#forgive me for posting what’s already been shared

[justanotherrcblog]

His scenes were so good this update 👏

[yzzart]

Love your Tom blyth fics an unhealthy amount!!! I’m picturing reader and Tom being all lovey dovey at the premiers but playing it off as really good bestfriends UNTIL she goes to kiss him on the cheek and in instinct he turns his head to kiss her on the lips so they just say fuck it and hard launch there and then x

"An unplanned situation."

pairing: tom blyth x actress!reader

summary: a small gesture, with a sweet intention, revealed a promising secret.

word count: 1.359!

notes: i started this request in the morning and only had the opportunity to finish it a few minutes ago, forgive me for that, anon! — i hope you like it and of course, feel free to share ideas with me!

"Y/N, look here!"

Another request, among others, screams and countless flashes, was directed to you; being, theoretically, almost impossible to identify who had demanded your image. — There were so many voices mixing, not to mention the music in the background, but, you tried your best to pay attention to most of the cameras.

However, it wasn't anything you weren't used to; something that has already been normalized in your life.— And during the premiere of The ballad of songbirds and snake it was no different, and it was splendid; simply perfect. — Not to mention, the feeling of gratitude that grew in your chest.

Cameras and cell phones captured your every movement, your poses and the way your perfectly chosen dress was valued and highlighted on your body. — And how it matched the color palette of the film. — Everything was being recorded, at the exact moment, posted and commented on all social networks.

You had the opportunity to meet, talk and take photos with some of the cast. — It was so pleasant, the company and unity that everyone developed during the filming of the film was inexplicable and so adorable; you were grateful to have worked with so many talented people. — There were some people who were absent, until now, in your eyes, but you would definitely meet them again on the carpet.

And, of course, your eyes roamed the decorated room, matching the elements of the film, and crowded in search of a specific person. — It wasn't exaggerated words to say that you were starting to feel uncomfortable because he was missed; and the cameras recorded it. — Silent questions, which would be written, formed in the minds of the presenters and photographers.

Your boyfriend had yet to appear on the red carpet; perhaps he is giving a quick and curious interview or greeting someone. — That's what was going on in your head.

You and Tom had a secret relationship, ever since you met behind the scenes, in front of the world and all the cameras that may exist in it; something that was so risky and at the same time adventurous. — And that, as incredible as it might seem, you knew how to disguise it in front of your fans; even though they gradually became suspicious with comments, interactions and behind-the-scenes photos.

They were either smart or you and Tom were too far over the line. — This question was not important or essential for the moment. — And you considered each other best friends for interviews or responses to comments; you tried your best.

And so, Rachel sent countless screenshots of tweets, which talked about or mentioned the relationship between you and Tom, to you. — It's impossible to deny how funny it was.

Persisting in continuing to look for him and for a few seconds, your eyes meet his blue and so charming irises. — Its shade of blue was a magnificent and beautiful combination; something you would never get tired of admiring. —And there was no other thing, or anyone, that could take his eyes off you.

As if the only thing that mattered at that moment was you. — And everything around him simply disappeared.

"There you are!" — Tom walked towards you, easily as there weren't so many people on the carpet, and an enthusiastic smile forming on his lips; also accompanied by cameras and intense flashes. — "And so beautiful!"

Holding a part of your long and dazzling dress so as not to hinder your steps, you met him, and without wasting any time, hugged him. — A common gesture, and not so different or strange, for the spectators; so, you thought. — Tom's arms went around your waist, holding your protectively for a little while, while your arms positioned themselves around his neck.

Tom's fragrance, which you liked so much, filled your nose; it felt so good, and you felt your eyes weaken, contaminated by it. — And the british man was aware of that.

"You look perfect, always." — The older man distanced himself, just a little, and brought his face closer to your ear, wanting only you to hear. — "The most beautiful woman that has ever crossed my eyes." — The lenses probably captured a reddish pigmentation on your cheeks and it was not part of your makeup.

You placed one of your hands on his chest, and looking directly into his eyes; that shone at you, and it wasn't just because of the influence of the lights in your direction. — Tom's gaze was sincere, and passionate, intensely fascinating you. — He conveyed what he felt most with just his eyes.

And that was one of the facts about him that you were passionate about and recognized very well.

"Oh, shut up!" — Raising your hand and resting it a little away from your mouth, you laughed a little embarrassed and looked back at the cameras; remembering that they remained there and you knew that later you would see your interaction with Tom on some social media.

Again, a thing and situation you were used to.

"Look at that camera!" — A voice mingled among others, which requested the same request, asking you to take some photos together; something that would feed news, fans and press.

At no point, minute or second, did you and Tom remain distant or apart from each other; always a few steps close, hugging each other for photos and certain looks, completely indiscreet. — Even during brief interviews, as Blyth mentioned you or your character's work, you were silently watching. — One of the interviewers even commented on how cute she thought it was.

Tom's hand was on your waist, holding and almost covering you, making a quick caress in a few seconds and one of your hands was still resting on his chest; and you continued, of course, to be the focus of the cameras.

Quickly, with the intention of changing your pose and trying something new and also to take advantage of the fact that Blyth's face was almost close to yours, you decide to place your pigmented lips on his cheeks. — Such a cute and friendly gesture, and so common. —But, automatically and hastily, Tom turned his face away at the same time, without having in mind what you were, in fact, planning. — God, it was a shock; an absurd and completely intense shock.

For the first time that night, in that place and on those cameras, your lips touched Tom's lips. — It was very quick, good and surprising; and that definitely left a cold, freezing air in your belly accompanied by a desperate feeling in your mind. — Rumor has it that smoke was coming out of his head. — It was a peck, a quick and simple kiss.

When you separated, hurriedly, your eyes met Tom's once again; who were a little wide-eyed, expressing surprise. — Looking for something to say or do, just like you. — And you watched his lips curve into an almost smile, as if he was trapping him.

Shouts of enthusiasm and some possible whistles echoed throughout the immense place, along with some looks and expressions of surprise at what had happened. — And some people were worried if they had recorded the exact moment, of course. — Your fans were probably commenting frantically about what happened.

You really didn't know what to do but at no point did you move away from your boyfriend — now, official to the public — and keep your hand on his chest; as if it were, in fact, planned.

"A nice way to reveal it, huh?" — Tom laughed, relaxed and without a feeling of discomfort or uneasiness, he still had his hand on your waist; and he still squeezed you, then leaving you with another caress. — "I think." — He didn't look at the cameras, his orbits focused only on you.

They have always focused on you, regardless of what is actually happening; and that will never change.

"A nice way to reveal." — You repeated your words, but, as an affirmation and certainty; maybe, seeing how relieved Tom was, and not showing some kind of distress, your chest calmed down and you felt safe.

And soon, you and Tom became one of the most talked about topics on social media.

[solaireverie]

op81 | best he'll ever write

summary: [ author!oscar piastri x f!driver!reader — social media au ] being the partner and muse of a celebrated author means that fans start connecting the dots sooner rather than later

faceclaim: gracie abrams

author’s note: i'm secretly a ya romcom book girlie and i feel like that shows SO MUCH in this fic 🙈 delusional for life!

[ masterlist / guidelines / lola's masterlist / series masterlist ]

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri, liakblock and 534,230 others

geotag: melbourne, australia

yourusername short break down under 🐨

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user great race at the australian gp y/n!

↪ user first points of the season let's goooo

↪ yourusername and hopefully many more to come 🙌

logansargeant STRAYAAA 🦘🇦🇺🦘🇦🇺

↪ yourusername VEGEMITE ON TOAST 🤤

↪ user sometimes i forget that logan and y/n are both gen z 😂

user the puppy is so adorable 🥺

↪ user i wonder whose it is 👀 y/n's said that her schedule doesn't allow for pets

oscarpiastri not my birthday cake...

↪ yourusername sorry not sorry 😉

↪ user who the hell is oscar piastri and why is y/n replying to his comment 😭

↪ user don't you talk about my favourite best-selling author like that 🤺

oscarpiastri has added to their story

seen by yourusername, logansargeant, jennyhan and 124,203 others

you replied to oscarpiastri's story

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, landonorris and 3,393,210 others

tagged: oscarpiastri

yourusername can't believe that little kid is now a 3-time nyt best-selling author 🥹 so proud of you oscarpiastri 💗 i haven't been able to put eighty-one seconds down 📖 available in bookstores near you!

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user i love how y/n always supports and promotes oscar's books 🥺

↪ user they're so adorable together my heart can't take it

oscarpiastri Thanks for the encouragement. Couldn't have done it without you 👍

↪ yourusername damn right you couldn't have 😤

user okay but who took the photo of y/n 👀

↪ user i'm betting it was oscar 😜

↪ user hello what 😳😳😳

↪ user oh my sweet summer child...

liked by yourusername, hachetteaus, johngreenwritesbooks and 293,192 others

tagged: yourusername

oscarpiastri Thank you to everyone who's been on this journey with me. Eighty-One Seconds is finally yours and we can't be more happy to share it with you. As many of you have guessed, it is my homage to Y/N and all the time we have spent together. My wife, my love, my heart. I'm grateful that you're in my life. Forgive me for re-using my words, but here's to eighty-one more years together.

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user hold on a damn second 🤚 his WIFE??? when was this a thing 🧐

↪ yourusername 🤭

↪ user give us answers please 🙏 i haven't had peace since oscar posted this

yourusername i love you too, oscar jack piastri 🤍

↪ user oh he literally named his mc after himself 😭

↪ user GOODBYE??? JACK AS IN HIS MIDDLE NAME??? oh my god they really weren't subtle

williamsracing signed copy when 😏

↪ hachetteaus already on its way 🫡

user honestly i'm surprised they managed to hide their relationship for this long 💀

↪ user oh they did NOT we were just blind

↪ logansargeant I didn't find out until I got the wedding invitation in the mail 🤝

↪ landonorris i think that's just cause you're oblivious mate 😂

↪ logansargeant what???

↪ landonorris they literally make out all the time in williams hospitality

↪ yourusername lando... 😒

user if your man isn't writing a book professing his love for you, what's he doing with his life?

↪ user oscar's set the standard 😌

likes and reblogs are appreciated!

taglist: @scenesofobx @vellicora @boiohboii @julesbabey @flannelforthetoads @misartymis @c-losur3

[essiemclaren]

watch me win

in which lando was paid to fake date y/n!

pairing: mean!lando x reader

tw: cursing and rude behavior

-

day 1

lando's text with reader

reader's post on twitter/x

lando's text with reader

lando's text with his friends

-

He said yes to his friend Stroll’s offer, not because he needed the money. He was doing it for fun and because he was bored. The dare to date her for the whole month of August sounds like the perfect distraction. The challenge was simple: make her fall for him and then crush her heart on the last day. It was cruel, but that’s what made it exciting for him. Lando already had a list in his mind of all the dates they would go on, each carefully planned to make her fall deeper for him. He wasn’t playing the attentive boyfriend yet—no, he was testing the waters, seeing how easily she could be swayed. “Oh, I’m a very good listener,” he said in the middle of their conversation. In his mind, he added, “I’ll even keep notes of all your little secrets and insecurities.” Of course, he meant every word, but not in the way she thought.

After their first outing, he only knew the basics: her favorite color, the subjects she hated, and that she loved chocolate croissants. But even these small details were enough to start his list. “Eager to please,” he noted when she laughed too hard at his jokes. “Seeks approval,” he added after she asked him what he thought about her favorite book. It was almost too easy. Lando took pleasure in knowing that every sweet word he whispered to her was a lie, every smile a part of his act.

He watched her closely, mentally preparing for the deeper truths she would eventually reveal. Each fact she shared was a potential weapon in his arsenal. She had no idea that he was already plotting how to use her own words against her. The game had just begun, and she was already falling into his trap. She was just a pawn in his game, a temporary amusement to stave off his boredom. Lando couldn’t wait for the day when he would reveal the truth. He felt a twisted sense of satisfaction imagining her face crumpling in realization. This was going to be fun and he is determined to win.

--

a/n: NOT THE UPDATE YOU WERE WAITING FOR IM SORRY 💔 but this has been sitting in my drafts for too long! to the anon who requested this, im sorry for delaying this PLEASE FORGIVE ME 😩🙏 but i hope i got your request right 🩷

i think im going to make this as a short series! let me know if you like this!!! 😩 ask for a tag 🫶

love from essie 🫂

[churipu]

hihi i love ur works sm and i was wondering if i can request where the reader has an argument w the jjk men?? preferably w nanamin + any other characters :3 thank you in advance ^___^

BAD BLOOD — ARGUMENTS WITH JJK MEN !

featuring. nanami kento, choso, megumi fushiguro x reader

warnings. cursing, yelling, slight angst (ends in fluff dw).

note. hi anon, thank you for loving my works, it means a lot to me. and i love this request, i've been feeling like crap for the whole day so this is just what i needed! i hope you like this one <;33 and for anons who have sent in request, i'm writing them down and keeping them in my drafts for daily posts, so don't worry about it!

NANAMI KENTO. i feel like arguments with nanami will be very soft but angry. nanami is a gentle person, and he just hates the thoughts of saying something hurtful to you — but do keep in mind that he won't always be very soft, he could be loud at times. but most of your arguments with him are soft spoken, the both of you exchanging thoughts and troubles.

for the past few days, nanami has been extremely overworked and so you're walking on eggshells around him. he gets sensitive, and the slightest bit of inconvenience angered him. yes, you get it — he's tired from his work, you could totally understand that. he's a busy man after all.

"kento, don't you want to take a break..? you've been working non-stop, you'll get sick," you eyed him, poking around your food.

nanami sat across from you, his eyes glued to a paper, and honestly, it was getting a little sickening. all you wanted to do was to talk to him, but you felt as if you were selfish if you asked the man to prioritize you over his work — so you stayed silent, for almost a week the two of you haven't exactly been conversing right, or talking unless it was an exchange of "hi"s and "bye"s. but that was about it.

"i need to get this done, wait a moment."

that phrase sounded like a template by now, and you huffed, rolling your eyes, "i know, i'm just worried about you. you're not getting enough sleep, you're not eating well, and at this point, i'm just afraid that you'll dig your own gra—"

"i can take care of myself, thank you. you don't have to worry about me, i know what i'm doing."

you can't help but to furrow your brows at his cold reply, a little offended when all you seemed to be doing was care for him. the least he could do was thank you for it, "god, you don't have to be such an ass about it. forgive me for caring then."

at this point, your words only added fuel to the already big fire. nanami stared at you, the exhaustion in his eyes are apparent, and his lips pursed into a thin line before he inhaled sharply, "you're being a child, i just told you i can take care of myself. please, don't argue with me on this. i'm tired with all these paperwork, don't add more burden for my shoulders."

you clicked your tongue, standing up, not wanting to engage on this particular conversation anymore, "well forgive me for caring and for being a burden. enjoy your dinner," was all you spat out at him before going to the living room — plopping your body down the couch.

arguments with him usually ends up with the both of you apologizing to each other, but this particular argument seemed to not just go the way how it usually does. a couple of hours later, none of you talked. you assumed that the male finished his dinner, and you saw him walk by you into your shared room.

the two of you refused to talk to each other, or even as little as making an eye contact. you figured that you'd just spend the night in the living room where the TV could keep you company, so you stormed inside your shared room where nanami was on the bed, eyes still on his beloved papers.

he said nothing, nor did he spare a glance at you. so you become a guest in your own bedroom and grabbed your pillow, it wasn't that chilly outside so you didn't grab the only blanket laying on the bed (you actually left it there for him to use, the ac could be pretty cold at times).

and he never came out, not until you fell asleep with the TV still on. nanami hadn't even slept, he'd gotten his work done hours ago — but still he couldn't sleep. not without you by his side.

the clock strikes fifteen minutes past three in the morning, and nanami pushed himself up from the bed — feeling the void beside him, even with the blanket; he felt cold. opening the door softly, he trudged out of the room, the sight of you all curled up on top of the couch, vivid lights shining from the TV still managing to light up the whole living room despite the lights being off.

he squats down in front of you, brushing your h/c hair out of your face and it made you turn in your sleep. although not enough to wake you up completely, nanami one of his arm under your upper back, and one under your legs. carrying you inside the room with soft steps before laying you down, not forgetting to tuck you under the blanket and leaving trails of butterfly kisses on your face.

he could finally sleep.

with the sun rays greeting you through the creases of your still covered window, you squirmed. groaning out.

"y/n?"

upon hearing nanami's voice, your eyes flutter open. of course — it was a surprise for you to wake up on the bed when you fell asleep on the couch, "did you carry me here?"

nanami nods, he was leaning onto the bed post, "i'm sorry. what i said to you was wrong," he softly said.

the anger you felt the other night was gone by now, and you were just glad that nanami was willing to talk to you. you shook your head with a small smile, "it was part of my fault too, you were working — i shouldn't have pestered you too much."

nanami wasted no time in pulling you towards him, "you were worried for me. never apologize for that."

like i said, arguments with nanami will always end pretty quickly (the two of you are mature enough to talk it out), oh and also? he spoils you the entire day after an argument so — have fun!

CHOSO. i feel like choso would be confused a lot during arguments with you, on one side i could see him being brazen with his words, and on the other side i could see him being careful with them. no in between, he's definitely scared of saying the wrong things to you — and you getting hurt emotionally, hurts him as well. so at times he just tries to end it quickly by saying sorry.

god, he hates seeing you sad. at the end of the day, if he did say things the wrong way (even if it was to defend himself when he's not wrong), choso will apologize to you for how he said his words (and you'll apologize for your mistake). but choso has his share of apologizing because of his mistake too.

"cho, are you listening to me? gosh, you never pay attention to what i'm saying, are you taking this seriously?" choso looks up at you with his brows furrowed, definitely frustrated by everything that was happening around him right now.

first of all, he expected today to be a very special day. he hasn't seen you for the past couple of days because you've been so busy with work, and he was so excited when you told him you'd be having a couple of days to rest. he couldn't wait to meet you and go out on dates with you.

but clearly, his expectations were shoved down the drain because here you both were — arguing over your work hours choso had brought up a few minutes prior. and all he said was that he wished that the both of you would have more time to spend together, which irked you.

it had been a rough week with work where you had to write and write and write on countless paperwork (which you couldn't really complain on because you signed up for the job). and you weren't afraid to admit that you were in the wrong this time, when all choso wanted was time with you. here you were, getting all riled up because he wished that he had more time with you, and if the roles were switched; you were pretty damn sure you'd say the same thing to him.

"'m sorry for bringing that up. can we go out now..? i don't wanna fight w' you." choso mumbled out, averting his gaze to the side.

his tone ripped you away from your anger and you sighed, pulling him into your embrace, "cho, 'm sorry. i shouldn't have taken my anger out on you just because i've had a rough week."

choso returned your embrace mutely, a small smile dawning upon his lips. he was just glad the argument was cut short. all he wanted to do now was to go out of this slump and make you the happiest person ever — even just for a moment, a couple of days before you eventually have to return back to work.

