto each other while crying.

Chimney gets a text the next day from Tommy, “you’re a dick, but it worked”.

End scene. What do you think?

[simplygojo]

The Devil He Made Me - Ch. 12

Authors Note: Alright guys I got a bit carried away with this chapter, that's why i'm posting it so late IMSORRY! But this is my version of the beach episode-except its a pool, lol. I hope you've all been well, I'm super excited for these upcoming chapters...I hope you are too! luv u all <3 Also my bad bc I did not edit this at all

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f/reader

Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary : After a very angsty night due to all the events of the day prior, Gojo takes you to a hotel before heading to the Gojo estate for a while to sort things out and go someplace safe. Little do you know—its a nice ass hotel, and he's brought along a surprise.

Word Count: 6.3k

Warnings: good times, fluff, pool party! mild angst

Taglist: @mawhoreagaa; @peqch-pie; @blue-serendipity; @simplyyyuji; @starrnai; @sorcerersseestars; @n1vi; @angryglitterperfection; @krak-jj; @coweringbear; @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni; @cococola-cocaine; @sdv98o; @theendx888; @dvmb4ssbiatch; @sugxryratz; @kinny-away; @crankyarchives; @enfppuff; @nanamisrighthand; If you’d like to be added to the series tag list, leave a comment below:)

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The hum of the car blends with the city’s distant sounds as the sleek black vehicle zips through Tokyo’s streets. 

You glance at Gojo in the driver’s seat, one hand casually resting on the steering wheel while he taps a rhythm with the other. He's unusually quiet, a sly smile tugging at his lips like he's savouring some inside joke.

You can’t help but give him a curious look. “You’re being suspiciously quiet, Gojo.”

He grins, his eyes hidden behind his trademark sunglasses. 

“Suspicious? Me? No, no. I’m just soaking up the atmosphere. You’ll see why soon enough.”

“Atmosphere?” You echo, eyeing the cityscape flashing by the window. “We’re just going to a hotel. Right?”

“Oh, we’re going to the hotel, thank you very much,” he says, giving you a conspiratorial look. “Only the best. You’ll get it when we get there.”

You shake your head, wondering what he’s got planned. With Gojo, there’s always a fifty-fifty chance of something extravagant or completely chaotic. 

"Oh, come on. I know you’re excited. You deserve a little luxury, and besides—" he pauses for dramatic effect, "—we’re going all out." 

He makes a finger-gun gesture at you like this whole thing is part of some elaborate game he’s running, and you roll your eyes.

Before you can press him for more details, the car takes a sharp turn, and your jaw drops as you take in the hotel in front of you. 

It’s towering, sleek, and wrapped in glistening glass panels that reflect the city lights back out in shimmering fragments. 

The whole place screams opulence.

As Gojo pulls up to the grand entrance, a flock of impeccably dressed bellhops practically materializes to greet the car. One of them opens your door with a polite bow, while two more appear on Gojo’s side, ready to relieve you both of your bags.

You step out, blinking at the scene. “I thought we were just staying here for the night, not moving in.”

Gojo slides out of the driver’s seat, tossing his sunglasses into the car before he gives you an exaggerated shrug. 

“Why would we settle for ‘just a room’?” He grins, then gestures toward the lobby’s gilded doors. “Come on, you’re gonna love this.”

He leads you inside, where a glistening chandelier illuminates the lobby, bathing the space in golden light. 

You’re still in awe when he presses the button for the top floor, and you side-eye him with a mix of intrigue and suspicion. “Just what exactly are we walking into?”

“You’ll see,” he says, winking. “Trust me.”

You smile but roll your eyes. His playfulness is a great distraction from the nerves that had been simmering just below the surface all day. 

The moment Gojo had suggested a night out before heading to his place, you'd felt a mix of anticipation and unease. 

Spending time alone with him, away from the academy, made you wonder what he had planned. Gojo always had that unpredictable edge—one moment, he'd be serious, focused, even a bit mysterious, and the next, he'd be grinning with that mischievous sparkle in his eye, as if he’d just thought of the world’s greatest prank.

The elevator ride up feels endless, the anticipation building as the numbers climb higher and higher. 

The elevator ride up feels endless, the anticipation building as the numbers climb higher and higher. 

You glance at Gojo, who’s sporting a smug grin, hands casually in his pockets, looking all too pleased with himself. 

Just as you open your mouth to ask what exactly he’s dragged you into, the elevator chimes, and the doors slide open.

A loud “SURPRISE!” nearly makes you jump out of your skin.

Standing in the hallway, dressed in fuzzy robes, are Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi. Yuji’s grinning from ear to ear, holding up a peace sign; Nobara looks smug, clearly revelling in the shock on your face, and Megumi’s leaning against the wall, attempting to act as if he’s above all this, though even he’s stifling a small smile.

Gojo raises his hands as if presenting a grand prize. 

“I couldn’t leave them out of the fun! What kind of teacher would I be if I didn’t bring the whole team?” He winks at you before throwing an arm around Yuji. 

“Besides, I rented out the entire top floor! Each of you gets your own room, fully stocked, premium everything. And don’t worry,” he adds, turning to you with a grin, “I made sure we have a connected suite so I can keep an eye on you.”

Nobara smirked, folding her arms as she gave you and Gojo a knowing look.

“Ohhh, a connected suite, huh? Gotta keep an eye on her, orrrr…?” She raises an eyebrow, feigning innocence but clearly enjoying your flustered reaction.

Yuji snickers, nudging Megumi. “Yeah, totally for ‘safety,’ right? Good thing we’re all here to keep you two in line,” he says, barely stifling his laughter.

Gojo just rolls his eyes, though he’s clearly amused by their suggestion. 

“Exactly. I wouldn’t trust any of you to keep from causing chaos without proper supervision,” he says, ruffling Yuji’s hair. “Besides, who says I’m not keeping an eye on all of you?”

You try to brush off the teasing, but Nobara’s grin only widens. “Sure, sure, Gojo-sensei. Whatever you say,” she sings, clearly not buying his excuse.

You feel the heat rising to your face, and Gojo’s only response is a wink in your direction, as if to say, Let them think what they want.

Nobara claps her hands together in delight. “I knew this wasn’t just gonna be a ‘simple night out.’ You’re really spoiling us, sensei!”

Yuji bounces over, nudging you with a conspiratorial grin. “Gojo-sensei said there’s room service and a rooftop pool!”

“Oh, and karaoke,” Nobara adds, her eyes gleaming as she nudges Megumi. “We’ll find out if our ‘Mr. Cool’ here has any hidden talents.”

Megumi sighs, folding his arms and glaring half-heartedly at Gojo. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head as the whole scene unfolds. Gojo gives you a smug grin, clearly revelling in his grand reveal.

Gojo gives a dramatic sigh, as if their surprise is the greatest validation he’s ever received. 

“You all deserve a night to unwind—just make sure not to destroy anything. I promised management we’d behave,” he says, looking pointedly at Nobara, who immediately rolls her eyes.

Gojo claps his hands together, grinning as if he’s just announced the party of the century. 

“Alright, troops! Meet me at the rooftop pool in twenty minutes. Swimsuits are in your rooms—yes, I thought of everything.” He flashes a look that’s somehow both playful and utterly smug.

Yuji pumps a fist in the air, already halfway down the hall. “Race you there!”

Megumi groans, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “As long as you don’t start cannonballing the second you get there.”

Nobara tosses her hair, giving Gojo a cheeky salute. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to keep everyone in line,” she says with a smirk aimed your way.

Gojo chuckles, then turns to you, offering his arm. 

“Shall we, partner?” He tilts his head toward the suite, a glint in his eye that suggests this might be just the beginning of his elaborate surprises for the night.

Looping your arm through his, you walk together down the plush, carpeted hallway. When you reach the end, Gojo swipes the keycard and opens the door to a sprawling suite that practically glows with opulence.

He gestures dramatically, like he’s unveiling a masterpiece. “Behold—your palace for the night.”

Stepping inside, you take in the stunning view of Tokyo’s skyline from the floor-to-ceiling windows. The room itself is a blend of sleek modern design and luxurious comfort, with plush seating, a massive bed, and a mini-bar that’s practically overflowing. You’re still processing it all when Gojo nudges you toward the far wall.

“Best part’s over here,” he says, sliding open a frosted glass door halfway to reveal a small passage that connects to his suite next door.

Gojo slides the frosted glass door open with a flourish, revealing a narrow passage leading into his suite. 

He taps the glass, grinning like he’s showing off a masterpiece. “See? Practically paper-thin. If anything happens, I’ll be right there in an instant.”

You smirk, crossing your arms. “And by ‘anything,’ you mean…?”

He feigns innocence, his eyes wide but gleaming with mischief. 

“Oh, you know, emergencies.” He taps his chin as if thinking it over. “Like, if you forget how to work the TV or you need someone to fetch you snacks…or I get bored.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “So, the real reason you set this up is to play hero over a snack shortage?”

He leans in just a bit closer, his voice dropping playfully. “Maybe I just didn’t want you to feel alone. It’s a big, fancy hotel, after all.”

You let out a small laugh, amused. “You really think you’re that charming, huh?”

“Hey, just looking out for you,” he quips back with a wink.

Just then, you hear a loud crash from the hall, followed by Yuji shouting, “Megumi! Nobara! Help! The snack cart’s tipping!”

Gojo sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes. “And there they go, ten seconds in.”He jokes, already heading toward the door. 

“But really—twenty minutes at the pool. Don’t let me be the only one in a ridiculous inflatable.”

With one last smirk, he disappears, leaving you alone in the lavish space. 

—

You sit there in the stillness of the room, letting the quiet settle around you. After everything that’s happened today, the silence feels jarring—almost unnatural. 

Your mind races back to that morning, the instant shock of recognizing the man in your nightmares: Suguru Geto. 

Even now, the thought sends a shiver down your spine. And to think he’d actually been in your room…watching, lingering right there. Just hours ago, you’d been consumed by fear and dread.

And now? 

Gojo’s acting as if none of it matters, whisking you and the others off to a luxury hotel like this is just another day. 

Maybe he’s just trying to help you escape it all, you reason. Maybe he wants you to relax, to have one night where you don’t have to look over your shoulder. It’d be… surprisingly thoughtful of him.

But as much as his carefree, reassuring presence feels good now, that doesn’t ease the confusion swirling in your mind. 

You and Gojo shared a heated moment that felt so vivid, so intensely real, it left you breathless. For a second, it seemed as though something unspoken had finally surfaced. 

And then, just like that, he pulled away. He put up that huge wall between you, cold and unreadable—as if he regretted every second.

Yet somehow, over the last two days, that distance seems to be fading again. And then there was that conversation with Nanami–There’s a warmth in his eyes, a kind of ease in his smile that makes it feel like you’re finally seeing the real Gojo. 

You can’t help but wonder if he’s going through his own uncertainties. Or maybe he’s as good at hiding his fears as he is at conjuring his charm.

With a sigh, you glance at the sliding door connecting your room to his, the thin glass a reminder of how close he really was.

—

You step onto the rooftop, the night sky sprawling endlessly above, lights from the Tokyo skyline flickering like distant stars.

The pool area is beautiful and sleek, lined with lounge chairs and the faint glow of soft, underwater lights casting a tranquil ambiance over the water. 

A cool breeze brushes over your skin, and you clutch the towel draped over your shoulders, pulling it a little tighter as you take in the scene.

Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara are already in the pool, laughing and splashing around.

Yuji hollered something to Megumi, who responded with his usual half-hearted irritation, and Nobara just rolled her eyes, enjoying herself despite her feigned annoyance. 

Standing by the edge of the pool, Gojo is stretching in his swim trunks, clearly ready to dive in.

When his gaze lands on you, his grin widens, his expression teasing.

"Thought you'd never make it," he calls over. 

"Gonna get in, or are you just here to supervise?" He gestures to the inflatable swans bobbing cheerfully in the water, a little ridiculous against the upscale backdrop of the rooftop pool, yet perfectly fitting his playful style.

As you walk toward him, you can’t help but notice that without his usual layers and long coat, he looks somehow...different—broader, the play of muscles over his arms and chest clearly defined. 

You’d always known he was strong, but seeing him like this gives you a fresh appreciation for just how powerful he really is.

His confidence radiates off him, casual and effortless, and when he catches you looking, he smirks in a way that makes your cheeks warm.

Rolling your eyes to cover up your reaction, you nod toward the pool. "Just waiting for the right moment to make an entrance," you say, giving him a smirk of your own.

He chuckles, tossing you a wink before raising his arms to dive. With a graceful, fluid motion, he springs into the pool, slicing through the water smoothly before resurfacing.

His hair, now wet and falling into his face, gleams under the soft pool lights, and there’s a hint of smug satisfaction on his face as he shakes the water out, blinking at you with mischief in his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, you slip off your towel and drape it over one of the lounge chairs, walking confidently to the edge of the pool before sliding in, the cool water washing over your skin as you wade toward the others.

The water is refreshing, soothing away the last remnants of tension from the day.

Your swimsuit, black and simple, hugs your body perfectly. The fabric conforms to your curves, and as the water slicks your skin, it only highlights the way the suit fits you. 

Despite your attempts to focus on the others, you can feel Gojo’s eyes on you, as if nothing else in the world exists except for you at that moment. 

The way his gaze moves over your body is undeniable, like he’s studying the way your swimsuit fits, the way your body moves with the water. 

His attention lingers, tracing the curve of your waist, the way your hips shift as you move, and the way the wet fabric clings to your chest. His eyes travel the length of your legs as they move beneath the surface, the water shimmering as it follows the lines of your form.

Yuji immediately waves at you and grins once he notices you got in the water. 

"Hey! Come over here! I’ve gotta show you something." He hands you a bright blue pool noodle, his eyes sparkling with childlike enthusiasm. 

“This is the best way to mess with people.” Demonstrating, he dunks one end of the noodle into the water, then blows into the other end, sending a stream of water splashing directly at Megumi.

You laugh, following his lead and getting a quick splash aimed right at Yuji’s shoulder.

The two of you quickly descend into a playful back-and-forth, aiming noodle streams at each other and dodging around with exaggerated, dramatic dives as if you’re in some kind of slow-motion water fight. 

Yuji, laughing so hard he’s nearly choking, gives you a high-five as you successfully splash him.

Meanwhile, on the edge of the pool, Gojo has been watching you, an amused smile tugging at his lips as he takes in the way you laugh, splashing water at Yuji with unexpected ease. 

He watches how your hair, damp now from your battles with Yuji, falls in wet strands down your back, the water pooling around your shoulders as it drips down your neck.

The delicate shine of your skin catches the light, droplets of water trickling down your arms and over your collarbone.

There’s something almost soft in his gaze, as if he's seeing a side of you that surprises him—or maybe just one he’s glad to witness. 

His eyes linger on you, trailing over the graceful curve of your shoulders, the way the water smooths over your skin.

But Nobara, noticing his attention as she floats past on her hot pink floatie, is quick to break him out of his reverie. 

She splashes a handful of water his way, hitting him right in the face. "Stop gawking!" she scolds, a playful edge to her tone.

Gojo blinks, taken by surprise. His mouth opens to protest, but he only laughs, flicking some water back in Nobara’s direction. 

"Hey, can’t a guy admire his...team?"

She rolls her eyes, unimpressed. "Yeah right," she teases, her gaze flicking from you to Gojo with a knowing grin.

Unaware of the exchange, you continue splashing with Yuji until you’re both out of breath, leaning against the side of the pool to catch your breath. 

The cool water, the laughter, the lightheartedness—it’s all a welcome distraction, an unexpected reprieve from the day’s earlier revelations.

Only moments after you had stopped your pool noodle battle, Yuji gets out of the pool and walks over to the deep end, stretching his arms out in front of him before taking a big jump into the deep end.

He swims back over to you and Megumi, Gojo approaching also as he sat goofily on a pool noodle. "Alright, your turn y/n! Think you can dive like me?"

You pause, looking at the water with a hesitant smile. "Well... I don’t know...I don’t really remember if I’ve ever swam before…" you reply, your voice trailing off, unsure of your own abilities.

Yuji smirks, his energy contagious. “Come on, I bet you could! Just try it, you’ve got this!”

With his encouragement ringing in your ears, you take a deep breath and walk up the pool steps towards the deep end.

Once at the end, you crouch slightly, preparing for the dive, but as soon as you push off the edge and your head hits the water, everything changes.

The moment your body submerges, the water feels different—like it's not just water, but a veil lifting. 

A flood of memories crashes over you, sharp and overwhelming. You see yourself as a child, your hair slicked back just like it is now, diving into a pool. 

Your little sister is beside you, laughing, urging you on as you practice your dives together. You can almost feel the warm sun on your back, hear the splashing of the water, the excitement in her voice. 

The sound of your family in the background, their voices calling you to take your time, to perfect your dive.

For a second, it’s like everything else falls away. 

It’s just you, in the water, in the past, with your family, laughing, swimming. It’s such a real and intimate memory, you can almost smell the chlorine, taste the fresh air as it mixes with the feeling of the pool beneath your feet.

You break the surface of the water with a gasp, the moment leaving you breathless. Your heart pounds in your chest, and as you come up, you can't help but grin widely, your eyes sparkling with excitement.

“I used to swim! I remember I used to swim!” The words spill out before you even realize you’ve said them, and there’s a moment of shock in your voice as you come to terms with what just happened.

The flood of memories, so vivid, so real, feels like a key turning in your mind. For the first time, pieces of your past—pieces you never thought you'd get back—are falling into place.

As you break through the surface of the water, your heart races, and you let out a breathless laugh, the exhilaration of the moment overwhelming you. Your eyes are wide, sparkling with newfound joy, and your chest swells with the excitement of what you've just discovered.

“I used to swim! I remember I used to swim!” you exclaim again, your voice still carrying the shock and wonder of the realization.

Yuji, treading water nearby, blinks in surprise. "Huh? What? You used to swim?"

Megumi lifts his head from the water, his brow furrowed in confusion, trying to process what you’ve just said. “Wait, you… you remember swimming?”

Your grin is bright, the flood of memories still fresh in your mind. “Yeah! I do! I remember my sister... we used to go to the pool together. We practiced diving, and... I remember the sound of her laughing, and... the smell of the chlorine... I had a sister. I—” You pause, the weight of your own words sinking in, as if the mere mention of her name makes her presence feel real again.

The group is quiet for a second, taking in the significance of what you’ve just shared. You’ve gotten a piece of yourself back—something so personal and meaningful. Yuji’s face lights up with enthusiasm, his voice warm and full of excitement.

“That's amazing, y/n!” He calls out, grinning like it’s his own personal victory. “You’re remembering things! That’s huge!”

Nobara, floating past on her hot pink floatie, claps her hands together. “Yeah, that’s a big deal! You’ve got some real memories back. That’s progress, y/n!”

Megumi, though usually a bit more reserved, offers a small but genuine smile, clearly happy for you. “Good to hear. That's a step in the right direction.”