"cho, say something."

choso pulls away from your touch, "i forgive you. let's go out? missed you. so much."

for the rest of the day, you and choso had the most fun in a week. also, choso fell into a pond in the park because he wasn't looking at the road — and also, you might've called your boss to extend your rest day (by saying you weren't feeling well) so you could have more time to spend with your boyfriend.

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO. i feel like megumi's the type of boyfriend who tries to stay out of arguments with you, if he was entangled in one where he isn't in the wrong — and you tell him to do something, he'd just kind of do it without any complaints. tell him to shut up? he shuts up. tell him to go away? he'll leave. tell him to leave you alone? he'll leave you alone (for a couple of hours).

but when he feels like things aren't ceasing, he'd try his best to negotiate with you and try to find out what the core of the problem is between the both of you. let's be real, megumi is a realistic type of person, he'd never admit that he's wrong when he isn't just to solve things the fast way, even to you; his own partner.

"y/n. how many times do i have to tell you that it's not that i'm bored of you alright? i've been busy. i'm not bored of you."

okay, you didn't expect one question to lead to this argument. all you asked him was a simple yes or no question: "are you bored of me?" and you didn't throw the question for no apparent reason, the reason behind that question itself was megumi's change of behavior the past two weeks.

he'd been extremely distant, and cold. whenever you asked him about it, he just tells you that he's tired. which you could totally understand since he is pretty busy, like uncle ben said: "with great power comes great responsibility."

being a jujutsu sorcerer is a big responsibility. you could understand where it was coming from, but when it happens again and again, you can't help but to overthink about it. overthink about how megumi might be bored of you and the whole relationship.

"megumi, i...okay— i'm sorry for asking about this. i was just worried." you tell him, not wanting to argue any longer about this whole thing, "i'm sorry, you must be stressed out with school and stuff."

megumi furrowed his brows, inhaling sharply, "no, no.. i'm sorry for lashing out. let's talk about this. i don't want you to get the wrong idea."

megumi explained everything from a to z, about how he was still so in love with you and he had been distant because of his power and what comes with it. it was pretty cute to listen to him talk, the constant flush on his face whenever he talks about you, and the stress in his voice when he talks about his power was apparent.

poor boy just needed a break.

"megumi, let's take a nap. you look like you need it."

"...i do."

argument ended. relationship stronger. and you both get to nap together, absolute win-win.

© CHURIPU 2023 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE !

[deerspherestudios]

Hi there! I just wanted to let you know that I love your games! Mushroom Oasis especially has an especially place in my heart. Mychael is such an interesting character and one of my favorite types of yanderes—not violent towards his object of affection but still manipulative and willing to cross lines even if he feels guilty about it. Thank you so much for the work you have done; it’s obvious this game is a labor of love and I am looking forward to see how the story progresses.

In the meantime, I have to ask, do you think there might be a future option where the player can cook for Mychael? Totally okay if that is a little too specific. Cooking is just a love of mine and I love to cook for people I love and I feel that is something that Mychael would appreciate.

Also—and forgive me if you have answered this already—but I was curious to see where Mychael’s affection lands on the scale you created by the end of day 3. Or would there be more than one answer since it seems actions taken on this day might start to split between the platonic and romantic routes.

Thank you again for your time and for creating this wonderful game. Your art is so lovely and you have a real knack for fun character design.

HELLO!! Thank you so much for the kind words!! For me personally I've never been a fan of "if I can't have you no one can <3" type yanderes so knowing that it's a shared sentiment means a lot!!

I actually have something of an idea where MC does something nice for Mychael for a change in Day 4!

It was closer to buying a gift and the players can choose what they'd get for him but adding a cooking/baking option (or a more diverse set of gifts rather than just shopping for it) seems like a good idea! As usual the script is still cooking so we'll see!

As for the charts, they're answered here and explained here!

Also,,, idk if you'll ever read the addition below but I'm holding back on gushing rn because uh, this is for you personally but it's basically an appreciation post for being one of my fave authors <3!!!:

AAAA A A 11 !! ??

I'm gonna try and articulate myself in the best way I can but I have been a FAN of your writing since??? Gosh, 2015??? I was following your blog back when the pfp was a torchic (and a treecko i think??) and the header was Swiggity swiff Gotta Yiff ?? Idk if you're comfortable with people knowing of your writing but let me know if I should edit anything here!!!

I LOVED your writing so much it was silly and witty but you can do drama and heart and spicy just as well it was a major inspiration!!! I genuinely though it was a little goof when I saw you were following my blog the other day and THEN YOU SEND ME AN ASK??? IM, , , THROUGH THE ROOF, I would mention my fav fics of yours by name but I'd be outing myself but the scope is huge <3

I've been thinking of how to respond to this all DAY and decided to just be honest but but just know I love what you do <3 Admittedly idk if you still write these days but either way I hope you're doing well!!!! <3

[three-realms-archive]

A Weak Wrist

Second oneshot of Scars, Wounds and Minor Inconveniences: a oneshot series featuring slice-of-life snapshots of the aftermath of Lesson 16. Naturally, features spoilers for OG Obey Me! up until that point. Each oneshot will have an associated headcannons post, which will be linked when it goes up!

“You will tell me what happened, Leviathan.”

Lucifer raises an eyebrow at the scene before him. You, on the floor and clutching your wrist. Leviathan, on the other side of the room and in demon form, holding a first aid kit he had taken out of the cabinet. Lucifer had opened the door just as Leviathan had taken out a bandage and started swinging his arm, as if to throw it to you as if feeding a scared, wild animal. When Lucifer had asked, his younger brother suddenly couldn’t look him in the eye - instead, Levi looks to you for a response.

You say nothing. This is hardly new to Lucifer, who had noticed that he only tends to see you in shared classes or family dinners recently. He’d watch you joke and laugh with his brothers so easily, which was pretty good news. Finally, the human was behaving themselves. Strangely, though, Levi’s face takes an uncharacteristically serious expression. As if steeling himself for your sake.

“W-We, uh, were trying out this new video-game I got for family game night. There’s, like, a mat… A mat! With arrows you hop on. To, um, play.” Levi explains. “But they… they fell. Their wrist, they fell on it and it got hurt. Badly.”

“I’m fine, Levi. My wrist is - ah, ah - weak, anyway.” You try to respond, growling through gritted teeth when you try to roll your wrist around. Your heart softens when Levi mumbles what seems to be “… because of me.” and shake your head. You clamp your eyes shut to prepare and attempt - again - to rotate your hand about your wrist.

The pain is brutal… but at least it distracts from the even-more painful memories of a quiz with a demon; and the injury to your wrist that resulted in it being so prone to injury.

“You’re not going anywhere like that. Here.” Lucifer sighs, massaging his forehead. Weak, vulnerable humans. He doesn’t see you freeze. “Take my arm. We’ll go to the dining room, get you some water and sit you down with an ice pack.”

“…”

You don’t respond. This is hardly new to Lucifer, yet he finds himself irritated.

“MC. That’s not a request.” He raises his voice, moving closer and offering his hand to you - and you flinch. Away from him. Lucifer is confused because what had he done, other than offer you assistance?

You, frozen as solid as ice, provide little to no answer to that question. Out of the corner of his eye, Lucifer notices Leviathan gulp, holding his breath, eyes darting between his older brother and his best friend. His concentration flickering and one can almost see the imaginary cursor struggling to choose between two options of the visual novel scene playing in his mind.

‘Say something.’

‘Say nothing.’

Levi chooses the latter, but turns to you. He opens his arms rather awkwardly. And then, you have to make the choice instead.

Inwardly, Lucifer huffs. Levi had caused your injury then, and he had caused it now. And offering a hug, of all things? How naive. Lucifer let his eyes meet yours, not feeling the need to offer anything more than he already had.

… But Lucifer feels something foreign and unpleasant in his chest when he watches you walk across the room - and into Leviathan’s arms. He watches the third-born brother stutter in shock, taking a few minutes to process - before scrambling to meet you halfway. And why wouldn’t he need to process that? Why wouldn’t Leviathan be surprised, after being the reason for your weak wrist in the first place? After all; Lucifer had been right there, the eldest’s arm slightly bent at the elbow, ready for you to place your hand. Ready to lend you support. Irritatingly, annoyingly ready to do anything for you… and for you to do anything - anything - remotely significant to him.

Ready to receive the forgiveness you seemed to give to everyone else so damn easily over the last few months. Had you forgotten that all of his family, in one way or another, had a part to play in your hurt just as much as Belphegor?

You, Diavolo’s exchange student, had finally been behaving, ever since Belphie. Lucifer had been proud of himself for taming you, because murder was commonplace in the Devildom. He had thought that witnessing it for yourself was just the lesson you needed to stay away from danger. You never speak to him unless spoken to. You had stay in your room when he was home. You freeze when he’s near. You let yourself be cradled by demons who had almost snapped your arm in the midst of a fit of envy; and would rather that than even come within six metres of his arm. You stayed far away from danger. You stayed farther away from Lucifer. And the combination of his pride and distance from you had made admitting that impossible for him. Admitting that his brothers had been spending the past few months trying; reaching out to you.

Lucifer, Avatar of Pride, had not.

So - having met in the middle of the room - Lucifer watches as you stay with Leviathan. Levi doesn’t quite know what to do with his arms, so the two of you huddle together like penguins looking for warm, under Lucifer’s icy stare. Every now and again, you cautiously peer over Levi’s shoulder. Your knuckles turn white from gripping Levi’s hoodie fabric. Your eyes meet with those of the Avatar of Pride - you immediately look away.

Lucifer stands apart from you, still by the room’s entrance. The arm he had offered for you to is retracted, as it’s nowhere near enough to reach you. And nowhere near a hug.

A horrid, awful truth dawns on him, making his stomach drop like butterflies turning to lead inside.

His would only ever allow him to take half a step forward.

And, in return, you would take ten steps back - far, far away from him. Even farther than from the demon who had broken your wrist.

And it would be a long, long time before you would let him get close enough to reach you.

…

…

“… Lucifer.” You murmur; voice barely above a whisper. His eyes meet to yours faster than he would like. “C-Could you, um… Could you get me a glass of water? Please.”

He stays there, for a few seconds. His breath hitches.

He… eventually nods, turning to leave the room. He gets the water; and doesn’t realise he’s slightly rushing.

He returns a few minutes later. He sees that you’ve detached yourself from his brother and, when your eyes meet his, you take half a step forward. He glances away.

He doesn’t look at you when he makes his way across the room to where you’re standing. Nor does he realise he’s walking quicker than normal.

Suddenly, the sound of gentle scales scraping against wood echoes to break the deafening silence and Lucifer finds Levi’s tail at his feet. Right in front of you, and right in front of him. A barrier.

He glances at Levi, one of his beloved baby brothers, and sees that he’s holding his breath again. His eyes are trained on you.

And when you smile at Leviathan, your shoulders relaxing a millimetre, Lucifer realises this is as far as he goes.

… Then it happens.

He hands you the glass of water.

You take it.

He feels your fingers brush. The tiny, minuscule contact sends electricity through his gloves, down his fingertips, and the feeling surges through his arms and straight to his heart.

After a few minutes, Leviathan gradually begins to say something about new video-game suggestions for family game night. The words are hazy and unclear - Lucifer’s too busy focusing on how it felt to be near you; to touch you; to hear you speak to him without being spoken to first, for the first time in months. The first time in what had felt like millennia.

It would be a long time before you would let him get close enough to reach you.

But, as you give him the smallest of smiles as thanks for the water, he’s somehow reassured that the time would come.

The least he could do, after all he’s done, is wait.

(i know wanted to see some lucifer-centric stuff, so here it is! they specifically mentioned mammon and satan, and those will come in a later chapter since i more see them as stuff lucifer doesn’t pick up on; or, at least, stuff that doesn’t require him to face you directly, so he gets to keep his pride. all of the brothers have hurt mc in one way or another, so i wanted something clear and concrete and emotional that set lucifer apart. i figured, the phrase ‘to keep your pride’ is used often used to stop people from apologising, taking responsibility or doing something with humility - so i figured it would be the same with the avatar of pride. he won’t be the first to address it.)

(please look forward to the next chapters, as well as their accompanying headcanon chapters! some people have also asked to be tagged in the posts relating to this series, so please comment below if you’d like to be tagged too)

(finally, massive thanks to @kittylilyheart for submitting the original idea and check out Phantom Pain in the pinned masterlist post to see it! my ideas inbox is still open, so please read the rules in the pinned post and submit something obey-me related you’d like to see me write!)

Taglist:

@kittylilyheart @gallantys

[xomakara]

Welcome Home

(re-posting from my old account seulrinnie-rinrin/xomakara-secondary)

SUMMARY | In which you jump Seonghwa’s bones after he comes home from tour.

PAIRING | Seonghwa x Reader

GENRE/CONTENT/WARNINGS | Idol!Seonghwa, non-idol!Reader, smut with no plot, literally just pure unadulterated filthy smut, consensual sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up y'all), fingering, dirty talk, pet names (angel, baby), praise kink, kitchen counter sex, filthy sex, oral sex

RATING | Mature, Explicit, 18+, NSFW, MDNI

LENGTH | 3,281 words

TAGLIST |  @noir-aria

NETWORKS |  @cromernet (reuploaded so only tagging nets that haven't reblogged it yet)

AUTHOR’S NOTE | Literally wrote this in like 4 hours because my friend wanted me to. just pure, filthy pwp doesn't take me that long to write lolol. Apologies if it sounds rushed or whatnot lol. My friend sent me this video and I was inspired lololol. And now I shall drown myself in holy water.

Seonghwa was not ready for the attack you launched at him when he strode into the apartment after a few months of touring, but he was never one to turn you down. You'd jumped him in the entryway, lips finding his and legs around his waist before he could even get his jacket off.

He had his hands under your ass, keeping you from falling, and when he tried to pull away, you bit his lip, earning a deep groan. You smirked at him, and he walked forward, pressing your back into the wall and kissing you deeply. Your fingers slid into his hair and you tugged him closer, your body grinding against his.

You moaned softly, and he pulled away, "I missed you, baby." He murmured, kissing your jaw. “But why the sudden attack?" He asked.

You pouted, "You're supposed to be happy." You said, and he laughed.

"Baby, I am happy. I'm very, very happy. But this is unexpected. Not that I'm complaining." He said, squeezing your ass and kissing you again. "It's just, I expected a nice greeting, a kiss, a hug, maybe something to eat, and a shower."

"But-"

"But nothing." He said, "I'm not upset. I just wanted to know what had you so needy. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon."

You looked at him, biting your lip, "I don’t like watching my boyfriend half naked and gyrating his hips through a screen. I know it’s your job but just the thought of other girls seeing your naked chest or your sexy, smoldering looks...I don't like it. I don’t share, Seonghwa.”

"Awww baby." He smiled, kissing you, "How many times do I have to tell you I only have eyes for you? You're the only one I want to see, the only one I want to be with. It's always been you and only you. So, no worries."

"Mmm, still." You hummed, nuzzling into his neck, your feet landing back on the ground.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" He asked, hands on your hips.

“Nope."

"Fine. I'm sorry for being a sexy, gyrating, half-naked idol on stage and making you all hot and bothered. There. Will you forgive me now?" He said, leaning in close and wrapping his arms around your waist.

"No." You said, and he raised his brows, surprised.

"You're mad." He said.

"Yes."

"Because I'm a sexy gyrating half-naked idol onstage that makes you all hot and bothered."

"Yes."

"So, what's the solution here? I'm sorry. I'll wear a shirt next time. Or I'll do some hip thrusts and then I can take my shirt off and I can do the thrusting thing.

"I'm not mad at you for doing your job. I'm mad that you're sexy and I don't like the thought of other people seeing you like that. I don't want anyone else to have that view."

"So, you want to claim me. Mark me. Make me yours." He said, and you nodded. "You want to tie me down and mark every inch of my body with your lips."

"Yes. I do."

"Hmm. What are we going to do about that?" He said, smirking.

You pushed him back until he hit the wall, dropping to your knees in front of him, your fingers making quick work of his belt and zipper. You tugged his pants and boxers down, and his cock sprang out. He was already hard and throbbing.

“Fuck…” Seonghwa let out a moan as your lips wrapped around his cock. Your mouth is warm and wet, and it feels so good to Seonghwa that he just has to let out a loud moan. You start sucking him, going all the way to the base before slowly going back up, tongue swirling on the tip and then licking down the vein on the underside.

You repeat this a few more times, and every time Seonghwa lets out a string of profanities, saying how good it feels and how you are the only one who can do it. His fingers run through your hair and grips them, but he doesn't force your head down, letting you work your magic at your own pace.

And you love the noises he makes, moans and grunts coming out from his plump lips. He's the prettiest like this, you thought, pants down, lips parted, eyes closed and head thrown back, exposing the column of his neck. He looks ethereal, a sight to behold, and he's yours, only yours.

You start moving faster, bobbing your head and swallowing around his cock. You feel his hips twitch and thrust up, pushing his dick even deeper inside your mouth, and you moan, the vibrations making him groan loudly.

"Fuck, angel. You’re doing so well, taking my cock so good. Such a good girl." He praises you, making you look up. Seonghwa is staring at you, mouth parted and eyes half-lidded, looking so fucking hot that you felt yourself get wetter.

You continue sucking him, hollowing your cheeks as you pull out and lapping at the head when you come back down. Your tongue swirls around the tip and then you suck him again. Seonghwa's hands are in your hair, not moving, just keeping you in place.

You pull away, lips red and swollen, a string of saliva connecting your mouth to the tip of his dick.

"Seonghwa," you say, voice hoarse and rough. "You love it when I suck your cock?"

"God, yes, baby. It feels so good." He groans as you go back down on him, bobbing your head up and down quickly.

"You like seeing my lips wrapped around your cock? Do you think I look pretty?" You ask him, and Seonghwa nods frantically, telling you how good you look, and how pretty your mouth looks while you suck him.

"Yeah? Am I pretty for you, Hwa?"

"Yes, so fucking pretty." Seonghwa moans out. "God, so pretty, all mine."

You continue sucking him, taking him down until you almost gagged. His hips buck up, and you moan.

"I want to cum, baby. Make me cum." He says.

You keep going, moving up and down his shaft, tongue pressing at the sensitive spot on the underside. Seonghwa is a moaning mess, saying your name like a prayer, and it turns you on even more, and you are sure that your panties are ruined by now.

He pulls your head back and tells you to open your mouth.

"Stick your tongue out, angel." He says, and you obey. You open your mouth wide and stick your tongue out, and Seonghwa holds his cock and starts pumping it quickly, eyes fixed on your tongue.

"Fuck, such a pretty sight." He murmurs, and he cums, his release landing on your tongue and face. You moan at the feeling of his warm cum on your skin. Seonghwa continues to pump his cock, and some of his release lands on your cheeks, lips, and chin.

When he's done, he pulls you up and kisses you hungrily. He can taste himself on your lips, and it turns him on.

"You're so dirty, angel." He whispers, licking his own cum off your lips. "Such a dirty girl, letting me cum on your pretty little face."

"You made me like this, Hwa." You reply. "And now, you have to take care of me."

"I will." He says, pulling you in for another kiss. He pulls away, his lips moving to your neck, and you throw your head back, giving him better access. He sucks on the spot just below your ear, and you gasp, fingers curling in his hair.

He continues sucking and biting, leaving hickeys and bruises on your neck and shoulders. You moan, loving the feeling of his lips on your skin, and you feel him smirk against your shoulder.

"You like this, baby?" He asks, his voice low and rough, sending shivers down your spine.

"Yes," You breathe out. "I love it."

Seonghwa pulls away and starts taking his clothes off, and you follow suit, shedding your own clothing and tossing them on the floor. When you are both naked, Seonghwa pulls you close, and you can feel his erection pressed against your stomach. You grind against him, and he lets out a low growl.

"Someone's impatient." He teases.

"Can you blame me? It's been too long." You say.

"I know, baby, I know. But don't worry, I'll take care of you."

"Then hurry up." You whine. “I don’t care where we fuck.”

"So bossy." He says and he picks you up and carries you to the kitchen, setting you down on the island. He presses his lips to yours, kissing you deeply and roughly, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. His cock rubs against your pussy, and you let out a moan, breaking the kiss.

Seonghwa's lips move to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses down to your breasts. He takes one of your nipples into his mouth and sucks on it, and you let out a gasp. His tongue swirls around the bud and he nibbles it, then he moves to the other nipple and gives it the same treatment.

Your hands are in his hair, pulling him closer and holding him in place. He sucks and bites, leaving hickeys and marks on your chest. When he's done, he moves lower, kissing and biting your skin, marking you as his. You feel his hands at the juncture between your thighs, fingers brushing against your dripping cunt.

"Seonghwa.." You moan his name.

"You're so wet." He says as he unlatched from your nipple and trails down kisses on your neck, biting and sucking on the skin.

"It's your fault. You made me this wet." You whine as he rubs your clit.

"Really? And how did I do that?" He asks, teasing. He's still rubbing your clit, and the friction is driving you crazy.

"Fuck, Seonghwa."

"Answer me, angel." He says, plunging two fingers inside of you. You throw your head back and moan, feeling Seonghwa's long, slender fingers curl up inside of you.

"Oh, fuck!" You moan.

"C'mon, answer me. How did I make you this wet?" He says, thrusting his fingers into you, and you swear that you could feel his fingertips brush against your g-spot.

"You and your filthy mouth." You managed to say, and he chuckles, fingers continuing to move in and out of you.

"Do you like my filthy mouth, angel? I like using it to make you feel good. Like this." He says, pulling his fingers out of you, and before you could complain, he has already replaced it with his mouth.

"Shit." You let out a breathy moan, and your hand finds its way to his hair, tugging on it as his tongue moves against you.

He licks and sucks on your clit, occasionally dipping his tongue inside you.

"You taste so good, baby." He murmurs, lips pressed against your sensitive skin. "So fucking delicious."

"Shit, shit." You curse, hips rolling to meet his tongue.

He continues to eat you out, tongue and lips working together to make you feel good. His tongue is hot and wet, and it feels so damn good. He moans against your pussy, and you swear you could feel the vibrations up to your spine. He laps at your clit, tongue circling the bundle of nerves. You're a moaning mess, curses spilling from your mouth as you grip his hair. You look down, and you see him staring at you.

His eyes are dark, filled with lust, and they are burning with passion and desire. He's looking at you, watching your face contort in pleasure, and it's all because of him. He loves it when you lose control and submit to him, letting him make you feel good.

"Shit, Seonghwa." You moan, and he pulls away, kissing his way up to your neck and jaw, his lips pressing against your skin.

"God, you're so hot." He murmurs into your skin.

You whimper, wanting his mouth on your clit again.

"Hwa, please." You whine.

"Please, what?" He says, teasing.

"Fuck, I'm so close." You say, and he smiles, his hands gripping your thighs as he leans down, lips latching onto your clit again.

You roll your hips, grinding against his face, chasing the release that is so close, but so far.

"Hwa, please." You beg, and he obliges, tongue flicking against your clit faster. You moan, and soon enough, you are screaming his name, his tongue pushing you over the edge.

"Fuck!" You cry out, hips bucking against his face as your orgasm washes over you, making your vision white and your body shake.

"That's it, angel." He whispers, and he doesn't stop, his tongue and lips working you through your orgasm, prolonging it, and making it feel even better. When you are done, he pulls away and licks his lips, tasting the last bit of your orgasm.

"Fucking delicious." He murmurs and pulls you into a heated kiss, tongues clashing and teeth clacking, but neither of you care, too lost in each other to even notice.

He pulls away, and he presses his forehead against yours, his eyes locking with yours.

"Fuck, I need to be inside you." He groans, and you nod, not trusting your voice.

He lines himself up with your entrance and slowly pushes inside of you, inch by inch, letting you adjust to his size. He groans, and you can feel him throb inside you.

"You feel so good, baby." He moans, and he starts moving, his hips rocking against yours, his cock sliding in and out of you.

"God, Seonghwa." You moan, his name a mantra falling from your lips. He's hitting all the right spots, his cock filling you up and stretching you out in all the right ways.

"You're so tight, baby. So fucking tight." He moans, his thrusts picking up speed. “God, I fucking missed you. Missed this. Missed us.”

"Hwa, fuck." You cry out, his cock hitting all the right places.

"Yes, baby, yes." He says, his breath coming out in short pants. "Say my name, angel. Let me hear you scream it."

"Seonghwa." You moan, and he thrusts into you even harder, his cock hitting your sweet spot and making you see stars.

"You're so fucking sexy." He moans, his voice sending shivers down your spine and straight to your core.

You moan his name, his fingers digging into your hips, his grip almost painful, but you love it. You love the pain and the pleasure that he's giving you, the way he's fucking you, and the way his cock is making you feel.

"Fuck, Hwa." You moan, his hips snapping against yours.

"Say it again." He growls, his lips ghosting over your ear, his breath hot and heavy.

"Seonghwa." You moan, his name sounding like a prayer. "God, I fucking love you."

"I love you, too." He groans, his voice rough and hoarse, and it makes your knees weak.

You wrap your legs around his waist, bringing him closer, and he moans, his lips pressing against yours in a heated kiss. His lips move against yours, and you feel his tongue slip into your mouth.

He groans into the kiss, and his fingers are gripping your hips, holding you in place as he thrusts into you. His cock is hitting all the right spots, and you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

"Hwa." You moan his name, and he smiles against your lips, his hips moving faster, his cock sliding in and out of you easily.

"I'm gonna cum, baby." He whispers, his voice rough and breathless.

"Me, too." You reply, your nails digging into his back.

He keeps going, his cock hitting your sweet spot with every thrust. Your legs are shaking, and your vision is starting to get blurry. You feel the familiar heat pooling in your lower belly, and you know that you're close.

"Seonghwa, fuck." You moan, and he groans, his thrusts getting faster and harder.

"Yes, angel, yes. Cum for me." He whispers, his voice a low rumble. "Cream all over my cock."

"Fuck, Hwa." You moan, and you can feel your orgasm approaching.

"That's it, baby." He grunts. "Cum for me."

"Shit, I'm gonna-"You reach your orgasm, and you cry out his name, your pussy clenching around his cock.

"That's it, baby." He moans, and he cums soon after, his cock twitching inside of you as his release coats your walls.

You both stay like that for a few minutes, his cock still buried deep inside of you, the only sound in the room is the sounds of your heavy breathing.

“Baby, I know we both came but I really want to continue fucking you. You feel so good, and I don't want to let you go." He murmurs, pressing a soft kiss on your neck.

“I need more of you, Hwa.”

He stands up and picks you up, and you wrap your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck. He carries you to the bedroom, his hands cupping your ass and holding you in place.

He carries you to the bed, and he lays you down, his body hovering over yours. He looks at you, his eyes dark with lust, and you can't help but moan.

"I should go on tour more often...if this is what happens when I get back." He smirks, and he leans down, capturing your lips in a heated kiss.

"And leave me alone again? Fuck no." You say, pulling him closer and kissing him hungrily. "Don't need you going around being half-naked again."

"I was clothed." He chuckles.

"And everyone was still eye-fucking you."

"Well, it was worth it." He smirks.

"Oh, was it now?"

He chuckles, his lips moving to your neck, nipping and sucking at the skin.

"Fuck, baby, you're so needy." He growls, and his hands are on your body, roaming your skin, touching and caressing.

"You made me like this, Seonghwa." You reply, your voice breathless and shaky. "I missed you so much."

"I know, baby, I know. I missed you too." He whispers and kisses you, his lips pressing against yours in a heated kiss.

You kiss him back, your fingers curling in his hair and tugging. He moans into the kiss, his lips moving against yours, and his tongue slips into your mouth, exploring and tasting.

Your hands are on his chest, your nails digging into his skin, leaving marks and scratches. He groans, his hips rocking against yours, and his erection pressed against your thigh.

"God, baby, I missed you so much." He says, breaking the kiss, and he sits up, pulling you with him, and his lips move to your neck, sucking and biting the skin. "Missed your pretty little lips, your pretty tits, your pretty pussy."

You moan, his words sending shivers down your spine. You pull him closer, his lips finding yours again, and he kisses you, his tongue slipping into your mouth and exploring.

You grind against him, his erection pressing against your soaked pussy, and you can feel him throb and twitch. You moan, and he pulls away, his lips trailing down to your breasts, kissing and licking and biting the skin.

"Such a good girl, waiting for me to come home." He whispers, his lips pressing against the swell of your breast. "My beautiful, perfect girl. I love you so much."

"God, Hwa, I love you too." You moan, your fingers running through his hair. "Welcome back home."

"It's good to be home, baby." He says, sliding into you once more. "It's good to be home."

[benispunk]

Who's that girl?

Chapter 1: Who’s That Girl?

Wade and Logan are looking for a new roommate. Enters Y/N. How bad could it be?

logan howlett x reader

TW: language, does Deadpool & Wolverine count as a warning?, mentions of dark backgrounds sometimes.

A/N: hello everyone! this is it (I'm so nervous right now), the New Girl AU of my dreams, I hope I'm not going to disappoint you with that series. I'll try to post one chapter every week (and maybe two if I'm efficient). English is not my first language, I have read this chapter way too many times to acknowledge any new mistakes (sorry in advance), alright it's yours now. see you soon!!

→ this fic is inspired by the TV Show New Girl, Wade and Logan aren't Deadpool and Wolverine (no powers/mutant gene etc) but I did take most of their character traits and storyline!!

Masterlist

Knock knock knock

The sound of her knuckles against the wood echoed louder than she expected, sending a jolt of anxiety through her. Her heart pounded in her chest as she took a step back, suddenly hyperaware of every breath she took.

Y/N shifted her weight from one foot to the other, trying to calm the nervous energy bubbling inside her. The seconds stretched on, each one feeling longer than the last, as she imagined all the possible ways this could go wrong.

What if they didn’t like her? What if she said something stupid? What if-

The click of the door handle snapped her out of her spiraling thoughts. 

Her stomach did a flip as the door swung open with surprising speed, revealing a man with a wide grin and a mischievous glint in his eyes. He wore a bright red t-shirt with some sort of sarcastic slogan on it.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t our potential new roommate!” Wade said, his tone playful as he leaned against the doorframe. “You must be the brave soul willing to share a living space with me and the grumpy lumberjack inside.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but Wade was already continuing, as if he hadn’t noticed -or didn’t care- that she hadn’t spoken yet. “Quick question before you come in: Ryan Reynolds or Hugh Jackman? Your answer could determine your fate in this apartment.”

Y/N blinked, taken aback by the randomness of the question. “Uh… Hugh Jackman?”

Wade clutched his chest dramatically. “Ouch, right in the ego! But I’ll forgive you, because you seem nice.” He stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter. “Come on in before Logan gets any more annoyed. He’s been brooding extra hard today.”

As she stepped inside, she couldn’t help but notice that the apartment, while a bit cluttered, had a warm, lived-in feel to it. Her nerves eased a little, but her mind was quick to remind her that this was an interview and that she wasn’t living there yet.

“Logan!” Wade called out as he shut the door behind her. “Our guest has arrived, and she’s team Jackman, so you’re safe for now!”

From somewhere deeper in the apartment, she heard a low, gruff voice grumble in response. Y/N wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, but she figured she’d find out soon enough.

Y/N barely had time to take in the surroundings before heavy footsteps signaled Logan’s approach. He emerged from a hallway leading to what she assumed were the bedrooms, his expression as stern as she’d expected. There was something about the man that made it clear he wasn’t someone to be trifled with.

He gave her a quick, assessing look, then turned his attention to Wade. “You gonna offer her a seat, or just keep standin’ around like an idiot?”

Wade rolled his eyes but grinned. “Relax, peanut. I was getting to it.” He turned to Y/N and gestured toward the couch. “Please, make yourself comfortable. Would you like something to drink? Water? Coffee? A shot of whiskey to calm the nerves?”

“Uh, water’s fine,” she replied, taking a seat on the couch. She couldn’t help but notice how the room seemed to reflect the personalities of its inhabitants—one side neat and organized, the other side a chaotic mix of random objects, comic books, and a few unidentifiable gadgets.

Wade disappeared into the kitchen, and Logan took the opportunity to sit in a chair across from her. His intense gaze made her sit up a little straighter. “So, why do you wanna live here?” he asked, cutting straight to the point.

Before she could answer, Wade returned with a glass of water and plopped down next to her on the couch, interrupting her thoughts. “Yeah, what Logan said. Also, how much weirdness can you handle? Just asking for a friend,” he said, winking as he handed her the glass.

Y/N took the water gratefully, trying to collect herself. “Well,” she began, glancing between the two of them, “I had to move out quite urgently from my apartment, I’m currently crashing at my colleagues place and I can’t afford an apartment for myself in the city... You guys are actually the only people who replied to my application. Which I appreciate, thank you for considering me.”

Wade, on the other hand, was already nodding enthusiastically. “Well, aren’t we just the Good Samaritans of the roommate world? Don’t worry Y/N, we’ve got plenty of space and...” he paused for dramatic effect, “—an unbeatable blend of charm and wit. Right, Logan?”

Logan just rolled his eyes in response, which seemed to amuse Wade even more. “Don’t mind him. He’s actually a big softie once you get past all the grumbling and scowling.”

“Keep talking, Wade, and you’ll be finding a new place to live,” Logan said, his tone deadpan but with a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

Y/N smiled, feeling the tension in her chest ease slightly. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. She could already see how living with these two would never be dull.

Logan rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he focused on Y/N again. “So, you’re in a tight spot. What about work? You able to hold your own with rent, or do we need to worry about you bailing?”

“Yes,” Y/N confirmed. “I teach in high school. It’s a steady job, so I can definitely cover my share of the rent. It’s just finding an affordable place that’s been the problem.”

Wade grinned, clearly pleased. “See? Told you she’s a responsible one. Just so you know, Logan teaches too. In a special school for special kids or something like that-”

Logan interrupted, “It’s an organisation for kids who can’t go to normal school-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, and I work in a bar. And I do gigs on some nights because I’m funny as fuck. We could use some fresh energy around here. Between Logan’s brooding and my, well, awesomeness, you’d be the perfect balance.”

Logan shot Wade a look but then turned back to Y/N. “As long as you can keep up with us and don’t cause trouble, you’re good with me.”

Y/N felt a wave of relief wash over her. “Thank you. I won’t let you down.”

Wade raised his glass in a mock toast. “Welcome to the madhouse, Y/N. Just remember, if things get too crazy, you’re always free to join me on a spontaneous road trip. Logan secretly loves those.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, bub.” Logan muttered, but there was a hint of a smile on his face.

Y/N couldn’t help but smile too, feeling more at ease. This might just work out after all.

“Alright then, when would be a good time for me to move in?”

“We already have a spare key for you so, whenever really.”

“Okay. Okay. Wow, this is happening. You have no idea how anxious I’ve been feeling for the past few days because of all of this, so, really, thank you so much.”

The two men smiled at her. “ We’re as happy as you!” Wade declared, grinning from ear to ear.

She left the apartment after a while, thanking all the gods out there for this opportunity. She had no idea what would have happened if the answer had been negative. She didn’t want to think about it, preferring thinking about how she would decorate her room and settle down in this new place with those two guys. She knew she was in for an adventure.

____

Logan stared at the laptop screen. Y/N’s application was pulled up, and he read through it for the third time. High school teacher, praised by students and colleagues alike, with glowing references and a bright, friendly photo attached. On paper, she was perfect. Too perfect.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his beard. “I know we don’t have a choice anymore but, » he pointed at the application on the screen. “ Too nice for us.”

Wade was lounging on the couch nearby, flipping through channels on the TV. He glanced over, an easy grin spreading across his face. “What’s that supposed to mean? Nice is good. We could use a little nice around here. Plus, it’s done, we gave her the keys.”

He frowned, closing the laptop with a snap. “I know. But we’re not exactly… fucking normal. You’ve got your gigs, your… nightlife. I’m not exactly Mr. Sunshine either. What if she can’t handle it?”

Wade chuckled, tossing the remote aside. “Logan, peanut, buddy…2008 sexiest man alive look-alike-”

Logan cut him, “Quit it.”

Wade continued. “You’re overthinking this. She’s a teacher, right? She’s probably seen it all—teenagers are practically mini versions of us, minus the PTSD and questionable life choices. Plus, she applied to live with us, so she knows what she’s getting into.”

Logan didn’t look convinced. “Yeah, but what if she doesn’t? Our lives aren’t exactly easy to mix with someone like her.”

Wade rolled his eyes and got up from the couch, walking over to where Logan sat. “Look, you’re worried because you think we’ll scare her off. But maybe she’s exactly what we need to lighten this place up. Besides, we already chose her so…Quit it.”

Logan let out a reluctant sigh. “Okay.”

Wade patted the man’s shoulder. “That’s my man!”

He didn't stop patting Logan’s shoulder, his hand slowly lowering to his bicep and squeezing it “Now, that’s one of the reason why she’ll prefer you-” Logan immediately slapped his hand away and got up from his chair, Wade flinching and screaming in fear in the process.

An adventure, that was for sure.

XXX

[dumbseee]

bro code. pt3.

part 1. part 2.

carlos sainz jr x reader.

fc: bruna marquezine.

note: sorry for the mistakes this might have, english isn’t my first language and this is the longest fic i’ve ever written :) btw this will be the last part.

liked by landonorris, y/n, charles_leclerc and 1 589 008 others.

carlossainz55: happy birthday to the person who owns my heart. you helped me experience true love, and for that i’ll forever be grateful. your heart is pure and you always want the best for people, i love every little detail about you, like the way you always count to three before jumping into the pool because you were afraid of it when you were younger, or the way you always kiss my forehead before every race because you say it’s my lucky charm. you are my lucky charm, mi cielito. i love you so much y/n, thank you for giving me the chance to show you how you deserved to be loved.