Gojo, standing in the middle of the shallow end with his arms folded, lets out a deep breath, his usual playful demeanour giving way to something more sincere. 

“See? I told you you were making progress. You’ve got more memories waiting for you. I knew you had it in you.”

Your heart swells at their reactions, the collective happiness of your friends filling you with warmth.

For the first time in a while, you feel like you’re not entirely lost, like there are pieces of your past coming back to you, one fragment at a time.

“I remember my sister,” you repeat, as if saying it again makes it more real. "I can't believe it... I have a sister."

The group looks at each other, nodding and sharing quiet smiles. You can feel their support, their belief in you. It’s not just a small step—it’s a breakthrough.

And as you stand there in the pool, surrounded by people who care, you realize that even though you don’t have all the answers yet, you’re moving forward. 

You’ve gained something tonight, something that was yours all along.

Gojo, his playful smile returning, gives a nod of approval. “Alright, y/n, looks like we’ve got a swimmer in the group now. You’re on your way to being a full-fledged diver.”

The others laugh, and the mood shifts back to its usual lightheartedness. But for you, there’s something deeper now—something that’s been restored. Your past, your memories, are slowly coming back, and with them, you’re beginning to understand more about who you are.

And for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel so alone in the dark.

—

The soft click of the suite door closing behind you echoed in the quiet space, and you exhaled, letting the weight of the day settle on your shoulders. The room was as extravagant as before, but its opulence felt distant, secondary to the whirl of thoughts in your mind.

You couldn’t help it but your mind drifted back to that conversation you had overheard between Gojo and Nanami just a few days ago.

Their words replayed in your head, his voice low but insistent in that rare serious tone he used only when he meant something deeply.

“She doesn’t know how much I need her to be okay,’ Gojo had said, the tone of desperation evident in his voice. 

‘Then let her see it,” Nanami had replied.

Shaking your head, you made your way to the bathroom, hoping a hot shower might help clear your mind.

The bathroom was a masterpiece of modern luxury, with sleek marble counters, gleaming fixtures, and a rainfall shower that looked more like a spa experience than a simple rinse.

You turned the water on, letting the heat build until steam clouded the glass walls. 

Peeling off your swimsuit, you stepped under the cascade of water, the warmth instantly soothing your tense muscles.

For a few moments, the only sound was the steady rhythm of water hitting the tiles, a gentle white noise that filled the space.

You tilted your head back, letting the stream run over your face, down your back, carrying away the salt and chlorine and the weight of the day.

But no matter how soothing the shower was, your thoughts kept circling back.

‘She’s in my head—everywhere I look.’

Why had he said it with such conviction? Such quiet protectiveness? Gojo, for all his teasing and playful arrogance, had always seemed untouchable, always wearing that mask of flippancy. Yet in that moment, he’d sounded so... different.

Did he really feel that way? As someone worth fighting for? Or was it just Gojo being Gojo—throwing himself into situations out of principle, out of defiance against authority?

You sighed, resting your forehead against the cool tiles. The heat of the water contrasted sharply with the strange warmth blooming in your chest, and you didn’t know what to make of it.

And then there was the other side of it—the nagging confusion that came with Gojo himself. He was impossible to figure out, swinging between moments of genuine care and infuriating smugness. 

One minute, he was flirting shamelessly, his words laced with a confidence that made your head spin. The next, he was cool and distant, as if pulling back the moment things got too real.

But that moment with Nanami... It had felt real. Too real to ignore.

“Get a grip,” you muttered to yourself, running a hand through your wet hair.

You let the water run a little longer, hoping to wash away the lingering mix of confusion and... whatever else it was. 

Yet as you finally turned off the shower and stepped onto the heated tiles, wrapping a plush towel around yourself, you couldn’t shake the memory of his voice, or the strange, unspoken something it stirred in you.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t simple. And with Gojo, you doubted it ever would be.

As you walked back into your room, you noticed the folded pair of black silk pyjamas on the bed.

He really did think of everything…

—

After a while of reading one of the books you had brought, you were interrupted by a soft knock at the frosted glass door between your room and Gojos.

The knock at the frosted glass door was soft, but in the quiet of your room, it sounded louder than it should. 

You glanced up from the book in your lap, a little startled. Sliding off the bed, you made your way over and slid the door open.

There he was, Gojo, leaning lazily against the doorframe, his damp hair falling in soft tufts around his face. He looked more relaxed than usual, dressed in a plain white t-shirt and loose gray sweatpants, but his trademark grin was still firmly in place.

“Can’t sleep,” he said with a casual shrug, stepping inside as if it were his room.

“You never seem to,” you replied, stepping aside to let him in. 

“Should I be worried this is becoming a habit?”

He chuckled, making himself comfortable by sitting at the edge of your bed. “Nah, just thought I’d check in on you. See how you’re holding up after earlier.”

You folded your arms, leaning against the wall. “I’m fine. It’s nothing I can’t handle. But you—” You gestured toward him. “You look like you haven’t even tried to sleep. What gives?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “I just don’t sleep much. Don’t really need to.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, unconvinced. “Yeah, but why not? You’ve got to get tired like everyone else, right?”

For a moment, he just looked at you, as if debating whether to answer. Finally, he let out a sigh, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s not that I don’t get tired. I just can’t sleep the way normal people do.”

You frowned, moving to sit beside him on the bed. “What do you mean?”

He glanced at you briefly before turning his gaze to the wide windows, the glittering city lights reflected in his eyes. 

“You know my Infinity technique,” he began. “It’s always on. Even when I’m not actively thinking about it, it’s working in the background, keeping me untouchable.”

You nodded, vaguely familiar with the concept from what you’d learned about cursed techniques.

“To keep it running all the time, I can’t let my mind completely shut off,” he continued. “Even when I sleep, part of me is still monitoring it, making sure it stays active. I’ve trained myself to sort of… half-sleep. But it’s not the same as real rest. Three, maybe four hours a night is all I can manage. Anything more, and I risk losing control of the technique.”

The weight of his words settled over you, heavier than you’d expected. “That sounds… awful,” you said quietly.

He gave a small, lopsided smile, but there was no humour in it. “It’s not ideal, but it works. And it keeps people safe, so… it’s worth it.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening at the uncharacteristic vulnerability in his voice. For all his teasing and bravado, there was a depth to him you were only just beginning to see. 

“Still,” you said softly, “it must be exhausting.”

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “But I’ve been doing it for so long, it’s just… part of who I am now.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you didn’t say anything. Instead, you shifted your gaze to the windows, the city lights stretching endlessly into the distance.

“Do you ever miss it?” you asked after a moment.

“Miss what?”

“Being able to just… rest. No Infinity, no responsibilities, just being… you.”

He was quiet for a long time, his expression unreadable. “Maybe,” he said finally. “But it’s not like I have much of a choice. If I didn’t keep it on, people would get hurt. I can’t let that happen.”

You nodded, the quiet conviction in his voice striking a chord in you. “It’s a lot to carry,” you said softly.

He glanced at you, his usual smirk returning. “Are you trying to psychoanalyze me now? Because I’ve got to warn you, I’m a tough nut to crack.”

You rolled your eyes, relieved to see a hint of his usual self shining through. “No, I just think… maybe you should let someone else help you carry the weight every once in a while.”

He tilted his head, his grin widening. “Are you volunteering?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you shot back, though the warmth in his gaze made it hard to hold onto your feigned annoyance.

He chuckled, leaning back on his hands. “You’re pretty cute when you’re all serious, you know that?”

“Satoru,” you warned, though your tone lacked any real bite.

The playful edge in his chuckle faded as silence settled between you again. 

He leaned back, his hands propping him up on the bed as his gaze shifted back to the cityscape outside. You followed his line of sight, watching the lights twinkle like stars on the horizon.

But your mind wasn’t on the view. It was on him.

You thought back to all the moments you’d spent with Gojo since you met him—the way he carried himself, always carefree and teasing, as if the weight of the world didn’t touch him. 

Now, sitting here with him, you realized it wasn’t that the weight didn’t touch him. It was that he refused to let anyone see how much it did.

Your chest tightened again, a mix of sympathy and something else you couldn’t quite name. 

He wasn’t just Satoru Gojo, the strongest jujutsu sorcerer, the one who could take on anything and walk away unscathed. He was also just… a man. A man who carried more than anyone should ever have to, who never let himself rest because too much was at stake.

It made sense now, why he acted the way he did. The jokes, the cockiness, the endless energy—it was all a shield. 

A way to keep people from looking too closely, from seeing how much he gave up to be who he was.

And now, you had seen it.

Finally, you shifted slightly on the bed, pulling your legs up to sit cross-legged beside him. “I get it now,” you said softly.

He turned his head slightly, one eyebrow quirking up. “Get what?”

“Why you are the way you are,” you said, your voice low. 

“You’re not just… Satoru Gojo. You’re the Satoru Gojo. The strongest. The one everyone relies on. It’s like…” You hesitated, unsure if your words would sound foolish.

“Like what?” He prompted, his tone laced with sarcasm.

“It’s like you’re the sun,” you said finally. “Bright, untouchable. But no one ever thinks about how lonely it must be, burning that brightly all the time.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, he looked at you as if seeing you in a new light. “That’s poetic,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I’m being serious,” you said, nudging his arm lightly with your knee. “You carry so much, and you make it look effortless. But it’s not, is it? Effortless.”

He looked away, his gaze fixed on the glowing cityscape. “No,” he admitted. “It’s not.”

The quiet honesty in his voice made your chest tighten. 