_

y/n: how dare you making me cry on my birthday carlos sainz :( i love you more <3

carlossainz55: @.y/n not possible, i’m bigger than you so i can hold more love for you.

fan1: I JUST FELL TO MY KNEES

fan2: WHEN IS IT MY DAMN TURN

fan3: god it’s me again…

fan4: im going to kms in front of them to change the trajectory of their lives istg

fan5: GOOOOOOSH CARLOS IS ABISDODLLD

landonorris: damn sainz, even i am tearing up

fan6: just get married already

fan7: after n*ymar, y/n deserved a man like that

liked by marquinhosm5, carolcabrino, neymarpai_ and 3 788 082 others.

neymarjr: my heart is empty without you, you’ve blocked me so i can’t wish you a happy birthday privately but please y/n come back to me. you succeeded, that stunt you pulled with that random driver hurt me, you can stop now. i know that you miss me and want to comeback so please y/n be reasonable. i made a huge mistake and i’ll never forgive myself for what i did to us.

_

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your day went terribly, it was your birthday and you were excited for it but your day was completely ruined with neymar’s post. because of course, you saw it the second he posted it. your agent called you, panicked and told you to avoid social media, but it was too late. you were home when you saw it and had a huge panic attack. you didn’t tell carlos and you prayed that he didn’t see the post which was very unlikely since neymar mentioned him. you were more mad at the fact that he disrespected carlos because he didn’t deserve it. even if your relationship was fake to the world, carlos was nothing but a sweetheart to you. you even hoped that the moments you shared with him were true.

carlos texted you to come at his house to have a small party with some friends but you almost had a heart attack when you entered the house and saw all those people screaming "happy birthday!" filming you to have your reaction. carlos had a very different definition of « small party ». you saw him walk towards you with a huge smile, he was breathtaking, wearing nude pants and a blue shirt, letting the top buttons open, showing a bit of his torso. you were completely mesmerised by him, that was the effect carlos had on you.

"surprise cielito." he said after kissing your cheek, he wrapped his arm around your waist and gave you a hug. you melted in his touch and smiled at him. "you didn’t need to do all that, carlos." you said. "nonsense, it’s your birthday after all." you smiled at him and kissed his cheek before some friends of yours came to greet you and wish you a happy birthday. carlos’ purpose was to make your birthday special, especially with what happened earlier with your ex. he knew how this whole situation affected you deeply, even if you tried to hide it from him, carlos saw right through you. he could tell if you were upset just by looking at your face.

"umm, carlos?" lando’s voice took him out of his thoughts, he looked at his friend but frowned when he saw the look on his face. "look who showed up." lando whispered as if the whole room didn’t see who came uninvited. you gotta be kidding me. carlos turned around to see where you were and his heart tightened when he saw the look on your face, pure sadness. anger took over him immediately, that son of a bitch made you sad on your special day. carlos wasn’t going to let that slide. the spaniard quickly made his way to neymar who was asking people about where you were. the driver roughly turned the brazilian around so he could face him. neymar was about to say something to the person who just interrupted him but he only rolled his eyes when he saw carlos.

"what do you want sainz? where is my girl?" he asked, looking over carlos’ shoulder. neymar looked very drunk. carlos could feel anger buildup inside of him. how dare he? "you’re in my house so, i’ll ask you once and once only, leave before i make you leave." carlos said through gritted teeth. neymar scoffed before taking a step closer to the spaniard, being almost forehead against forehead. "are you threatening me, hijo da puta?" carlos was about to respond when charles and lando quickly appeared to separate the two of them. "okay, it’s enough now boys." charles said trying to lighten the mood. "move! i’m not done with him!" neymar pushed charles away which made carlos even more mad. "listen here, little boy. first you steal my woman and then you disrespect me in front of all these people. you think i’ll let that slide, coño?" the brazilian added while pushing carlos with his finger. at this point there was nothing charles or lando could do to stop them. "let me clarify one thing, junior, she was never yours to begin with. and trust that now that she has tasted true love, she’s never leaving." carlos said with a smile, which made neymar go crazy. the footballer grabbed carlos’ collar. "you made her cry for weeks, you destroyed her completely, and now you dare to show your face and claiming her as your woman? how dare you call yourself a man and make the woman you’re supposed to love and cherish, cry?" the spaniard said before getting closer to neymar’s ear. "if you dare to even whisper her name in your sleep, i’ll come for you, neymar da silva santos junior."

neymar finally let go of carlos before leaving quickly. the driver was now concerned about where you were hiding. as he was looking at the crowd of people, who were still talking about what just happened, lando approached his friend. "she’s with luisa and charlotte, they’re on the balcony." carlos nodded before patting his friend’s shoulder as a thank you. he quickly made it to his balcony where the girls were talking, luisa noticed him and patted charlotte’s shoulder to tell her that they needed to go. carlos sent them a thankful smile before walking towards you. your back was facing him and you were too lost in your thoughts to even notice his presence. he gently hugged you from behind which made you jump before you recognised his fragrance. "carlos." you simply said. "yes, cielito, are you okay?" he asked, resting his chin on your shoulder. you sighed before looking up at the moon, shining on the both of you. "i guess? is he gone?" you asked with a small voice, feeling the tears threatening to fall again. "yes, for real this time." you frowned before turning around to face carlos.

you were still extremely close as his hands were on your waist and your hands on his chest. he looked ethereal under the moonlight. "carlos, what am i to you?" you finally asked the question you were scared to even ask yourself. carlos smiled before moving his face closer to you. "you’re the love of my life." and then he kissed your lips. he kissed you like you’ve always dreamed to be kissed. with love, respect and passion. carlos was the first one to break the kiss, he looked at you and replaced a wild strand of hair behind your ear. "none of this was fake to me, every word, every attention, everything was real to me."

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris, charlottesiine and 1 789 007 others.

y/n: thank you everyone for all the birthdays wishes! and thanks to my amazing boyfriend for throwing this party for me. i love you to the moon and back, handsome and i thank god everyday for giving me the chance to be your girlfriend.

_

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_

taglist: @mjaudrey @champomiel @lorarri @watersquirtpewpewboomm @ndunad @shrimpyshrimp @gaviypedrisbride @little-angel-07 @ironmaiden1313 @leclerc16s @xjval @elijahslover @hearts4esmee @love4lando

thanks for the support 🤍🥹

[wibben]

Strange Bedfellows

An overnight mission leaves Nanami and Higuruma sharing more than just a professional rivalry.

↳ pairing: hiromi higuruma x kento nanami

↳ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, bottom! higuruma, top! nanami, sexual tension, rivals to lovers, one-bed trope, pining, frottage, (m) mutual masturbation, sexsomnia, wet dreams, dry humping

↳ wc: 11,355

↳ notes: another ao3 cross-post! this was written for day 5 of @higunanaweek, and I think it's one of my favorites of the bunch! nanami art by @/xu_bx7 on twitter, higuruma art by @/amico173 on twitter

“What do you mean there’s only one room?”

Higuruma’s voice cut through the sterile lobby air, sharp and unyielding. He stared down his nose at the nervous young woman behind the desk, shrewd, stern, who seemed to shrink under the weight of it. She wrung her hands, her brows knitting together in a silent plea for forgiveness as she fumbled for the right words. Her eyes flickered nervously between Higuruma and the glowing monitor, her lips parting in a desperate attempt to conjure an explanation.

“I—I… let me check again. I’m so sorry…”

“Please do.”

Higuruma exhaled a longsuffering sigh, the weight of his frustration settling deep in his weary bones. Leaning heavily on the reception counter, he pinched the bridge of his nose as the clatter of keys behind it grated on his nerves. It felt like the universe was conspiring against him today.

First, the car ride—a torturous stretch of road that seemed designed to fray his nerves with every bump and jolt. The mission briefing in his hands blurred in and out of focus, tense, unable to think with the silent, brooding wall beside him.

Poor conversation was made even worse by the fact that his companion’s silence wasn’t even peaceful. It was sharp-edged, judgmental, like he was silently cataloging Higuruma’s every fault and flaw before he’d managed to do anything. As if being cooped up in a car with someone like that for hours wasn’t bad enough, the higher-ups decided that person was to be his babysitter; as if he weren’t a grown man himself and so what if he’s new to jujutsu, he’s good at it—a prodigy even—and he gets jobs done and—

“I’m really sorry, sir, I only have one room for you.”

Well, shit.

Higuruma was a proud man, but even pride had its limits; and when it came to something like this he’d throw it to the wind. His fingers steepled before his face, his stress reaching a peak, tired eyes blew wide with exasperated pleading. “Please, you don’t understand—I need another room. Hell, I’ll sleep in the goddamn lobby. I just can’t be stuck with—”

“... Is there a problem?”

Higuruma stiffened, the roll of suitcase wheels on wooden boards sounding more like the drag of an executioner’s axe.

He turned to face Nanami, who carried their bags with the same unyielding stoicism that seemed a permanent feature of his countenance. The air of unflappable calm that surrounded him only grated further on Higuruma’s thread-bare nerves.

“I assume there’s a problem, for you to be bothering the front desk already.”

Higuruma shot him a look that clearly screamed: ‘of course there’s a fucking problem,’ but before he could put his irritation to words, the receptionist interjected.

She looked to Nanami with desperately friendly eyes, silently pleading that this man—the quieter one—might be less inclined to bite her head off. “I’m terribly sorry, sir. There’s been a mix-up with the bookings and we’re short a bunch of rooms. I only have one left…” She cast a nervous glance back at Higuruma, who looked positively steamed, then back at Nanami as he came to a stop at the desk.

A wave of annoyance and dismay washed over him, a cold tide that mercilessly drowned the small comforts he had carefully planned for the evening. He’d envisioned a quiet, solitary night—a long bath, the crisp pages of a book he’d been eager to start, and the simple pleasure of fresh bread from a bundle he had tucked into his bag. The prospect of sharing a room, and with someone as high-strung as Higuruma, was far from appealing.

“...I see.”

Higuruma’s frustration boiled over, though he kept his tone measured. “Is there really no other option? We’re here on important business and need proper accommodations.”

Nanami’s calm gaze shifted back to the receptionist, who looked as if she might melt into the floor under the weight of Higuruma’s glare. “We’ll take the room,” he spoke suddenly, spurred by pity for another of society's downtrodden, brooking no argument. “We don’t have time to find other lodgings.”

The young woman nodded quickly, relieved to have someone decisive to address. She offered the key to Nanami with a quickness, desperate to get it and them off her overworked and overtired hands.

Nanami accepted the key with a curt nod, passing it to Higuruma, who snatched it like it was the last scrap of his pride, muttering a stiff, “Thank you,” through clenched teeth. He looked for all the world like a deflated balloon, all the air of authority he usually carried now leaking out in a slow, miserable hiss.

Nanami adjusted his grip on their bags, the plastic handles groaning in protest under the weight of his hand. Of course something like this would happen. When it came to Higuruma, nothing ever went smoothly. The man had an uncanny knack for turning the simplest tasks into a tangled mess, stirring up trouble where there should be none.

If Nanami said left, Higuruma would inevitably go right. If he said up, Higuruma would dive down. It was as if the man took perverse pleasure in jamming the square block into the circle hole, and any attempt Nanami made to exert authority was met with the immovable resistance of a brick wall. Higuruma was a force of nature—unpredictable, uncontrollable, and more stubborn than any beast Nanami had ever encountered.

And that’s exactly why Nanami resented him.

He resented the higher-ups for thinking his diligence could somehow fix the unfixable, resented this ridiculous mission, resented this shit job—and most of all, he resented this shit inn, with its one-room nightmare.

Deep down, Nanami knew it wasn’t really Higuruma’s fault. But as they climbed the narrow staircase and navigated the threadbare halls, it was all too easy to shoot a derisive glance at him through the sea-glass green tint of his glasses, certain Higuruma’s mere presence had cursed them both.

Higuruma, for his part, was steeling himself, jaw set in determination. It was just one night, maybe two if the mission dragged on longer than expected. He resolved then and there to make it quick, no matter how much Nanami might chastise, berate, or hinder whatever methods he employed to get it done.

They reached their room,and Higuruma cupped the doorknob, giving it a jiggle before the door finally creaked open. He stepped forward, fully intending to hold the door for Nanami and the bags—because that was the polite thing to do. But all thoughts of courtesy evaporated as his stomach plummeted to and then through the floor.

Nanami, following close behind, nearly collided with Higuruma’s back. “Please keep moving—” he began, but the words stuck in his throat as his gaze locked onto the scene before them.

Their eyes hit the single bed simultaneously—pristine, white sheets meticulously tucked, and—was that champagne? Higuruma’s ears lit up red, heat crawling up his neck as mortification spread like wildfire. Rose petals? Was this some kind of sick joke? Blood pounded in his temples, the absurdity of standing in what was so clearly a honeymoon suite with Nanami making his skin crawl with blistering embarrassment.

“No, absolutely not.”

“…This is highly irregular—”

“—Unprofessional, more like—”

Higuruma shook his head in vehement denial, already turning on his heel and nearly colliding with Nanami’s chest in his haste. “I’ll go back to the lobby… there has to be something else… a coat closet, maybe—”

“Higuruma.” Nanami halted him firmly, blocking his path with the bastion of overnight bags hoisted upon flexed shoulders. He stared down his nose at Higuruma with a sternness that made the ex-attorney feel inexplicably cowed.

“I will not allow you to bother that girl again. We’ll make do.”

Higuruma’s attempts to leave, awkwardly failing to thread the needle around the wall that was Nanami, were halted when the man stepped past him and deeper into the room, taking his belongings hostage.

Nanami was the picture of calm. His movements deliberate, precise, each action executed with the same meticulous care he applied to everything. He entered the room with steady composure, placing his bag on the foot of the bed without a second glance at the rose petals scattered across the duvet or the champagne chilling in a silver bucket. To him, they might as well have been invisible.

He unzipped his bag and began to unpack, methodically unfolding his clothes for tomorrow and hanging them neatly in the closet. His fingers moved with the same practiced efficiency with which he approached all things, smoothing out any wrinkles with a quick, deft touch and brush of his hands over ironed fabric

Higuruma watched with the faintest quiver of his shoulders. The door was still open, and he stood closest to it. He had half a mind—no, closer to two-thirds of a mind—to just march back through it and bolt down the hall. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not when Nanami was practically rubbing his unruffled feathers in his face, appearing so calm that it made him itch to piss him off, just to see if he could make Nanami crack, just to know there was a man beneath the metal.

Higuruma’s blood burned with staggish pride as he closed the door, a declaration if only to himself that he wouldn’t be outdone by a man who exists with a perpetual pole up his ass. He marched over and grabbed his own bag, dropping it on the bed beside Nanami’s and unzipped it with a flourish. Nanami paused his own unpacking, glancing sidelong; he isn’t oblivious to this dick-measuring competition Higuruma issued, even if he chooses not to rise to it.

And he chooses not to rise to it because he’s utterly horrified. A singular room was bad enough, a single bed even worse. But the room is flavored so intensely romantic, such a glaring breach in professionalism that he doesn’t know how he hasn’t fallen to his knees and wept. His outward serenity is tempered by holy rage, already considering how hot the coals would be that he intends to rake Ijichi over for this appalling mix-up.

Somewhere, many hours away back on campus, Ijichi shuddered.

The room misted thick with suffocating silence, disturbed only by the occasional rustle of fabric or the quiet thud of a drawer closing. Nanami took to ironing tomorrow's shirt with a precision just shy of obsessive, each stroke and hiss of the iron a desperate attempt to transfer the heat of his frustration to the steam billowing from the board. 

On the other side of the room, Higuruma pretended not to watch, busying himself with anything that kept his hands moving and his mind occupied. He found himself flipping through the pages of the complimentary Bible he’d pulled from the nightstand, not out of piety but sheer desperation for something, anything, to do. His devotion to distraction could almost be considered religious if one squinted.

The minutes dragged, each one heavier than the last. Nanami, finding himself finished with the shirt far too quickly, awkwardly shuffled a deck of cards he’d discovered in a drawer. The quiet slap of cardboard against cardboard only plucked at both mens nerves all the more.

So awkward was the silence, that even a practiced enjoyer of it such as Nanami finally felt the need to break it. “Are you… enjoying that? I didn’t take you for the type.” Nanami shot a pointed glance at the leather bound book in Higuruma’s hands.

“Riveting.” He grunted, not looking up.

Silence reigned once again.

The unbearable tension finally snapped, like a too-tight wire fraying under pressure. Nanami cleared his throat, and set the deck of cards down with an air of finality, as if conceding defeat to the invisible force between them. “I’ll go shower,” he announced, a shade too quickly, seriously considering drowning himself. He caught the absent hum of acknowledgment from Higuruma, who was still pretending to read the same line for the hundredth time.

Higuruma waited, counting the seconds until the distant sound of running water reached his ears, and then let out a long, shaky breath, his hands dropping the Bible like it burned him. His face fell into his palms, heart hammering against his ribs with the frenzied desperation of a caged animal, desperate to claw its way out. A low, rough groan rumbled in his throat as he scrubbed a weary hand over his face, trying to erase the relentless tension etched into every muscle before Nanami returned.

In the bathroom, Nanami pressed his forehead against the cold tile, water pouring over his bowed head. His hands braced against the wall, blunt nails digging into the slick surface in an effort to ground himself in the midst of this waking nightmare. His heart pounded with a cocktail of stress and humiliation so potent that it twisted his stomach to the point of nausea. He was horrified by the situation, mortified by the implications, and the longer he stood there, the more he questioned how he would ever face Higuruma again without wanting to crawl out of his own skin.

Nanami wasn’t a vain man. His appearance, in his mind, was a reflection of his dedication to the unremarkable—a clean, professional exterior polished just enough to blend into the background, to become one with the sea of suits and silent efficiency. He took a certain pride in this ordinariness, in presenting himself with a uniformity that drew no attention, commanded no second glance.

But there were simple standards he abided by, boundaries that should never be crossed. A colleague should never see him with his hair undone, loose and unkempt. A colleague should never see him outside of work. A colleague should certainly never see him in his sleepwear, prepared for bed, prepared to share a bed—

The thought struck like a blow to the gut, stopping him dead in his tracks, his breath catching so sharply that he inadvertently inhaled a mouthful of water. He choked, the sound quickly muffled into the crook of his muscled forearm as he hunched over, a silent curse slipping from his lips.

Fuck.

When Nanami finally emerged from the bathroom, it was with a gust of steam, a billowing cloud of vaporous heat that curled around his bare feet and clung to the frayed hem of his plaid linen pants. The transition from the damp warmth of the bathroom to the cooler air of the room sent a shiver up his spine, making him feel exposed, more so than even the loose drawstring of his pajama bottoms or his bare chest ever could.