You wanted to reach out, to tell him he didn’t have to bear it all alone, but you didn’t know how. Instead, you tucked your arms around your knees, leaning against the bedpost as you studied his profile.

“You don’t let people see this side of you often, do you?” you asked.

“Only on special occasions,” he replied with a smirk, though his voice lacked its usual teasing edge.

You raised an eyebrow. “Wow, lucky me. Should I feel honoured or concerned that I’m your VIP audience tonight?”

The faintest chuckle escaped him, and his smirk softened into something gentler. “A little bit of both, probably.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it felt heavy, like the room was holding its breath.

“Do you ever get tired of it?” you asked softly, breaking the quiet.

He didn’t look at you this time. “Tired of what?”

“Being you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “The strongest. The one everyone depends on.”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then he let out a quiet laugh, but it wasn’t like his usual one. It was softer, more subdued. “I think if I let myself get tired of it, I wouldn’t be able to take it anymore.”

You frowned, the ache in your chest growing. “That’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair,” he replied lightly, but his tone lacked its usual playfulness.

You shifted closer to him, your legs brushing against his. 

“You shouldn’t have to do it alone, though. Don’t you want something more out of life?”

His smile lingered, but he didn’t reply. 

Instead, he turned his attention back to the window, his eyes distant waiting for a few moments before speaking again. 

“It’s not about what I want,” he said finally. “It’s about what I can do. And what I can do… no one else can. It may not be fair, y/n, but its the way it is.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat. Because he was right—for all the unfairness of it—he was right.

The quiet between you lingered, neither uncomfortable nor easy. 

The city lights reflected off the glass, painting faint patterns of gold and silver across the room. 

You wanted to say something, to push back against the resignation in his voice, but no words seemed fitting. What could you say to someone who carried the world and made it look effortless, even when it wasn’t?

Gojo leaned back slightly, resting his weight on his hands, his gaze distant but thoughtful. Finally, he exhaled, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. 

“You should get some sleep,” he said lightly, standing up and walking backwards towards the frosted glass door.”

“Big day tomorrow. The Gojo estate, bright and early. You’ll get to see the big mansion with no one living in it–well except us for a short while ‘till we get things figured out.”

“Sounds thrilling,” you said, your attempt at levity falling a little flat.

You sat there for a moment, staring at the space he’d just left. 

The weight of the conversation lingered in the air, a quiet reminder of just how much more there was to him than his usual carefree demeanour.

Finally, you let out a breath, sliding under the covers and curling up against the mattress. 

The faint patterns of light from the city still danced across the walls, but your eyes felt heavy now, your body sinking into the comfort of the bed.

As you drifted off, your thoughts lingered on his words—on the way he carried so much without complaint, on the rare vulnerability he’d let slip. 

Tomorrow would come, bright and early, but tonight, you let yourself hope that maybe, just maybe, you could ease even a fraction of the burden he carried.

Sleep found you, though not without the quiet echo of his voice following you into your dreams.

[drowning-in-paragraphs]

PART THREE

jude bellingham x exgf!reader

PART ONE DRUNK CALL

PART TWO DRUNK CALL

a/n: when I tell you how much I loved writing the final part...!

The room buzzed with an air of elegance and formality, the muted hum of conversation blending with the soft clinking of glasses. Crystal chandeliers cast a golden glow over the scene, their reflections dancing on the polished floors and the glittering silverware that adorned each table. You moved through it all, dressed in your tailored uniform: a crisp white blouse, sleek black trousers, and a fitted jacket.

Tonight, the night seemed to stretch endlessly, the soft hum of chatter and clinking glasses barely registering in your mind as you moved mechanically through the room. You clung to professionalism like a lifeline, your fingers gripping the tray a little too tightly as you weaved through the guests. Each step felt heavy, like wading through quicksand, your heart pounding so hard you were sure someone would hear it.

Your tray trembled in your hands, betraying the storm inside you. You had done this job a hundred times before, your movements usually smooth and practiced. But tonight, you felt like a rookie—clumsy and unsure, your steps faltering as though the polished floor was uneven beneath your feet.

You kept your gaze low, your focus narrow. The realization that Jude might be somewhere in the room, just a glance away, was a weight pressing against your chest. Still, you moved with purpose, fighting the storm brewing inside you, praying silently that this night would pass without confrontation.

You took a breath, trying to steady yourself. Just another night, you told yourself. Just another high-profile event. But no amount of mental reassurance could quiet the tension coiled inside you, ready to snap. You felt as if chaos were brewing beneath the surface, waiting to burst free at the slightest provocation. You were just working, you didn´t have to encounter him. Not today, not yet.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

You cursed under your breath when you saw him.

He stood across the room, tall and commanding, his laughter cutting through the murmur of voices like a warm melody. He was breathtaking, even more so than you remembered. The tailored tuxedo he wore fit him perfectly, the sharp lines accentuating his broad shoulders and lean frame. His presence drew almost every eye in the room, but he seemed oblivious to it, his attention fixed on the joke one of his mates had just told. His smile was wide and genuine, the deep sound of his laughter making your chest tighten.

He looked… different. Stronger. Fitter. The months apart had refined him in a way that almost felt cruel. You wanted to stop looking. The more you did, the more it hurt. As if the universe had conspired to make him even more unattainable, more dazzling than before. The sight of him was a punch to the gut, stealing the air from your lungs.

He hadn’t noticed you. Not yet.

Your first instinct was to disappear, to avoid his gaze at all costs. Without thinking, you veered to the left, your tray wobbling precariously as you turned sharply to serve another group of renowned guests. But even as you busied yourself, pretending to be absorbed in your task, you couldn’t stop your heart from pounding. The sound of his laughter seemed to follow you, a cruel echo that reminded you of everything you’d tried so hard to forget.

But you knew, you could not avoid him forever. It was a matter of time before he saw you.

You felt it before you saw it—that sharp, tingling awareness of someone’s gaze on you. Hesitantly, you glanced up, and there it was. Jude’s eyes locked onto yours from across the room.

It was as if time had stopped. His expression shifted instantly, the smile vanishing from his face as his dark eyes widened in recognition. Unlike you, he was not expecting to see you. His posture, so relaxed and assured only moments before, stiffened slightly, and his hand, which had been gesturing mid-conversation, dropped to his side. For a moment, he didn’t move—just stood there, staring, as though the sight of you had stolen the very breath from his lungs.

You couldn’t look away. His gaze was so intense, so consuming, that it made your knees weak. There was something in his expression that struck you—a mixture of surprise, longing, and something else you couldn’t quite name. He looked at you as if you were a vision, as if he were afraid you might vanish if he so much as blinked.

And then he took an instintive step toward you.

Panic seized your chest. You stepped back reflexively, your heel catching slightly against the edge of a coworker’s shoe. You stumbled, muttering a quick, mortified apology as the other server steadied you with a startled look. The moment shattered, and without thinking, you turned on your heel and disappeared into another section of the room, your heart racing as if you’d just sprinted a mile.

You didn’t stop until you were on the opposite side of the grand hall, your back pressed against the cool wall as you fought to catch your breath. Your hands shook as you set your tray down on a nearby service table, fingers brushing against the polished metal as you steadied yourself.

He saw you. The thought burned in your mind, hot and undeniable. You had felt the weight of his gaze, the way it lingered as if he couldn’t bear to look away.

You wish your meeting had happened under different circumstances and possibly after a longer period of time.

But you couldn’t think about that now. You had a job to do.

On the other side of the room, Jude was reeling. His heart pounded against his ribcage, the sight of you overwhelming his senses. He had always thought you were beautiful, but seeing you now—after months of longing and settling for glimpses in old photos—left him breathless. He’d discovered you had blocked him shortly after a victorious match. Hoping to catch up on what you’d been up to, he found that your profile—and your number—had vanished from his socials. It was a decision he had checked on obsessively, always hoping you’d changed your mind, wishing for even one more chance to see you. Now, here you were, more radiant than he remembered. Yet there was something in your eyes—a flicker of vulnerability entwined with strength—that made his chest ache.

He wanted to look away, to give you space, but he couldn’t. His gaze remained fixed on you, drinking in every detail. He felt like a fool for standing there, rooted in place, but the fear of losing sight of you outweighed his self-consciousness. It wasn’t until a teammate nudged him with a question that he snapped back to reality.

“Are you okey, dude?” Camavinga asked, holding up a glass.

Jude nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Perfectly,” he said quickly, forcing himself to rejoin the conversation, though his mind was anywhere but there.

For you, the night was unfolding like a slow, agonizing waltz. You tried your best to focus on your duties, weaving through the glittering crowd with a steady smile and practiced movements. Yet, no matter how many times you told yourself to stop, your gaze kept drifting to him.

But every time your eyes lingered too long, he caught you.

And every time he did, his expression shifted. His laughter would falter, the easy confidence melting into something deeper, more intense. His gaze would lock onto yours as if nothing else in the room existed, his dark eyes drinking in every detail. And then, as if tethered by some invisible thread, you’d look away, your cheeks burning with the betrayal of your own emotions.

The subtle makeup you’d applied for the night barely concealed your blush. You could feel the heat rising every time you passed him, every time you felt the weight of his eyes following you through the room. It wasn’t just that he was looking—it was how he looked, like he was seeing you for the first time, or maybe for the last, and trying to memorize everything.

At one point, as you poured champagne for a group of distinguished guests, you felt his presence before you saw him. Turning your head slightly, you found him standing across the room, his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers, his posture casual but his gaze anything but. He wasn’t even pretending to listen to the man beside him, his focus solely on you.

Your fingers fumbled with the champagne bottle for a split second, and you prayed no one noticed. But he did. His lips quirked into the faintest smile, a flicker of amusement that made your stomach twist in knots. You turned back to your task, gripping the bottle tightly to steady yourself, silently cursing the way your heart raced.

Later, as you collected empty glasses from a side table, you felt a shadow fall over you. Without looking, you knew it was him. Your breath caught in your throat, your pulse quickening as you forced yourself to keep moving, carefully stacking the glasses on your tray.

“Excuse me,” came a deep, familiar voice, low, just behind you.

It wasn’t directly meant for you; he was speaking to a guest nearby. But the sound of it—God, the sound of it—sent a shiver down your spine. You stole a glance over your shoulder, just for a second, and there he was, close enough that you could smell the faint, woodsy scent of his cologne. His profile was perfect, his jawline sharp, his focus momentarily elsewhere.

But then, as though he felt your gaze, he turned.

Your eyes met, and for a heartbeat, the rest of the room blurred. His brows lifted ever so slightly, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something, but you looked away quickly, your heart hammering in your chest. You fled to the kitchen under the pretense of needing a moment to reset the tray, leaning against the counter as you tried to catch your breath.

What was wrong with you? Why couldn’t you keep your emotions in check?

The rest of the evening was no better. And for Jude, it was a different kind of torment. He couldn’t stop looking at you, no matter how hard he tried. You were breathtaking in a way that left him utterly speechless. The polished uniform, the subtle glow of your makeup, the way your hair framed your face—it was all enough to undo him.

He noticed the way your cheeks flushed whenever your eyes met his, the way you bit your lip when you thought no one was looking. Every small, nervous movement made him want to cross the room and pull you aside, to finally say all the things he’d left unsaid. But he didn’t. Not yet. He didn’t know if he had the right.

As the evening wound to a close, the tension reached its peak. You felt it in every fiber of your being—the weight of his presence, the way your heart stuttered each time your eyes locked. You knew you couldn’t keep this up. The night would end soon, and with it, the fragile barrier of professionalism you’d clung to.

The event finally ended, leaving you utterly drained. You clung to the shadows as you helped clear away the remnants of the night, ensuring you avoided any further encounters with Jude. By the time you clocked out, the grand hall had grown quiet, the hum of conversations replaced by the quiet shuffle of the cleanup crew.

Outside, the crisp night air greeted you, cool against your flushed cheeks. You wrapped your coat tighter around yourself and began the walk home, your steps slow and measured, as though trying to gather the broken pieces of your composure.

The night was still, the city alive but muted under a canopy of stars. Each step seemed heavier than the last, your mind replaying the fleeting glances, the unspoken words, the tension that had hung between you and Jude like a storm waiting to break. You wanted to believe it was over—that you could let him go, that this night was the last chapter of a story better left unfinished.

Nevertheless, that was something you didn’t want. That you would never want.

The knock came just as you were slipping out of your shoes by the door. Three quick, firm taps that startled you into freezing in place. You turned, heart already pounding, a part of you knowing who it would be before you even opened the door.

Jude.

He stood there in his tuxedo, the jacket unbuttoned now, his tie loosened and hanging askew around his neck. His hair was slightly disheveled, as though he’d run his hands through it more than once, and his breathing was uneven, his chest rising and falling as if he’d just sprinted the whole way to your door. The golden glow of the streetlamp behind him only made him look more devastatingly handsome, more unreal.

“Jude,” you breathed, barely finding your voice. “What are you—”

“You deleted my number,” he interrupted, his voice rough and low, almost accusing. His dark eyes locked onto yours, sparkling with something between frustration and desperation. “You blocked me.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again, struggling to find the words. The vulnerability in his gaze made your heart ache, made every defense you’d carefully built crumble into dust. Finally, you whispered,

“You didn’t call.”

The words were soft, barely audible, but they hung in the air between you like a challenge. Your voice trembled, not with anger, but with the rawness of the truth, and his expression shifted instantly. The accusation in his eyes melted into something softer, something that made your knees weak.

He didn’t wait.

Before you could say anything more, he closed the distance between you, one hand cupping your face as his lips crashed against yours. The kiss was hungry, desperate, months—almost a year—of regret poured into the press of his mouth on yours. You gasped against him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his tuxedo jacket to steady yourself as the world spun around you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured against your lips, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

You barely had a chance to respond before his lips were on yours again, his other hand sliding to the small of your back to pull you closer. Between kisses, you managed to whisper back, “I missed you.” The admission broke something inside you, and tears stung your eyes even as you kissed him with just as much fervor.

“I missed you too,” he breathed, his words muffled against your skin as he trailed kisses along your jaw, your neck. “Every day. I couldn’t—” His voice cracked, and he kissed you again, harder this time, as though trying to convey everything he couldn’t put into words.

You both were desperate, clinging to each other as though afraid to let go, your hands tangling in his hair, his touch burning through the fabric of your coat. Between kisses, between gasps for air, came the apologies—raw and heartfelt, tumbling out in broken whispers.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” he said, his forehead resting against yours for a fleeting moment.

“I’m sorry I blocked you,” you replied, your voice trembling as your fingers brushed against his jaw.

Neither of you could stop, couldn’t seem to get close enough. The kisses grew more fervent, more consuming, and it felt like you were trying to make up for all the lost time, all the nights spent apart when you’d needed each other most.

“I can’t do this without you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “I don’t want to. I never did.”

Your heart felt like it might burst, and you nodded, your hands cupping his face as you whispered, “Me neither.”

And then his lips were on yours again, silencing the rest of your words, his kiss telling you everything you needed to know. You didn’t know how long you stayed there, tangled together in the doorway, the world outside fading into nothing. All you knew was him—his warmth, his touch, the way he made you feel like you were home.

Finally, when you broke apart, gasping for air, he pressed his forehead to yours, his hands framing your face as if he couldn’t bear to let go. “I’m not losing you again,” he said, his voice firm despite the raw emotion in his eyes.

“You won’t,” you promised, your voice steady this time. “Not ever.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you believed it.

[whereforarthur]

Said She Wanted Five Guys She Ain’t Talking About Burgers

Pairing: Reader x George, Arthur Hill, Chris, Isaac and ArthurTv

Summary: Y/n shares her sexual intentions with five YouTubers. She invites them to join her fantasy, setting no limits on their actions. The group eagerly agrees, indulging in a passionate sexual encounter as they explore Y/n's desires one by one.

Category: SMUT

Word Count: 6.7k

A/n: ArthurTv and Arthur Hill will be labeled as such to avoid confusion

*****

“In ‘friends with benefits,’ the boundaries are blurred, and the possibilities are endless.”

"Alright, guys," Arthur Hill grinned, his eyes sparkling as he wriggled to adjust the bow tie around his neck. "She asked for a surprise, so let's not disappoint her.".

The cool London evening was abuzz with the sound of laughter from a distance and passing cars humming their way along the road, in total contrast to the quietly expectant mood of the apartment in dim light. Five British YouTubers had gathered together for what they thought was an innocent prank on one of their fans. Little did they know, the girl they'd invited had something entirely different in mind.

This had been the moment Y/N had been waiting for, and she, being the young lady who loved drama, had planned this meeting very carefully. She took a deep breath as the door creaked, at that sudden surge of excitement rushing in her body. She'd chosen Arthur, Isaac, ArthurTV, Chris, and George for their online personas specifically; each one part of a puzzle she knew would fit into her twisted game.

The five men filed in; the laughter died down as they took in the scene before them. Y/N was sprawled out on the bed, her needy curves barely contained in a see-through lingerie set. She'd gone all out, setting up candles and a sultry playlist of tunes to set the mood; it definitely set the ambiance for the events to take place tonight. The air was heady with the scent of jasmine and vanilla, much like a perfume.

Isaac's eyes nearly popped out of his head as he drank in the scene. "Bloody hell," he whispered under his breath, his cheeks flushing red. ArthurTV, ever the charmer, strode forward with a smirk. "Well, well, well—what do we have here? Our lovely Y/N, all dolled up to kill. Occasion?"

On cue, Y/n's eyes scanned the men gathered before her, locking eyes with each for a second or two before she spoke in that low, sultry voice, "Gentlemen, I've been a very, very naughty girl, and I need all five of you to help me make it right."

The tension in the room was palpable as the men exchanged glances; a mix of shock and excitement was written across the faces of the men. Normally much more contained, Chris stepped backward and widened his eyes. "I think we might have misconstrued the invite," he stammered.

But Y/N's gaze stuck to them, her expression no doubt filled with hungry longing. "Oh, I think you've understood perfectly," she purred, beckoning them closer with a crook of her finger. "You see, I've had the most delicious fantasy about all of you, and I've decided it's high time I make it real."

The four looked at one another, not knowing exactly what the next course of action should be. George took the lead, his curiosity running deep. "Alright, lass, what's the plan?" he asked, the corner of his mouth curled into a smirk.

Y/N slid off the bed, the sway of her hips hypnotic as she made her way toward them. She reached out and put a hand on George's chest, tracing her fingers over the lines of his muscles. "The plan," she breathed, "is simple. You each get to do whatever you want with me. No holds barred."

The room hushed, except for the soft crackling of the candles. Arthur Hill, in his group of friends, the seasoned veteran when it came to wild nights out, stepped forward. "Alright, love," he started in a deep, gruff voice, "but let's make sure we're on the same page here."

Y/N nodded, the predatory glint in her eye. "Agreed," she purred lowly as her hand slid down to George's belt. "But remember, this is all for fun, and we all get what we want." She leaned in closer, her hot breath against his ear. "But you'll have to work for it."