His hair, usually meticulously combed, now hung damp and tousled, a rebellious mess that only added to the sensation of exposure gnawing at him, fraying the edges of his carefully constructed self-assurance. He stepped forward, gaze fixed resolutely ahead, avoiding Higuruma’s eyes as if by sheer will he could erase the fact that this—this woeful breach of boundaries—was happening at all.

But there were no eyes for Nanami to avoid. Higuruma’s back was turned, his shoulders hunched over a thick wooden desk on the opposite wall, swaying idly in the creaky rolling chair. The faint clink of ice in the bucket and the soft hiss of champagne fizzing to life came from his side of the room. Higuruma’s arm shot up in a lazy backwards greeting, bottle neck firmly gripped, the champagne already half-drunk straight from the source. A decidedly unromantic way to enjoy the drink—about the only thing in this entire mess that seemed fittingly appropriate.

“Ah—good. I was starting to think you’d died in there—” Higuruma grunted with weary annoyance, spinning himself further in the chair to cast what would have been a bemused glance toward Nanami—if he weren’t suddenly so focused on keeping the champagne from erupting and scorching his throat and nose, nearly choking on the frothy surge at the sight of him.

Like this, Nanami appeared strikingly younger. His usual air of immaculate professionalism was absent, leaving him looking closer to his actual age—or at least, what Higuruma guessed his age to be, since their exchanges had rarely ventured beyond barbed remarks. 

Without the constriction of his suit and carefully combed hair, his features softened, the severe lines of his face yielded to be almost approachable. His hair was tousled, the wet strands clinging together, a stray towel draped haphazardly over bare and broad shoulders.

“Unfortunately I did not.”

When their eyes met, there was a moment of shared surprise; both men reflexively turned away, Higuruma back to the desk and Nanami towards the bed. Nanami ran a hand through his hair, his bicep flexing with the motion as he grimaced in embarrassment, hidden from view. 

Nanami slipped into the bed, the crisp sheets rustling softly as he maneuvered himself under them. He pulled the covers up to his chin, as though the fabric might offer some shield against the awkwardness that turns the air humid. For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the air conditioning, and the glassy grind of the champagne bottle as Higuruma shuffled it back and forth between uncertain hands.

After a long stretch of silence, Nanami finally broke it, his voice nasally and rough as he reached for his book on the nightstand. “Thank you.”

Higuruma flinched, snapping out of his thoughts. “For?”

Nanami sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of his own reluctant gratitude. He hesitated, debating if it was even worth acknowledging, but eventually gave in. “For cleaning up the… mess,” he added with a rueful grimace. The rose petals that had once littered the mattress and floor were nowhere to be seen.

“It’s much better.”

Higuruma let out a low, dismissive noise, flicking his wrist as if to swat away the words. No, he’d rather not think about the rose petals—or the fact that he’d scrabbled on hands and knees to pick them up, one by one, and buried them at the bottom of the trash bin like some feral teenage secret. 

So he changed the subject with a sledgehammers subtlety, taking a deep breath and stealing a glance at Nanami who seemed effortlessly absorbed in his novel. The bedside lamp cast a warm glow over his damp hair, burning it a darkened gold. And maybe he was drunker than he realized, because the sudden urge to cross the room, crawl onto the mattress, and run his fingers through that hair hits him like a freight train—

“I’m taking the chair,” he blurted out, meeting Nanami’s gaze, both of them equally startled by the sudden declaration. “If you wouldn’t mind just sparing a pillow.”

Nanami frowned, nudging his glasses higher to peer over the top of his book. “Absolutely not,” he said firmly. “You’ll injure your back and be a liability to the mission. You’re sleeping in the bed.”

Higuruma’s lips pressed into a thin line, bristling indignantly. “My back will be just fine, thank you very much.” Though he wasn’t so sure he could say the same tomorrow after carrying the weight of this entire mission. 

“Look, I don’t need you to babysit me,” Higuruma continued on. “I can handle myself just fine.”

Nanami simply shook his head, infuriatingly calm. “You’re being reckless. You always are. That’s why you’re stuck with me in the first place—to keep you from getting yourself killed.” 

Nanami spoke so certainly, so matter of factly, as if it were a guarantee that Higuruma would sooner or later stumble and need a pair of experienced hands to catch him, that it made Higuruma see red. He bristled, nose curled with bitter defiance. “Reckless? Please. You play it too safe all the time, Nanami. That doesn’t make you better equipped, that makes you boring.”

“I’m not here to be exciting. I’m here to do my job without unnecessary risks,” Nanami shot back, his tone icy. “And right now, the only unnecessary risk is you trying to sleep in that chair and harming yourself.”

Higuruma’s jaw clenched, his irritation mounting with every word Nanami spoke. “I don’t need your approval to do my job. Maybe I’d be better off without you hovering over me.”

Nanami’s grip on his book tightened, his patience wearing thin. “You’re a loose canon, Higuruma. And I refuse to let you put me in harm's way just because you think you’re invincible.”

“Maybe I am invincible! Maybe I don’t need you watching over my shoulder every second. I’ve got this handled. I don’t need you or your damn bed—”

“You do need the bed, and you’re going to sleep in it,” Nanami interrupted, his voice firm, cutting through Higuruma’s tirade like the blunt blade he himself wields. “I won’t have your blood on my hands because you decided to be stubborn.”

Higuruma opened his mouth to argue again, but the conviction in Nanami’s tone gave him pause. As much as he hated to admit it, there was a kernel of truth in what Nanami said. He knew he was capable, but the last thing he wanted was to end up injured—or worse, dead—because of something as stupid as a lack of sleep or a slipped disk. He wouldn’t allow Nanami the satisfaction.

He met Nanami’s eyes the entire time as he stood and stalked over to the bed, each step slow and deliberate, like he was daring Nanami to say something. The air was thick with tension, a silent standoff where neither man seemed willing to back down. But Nanami just watched him, calm as ever, that infuriating poker face giving nothing away; an icy counter to Higuruma’s fiery defiance.

Higuruma yanked back the covers with a quick, sharp flick, keeping his gaze locked on Nanami’s. He slipped into bed, making a show of settling as far from Nanami as humanly possible. The mattress dipped under his weight, the distance between them barely a foot, but it felt like mere centimeters with how he’s immediately engulfed in Nanami’s furnace-like body heat beneath the covers.

Nanami didn’t rise to the challenge, but he didn’t bow to it either. He held Higuruma’s gaze with an unflinching steadiness, an unspoken acknowledgment of the battle being fought in silence. Neither blinked, neither wavered, ever the unmovable object to Higuruma’s unstoppable force.

But for now, at least, he was in the bed. And that, Higuruma told himself, was his decision. Not Nanami’s.

He finally turned away, his back to Nanami, but the so-called victory left a sour taste in his mouth. “Sanctimonious prick,” Higuruma grumbled, voice tight as he yanked the sheet up to his shoulders, frustration knotting bitterly in his chest.

Without warning, Nanami snapped his book shut, the sharp clap of it cutting through Higuruma’s grating rant. His patience, thin as it was, finally wore through after the fifth attempt to read the same damn paragraph. He didn’t bother with words, just rolled over and clicked off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

“Insufferable egoist,” he muttered, voice low and rough with irritation.

It was as close to a ‘goodnight’ as either of them was willing to offer.

The room simmered in the thick silence left in the wake of their argument, the air steeped with the remnants of their spat. Neither of them moved, both stubbornly clinging to their respective sides of the bed, the earlier heat cooling into uneasy embers buried beneath ash.

Higuruma’s fists slowly loosened their death grip on the sheets. He could feel the frustration ebbing away, replaced by a dull, persistent slightly-buzzed fatigue that tugged at him, heavy and insistent. His eyelids grew heavier, his breath evening out against his will, and before he could fight it, sleep crept in, stealing him away with the last lingering traces of his irritation.

Across the bed, Nanami lay unmoving, his eyes locked on the ceiling, unblinking as the minutes stretched into what felt like hours. He listened, every slight sound amplified in the stillness—Higuruma’s breaths gradually deepening, the rustle of sheets as he shifted in his sleep, the steady drone of the AC that filled the gaps in the silence.

It wasn’t until he heard Higuruma sigh softly in his sleep, a sound so unguarded and peaceful that it almost startled him, that Nanami finally felt the first threads of his tension begin to unwind. The rigid lines of his shoulders softened, his body easing into the mattress as the room exhaled around them. It wasn’t a competition to see who could outlast the other, but he’d won it anyway.

The darkness shifted, becoming less of a burden and more of a balm, lulling him into a state of reluctant relaxation. Only then, after what felt like an eternity, did Nanami allow his eyes to close, surrendering to the slow, inevitable pull of sleep as it finally claimed him too.

The night wore thick with hurricane's-eye quiet, the sort that made every small sound swell. Every sniff, every slight shift of mattress springs, every rustle and tug on the blanket was a gunshot in the dark, unheard by either of them through the veil of unconsciousness. The tension from before had finally ebbed, leaving the room heavy with uneasy peace that would last until daybreak; until they woke and remembered themselves and, unfortunately, remembered each other.

Higuruma’s sleep was restless, warped by murky and unpredictable dream logic. He was a tired man, worn down and beaten to a vaguely human-shaped pulp by each day's end, and so he didn’t often dream. His brain struggled with the unfamiliarity, twisting in dissonant directions that blurred the lines between reality and nonsense.

It’s just his luck that tonight he dreams, and of course he couldn’t escape Nanami, even there.

“...Guilty!”

Judgeman’s voice rang with authority, echoing off the dreamscape walls of the courtroom. Higuruma stared at Nanami on the stand, whose eyes flickered with something between disbelief and annoyance.

Higuruma could feel a vicious pride swelling in his chest as Judgeman called the verdict. It didn’t matter what Nanami had done—whether he’d swiped a candy bar from a corner store or toppled an empire; it was all irrelevant. The sweet thrill of victory was what he savored. This was his domain, a theater of justice where every misstep Nanami had ever made played on an endless loop for Judgeman to scrutinize.

Nanami sighed, pushing the bridge of his glasses with a practiced flick to nudge them higher up his nose. “That’s hardly fair, Higuruma. This is your dream, after all—”

“Ah, ah,” Higuruma interrupted, eyes narrowing into glittering slits as he held up a hand in triumph, silencing Nanami's protest with a smug grin. No, he would be savoring this victory, even if only in the recesses of his subconscious. Here, his word was law, and Nanami was the subject of his courtroom drama.

Confiscation? Death penalty? Higuruma’s mind raced through the possibilities, savoring each like a connoisseur sampling a fine wine. For as much as Nanami grated on his nerves, he sincerely hoped it wouldn't be the latter—the man doesn’t need to die for being a snobbish, holier-than-thou, mother hen—

“Kiss.”

What?

“What?”

Nanami’s voice mirrored Higuruma’s thoughts perfectly, both snapping to attention, eyes wide as they turned to the shikigami that hovered kite-like and oppressive just behind Higuruma. Judgeman, with its impassive stitched gaze and cryptic presence, remained ever silent, the verdict and the punishment both declared. Its job was done and would not be repeated.

The absurdity of it all tickled at the edges of his consciousness, tugging at a laugh that threatened to spill over. A kiss? In the grand theater of his mind, that was the punishment meted out by his subconscious?

He’s somewhat offended by himself that kissing him would be so bad as to be deemed corporal.

But when he turned back to Nanami, he found the man already watching him with a steady gaze. Prideful as ever, chin held high, Nanami stared Higuruma down with a confidence that skirted dangerously on the edge of intimidating—a quality that was indeed daunting in the waking world, if he were honest with himself. Arms crossed and seemingly unbothered by the verdict, Nanami cocked his head. “So, are you coming to me, or shall I come to you?”

Higuruma stared.

And then he stared a little longer. This was undoubtedly the weirdest dream he’d ever had.

True to life, his hackles raised at Nanami’s challenge, a gauntlet thrown down between them, and Higuruma’s alcohol-thinned blood simmered beneath his skin. Nanami had a way of forcing him to bend the knee, but not this time. Not here.

Higuruma descended from his platform, leather shoes clicking sharply over the polished stone tile as he stalked toward Nanami’s stand. He propped a foot on the bottom rung, hoisting himself up and curled his hands around the mahogany railing that separated them. Braced on strangely sweaty palms, he leaned forward, almost nose-to-nose with Nanami now.

In the dark of the hotel room beneath chilled sheets, Higuruma shifted, rolling to his other side with an outstretched leg to knock socked-toes against Nanami’s ankle.

Nanami's eyes gleamed with a challenge as he reached over the railing, fingers curling into Higuruma's shirt, yanking him forward with surprising strength. Their lips crashed together, a collision of heat that sent a jolt through Higuruma's dream-self.

The intensity of it took him off guard, the force of Nanami’s mouth on his leaving Higuruma reeling. This was meant to be punitive, a slap on the wrist—or lips, rather—but it was hard to remember why when Nanami kissed him like this.

Champagne and mint.

He couldn’t possibly know what Nanami tasted like, so his mind helpfully supplied the sharp concoction from his own tongue. His hands moved before his mind could catch up, tangling in Nanami’s hair and pulling him closer, pressing deeper into the kiss. There was something beneath all that resentment—a spark, a flicker of treacherous attraction Higuruma had never let himself consider. But it was there, buried under a mountain of irritation and petty grievances.

The kiss morphed, a messy thing turned messier and god, Higuruma didn’t ever want it to end. He hadn’t known he wanted this at all and if he won’t remember this when he wakes he’ll make the most of it now. Higuruma’s grip tightened, pulling Nanami in, erasing the line between them until it didn’t matter where one began and the other ended. There’s a vibration in his mouth—a groan, he thinks—but from who he wasn’t sure.

Higuruma was lost in the dream, and his body was quick to betray him in the waking world with shameful ferocity. Unconsciously he inched closer until he was pressed snug against Nanami, his body seeking the flesh-warmth he so reveled in within his dreamt domain. His arm hooked lazily around Nanami’s middle, nose pressed tight into a prickling honey-blonde undercut.

His hips jerked, orbiting in uncoordinated circles. It was sloppy, a messy grind choked by rust and time-lost inexperience, devoid of rhythm but steeped in the urgency of need. The friction, the coarse slide of fabric against fabric, was enough to quicken his breath and set his blood thrumming. Nanami’s thigh was warm enough, firm enough, and it penetrated that purgatorial barrier with enough ease that it didn’t matter to him one bit.

Nanami woke slowly, dragging himself out of sleep with sandy slowness, eyelids heavy and mind sluggish as he blinked against the groggy blur. It wasn’t the usual sounds that roused him—no birds chirping, no insistent alarm beep—but rather the disorienting sensation of near-perfect darkness that left him momentarily unsure if his eyes were even open, and warmth and pressure tugging him further into awareness.

His brow furrowed in confusion as the warmth pressed against him again, incoordinate and inconsistent, paired with the soft, breathy exhale of something that sounded suspiciously like a sleep-garbled attempt at his name, the unmistakable hardness nestled against his hip—

The sluggish cogs in Nanami’s brain started to click into place, oil applied to bleary gears, and when the reality hit him it hit him like a bullet.

Oh. Oh.

His eyes snapped so wide they hurt, panic flooding his system and catching his breath in an iron fist to be yanked forcefully down his tight throat. Higuruma ground against him again, and Nanami should move, should stop him from embarrassing himself.

But worse yet—much worse—was that Nanami didn’t want to stop him. His thickening cock was proof of that, treacherous was the growing tent in his pants that made frenzied sweat bead on his bare chest. Mortification clawed at him, it left him paralyzed.

This couldn’t be happening

“Higuruma,” Nanami croaked, voice thick with sleep and arousal that settled so hot and heavy over his brain that he couldn’t begin to school it out of his tone. He shook him, a bit too roughly in his haste, desperate to stop this before it spiraled any further out of control. “Higuruma, wake up.”

Higuruma grumbled, fingers tightening their burial in wrinkled linen sheets when they failed to find purchase on the smooth skin of Nanami’s arm. His head bowed, tucked low and determined as he rutted against Nanami again, mouth pulled taut with displeasure as the source of the warmth grew firmer and less pliable, more distant, and he’s shaken.

Higuruma’s eyes cracked open, rolling white as he’s gracelessly tugged from his dream. He could cry, he wants to claw it back until it’s marked with the blunt bite of his nails, hoarding it jealously in his mind where none may take it and none may know. So desperate is he to keep the slipping memory alive and in his grasp, to hold possessively to the fabricated flesh memory that his eyes slip closed again—until his name is barked into his ear like a clap of thunder.

He blinked, suddenly much more awake, sleeps fog lifting as if he were hot pavement, and with that heat comes the cold, cruel, crushing weight of reality. The heat was not his own, and his eyes were filled with the dark silhouette of a muscular back and half turned shoulder. The weight against his front, another's leg pinned between his own, the pressure against his fully erect member—though it isn’t rare for Higuruma to suffer from morning wood—it isn’t morning, nor is he alone.

He froze, horrified as the reality of his situation dawned clear, sentenced under the weight of his own dreamt gavel.

Oh no. Oh god, oh fuck, no.

Panic surged through him with the violence of a live-wire. Higuruma practically convulsed with his clawing to escape, scrambling back and almost tumbling off the bed in his rush to put much needed space between them. Sheets tangle in his legs, yanking them free from Nanami who jerks in response, grabbing a pillow and forcing it tightly down over his own lap.

“I—oh my god, I’m so sorry—didn’t mean to… fuck, shit—I wasn’t—” The words tumbled in a frantic stream from Higuruma’s mouth, mortification burning through him like wildfire, setting each nerve ablaze until his whole body grew slick with terror-induced sweat. It left him dizzy and desperate to crawl into a hole and disappear forever, and he knew he should’ve slept in the fucking chair—

Nanami’s silence was deafening, but it wasn’t the steady, composed kind that Higuruma had come to expect. No, this was an awkward, uncertain sort. The kind that made Higuruma’s stomach hurt—he expected Nanami to punch him with every second that ticked by without a word, and god he would deserve it, would relish it even as some sort of penance for this egregious trampling of bounds and he’s sure Nanami feels absolutely sick.

But Nanami would not punch Higuruma, nor would he speak. Nanami is a quiet man, but that has always been by choice. For the first time in his life, he was at a loss for words. Everything he should say flees him, anything he could say slips like water between his fingers, and everything he wants to say simply isn’t an option. He struggles to process the situation, but his body certainly doesn’t, cock hard and insistent against his thin pants and pillow shield.

Higuruma wanted to die. He wanted to sink into the earth and never be seen again. But more than that, he wanted to forget that he’d been grinding on Nanami like some desperate animal in heat, laying bare something he hadn’t known he wanted in the most humiliating way possible.