Isaaс, who was standing by the door, swаllоwed hard, trying to wrap his head around all the implications of all this. He had never gotten himself into such a situation, but his desires forbade him to bаck away. He stepped forward very slоwly while his eyes brutally raked Y/N's bоdy. "Cоunt me in," he said, the thick desire hoarse in his voice.

The other three men looked at each other wordless, their eyes a dead give-away of disbelief, excitement, and perhaps a tinge of fear. They knew it could get out of hand, but the temptation was far too great to resist. These men had all watched her videos and heard her flirty comments, and she now stood before them, offering herself up like a prize to be shared.

Chris broke the silence first. "Alright, if we're all in, then let's get this party started," he said, attempting to sound cool, but in reality, his heart was racing wildly. The tension in that room increased, with them all stepping closer to her, their eyes devouring every inch of exposed skin.

Y/N eyed them each in turn, a smirk dancing on her lips. "Strip," she commanded, firmness laced in her voice. There was an infinitesimal hesitation before the men began to strip off their clothes, fumbling with buttons and zippers. The room started to heat up as clothing hit the floor, and their eager arousal became evident.

Chris was the oldest in the circle and went ahead first. He stared into Y/N's eyes, clasped her around the waist, yanking her into a desperate kiss, drawing out the air from her. His hands roamed over her body, cupping and squeezing her breasts and ass as she melted into him. The rest watched, their desires building as they took in the view of their friend claiming her first.

ArthurTV was quick of wit, silver of tongue-next. He leaned in with a smirk, hands sliding up her thighs. "I got a surprise for you," he murmured, his fingers finding the wetness collected between her legs. He slipped a finger inside her, and she moaned into Chris's mouth. Isaac and George, the remaining two, sat down and watched as excitement took them; their cocks stiffened in anticipation.

Y/N pushed Chris away, panting, before turning to ArthurTV. "That all you got?" she teased, beckoning him on. He gave a dark chuckle and leaned in to kiss her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. "Oh, I got lots more," he assured her, guiding her towards the bed.

The others didn't waste any more time; each was out to have his piece of her. Isaac was by no means shy anymore, stepped up, and claimed her mouth. His tongue danced with hers in a passionate duel as George and Arthur Hill looked at her, starving, hands mapping every curve, every dip, with possessive strokes.

Chris stepped back, eyes dark with the desire to have watched his friends touch her. He knew sooner or later he would have to regain control, but for now, he enjoyed the show, his cock pulsing with every gasp and moan escaping Y/N's lips.

Isaac leaned forward, and his hands moved to her breasts, gently kneading them before pinching her nipples. She arched her back, pushing into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed in the upsurge of pleasure that filled the room with the symphony of heavy breathing and whispered words of lust.

Arthur Hill forward, his eyes dark with hunger as he reached for her hips to spin her around, pressing against the edge of the bed. He exhaled, "Your turn," as he pried her legs apart. The tongue traced a path from her ankle down into her inner thigh, skin goosebumping from the heat of his breath.

Y/N's legs quaked, her body shuddering, as Arthur's lips reached her sex, his tongue doing a delicious dance around her clitoral area. A moan escaped her lips, her body already betraying her as it reacted to the onslaught of sensations. ArthurTV looked on with a smug smile on his face, stroking his cock while he waited for his turn. "Looks like she's enjoying herself," he said with a quip—he got a glare for it from Arthur Hill.

Chris couldn't wait any longer and moved in behind Arthur Hill, his cock pressed up against her backside. He leaned in close, his hot breath against her ear. "Ready for more?" he breathed as she nodded, her breathing shallow gasps. He reached around, one hand playing with her clitoral area while Arthur Hill's tongue continued its relentless assault. It was almost too much to handle, and an orgasm began building low in her belly.

George and Isaac watched, their cocks bobbing gently in the candlelight as they took in the erotic scene unfolding in front of them. He stepped up, his hand reaching out to cup one of her breasts, his thumb brushing against the hardened nipple. "I want a taste," he murmured, and she leaned back, granting him access. His mouth closed over her breast, sucking and teasing as she writhed under the combined efforts of the two men.

Isaac's face was red, his eyes covered with a hood of desire as he kneeled beside Arthur Hill. He watched intently as Arthur's tongue delved into her wetness, her legs trembling with every stroke that danced across. "Please," she whimpered, and with a wicked grin, Isaac leaned in, his mouth joining Arthur's in a duel of tongues and lips.

The feeling of having two mouths on her was almost too much for Y/N to bear. She bucked her hips, her moans rising louder as they worked in tandem, bringing her closer and closer to the edge. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she grasped at fistfuls of the bedsheets, trying desperately to anchor herself against reality. The room spun with pleasure; the heat of their bodies wrapped her up in a cocoon of lust.

ArthurTV, not content to just stand and watch any longer, stepped forward, his cock at full attention. Standing over her, he stroked it slowly, his eyes watching the contraction of her face. "Open up, love," he said, and she took him immediately in her mouth, her tongue swirling around his shaft as the taste of him was intoxicating; she wanted more.

Chris and Arthur Hill didn't miss a single beat, their hands and mouths working in harmony to drive her closer to the edge. Y/N's eyes rolled back as the pressure began to build, her body tightening around Arthur's tongue as he continued to lick her. She felt the heat of George's breath as he leaned into the side of her neck, his teeth nibbling gently at her earlobe.

Isaac and ArthurTV watched their own desires come to a boiling point at the sight of their friend sans restraint in their passion. They exchanged a look, both keen to take their turn. Y/N felt a hand at her waist, gently lifting her onto the bed. She looked up to see George smiling down at her, his eyes filled with lust. "My turn," he whispered, and she parted her thighs in all eagerness and invited him inside.

He positioned himself between her thighs, his cock throbbing in anticipation. He leaned in to kiss her, his tongue plunging deep as he plunged into her with a single, powerful stroke. She moaned into his mouth, her body already primed and ready for more. He began to move, hips pumping in a steady rhythm that had her death-gripping the sheets.

Chris dove in to take Arthur Hill's place, his cock immediately being sucked into her mouth as she greedily sucked him, never taking her eyes off George fucking her. The room was a cacophony of passion: moans and groans, skin slapping skin. The air was heavy with the smell of sex and sweat; the flickering candlelight cast an intimate, warm glow over it all.

Isaac watched, his hand going to stroke his own cock as he took in the sight of his friend claiming her. Desire was bright in George's eyes, raw need etched into every line of his face. He knew it was only a matter of time before he had to take his place, but for now, he enjoyed watching the woman he had fantasized about being taken by his best mates.

Y/N's eyes fluttered closed as George thrust harder. Her body was a symphony of pleasure, each touch and kiss sending shockwaves through her. She could feel the beginnings of another orgasm building, pressure coiling in her core. "Fuck me harder," she begged, her voice hoarse with need.

George obeyed, becoming more and more erratic as his climax neared. Arthur Hill and Isaac watched as they stroked their own cocks, their stroking in time with George's thrusts as the room spun into a blur of flesh and desire, their attention only for the woman writhing on the bed in front of them.

Chris pulled from her mouth, panting, and took his place next to ArthurTV. They watched together as George brought Y/N to the edge, her back arched and her nails digging into the mattress. With a final, guttural groan, George emptied himself inside her, shuddering with the force of his release. He collapsed beside her, pure satisfaction etched on his face.

Y/N panted and blushed, gazing up at the remaining two. "Who's next?" she purred, full of seduction. ArthurTV stepped forward, cock in hand. Wasting no time, he filled her, his movements fast and sure as he claimed her mouth once more. She moaned around his shaft, her tongue swirling around him as he started to fuck her with the same fervor as the rest.

Isaac kneeled beside her, his cock rigid, the youngest and most anxious. Without reservation or hesitation, she took him all in, her hand clasping his base as she took him deep into her throat. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he groaned loudly, purely in pleasure. "So good," he muttered, his hand burying in her hair, guiding her motions.

The room became a tornado of lust and desire, each man taking their turn to claim her, their movements becoming frenzied with every successive moment. The bed creaked in protest—the headboard slammed against the wall with every thrust. Y/N moaned even louder, her body a canvas of pleasure painted by the hands and cocks of the men she lured into her web.

Isaac's eyes didn't leave hers as he face-fucked her, his hand clenching in her hair at every gagging noise she made. She could feel the veins in his cock twitching, his orgasm imminent. The feel of his impending release spiraled her own climax closer, her body tensing in anticipation. ArthurTV's hips snapped against her own, his cock plunging deep to hit that spot that made her toes curl.

Her eyes watered, fighting for breath around Isaac's cock, but she didn't pull away; instead, she took him deeper, and her throat muscles worked around him. The feeling of being used, being taken by all five of them, was more intoxicating than any drink she'd ever had—it felt as if she'd been waiting for this moment her whole life.

Chris stroked his cock as he watched, his own desire reaching a peak added to by the sight of their pleasure. He climbed onto the bed, kneeling beside her, and slid into her from behind. The feel of being filled so completely was almost too much to bear as she gasped. The men had become a well-oiled machine, synchronized in their movements as they brought her closer and closer to the edge of oblivion.

Her gaze never wavered from ArthurTV's as the tension between them became palpable, the rising heat of Chris's orgasm evident to her. ArthurTV stroked faster, his breathing shallow, until with a final grunt, he was spurting into her, his cum mingling with George's and coating her insides.

Isaac's eyes rolled back as he came, his semen spurting onto her face and chest. Greedily, she lapped at the taste of him. Arthur Hill, never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, took this for his cue, sliding in as the others pulled out. He moved with a rhythm all his own, and she was aware of the bedbouncing her body beneath his powerful thrusts.