“I’m so sorry,” Higuruma repeated, voice shaky and impossibly small in the dark. His heart beat erratically, pounding behind his ribs with a concerning force—maybe he’ll have a heart attack, drop dead right then and there and that would be merciful, wouldn’t it? He felt like a fool, an absolute idiot, and the shame was suffocating, and he’s wholly undeserving of Nanami’s forgiveness but he silently pleads for it anyways. Forgiveness, punishment in the way of a broken nose, he would accept it all but this silence eroded his nerves down to the quick and made him nauseous.

Nanami finally spoke, his voice low and uncertain, as though he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. “It’s… fine,” said through clenched teeth, though his expression was anything but. His brow furrowed, caught between confusion and the unwelcome heat simmering beneath his skin, emotions tangled and unspooled messily and he couldn’t begin to figure out how to put them back together.

Both stared up at the ceiling, hearts jackhammered against their cages in a way that may have been bonding—this shared feeling of horror—if not for the gulf forcibly carved between them via blank mattress space. Higuruma allowed himself to be lost in the sea of white linen sheets where he hoped to drown, and Nanami clutched to the raft that was the downy pillow locked very conspicuously over his lap.

Both willed their very obvious predicaments to go away, but thinking about them only made it worse. Unsexy thoughts didn’t work, when the only thought either of them had was about the ache between their legs, and Nanami considered how much easier it would’ve been to not have woken Higuruma at all and slipped away to the bathroom, jerking himself to calmness in a harried palm; while Higuruma wonders how thick the glass of the nearby window is, and if he might be able throw himself through it.

He chanced a glance at Nanami, eyes skittering surreptitiously in the dark. Bare chested and devoid of the blanket, one knee bent upward with a forearm flung over his forehead, Higuruma is just as quick to look away because fuck had Nanami always looked so good? Surely not, surely it’s just the dark, and the residuals of a dream he should never have had and would never have had if not for the alcohol in his system, but he looked good and the pillow in his lap makes Higuruma want to move it to see what’s underneath—

His gaze flickered downward, inexorably drawn to the pillow where his heart thumps overtime. Oh fuck.

Higuruma is a man. He’s fully aware of the tricks he might deploy and has deployed in a situation like this. His old desk made for great cover when his body went neglected in favor of late nights pouring over cases, cock thickened and twitching down the seam of his thigh. A well placed file, though more obvious, could serve just as well until he had a chance to adjust himself. A clipboard, his coat slung over his arm, a pillow—

Higuruma’s eyes zeroed in on the pillow perched awkwardly on Nanami’s lap, a wordless understanding crashing over him that leaves him breathless. It was a man’s intuition, the kind that muddled both heads—the one on his shoulders running on empty, while the other swelled with smug satisfaction. Nanami was just as affected, and Higuruma felt his cock give a hopeful jump that maybe not all was lost… what else does he have to lose with his dignity already in shambles?

An idea—stupid and reckless—flashed through Higuruma’s mind, and he couldn’t quite quash it, couldn’t quite suppress the tiny flicker of something that wasn’t quite panic and wasn’t quite desire. Maybe it was madness. Maybe he’d finally lost it.

“Nanami—”

“Excuse me,” Nanami interrupted, palm clasped tight over his mouth and nose, and shuffled to the edge of the mattress with jerky and robotic movements. Feet hit the floor and he bent, shoulders hunched and muscles tense as he prepared to force himself up and away as quickly as possible. But before he could make his escape, Higuruma’s hand shot out, clutching Nanami’s wrist in a desperate grip.

“Wait,” Higuruma gasped, voice barely registering above a whisper, inaudible above the pounding of his own heart. This was stupid, mortifyingly so, but somehow the idea grew legs and ran from his mind and out of his mouth before he could stop it.

Nanami doesn’t turn, but he freezes, paused and straining but not pulling away.

Higuruma’s eyes are wide and pleading, thoughts spiraled to oblivion with not a hope in hell of getting them back. “What if—” he swallowed. “We could—maybe we could…?”

The words slipped out before he could think better of them, and he cursed himself for being so weak, so utterly incapable of keeping his treacherous mouth shut. He wanted to take them back, swallow them down and pretend they’d never existed.

If Nanami could grow stiffer, he did. His shoulders expanded with the slow sucking inhale he pulled between his teeth. So too stiffened the turgid length between his legs, hard enough that he feels he might bore a hole through the pillow in his lap.

He feels like a teenager. Feral, and stupid, and so wildly out of control. Higuruma can’t say that. He can’t say things like that because if he does then Nanami wouldn’t be able to quash the thoughts of agreeing out of his head. And he can’t agree. They’re coworkers, and in some strange sense Higuruma is a mentee. His stubborn, infuriating, good-for-nothing, good looking, hopelessly distracting mentee.

Higuruma stared, Nanami avoided, reaching that familiar impasse but this time was unlike any other. “Wildly inappropriate—” Nanami muttered. “Ridiculous. I can’t believe you would even—absolutely not, no—”

“Fuck, say it again.”

Higuruma froze, his grip on Nanami’s wrist tightening. “Say what?” he ventured.

Nanami didn’t turn, but even in the dark Higuruma could see the muscles in his back twitch. Where Higuruma saw anger, Nanami felt restraint. Horror… temptation. Disgust… desire.

“Tell me what you want.” Nanami elaborated, voice breathless from the oxygen that flees his lungs and head, and with it goes his last chance to flee as well. Nanami is not a spontaneous man, but the act of surrender, of slipping the leash choked so tightly by his own hand, was nothing short of euphoric. This would be enough, even if nothing more—

Higuruma’s breath caught, snagged and lured on every word Nanami spoke, and every insult he didn't. He dared to let his grip slip on Nanami’s wrist, the calloused tips of his fingers brush over the sensitive inner skin beneath his palm, marveling at the veins and tendons that flex under his touch. Nanami didn’t pull away, and Higuruma almost groaned when he felt Nanami’s fingers twitch, moving to loosely tangle with his own. “I…”

Higuruma found himself lost for words. A rarity for him. “I, ah—you.”

Nanami’s blood roared in his ears. Yes, yes, oh fuck yes please—

“Can I… can I touch you…? I’m so sorry—fuck, we can just go to sleep, this is too awkward—”

No, no, no.

Higuruma’s grip slackened on Nanami’s wrist and retracted back into his own space. Nanami wasn’t sure what compelled him, a sudden surge of panic powered his body without his input and he twisted, spun around to face Higuruma who flinched with the surprise of it. He grabbed Higuruma's arm, holding his elbow, his other hand braced atop Higuruma’s knee through the blanket. He hadn’t meant to touch him, but he can’t find it in himself to move his hand either.

“No, please wait.”

They both stared face to face now, the dark doing little to conceal the burning red that stained both of their faces. Nanami felt that same panic slither down his throat—Higuruma stared at him, expectant, and now he had to be the one to push. Nanami silently cursed the way his hands shook as they drifted down Higuruma’s arm, loosely circling his wrist and drawing his hand to his chest.

His heart pounded violently, a dying animal trying to escape his ribcage for somewhere safer than inside him. “...Touch me.”

The air whistled from Higuruma’s nose, shaky palm and splayed fingers pressed against the bared skin he hadn’t known existed before a few short hours ago. His hand doesn’t move, frozen and paralytic as skittish eyes flicked up to meet Nanami’s for approval that he’d already received.

Stone faced as ever, Nanami made every effort to soften his edges. His brows lowered light and gentle, and his lips twitched in a rare up-tick, a hesitant smile and Higuruma had never seen such a thing on the man's face before. “Do you not want to…?” Nanami’s fingers brushed lightly over the fine bones that latticed the back of Higuruma’s hands.

“I…” Higuruma’s tongue was still struck dumb, breathless at the hot feel of skin beneath his palm. How long had it been since he’d touched somebody? Since he’d wanted to touch Nanami?

It crashed upon him, the realization that he’d buried after their first introduction was exchanged months ago, and every exchange since being one of barely restrained dislike at best. Even back then, and every time after, he wished circumstances were different; because truth be told, he thought he could like Nanami. His ideals, his determination, his ethics—they had all the ingredients to make for good friends.

They might have met over coffee or a drink stronger than espresso, they could’ve bickered over bread brands at the grocery store rather than how to best safeguard their lives. If things had been different, maybe they could’ve been different too.

It scared him, this sudden epiphany that he may have been wrong—or worse, a fool.

“I shouldn’t,” he whispered.

“That’s irrelevant and not what I asked,” Nanami insisted firmly. He gave Higuruma’s hand a small push, guiding it against his sternum and sliding slightly lower. He wasn’t sure where his sudden boldness came from—maybe it was the exhaustion, or the fact that the blood in his head had fully migrated south to his cock and that’s the head he was thinking with.

Maybe it’s because he’d dropped the pillow in his haste, and Higuruma’s eyes dropped with it to sweep shamelessly along his erection. There’s a savage pride Nanami harvests from Higuruma’s eyes, black as oil but far more valuable.

“Do you want to?” He repeats, eyes piercing, impeaching.

The look in Nanami’s eyes, the loosening of the harsh lines of his face in favor of an uncertain smile, all things point to this not being the trap Higuruma was half convinced it must be. There was no fist imbued with licking blue flames crashing into his nose or mouth, no vitriol spat for him being some sort of accidental pervert… it was okay. It was actually okay.

“Fuck yes, Nanami. I want to.” Higuruma gasped, and it was as if a spell had broken. For the first time since their meeting, they were finally on the same line of the same page. Higuruma’s hand drifted lower over the firm planes of Nanami’s abs, muscles flexing beneath his touch as Nanami moved to mount Higuruma’s thigh, wedging his own between the other man's legs. In sync, they moved with the same determined purpose.

Nanami’s head dipped, casting a shadow over Higuruma’s face before sealing out that little light entirely with the first tentative brush of their lips. He can feel the shake of Nanami’s muscled shoulders as he hovers, holding his weight high above Higuruma and those tremors reflect in the satin softness of lips he’d only ever seen pulled taut and disapproving.

What Nanami offered as a gentle introduction, a second chance at first impressions, Higuruma took and ran like a wild dog. His hand not currently entrenched within the lines of Nanami’s abs curled into bed-mussed blonde hair and pulled him down, delighting in his surprised grunt.

The kiss Higuruma sought was painted with the same brush as his dream. Angry, aggressive, hungry—but Nanami would have none of that. He wrenched himself away with a breathless bark, lips curled in the widest smile Higuruma had seen yet which almost soothed the sting of having been rejected. “Easy,” he murmured, pressing his nose to the corner of Higuruma’s mouth instead. “There’s no need to rush.”

Higuruma snorted, not the derisive and bitter sound Nanami was used to but the prelude to what would quickly evolve into a gravelly full-belly chuckle. Wonderful, Nanami thought. Higuruma had a wonderful laugh… he would like to hear it more. “Sorry,” he offered. “Must be the champagne.”

“Mmm—” Nanami hummed spiced with mirth, unconvinced as his lips returned to Higuruma’s. “Must be.”

Despite the tentativeness and undeniable awkwardness of fumbling with an unfamiliar body in the dark, they found themselves eventually moving in sync, as if they hadn't spent months just barely tolerating each other.

They fit together easily, Higuruma’s nose brushing and bent against Nanami’s cheek while Nanami savored the lingering taste of champagne on his tongue. There was an unspoken synergy that had always been there, simmering beneath the surface, if only they hadn’t been so stubbornly blind to it.

The world narrowed to a gravity of their own making, a push and pull just as they’d always been but devoid of the friction that left their edges rough and raw. Smooth stones in a riverbed their mouths tumbled, exploratory lips and tongues as they mapped this uncharted territory, thorough and thirsty and uncompromising in this burning consumption of each other.

Higuruma nipped at Nanami’s lip, grinning against his mouth as the subsequent gasp allowed his tongue to slip beside his.

He felt like a teenager again. Higuruma isn’t old but the heart-pounding anticipation in his chest is that of a much younger man. His eyes cracked open to admire Nanami, only for his heart to judder in his chest to find their eyes locked. Lost in the hot whiskey depths of Nanami’s gaze, half-lidded and more relaxed than Higuruma had ever seen him.

He wondered if it had been as long for Nanami as it had for him—if Nanami needed this as desperately as he did. He wondered if Nanami’s eyes stayed open out of concern that he might disappear out from beneath him, just as Higuruma feared he might still be dreaming after all.

Nanami’s hand drifted along his arm, fingers tangled and plaited together and pinned above Nanami’s chest. He gets his answer then in the erratic rhythm beneath his palm, pulse vibrating as desperate as his own. Nanami shares his vulnerability wordlessly—he isn’t as unaffected as he seems.

Nanami guided his hand lower, Higuruma’s fingers twitching and sandwiched between Nanami’s broader hand and the board of muscles beneath. Lower, and lower still, Nanami doesn’t break eye contact as he pressed Higuruma’s hand hard against his straining erection with a low groan, eyes closed with the instant relief of such a small touch.

Higuruma’s eyes leave him in favor of watching his own hand, the experience is almost out of body, his hand operated and guided by a force separate from himself. His anxiety left him then, replaced by a hunger that gnawed with vicious teeth at his belly.

His fingers curled instinctively, catching the fabric of Nanami’s pants with a sharp tug—pulling them down without resistance.

Nanami’s cock sprung upward, smacking against his stomach, bobbing and leveling at Higuruma in accusation. Thick and long and engorged an angry red from inattention, Higuruma decided with humor that Nanami’s dick looks a lot like the man himself. Big, and angry, and something he suddenly and desperately and carnally wants in his mouth.

For as long as Higuruma stared, Nanami looked down at him with the first inklings of trepidation. He’s staring, but he isn’t touching—is he displeased? Inadequate? Nanami’s eyes searched Higuruma’s face, flicking between his eyes and the neutral set of his mouth—should he kiss him again?

Insecurity made for the catalyst that flew his mind back to him. Maybe this was a mistake. Nanami swallowed, throat bobbing as his lips part with apology (for what, he doesn’t know but was resolved to figure it out), he started to withdraw—

At the same moment the wires connect in Higuruma’s brain that this was actually happening and hungry fingers finally reach out, tracing Nanami’s cock from ball to tip and cupping his palm over the sensitive head.

Nanami’s hips buck, lashes fluttering and a surprised groan ripped from his chest as he collapsed down onto his elbow, barely catching himself from crushing Higuruma beneath his full weight. His withdrawal was halted, finding himself shoving forward into Higuruma’s hand instead of away.

With a newfound confidence, Higuruma wrapped his fingers around Nanami’s cock, marveling at the velvety smoothness of the skin stretched taut over rigid flesh. He felt Nanami’s pulse beneath his fingertips, a steady beat that mirrored his own racing heart. Higuruma’s grip tightened slightly, earning him a deep, rumbling moan that made his skin tingle and his own cock throb with need.

“Fuck,” he cursed, forcing his lids back open—he looked between Higuruma’s eyes, beetle-black and flashing like flint in the dark, darting between his hungry stare and the connection between their bodies, the slow slide of Higuruma’s grasp around his cock. He doesn’t know where he’d rather look, or how to unknit his eyebrows, or how to stop the gravitational pull of his mouth back to Higuruma’s with desperate insistence.

His tongue teased the seam of Higuruma’s lips, coaxing his mouth open and Higuruma was quick to oblige. Their tongues tangled, and this time Nanami did nothing to chill the heated fervor with which Higuruma drank him in. His fingers dug into the pillow beside Higuruma’s head, muscles flexed and veins bulged as he fought to keep from losing himself in Higuruma’s hand so soon.

Some things would never change, the hot spirit of prideful competition blazed in Nanami’s blood and his hand drifted, dragging with obvious intent down Higuruma’s body, leaving more than enough time for him to be shoved off, to be stopped, but it never came. He needed Higuruma to cum first. Nanami refused to accept otherwise.

He palmed the bulge through Higuruma’s pants, swallowing the earned gasp down his throat and breaking the kiss just long enough to ask: “S’this okay?”

Higuruma nodded so hard he feared his head might snap off his shoulders.

Nanami hummed his acknowledgment, dipping his head away from Higuruma’s mouth to plant kisses along his jaw, leading back towards his ear to nuzzle against the sensitive hinge, buried against the clinging spice of yesterday's cologne and aftershave, and Nanami’s brain goes a bit fuzzy.

Soft skin and downy hair tickle his nose, nibbling distractingly at Higuruma’s pulse as his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of Higuruma’s pants, hooking his cock out into the air, pointed up towards his navel against the fabric of his shirt.

That brief touch alone was enough to have Higuruma seeing stars, a strangled gasp stripping his throat raw and breaking into a drawn out moan when Nanami gripped him fully.

Nanami took a moment to admire Higuruma’s cock, appreciating the weight and heat of it in his hand. It was beautiful in its own way, the smooth curve and the throbbing vein that traced a line beneath the silken skin. Nanami’s thumb swept over the tip, gathering the beads of pre-cum that glistened there and spreading it over the head with a gentle stroke that made Higuruma jerk up into his palm, his own grip on Nanami inadvertently tightening.

"Sensitive," Nanami murmured, eyes gleaming with an intensity that could melt steel, the heat of his gaze stripping Higuruma down to his very bones.

Higuruma flushed, a deep crimson spreading across his cheeks as his nose wrinkled in embarrassment. He turned his head into the pillow, trying to hide the uncontrollable reactions of his body. “It’s been a while,” he admitted, voice barely more than a whisper as he gave Nanami’s cock a tentative pump. The motion drew a low moan from Nanami, his eyelids fluttering, breath stuttering warmly against Higuruma’s cheek.

“No time… no interest,” Higuruma continued, words spilling out between panting breaths. “Not into flings… too impersonal.” Excuses tumbled from his lips, broken by the rhythm of Nanami’s hand stroking him into gasping pants. The wet sucking sounds of pre-cum between Nanami’s fingers only made Higuruma throb harder in Nanami’s fist.

"Me neither," Nanami confessed, his voice muffled as he buried his face into Higuruma’s neck, inhaling the warmth of his skin with a shaky breath. The wet rhythmic plap plap plap’s of his hand grew faster until Higuruma’s back arched off the bed with a frantic whine, a string of curses slipping unbidden from his lips.

Nanami had never imagined Higuruma to be a whimperer, always so composed and sharp-eyed. Then, he never dared allow himself to imagine Higuruma like this at all.

Except for that one time, maybe… or perhaps twice. Maybe he’d lost count after thrice.

He thought those sounds might be irritating, wax annoyingly and decoratively pornographic, but from Higuruma, they were intoxicating. They made him crave more. He wanted to chip away at his composure, to draw out more of those desperate noises, to capture them and keep them close. Because Nanami didn’t do flings, and if that’s what this was, he at least wanted something to remember it by.

It was instinct driven the way he moved next, shifting to straddle Higuruma more completely, head bowed to watch the narrow space between them. It’s clumsy, it’s dark and they’re new to this and Higuruma’s body was as alien to him as anybody else's. His ears burn in time with the heavy thump of his cock thudding into the cleft of Higuruma’s thigh.

With clenched teeth, Nanami pressed forward, his movements deliberate but unsteady. A slow, grinding thrust dragged the underside of his cock against Higuruma’s, exhaling sharply at the fresh sensation.

Higuruma's lips parted in another moan, but the sound was swallowed by Nanami’s mouth before it escaped. It’s an opportunity for authority Nanami relished, a chance he didn’t often get. He didn’t hesitate to explore the warmth of Higuruma’s mouth, snagging the sharp of his canines against soft velvet lips, the slick of his soft palate lashed by Nanami’s seeking tongue.

Nanami’s fingers extended, thumb and palm hooking around his own cock while the remaining four stayed devoted to Higuruma—jerking them in tandem, a shared rhythm that drew out breathy gasps and muted moans.

Higuruma’s mouth was hot against Nanami’s, full of urgency and an unspoken plea and promise. So much potential with that mouth—quick wit, arguments, warm, inviting. There’s a kind of intoxication in the way Higuruma responds, each hitch of breath and stuttered exhale fueling Nanami’s quiet resolve to be good to him. He wanted Higuruma to remember him; a matter of ego.

Nanami does not do flings, and neither does Higuruma, but maybe this is an exception. Maybe it’s more. Maybe they’d wake in the morning and Nanami would find the courage-tempered cowardice to flee the life of a sorcerer for a second time—this time out of embarrassment—or maybe he would treat Higuruma to breakfast. Either felt just as likely at that point.

Higuruma found his hands rendered obsolete, defunct palms still slick and sticky from Nanami but with nothing to occupy them. His heart raced, hips bucking up into Nanami’s fist, grinding his cock against Nanami’s as he murmured muffled encouragement into Higuruma’s neck. Higuruma’s hands moved frantically, grabbing for any part of Nanami he could reach.

Fingers tangled in his hair, raking through the undercut at the nape of his neck, carding through blonde locks as if to stay tethered. His hands roamed over Nanami’s back, tracing the firm muscles that quivered beneath his touch. He scratched constellations into the sun-dappled freckles decorating Nanami’s skin, a galaxy amidst the scars. He’d never considered the life Nanami lived before, never quite cared.

Maybe it was the near-orgasmic rush of dopamine clouding Higuruma’s brain, making him tender and soft, but he found himself leaning into Nanami’s shoulder, planting his mouth there. He kissed and licked, laving his tongue over every mark and blemish, every scar that marred the tanned skin with silver, pink, or fresh purple, each one undeserving of the canvas they existed upon.

Higuruma’s breath quickened, each gasp a desperate plea for more, his body straining towards the edge. Nanami’s hand worked them both at a relentless pace, the wet sounds of their cum-slick skin shlick-shlick-shlicking in the hot air. Higuruma could feel the pressure building, a knot tightening in his belly, ready to snap.

“Nanami,” he gasped into a spit-slick shoulder, voice trembling with urgency, his hips stuttering as he chased the release that felt so close, so inevitable. His grip tightened on Nanami’s hair, anchoring himself as his body tensed. He was a live wire, all nerves and sensation, and Nanami’s quiet, focused attention only made it sweeter.

The briefest moment of consideration crossed wires in Higuruma’s head, shakily tugging his own shirt up and pinching the fabric between his teeth, stomach bared and muscles clenching, unclenching, then clenching again—

“Kento,” Nanami corrected, pleading, impeaching, driving the slick, urgent rhythm of his hand. “Please—” It felt different that way, more intimate. Nanami wanted to erase the last traces of anonymity, eradicate impersonality, to fill the room with the weight of something softer, something real. He didn't know what compelled him, but the mere thought of Higuruma gasping his name, lips parted in desperate need, sent a hot thrill down Nanami’s spine, his balls tightening with a searing want that took his breath away.

The heat between them was unbearable, each stroke of Nanami’s hand pushing Higuruma closer to the edge, unapologetic in his destruction of his restraint. His body bowed, fingers tangling desperately in Nanami’s hair, a silent plea for more, just a little more—

His spine tensed, fingers gripping tightly in Nanami’s hair as he finally gave in, spilling over Nanami’s hand and his own stomach with a shrill bark of his name. Pleasure hit him hard, blurring his vision as sparks of ecstasy sparked behind his eyelids like stardust, every nerve galvanized past capacity. So long since it had been his own hand or some impersonal silicon device, Higuruma had simply forgotten. Forgotten what it was like for it to be someone else.

Nanami watched him, enraptured by the way Higuruma fell apart beneath him, the way his chest heaved and his eyes fluttered shut, the way his skin flushed with orgasmic afterglow. It was enough to tip him over the edge, the sight and sound and fuck even the smell of Higuruma’s orgasm drawing his own from him with a deep, guttural groan. 

He ground their cocks together once more, the slick mess of their combined cum making it all the more intense as he followed Higuruma dope-eyed into oblivion, his own climax spilling hot and wet between their bodies. Higuruma’s stomach hollowed with each gasping breath, a basin in which their combined cum pooled, mixed and hot.

They lay there, breath mingling in the heated space between them, Nanami still bracketing Higuruma’s body with his own. Both panting, skin glistening with sweat and the final ropes of cum stringing between Nanami’s fist and Higuruma’s stomach. Higuruma’s cock twitched with each pulse, oversensitive and alive with lingering sensation.

Nanami nuzzled into the crook of Higuruma’s neck, breathing in the musky warmth of his skin, while Higuruma wrapped an arm around Nanami’s shoulders, fingers splayed possessively, as if to keep him from pulling away—not that Nanami had any intention of moving.

“Stay,” Higuruma murmured, voice still breathless, tinged with the raw edges of satisfaction and something suspiciously softer.

Nanami chuckled, a low rumble against Higuruma’s ear, and pressed a gentle kiss to the curve of his jaw. “Wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

Higuruma shifted, a satisfied glint in his eye. “Good. Because I’m not sure I can move,” he admitted, a smile tugging at his lips.

Throughout the night, every inch of Higuruma’s body came to know Nanami’s hands, his lips, his touch, and Higuruma explored Nanami with the same enthusiasm. When the sun rose, it found them not on opposite sides of the bed in a cold war but tangled together, limbs more origami than man, an ouroboros where it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

They prepared for the mission ahead, no longer the awkward and begrudging roommates they had been, not quite friends, not quite lovers, but something decidedly more pleasant than they were just the day before.

As Nanami fixed his hair, Higuruma brushed his teeth with a casual ease. While Higuruma tied his tie, Nanami laced his shoes, relaxed, satisfied. Pleasantries exchanged were more than mere obligation, carried out with a quiet contentment and softened shoulders. The glances they shared were not of sharp edges or bitter abrasion but of thoughtful kindness.

“I shouldn’t think we’ll be here another night,” Nanami commented, donning his jacket from the closet and rolling his shoulders, loosening the threads around muscles that felt more limber than they had in a long time. “Make sure you’ve repacked your bag.”

Nanami’s words were met with an odd sense of regret, cold and dousing was the wave that washed over Higuruma as he hummed his acknowledgment, swallowing his disappointment. “Yeah, already done,” Higuruma assured, raking fingers through his hair in the mirror one last time. He found himself caring a little more than usual today, the lines of his suit sharper and picked of lint, not a hair out of place. There was no good reason for that, of course.

He didn’t want to leave.

Sudden was this change of heart, where before he wanted to blaze through this mission and get away from Nanami, the sooner the better. But now, with them finally on decent—dare he say good —terms, he wasn’t ready to go back. Not to campus, not to the way things were before, marked by prickling anxiety and petty competition.

So lost in his thoughts and buried beneath a tortured brow, he didn’t notice as Nanami approached him. Only when his hand tentatively grazed his waist, jolting Higuruma back to reality did he blink at the other man reflected in the mirror over his shoulder.

“Hiromi…” Nanami began, hesitant and stilted, unused to the taste of anything other than Higuruma or a muttered insult, unsure if the request for familiarity was still in effect.

“When we get back—”

Higuruma is already shaking his head, expression schooled into neutrality. He would have to practice it again, learn how to be unaffected. It would be hard but he would learn, and it would be like nothing ever happened and god that was a tough pill to swallow… because Higuruma Hiromi doesn’t do flings, and he didn’t think Nanami Kento did either.

“I don’t kiss and tell if that’s what you’re worried about,” Higuruma chuckled, placating, strained.

Nanami simply smiled at him in the mirror. Slowly he reached around, snaking an arm to Higuruma’s front, gently adjusting Higuruma’s collar and the knot of his tie.

“Actually… I was thinking about dinner.”

[mj0702]

Thanks to RDJ and Crush for putting up with my insecure annoying ass ❤️

First time trying to write a fiction... always open to criticism or just some nice words 😁

Talk to us

You don't really know how you got in that position – naked, bent over your bed, you legs held apart by belts around your thighs, tied to the posts of the bed. You DO remember, WHY you were in this position. You had snapped once to often at your girlfriends Ingrid and Mapí – which Mapí normally forgives, but your other Girlfriend Ingrid wasn't as forgiving. Ingrid always made sure to put you back in your place. As she does right now, the paddle connecting harshly with your naked skin.

„You want to talk about your recent mood, liten en?” the dark haired Woman asked after the fifth blow. You just grunted, indicating that you in fact didn't want to talk about it.

“Maybe another five will change your mind, elskling” she said and brought the paddle down again.

You head fell forward on your cuffed wrists and you refused to make any sounds. After another four, your girlfriend stopped again, softly caressing the red skin of your cheek. Your breath already laboured you relax a little under her soft touch

“Tell me, liten en... what's with the attitude lately?” she says softly, trying to coax an answer out of you.

You shake your head in response feeling the soft leather of your wrist cuffs on your face. Your other girlfriend, Mapí watched the scene from afar, a strap-on secured around her hips.

“Still not ready to talk?” Ingrid asked softly, but you can hear a hint of warning in her voice.

“Nothing to talk about” you pant out

“Oh but I think there is, elskling” Ingrid said “for over a week now, you're very humørsyk.. angry even... I REALLY tried to be nice and understanding, as did Mapí but snapping at her for asking what you would like for dinner is enough... so tell me, mi amor – what's been bothering you”

“Nothing that concerns you” you seethe

“Mapí... princesa” the dark haired woman looked over to her girlfriend “Tell me... the last time she had an attitude – how many orgasms until she started talking?”

“Five” the blonde Athlete grinned

“We won't stop at five this time, mi amor” Ingrid whispered in your ear “We won't stop until you are ready to talk”

“I don't WANT to talk” you growl

“You won't have a choice, cariño” Mapí smirked from her place “You know she won't stop til you either talk or pass out”

“There is nothing to talk about” you pressed out

“We'll see” Ingrid said and you could hear her smirking as she brought the paddle down on your ass again

“Fuck” you growled

Your girlfriend realized that it won't be any use to keep punishing you, so she tried a different approach. She caressed your skin and started with her right hand to rub your pussy. You first tried to get away from her touch (without any success due to your tied legs) before giving in and holding still for her.

“There we go” Ingrid smirked and sneaked her left arm under your body which was still slumped over on the bed, grabbing your breast “that wasn't so hard now, was is mi amor?”

You weren't ready to give in just yet so you started to scramble away a little bit. The dark haired woman smirked wider knowing you'd put up a fight “You know you won't win this fight, elskling – just give in already”

Mapí grinned widely, starting to massage her breasts while watching the two of you

You finally let a quiet moan slip out between your lips, knowing you lost that battle, but maybe not the war. Your girlfriends shared a look of amusement as Ingrid draped herself over your back, pressing gentle kisses into your neck while starting to finger you slowly

“Give in liten en...” the Norwegian whispered into your ear “Give in and I'll let you cum”

You moan again still trying to get away from your girlfriends touch. Ingrids finger started to go deeper and faster causing you to whimper.

“You're doing so good, mi amor” she praised you, before thrusting her fingers hard into you “Cum” she commanded you, biting into your shoulder. You moaned loudly, cumming hard on her fingers. She didn't give you time to recover as she started immediately to thrust her fingers back into you. Again you tried to get away from her touch just for her to chuckle “Always feisty... you know I love it, when you're bratty like this. More fun to make you submit to me – and Mapí”

Your head still on your wrists, you growl which sounded pathetic and made Ingrid laugh, while still fingering your pussy without mercy “Oh elskling – you have no idea what you started with your behaviour... be a good girl and give in... We'll take care of you”

You knew she lured you into a false sense of security with her kind words and you also knew that they where nowhere near done with you.

“Here's what's going to happen, liten en... first you give me another orgasm, before I let Mapí have some fun with you, while I watch – she's been so well behaved, waiting for me to be done with you... then, after our princesa is done with you we'll have some fun together making you come again... and again... and again... until you're finally ready to tell us what's wrong” the Norwegian said, still draped over your back and you just knew you won't be able to talk when your girlfriends were done. You moaned again and you pushed yourself up on your elbows, your head still hanging down.

“I thought so” Ingrid smirked “Will you give me another one, kjærlighet or will you fight me again?”

The sound that came out of your mouth wasn't human as you reached your peak again, falling over the edge. This time Ingrid indeed stopped her ministrations, letting you ride out your orgasm on her fingers. You fell forward trying to catch your breath as you feel her pulling her fingers from your pussy which caused you to whine.

“Sssh liten en...” she said softly before sending Mapí a look, who immediately stood up and walked behind you. Mapí took the strap and lined it up with your entrance. You jumped a little and started to shake your head, letting them know you weren't ready for it. Ingrid sensed your discomfort and threw her original plan to watch the Spanish fuck you senseless out the window to comfort you. She was quick to climb on the bed in front of you. She grabbed your chin and pushed it up so you had to look at her. Your eyes showed her a mix of emotions – sadness, trust, love and lust.

“You trust us, sí?” she asked her voice low. You nod shortly. It was enough for Ingrid who started to kiss you softly while giving Mapí a small sign to continue. As your spanish girlfriend started to slowly push the strap inside you, you moaned into the kiss which caused Ingrid to end it just to push you further up by your shoulder to firstly push you down into Mapí and secondly pull your upper body into hers, holding your head just above her heart.

“Mierda... Tan apretada” Mapí grunted, as she pushed the fake dick deeper into you. You groaned into Ingrids chest, your tied hands trying to hold on to something. The dark haired woman showed a little mercy, offering you her hand to hold while her other held your head securely to her body. You grabbed the offered hand of your girlfriend and squeezed it tightly.

“Colour mi amor?” Ingrid checked in with you, because even if she was pissed off with you for your behaviour, they would never hurt you

“G-g-g-green” you moaned out, as Mapí started to fuck you slowly with the strap

“Good girl” Ingrid mumbled against your hair, pressing a kiss to your forehead

“You're getting soft, Corazón” Mapí smirked at Ingrid, while pushing deeper into you, making you moan louder

“If you don't want to end up at the receiving end, María, I would advise you shut up and go back to the task on hand” Ingrid raised an eyebrow at her, still holding your head to her chest

You were panting hard, as your blonde girlfriend thrusted into you harder

“I can multi-task, corazón” Mapí smirked, her hips never faltering as she grabbed your shoulder for leverage, now pounding into you

“Fuuuuck” you moaned as she found the perfect angle for the enjoyment to flood through your body

“Will you cum again, mi amor?” Ingrid smirked, holding you tightly to her body, giving you the feeling of security that you needed. Your body arched as you can feel your climax approaching – again.

“Cum para mi” Mapí growled, as she draped herself over your back, biting your shoulder hard.

Your body went rigid, as you came screaming her name before slumping forward, Ingrid catching your body. She carefully lowered your body (and Mapís for the matter, who was still laying panting on top of your back) on the bed before starting to unbuckle the leather belts around your thighs. You were thankful, that Ingrid didn't pull through with her threat of not stopping and you were able to catch your breath a little – as far as this was possible with Mapí still in and on you. After a few minutes Mapí eased the strap out of you, sliding of your back. In the meantime, your other girlfriend took place on the bed again, leaning against the headboard watching the two of you.

“Come here, mi amor” she said in a low voice and you rolled over to her.

She layed you down next to her, kissing you softly while she moved so she was kneeling next to you pinning your wrists to the bed next to your head. The dark haired woman continued to kiss you softly, luring you into a false sense of security. Your eyes were closed as you enjoyed the gentleness from your girlfriend. What you didn't expect in this calm moment was your other girlfriend. Mapí got rid of the strap and moved, unnoticed by you, in between your half spread legs to sink two of her slender fingers into your dripping core. You tried to get away from her touch, but couldn't muster up the strength against two world class football players – with one pinning you to the bed and the other one sitting on your leg to hold you down. The spanish player immediately started to fuck you fast and hard with her fingers not seeing any point in easing you into it. Ingrid moved again so she could reach your clit with her right hand, using now her left arm on your chest to keep you in place. Like her spanish companion she didn't go slow, rubbing your clit fast. It was embarrassing how fast you came again. Your back arched off the bed as you screamed out your pleasure. Both of your girlfriends slowed their ministrations to let you ride out the aftershocks and your body shook relentlessly.

“You want?” Mapí grinned at Ingrid offering her fingers to the Norwegian.

Ingrid sucked the two fingers into her mouth, moaning at your taste on them. The spanish woman grinned amusedly while rubbing over your hip with her other hand soothingly.

Ingrid then pulled you up by your arm and sat herself behind you so your back was pressed against her front. You were too far gone to realize what your two girlfriends were planning not noticing the trap. Ingrid pressed a soft kiss to your temple, while her hands start to explore your body. She caressed your breasts, pinching your nipple causing you to moan quietly. Mapí tried to pry your legs open again, but this time you fought her on it and pressed them together.

“Don't fight me, Negrita” the spanish said as she tried to push them apart again “We're not done yet”

Before you could snap an answer at her, Ingrid hooked her feet under your ankles and pulled your legs apart while pushing your head onto her shoulder with her left hand.

“You're getting soft, Corazón” Ingrid smirked at Mapí using her own words against her.

“She would have given in, if you weren't so... impaciente” the spanish woman mustered

“Less talking, more... you know... four down, a lot more to go” the Norwegian motioned to your spread legs

Sometimes you hated it when your girlfriends talked over your head but right now you couldn't give a flying fuck. Your blonde girlfriend immediately pushed two fingers into you, but changing things up, starting slow. A bit too slow for your liking. You whined pathetic as Ingrid started to press soft kisses to your neck, holding your head on her shoulder. You tried to push your hips down onto Mapís finger but with Ingrid still holding your legs open with her feet, you had no chance of getting more fraction. The spanish went agonizing slow, enjoying every second of your whining.

“You want more, bonita?” Mapí grinned wickedly.

“¡sí, por favor!” you whined

“Look at that.. I fuck her so good, she starts speaking spanish” The blonde grinned at Ingrid

“She IS Spanish, you idiot” the Norwegian exclaimed, a small smile tugging on her lips

“Please” you whimpered as Mapí keeps her rhythm slow and steady.