She lay with her legs wide, her body open to them like a feast, and they took full advantage. ArthurTV leaned in, kissing her neck and whispering dirty things in her ear as his hands roamed her body and Arthur Hill pounded into her. A moan escaped her throat, which was muffled by Arthur's cock, as her hips arced toward each thrust.

"You like that, don't you, Slut?" Arthur Hill growled in his low voice gruffly. "You like being filled by all of us?" Y/N could only nod, the look in her eyes crazed with lust. "Say it," he demanded, his grip on her hips tightening. "Say you're our little slut."

She complied, her voice a breathy whisper. "I'm your slut," she moaned, the words sending a shiver down her spine. The dirty talk only seemed to heighten her arousal, wetting her further and making her more eager for their attention. ArthurTV leaned in, his teeth grazing her earlobe. "You're such a good girl, taking all of us," he murmured, his voice sweet in contrast to Arthur Hill's harshness.

"Fuck me, fill me," she begged, her voice little more than a whisper above the slapping of their hips. The men became more aggressive with each word, their own dirty remarks egging her on further. "You're so tight," Arthur Hill grunted, his strokes becoming more erratic. "So fucking tight."

"Yeah, take it all," ArthurTV whispered, his fingers digging into her hips. "You're made for this, aren't you? Made to be used by us." The raw words sent another wave of heat through her, pussycats clenching around Arthur Hill's cock as another orgasm threatened to break free. Tension pulled tight inside her body, higher and tighter with each thrust.

"Tell us how much you love it," Chris said, eyes dark with lust, as he watched Arthur Hill fuck her. "Tell us how much you love having all five of us inside you." Y/N whimpered, words choking from her in a moan. "I love it," she gasped, her voice raw with passion. "I love being your slutty."

Grunts and curses from the men rose in volume, their movements wilder still at the words. Arthur Hill's thrusts became more powerful yet, his cock slamming into her with enough force to make her eyes water. "That's it," he groaned, strained. "Tell us how much you want us to fill you up."

Y/N's cheeks were flushed, hair a wild mess around her face as she moaned and begged for more. "I want it," she panted. "I want all of your cum inside me." The filthy talk spurred Arthur Hill on, his hips working harder and faster, driving her closer to the edge. She could feel the tension rise, her body clenching around him.

"That's right," ArthurTV muttered hotly in her ear. "You're going to take it all, aren't you?" He reached down to play with her clitoral area, his thumb circling the sensitive nub while Arthur Hill's cock pummeled her pussycat. The combination was exquisite, taking her spiraling toward the abyss of pleasure.

"Oh, fuck," she moaned, the words barely intelligible. "I want it, I need it." She arched her back, her body begging for more. The men took her words as a challenge, their movements becoming savage as each of them worked to be the one to tip her over the edge.

"You're ours," Arthur Hill grunted, his teeth clamping with effort. "Our little fuck toy." Y/N's eyes rolled into the back of her head, the degradations adding to her excitement. "Yes," she whimpered, the word tumbling from her lips in a needy plea. "I'm yours; do whatever you want with me."

The words seemed to unleash something feral in the men. Their movements became more primal, and they talked dirty to her, voices hazing into a symphony of lust and dominance. "You're going to scream for us," ArthurTV muttered, his thumb rubbing harder against her clitter. "Scream our names as we make you come."

Y/N's eyes snapped open and locked with Arthur Hill's searing gaze. "You're going to come for us," he said, the timbre low, a command. "You're going to come so hard, you won't be able to walk straight tomorrow." The heat rose higher and higher, her pussycat clenching around his cock with each word.

"You're so fucking hot," ArthurTV breathed, his thumb still working her clitter in circles. "The way you're taking all of us, like the little slut you are." The insult only seemed to turn her on more, and her body responded to their every demand. She could feel Arthur Hill's cock swelling inside her, his orgasm approaching.

"Please," she begged, her voice barely above a whisper. "Make me come." It hung in the air, a desperate plea for release. The men laughed, enjoying the power they held over her. "Not yet," Arthur Hill said, his voice low. "First, you're going to make me come."

He grabbed her hips, slamming her onto her back as his cock never left her body. Hunched over, he nipped at her neck, fucking harder. Y/N's legs wrapped around his waist, her nails digging into his back as she tried to get closer, feel him deeper. The pleasure was so strong it was almost painful—a delicious agony she never wanted to end.

"You like it rough, don't you, Slut?" Arthur Hill's voice was a snarl in her ear as his teeth nipped at her lobe. "You like it when we treat you like the whore you are." She moaned, the words only serving to fuel her desire. "Yes," she breathed, her voice a mix of pleasure and submission. "I love it."

"That's right," ArthurTV added, his hand still buried in her hair. "You're a dirty little slut, and we're going to use you until you can't take anymore." Y/N's eyes rolled back as the pleasure built inside her with each thrust. "Use me," she begged, her hips rising to meet Arthur Hill's. "I'm here for you."

Chris, unable to wait a moment longer, slid back into her mouth, his cock slick with her saliva. She sucked him in hungrily, her eyes never leaving Arthur Hill's as he fucked her hard, his intensity bordering on violence. The other two men watched, their strokes growing quicker as they watched their friend claim her.

"You're doing so well," Arthur Hill praised her, his voice strained with effort. "Such a good little slut, taking all of us." Y/N moaned around Chris's cock, the dirty talk sending her closer to the edge. She could feel Arthur Hill's cock swelling inside her, his orgasm approaching like a freight train.

ArthurTV whispered into her ear, "You're going to take it all," his hand playing with her clitter, "every drop of our cum." His words sent a shiver down her spine; the anticipation of their collective release was almost too much to handle. She nodded, looking at them pleadingly for them to give her what she needed.

"Yes," she breathed, her voice husky with longing. "I want it all." Arthur Hill clutched her hips harder as his thrusts grew wilder, closer to orgasm. "You're going to make me cum so hard," he growled, boring his eyes into hers.

"That's it," ArthurTV encouraged, his voice a seductive purr. "Tell us how much you love being our little slutty." Y/N's body was a maelstrom of sensation, her pussycle clenching around Arthur Hill's cock as she felt the beginnings of her own orgasm. "I love it," she moaned, her voice raw. "I love being your slutty."

The words sounded like the last straw that broke Arthur Hill's patience. Roaring, he emptied into her, his cock pulsating with the force of his release. Y/N's eyes would widen as she felt the warmth of his cum fill her up, the sensation making her tip over the edge. Her body began spasm after spasm; her orgasm ripped through her like lightening, convulsing her entire body.

Chris watched her, his own climax imminent. He pulled out of her mouth and painted her face with his seed, his hot cum mixing with the sweat that already coated her skin. She moaned, the feeling of his hot semen on her face sending her into another wave of pleasure. The other two men watched, their own climaxes close behind.

Arthur Hill withdrew, puffing heavily, and rolled off the bed onto his back, his chest heaving rapidly up and down. George was into his place in one smooth action without missing a beat, his cock slipping into her still-shuddering pussy. Much softer than the others, his thrusts were smooth and sweet, as if savoring the moment. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, his eyes for hers alone. "So perfect."

The feeling that hit Y/n was a weird mix of satisfaction, awe, and a hint of fear. These men took her to heights she had never known were out there, but it was still not enough. Her body had been a playground to them, and she couldn't help but let them do whatever they wanted with it.

George began to stroke, his actions slow and deliberative. He leaned further forward now, pressing his lips against hers in a deep, passionate kiss as he buried himself to the hilt inside her. She felt the warmth of Arthur Hill's cum leaking from her, mingling with her own juices. It was a deliciously wicked sensation, a reminder of the depraved act they'd all just enjoyed.

Isaac and ArthurTV watched with hungry eyes, the cocks still rock-hard as they waited their turn. They stroked themselves all the time, their eyes never leaving this erotic dance playing in front of them. The room was a symphony of passion—the wet slap of skin and the ragged breathing of participants were the only sounds.

Every time he thrust, Y/N would feel George's cock reach that spot, and shivers of pleasure would run down her spine. Her legs wrapped around his waist, tugging him closer and deeper. She could feel another orgasm building, her pussycat clenching down on him like a fist. "Don't stop," she begged, her voice a desperate whine. "Don't ever stop."

Isaac and ArthurTV watched, their own arousal boiling over. Neither could stand to wait anymore. "Let me have a taste," Isaac whispered, his voice thick with want. George chuckled, pulled out, and flipped her over onto her stomach. "Be my guest," he said, slapping her ass as she moaned into the pillow.

Isaac positioned himself behind her and at the sight of his cock so slick with pre-cum. He slid into her tight, used pussy with ease, the wetness of the previous men's cum easing his way. Y/N's moans grew louder as he began to move, his hips slapping against her ass. "So good," he groaned, his hand tightening in her hair. "You're so fucking tight."

Her body was a live wire, jolts of pleasure running through her with every touch. The room spun, narrowing the world down to the sensations in her body from the cocks inside her and the hands touching her. "Harder," she begged, her voice muffled by the pillow. "I need it harder."

ArthurTV took her mouth again, his cock sliding in and out of her lips as she moaned around him. She could feel the tension in his body; his orgasm was just out of reach. "You're going to make me cum," he whispered, his voice strained. "You're going to make me fill your mouth with my cum."

The words brought a new wave of arousal to her as her pussycat clamped onto Isaac's cock. She sucked harder at him, her tongue working his shaft while he continued to fuck her mouth. The taste of the other men's cum remained prevalent, reminding her of the degradative journey on which she had set out.

Chris and Arthur Hill watched, their cocks already growing once again hard. They had never seen a thing so erotic, so primal. The thought of their friends taking her, using her body for their own pleasure, was just too much for them. They leaned forward, touching her, their hands wandering over her body as they whispered filthy words into her ears.

"You're doing so well," Arthur Hill whispered, his soft tone a stark contrast to the coarseness of the others. "You're taking us all so beautifully." His hand moved to her clitoral area, his fingers teasing the sensitive flesh as he watched Isaac fuck her from behind.

The combination was too much for Y/N to handle. Her body is a maelstrom of sensation, pleasure so high that it's almost painful. She felt ArthurTV's cock swell in her mouth; his orgasm was near. "Swallow it," he said, his voice thick with lust. She nodded, wanting to please him, and took him deep into her throat as he came.

Isaac's movements became frantic as his cock slid in and out of her with wet, sloppy sounds. She could feel his orgasm building, his cock pulsing with every stroke. "I'm going to cum," he grunted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm going to fill you up."

Y/N's body tensed, and her pussycat clamped down on him, the beginnings of her third orgasm already washing over her. She screwed her eyes shut, her body shaking with the force of it. "Do it," she begged, the words a desperate plea. "Cum inside me."

With a roar, Isaac emptied himself into her, his cum joining the rest inside her. She felt his warmth fill her, and the sensation sent her spiraling into another orgasm. Her body spasmed, her pussycat contracting around his cock, as she screamed into the pillow.

Limbs were tangled, sighs were sated, and the room was thick with sex. Y/N was lying on the bed, her body shaking with aftershocks of pleasure. The men pulled out—their cocks covered in her juices—and fell around her, their breathing heavy with exertion.

There was only the sound of their hearts beating as one, the quiet whispers of their breathing filtering through the air. The candles danced around them, their shadows veering across them through flushed and sweat-slickened bodies. They had taken her, used her, claimed her as their own, and she had loved every second of it.

The men lay sprawled around her, their eyes glazed over with satisfaction. Their chests rose and fell with deep, contented sighs, their cocks now at rest, having spent their seed inside her welcoming warmth. It was in the aftermath of a primal dance wherein desire had knitted them together—a palpable thread forged in the fire of passion.

Her mind was a mess, her body humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. She couldn't believe she just did this—that she let herself be used by all five of them. But she didn't feel used; she felt powerful and desired. Each thrust, each groan of pleasure, was a declaration of her sexual prowess, and she reveled in it.

Arthur Hill's gentle strokes on her clitoral had been like a sweet caress, a tender reminder of his dominance amidst the frenzy. His words in her ear were soothing and challenging, pushing her closer to the edge with every syllable. The way he looked at her when he came, as if she was all that mattered in this world, had been heady.

His hands on her breasts had branded her, marking her as theirs. She felt the heat of his gaze even when he wasn't touching her, his eyes devouring every inch of her. The way he'd whispered dirty words in her ear had made her feel like the most desired woman alive. It was like a paint of his cum on her face, leaving a part of himself with her, claiming her in the most primal possible way.

George's gentle touch had belied the others; his kisses on her neck and breasts were as light as butterfly wings. His patience was a sweet reprieve, his tenderness a gentle reminder that beneath the chaos, there was a person with feelings and desires. Whispers of praise had been balm to her soul, soothing the beast that had been loosed within her.

The dominance of ArthurTV had been oddly alluring; the way he took her mouth, his cock claiming her like a conquering force, thrilled her. She'd never felt so powerless, so completely consumed by another's pleasure, and she found that she enjoyed it. His smirk as he watched her cum for him, his own release imminent, had been the final push she needed to let go, to fully embrace the slut they had all turned her into. Isaac's raw need had been undeniable. His eyes were wild with lust, his touch almost desperate as he claimed her from behind. His gruffness, the whispered dirty words in her ear, had made her feel so much like a prized possession. The painful sting of his brutal treatment of her hair, mixed with the extreme pleasure of feeling his cock fill her up, had brought out something in her she never knew existed. She likes it—the way he uses her, the way he makes her feel like some dirty little secret.

Lying amidst a circle of men, faces upwards, panting and spent, she could not help but feel triumphant. She did what she wanted to do and had taken all five of them. She did not waste a single moment, enjoying every bit of it. Her body was sticky from sweat and cum, telling of the carnality of their session. The bed beneath her was a tangled mess of rumpled sheets and discarded clothes, a battleground of pleasure.

The soft candlelight bathed the room in its gentle glow, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The air was heavy with the scent of sex, a heady perfume that seemed to cling to her skin. She felt odd, nearly at peace, her body sated but her mind racing with the memories of what had just transpired. What now, she wondered? Would they all just lie in this bed, basking in the afterglow of their depraved act? Or would they find themselves once again thrown into the battle, eager for more of what so willingly she had given to them?

Chris was the first to move, his hand tracing a lazy pattern across her back as he leaned in to press a soft, gentle kiss against her neck. "That was," he started, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find his words. "Amazing," Y/N supplied, her voice still husky from screams torn from her throat. He chuckled, low and warm. "Yeah," he agreed. "It really was."

The tension in the room began to break as the others stirred, their sated bodies moving lazily against the tangled sheets. Arthur Hill propped himself up on one elbow, his gaze sweeping over her form. "You're something else," he murmured, a hint of awe in his voice. She couldn't help but preen under his praise; her cheeks hued with a mix of pride and embarrassment. "Thank you," she whispered, trying to find some further words and coming up empty.

Chris leaned down, his hand staying on the small of her back, and pressed a kiss against her cheek. "You're incredible," he said, gravitas in his tone. "We'll have to do this again." At just the threat of it, a thrill ran through her, excitement already building for another encounter with these men. "Definitely," she agreed, the smirk dancing around her lips.

The others stirred, starting to wake sated. Arthur Hill leaned in, slanting his mouth over hers in a bruising kiss. His tongue slid against hers, tasting the last remnants of passion they'd shared. "I never get enough of you," he muttered, his voice heavy with lust. "Me neither," she whispered.

They shifted, their bodies resettling around her. It was clear that the night was really nowhere near over, as desire still gleamed brightly in their eyes. "What now?" Y/N asked, her voice imbibed with a mix of excitement and trepidation. "Now," Arthur Hill said, a roguish smile playing on his lips, "we make this a regular thing."

The idea of becoming their friends with benefits was exhilarating and terrifying. The thought of the five men she had just met, having unlimited access to her body, sent a thrill down her spine. But she couldn't run from the pull—the raw, primeval need they had awakened in her.

"We'll take good care of you," George assured her, his voice a husky purr of seduction. "You can always be our little slut to come to whenever you need it." And strangely enough, the thought of being the girl they ran to whenever they needed their sexual fix was reassuring in some odd way. It wasn't love, no, but it was something. It was passion and desire, raw and unfiltered.

ArthurTV chuckled, his hand stroking her thigh. "And we'll make sure you're always satisfied," he said, eyes gleaming mischievous. "You never have to beg for it again." The promise sent a thrill through her—the idea of having them at beck and call all the time was incredibly arousing.

Isaac leaned in, his already starting to harden again. "But for now," he said, his voice a gruff whisper, "I think we need to clean up." He slid off the bed, his cock glistening with mixed juices. "And then," he winked, "maybe round two?"

The others laughed; the spark of mischief danced in their eyes. Y/N couldn't help but feel the thrill of it, her body already begging for more. They helped her off the bed, the stickiness of the cum between her legs making her wobble just a little. Arthur Hill caught her, his arms strong and steady around her waist. "Let's get you cleaned up," he murmured, leading her to the bathroom.

The warm water from the shower washed away the remnants of their encounter, embracing them with steam as they stood under the spray. The men took turns soaping her body, their gentle touches standing in stark contrast to the ferocity of their actions earlier. They were attentive to make sure she was clean and pampered; it touched her in a way she did not expect. It was as if they were reassuring her that, in spite of them taking her so thoroughly, she was very special.

They emerged from the shower, bodies shining and renewed. The bed was made afresh, with new candles in place and a bottle of champagne chilling on the bedside. "To us," ArthurTV toasted, his eyes locking with hers as he clinked his glass to hers. The bubbly liquid slid down her throat, the sweetness just right against the saltiness of their sweat and cum still in her mouth.

They lay entangled with each other in the clean sheets, their laughter filling the room thick with the odor of sex, sweet with this new bond. They talked and laughed, sharing stories and getting to know one another outside of the bedroom. It was a moment of companionship that she hadn't anticipated—a moment of happiness that she knew she would treasure.

What remained of the night had been a blur of hot kisses and soft touches, the odd bout of sex interrupting their talking. But what really stayed in her mind was the tenderness: the manner in which they had regarded her, the manner in which they had made her feel. This was a night she knew she'd never forget, one that changed her in ways she was only just beginning to fathom.

When morning finally broke, the men held her close, their arms wrapped warmly around her in protection and longing. Whispering sweet nothings into her ears, warm breath sent heat to her skin. There was a promise of times yet to come—a heady mix of excitement and anticipation left hanging in the air. Y/N closed her eyes, feeling more content than she had in a long time. For now, she had finally found a place she fit, molded in the arms of those five men who so thoroughly claimed her.

That night, they had spent reliving their story of how they met, but the story that was going to be truly theirs was only just now beginning, and as morning light spread over London, casting its golden rays over tangled limbs, Y/N knew she knew exactly where to find home. She was theirs, and happy to be so. The five of them had found that special something that superseded physicality: love. As they drifted to sleep, their hearts beating in unison, she knew she had found her place in life—the most unlikely of places.

*****

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