“I know” the blonde rolled her eyes “but in favour of you, she always speaks english”

“Mapí” the Norwegian warned, knowing that firstly María gets easily distracted and secondly you could snap and block them out.

“Right at it, Corzón” the Spanish grinned, lowering her head to suck on your clit, while her fingers still tease the velvety inside of your pussy

“Mierda” you squeak out, your body jolting as you felt your girlfriends mouth on you

Ingrid chuckled keeping your head on her shoulder, pressing open mouth kisses to your neck and throat. You whine patheticlly, needing more comfort from the dark haired woman. Thankfully she understood and guided your head gently so your lips could meet. You desperatly moan into the kiss trying to get Ingrid to give in but she keeps the kiss soft and gentle. Mapí starts to increase her rhythem, working her fingers deeper into you and her tongue playing with your clit. Your whole body shivered as you could feel your next high coming quickly – you weren't even sure if it was a next or a still ongoing high. Your girlfriends were certainly on a mission.

“It's okay, liten en... no holding back... show María what a good job she's doing” Ingrid mumbled into the kiss, her right hand massaging your breast.

It got too much for you as Mapí sucked hard on your clit once, her fingers pushing deeply inside you and you came again but this time with a silent scream. Your body arched in the Norwegians hold and the Spanish between your legs had problems to remain in her position but she didn't let go of you. Her fingers keep massaging your insides while your thighs shake hard only being kept open by Ingrids hold on them.

“Tan buena para mi” Mapí murmured against your clit before removing her fingers and starting to clean you up

You tried to squirmed away from her only to be shushed by Ingrid

“Be good, mi amor...” she spoke softly into you ear before pressing a kiss to your temple.

You slumped back into her, your breathing ragged you tried to hold still as Mapí teasingly pushed her tongue into you. You squeaked and this time you did manage to get Mapí away from your pussy.

“You don't want me anymore, bebita?” the Spanish laid her head on your hip pouting.

“Too much” you panted

“No, liten en.. we told you we're not stopping at five this time... how often did you came this time?” Ingrid whispered into your ear.

“Don't... don't know” you stuttered out

“Five” María helped you out “So at least ONE more, Negrita”

“No... please... no more” you begged, tears starting to form in your eyes

“You brought that on yourself, mi amor” the Norwegian said as she started to move out from behind you “And I didn't get around to taste you so far”

Mapí climbed over your body to get next to you, while Ingrid kissed her way down. You whined and squirmed but it was no use – as usual. You knew that they only would stop if you used your Safeword so you gave in to your fate. You felt the bed dip beside you as Mapí took her place next to you, kissing your jaw softly moving down your throat.

“You need to be good for Ingrid, Cielo...” the Spanish murmured against your throat “She really loves to eat you out – which I understand, because you taste asombrosa... adictiva even... once you start, it's SO hard to stop”

Ingrid reached her destination and immediately went to work, pushing her tongue inside you. It felt different to Mapís which people probably wouldn't belive. Mapís tongue was smaller, softer, more defined while Ingrids was more rough, more muscular. In the end it didn't matter, because each time they make you come so hard, you normally see stars. Mapí carefully grabbed your throat and squeezed lightly, knowing that SOMETIMES you let her live out one of her many kinks. The spanish also knew that she has to approach the action carefully since you get panicked if you get overwhelmed by it. So she tried to ease you into it, but this time it was too much for you – being already overstimulated and Ingrid between your legs, you clawed at Mapís arm.

“Oh Bebita... it's okay... you're okay” the spanish said as she let go of your throat but not moving her hand to far just letting it rest on your cheek

The Norwegian between your legs looked up as she noticed you tensing up for a second, checking up on you. She saw that Mapí moved her hand from your throat to your cheek and continued her ministrations on your pussy. You started to squirm again trying to get away from the stimulation only to find your right leg get trapped by your spanish girlfriend.

“You need to be good for Ingrid, Negrita” Mapí whispered in your ear, planting a soft kiss right under it “You were so good for me... be good for her tambíen”

“I... I... I try” you pant out, feeling her tongue brushing inside you making you moan

“I know, Bebita... I know” the spanish mumbled as she nuzzled into cheek

Ingrid draged your pleasure out until you couldn't contain yourself anymore, screaming for her to let you come – you knew better than to come without her permission. She quickly switch from her tongue to her finger, sinking three of them into you fucking you rapidly. This high hit different. You felt not only the pleasurable pull in your body you also felt an unknown sentsation. Your girlfriend didn't stop tho – she told you over and over to come even after you already came. She plunged her fingers deeper and faster into you

“Come, mi amor” she growled, feeling you haven't given her everything “Come again for me”

And you did – suddenly you were flying. You didn't notice Ingrid pulling her fingers out of you suddenly, you didn't feel Mapís bite into your neck, you didn't hear yourself scream – you just felt boneless. In the best possible way. Your girlfriends on the other hand watched amazed as your body snapped of the bed in a final high.

“Did... did you just” Mapí said confused as she looked at the wet patch on the bed

“Made her squirt?” Ingrid smirked very pleased with herself “Yes I did”

“How?” the spanish asked still in a state of shock

“I'm just that good, Corazón” the Norwegian smirked, crawling up the bed taking your still shaking body into her arms, running her hands soothingly over it whispering sweeet nothings into your ear. Mapí snapped out of her state of shock, joining Ingrid in calming you down also searching for the personal contact, talking to you in low, hushed spanish.

After some time, you started to calm down, starting to slowly take in your surroundings, feeling your girlfriends close. You blinked a few times before turning your head towards Ingrid since she was the one who initiated it all. You knew they wouldn't push you any further but you also know the uninventable was coming. She looked at you expectantly, knowing you wouldn't speak without permission after what she just said to you. So she curtly nodded her head giving you the chance to explain yourself.

“Promise me you won't get mad” you mumble and Ingrid immediately knew you were ready to talk about whatever is going on in your head.

“I can't promise that and you know it – the last time you started like this, the two of you thought it would be great idea to jump from the balcony into the pool... and you ended up in hospital with a broken arm” the Norwegian rolled her eyes.

“It WAS a great idea... in theory” you mumbled and started to bite your lip nervously

“In reality it was a VERY bad idea... so no, I can't promise you not to get mad” the Norwegian said

You stayed quiet for a few more minutes only snapping out of your headspace as you felt Mapí starting to kiss your neck again

“I got a letter from my parents” you mumble looking away from your norwegian girlfriend

“That's all? You were in a bad mood for over a week now over a letter? What did it say?” Ingrid said and you could hear a tint of frustration in her voice.

“I... don't know... haven't opened it.. shoved it in the living room drawer where all the decoration stuff is” you mumbled feeling like a small child

“Mapí... get that letter for god sakes” Ingrid said and rolled her eyes

Mapí was about to stand up when you stopped her

“Please don't...” you whispered, which made the spanish stop dead in her tracks

“Mi amor.... it's killing you not knowing.. you know we're always here for you – forever and always” the norwegian said softly

“I don't want to know with what bullshit they come around the corner now... it looks like some official stuff too – don’t want to deal with that right now” you said, still not looking at them

“I know you don't have the best relationship with them, Bebita... but maybe it'll help... maybe we can help” Mapí tried as well

“Would you consider assassinate them?” you asked and your girlfriends hear that you’re not serious.

Mapí burst out laughing while Ingrid poked your side in a warning.

“Can’t Bebita... I wouldn't survive in jail – I’m too pretty for jail” the Spanish woman laughed

“You would be the only one out of us three that would survive jail” you said pointing out “Ingrid would get killed trying to take over some gang and I would just be someones bitch... you would get into a gang and earn your rightful place by doing jobs no one would want to do”

“Wow... you already have it planned out” Ingrid said looking at you in disbelief “and thank you for your confidence in me”

“I like how you think, Negrita” Mapí grinned.

“No assassination, no jail... but we need to talk about this letter” the Norwegian brought the topic back up “you can’t just push us away, mi amor... you need to talk to us... that’s the most important thing in this relationship – communication. We all have off days, moody days – we are human after all, but if something like this comes up again, just talk to us... I don’t care if you talk to Mapí or me or both of us... but talk. Even if we can’t offer a solution right away, there’s still a good chance we can help somewhere down the line. We don’t know what happened with your parents and we won’t push you to tell us, but we’re always here to help. We care about you, we love you”

“I... I love you too... but please... Can we just not... tonight?” you asked hopefully looking up for the first time

“Okay” Ingrid huffed out softly “not tonight”

“Tomorrow” Mapí said, a little encouraging smile grazing her lips

“Okay” you said relieved, your eyes dropping already being worn out completely

“Sleep, mi amor” Ingrid softly whispered, holding you tightly “We'll always be with you when you wake up”

“Siempre Bebita” Mapí whispered as she laid down again pressing herself into your side

[jolalibrary]

i. aren’t repulsed by me

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter one of i like the way you

best friend! friends with benefits! frankie morales summary: what starts off as an offhand remark, quickly becomes a regular, scheduled 'stress relief'. the only problem is, both of you are in denial that you feel anything outside of friendship for the other.

chapter warnings: friends with benefits. fwb! rules. smut. p in v. dirty talk.

an: the biggest hug to @ghostaholics because without her allowing me to waffle saturday night, all of this wouldn't be here. a huge thank you to @thetriumphantpanda for reading this and telling me i should post it, and to my eyes all over my skies @guyfieriii

wordcount: 4k

“You’re late.”

Frankie smirks, watching you lean in the doorway, his hand lifting the sweating bag of food and the clanging paper bag containing the essentials, aka wine and beer.

He watches as the gesture makes your eyes narrow, forgiveness etching across earlier annoyance as you put out your hand, offering to take something, anything.

“The store close to mine was out of your wine.”

Shutting the door, he finds you glancing over your shoulder, the television already set up. The usual array of candles and blankets across your living room—the ones which aren’t romantic, just mood setting (a thing you’ve highlighted to him many times). Not to him—he knows. But to others. Those who don’t understand that a friendship that’s spanned over ten years can remain as innocent as it seems—that movie nights were just movie nights. Even if the group chat joked otherwise.

“I’m serious,” he adds.

“So it’s not because you left yours at the time you were supposed to be here?”

Snorting, he follows you into the kitchen—the light flickers on, making him blink. Once again thwarted by the phone you made him upgrade to—the one which spills his secrets, like location and when he’s read your message.

Grabbing a plate, you hold it out to him. “That’s what I thought.”

“Y’gonna forgive me, or am I gonna have to surrender my movie privilege next time?”

You scrunch your nose—an act that shouldn’t make him smile, but does. His eyes scan up and down your face, a calmness spreading over him as soon as he is in the walls of your place—a feeling he always has when he’s with you.

His friend—his best friend.

A person who has been there through it all. Not batting an eyelid when he knocks on past midnight, red-eyes, dripping with rain because he lost his license, and he can’t sleep, and he’s so impossibly fucking tired. Not fazed when he slumps next to you, detailing the heartache of finding out he wasn’t going to be a father after all, handing him a bottle of beer—his favourite, the only kind you keep, all because of him.

You don’t make him pay. You never do.

Forever there, a rock—a comfort and a safety. It’s why he doesn’t fuck around with movie nights—doesn’t fuck around with anything to do with you. A silent promise, a rule: Frankie will always be there.

It didn’t matter if the person you dated hated him, didn’t matter if you pulled away because life became hard and you wanted to decline invites to the bar with the others. Frankie was there, the two of you giving and taking, always balanced, forever shared.

Movie nights reflected this. Last time was his choice, and tonight, it’s yours. A romantic comedy, with a twist—you’d said. He didn’t ask questions, just nestled under the blanket you dubbed his—green, worn, “like you, Morales”, you’d said when you’d pulled it out of the cupboard for him.

Taking his plate, you pop them on the coffee table. “You think you’d ever do it?”

“What? Friends with benefits?” He watches as you nod, getting comfortable again in your place. “Be better than whatever I’m doing now.”

“Which is?”

Smirking, he rolls his head on the back of your sofa. Hat gone, thrown on your armchair, fingers carding through his curls as he glances at you. “Nothin’. I’m not… I’m not dating—don’t really have the time. My schedule is just…”

“Fucked?”

Laughing, he nods.

“Can’t say I’m much better…”

Nudging you, you lift your chin, meeting his eye line again—something there, flickering. An array of words you’d usually share, but stick, cling somewhere in your throat as you offer him a comforting smile.

One he knows, well.

It’s your ‘doesn’t matter’ smile. The one you give when you’re single again, not willing to explain it—not until you’re two glasses into the bottle he’s brought to cheer you up—mumbling about not wanting him to say anything. As if saying something would be at the top of his agenda with some of them.

“It’s just that… I don’t wanna do that dating bit. You know, doing the how are you? What do you do, shit? Can’t exactly go out and just say I want to be bent in half and stuffed full—“

“Fuck me.”

“—but really, that’s all I want. Fun, with someone I don’t dislike, but won’t ask me to do romantic things that make me fall for them, only to be let down by them like I always am.”

Letting his head rest on your sofa, he sighs. “Yeah, same. Just want the stress relief.”

You agree by letting the softest yeah fall from your lips before you glance back at the movie. But he knows you’re not watching it. Eyes glazed over, brain ticking, turning. His finger poking you, the same way he always did—something he began doing back when he told you he’d enlisted, and you didn’t say anything except ‘you were happy for him’.

“Just thinking, I could… I could probably help you solve it, the stress relief. You know? That is—if you didn’t find me so repulsive.”

It’s instant, the way he feels his forehead scrunch and his eyes narrow. The sound of the movie fading to nothing—mind filling instead with your words, them rolling, and rolling, and rolling…

Frankie stares. Watching, finding you, if anything, looking like you weren’t even expecting a reply, never mind needing one.

“I don’t—I don’t find you repulsive.”

You smile, with an added snort, before layering on a shrug for added measure. The embodiment of unbothered, the painted picture of I don’t care.

He’d believe it too if you didn’t stand so quickly—mumbling about getting another drink. Asking if he wanted one. So quick to leave, to remove yourself from the situation, from being close to him.

It isn’t until he watches you stand that it hits him. The realisation going straight through him as he sees your shoulders slide down, the knowledge tearing, ripping—it feels worse than a bullet because:

You don’t believe him.

A part of you having convinced yourself before you’d even thought the words, never mind said them, that he could possibly think you weren’t attractive to him.

It forces him up from his seat, blanket discarded, pursuing you—the television covering the sound of his feet on your wooden flooring, the tap filling your glass doing the rest until he’s behind you. The glow of the street light through your kitchen window halos around you as you keep your back to him. Hand twitching at his side, a part of him unsure if he should keep standing here or if he should turn you.

Think, Frankie. Think.

Because for all the usually loud reasons he normally has told himself as to why he shouldn’t pursue you, it’s now surprisingly quiet in his head.

Even more so when you turn, the glass in your hand, eyes taking him in.

The rest is just instinct—not even thinking. His hands come either side of you, pressing into the counter, swallowing, watching as you place your glass down.

“I don’t find you repulsive,” he says, low, almost gruff. It comes from deep within—laced in other confessions, wrapped in words he hopes you can’t hear. “Not in the slightest.”

His eyes burning, searing the words in. Watching as you don’t break from him, lips ever so slightly parting, before he sees your gaze drop to his mouth, before flicking back up.

If someone asks, he’ll never be able to confirm who moved first. The two of you finding yourself in the middle, mouth slanted over yours, feeling your tongue behind his teeth as you pull him close, his arms caging you in. He can taste the berries, the sweetness that he hopes is just you and how it’s mixed with the sauce from the food—heat licking up his spine, need spreading through his stomach as he presses himself flush against you, leaving no room between him, you and the kitchen counter.

It’s intoxicating, dizzying, the feeling of dipping his toe into the pool he has always thought was off limits. Feeling you moan. Frankie basks in the sound, paints himself in it—hoping he can hear you sing his name, hoping he’ll hear it—capture it, keep how pretty, it is all to himself.

You moan when he grinds his hips into you. It vibrates down his throat, marking him, scratching its claws into him as he grips the back of your head—deepening the kiss. Drowning in it—in you. You’ve always made him breathless, so now he just hopes you pull him under, your hands clutching him closer, as though he’s your anchor—when in truth, he’s pretty sure that’s you for him.

“If we do this,” he says, dragging his lips down your neck, feeling one of your hands slide into his hair, “We need rules.”

Teeth grazing against your skin, the scent of your lingering perfume infecting his nose. A scent that usually clings to him, buries itself in his clothes—one he finds comfort in. Like he always finds comfort in you.

“Like, we can’t tell anyone.”

Snorting, you meet his lips—kissing him, tongue swiping across his bottom lip as he groans. Signing it, his proclamation.

“Deal,” you whisper. “I’m not staying over at your place. You can stay here, but I’m not… I won’t—“

He places his palm on your cheek, tilting your head, chaste, smaller kisses. A silent agreement.

Licking his lips, his heart thunders at the next. The one which is like acid in his stomach—one you could think is selfish, demanding. “You can date, but if we’re fucking, we’re fucking. I don’t share. So, if you want to do that with others, you tell me, and we stop this.”

“Okay.”

His other hand slid between the two of you, thankful—more than he can articulate and ever put into words—that you’re wearing sweats. His.

An old pair—one you’d borrowed when you’d spilt food on yourself and never returned.

Fuck, they always looked better on you.

Smirking, you turn your face, kissing his wrist. “But, you can’t buy me wine anymore. No flowers. No romance.”

Chewing his cheek, he mirrors your smirk. “You can’t cook me food.”

Sighing, you nod.

“So.”

“So.”

Grinning, you loop a finger into his belt hook, pulling him close. His fingers toying with the knot on your sweats.

“So, you gonna put your mouth where your hand is?”

Raising his brows, you laugh—light, airy, fucking beautifully.

“Is that what you want, querida? Huh.” He says, voice dropping, hand cupping you through his sweats. “Cause I’m dying to see if you taste as good as I’ve imagined.”

“You’ve not imagined this.”

Lowering his lips to yours, he ghosts them over—your breath warm, teasing against his skin, the hairs above his lip. “Oh, I have.”

His fingers move, toying, teasing. Hearing you murmur a groan in the back of your throat as he imagines how wet you are. Whether there’s a patch on your underwear, whether you’ll coat his fingers when he finally touches you skin on skin.

“You need a ha—”

“Don’t worry, querida,” he whispers, the hand on the back of your head sliding around your neck, thumb under your chin, tilting your head up, “I’m good with my hands.”

He’s not sure if the moan you emit is at his words or the fact he undoes the little knot at your waist with one hand. But fuck does he swallow it—he feasts on it. It fills him like no food ever could as he manoeuvres his hand, fingertips brushing cotton before he slides his fingers against your warm skin.

“Last chance,” he offers, light touches, all feathery. Not quite touching, but close enough.

Swallowing, you shift your weight, ever so delicately handing him the words he desperately needs: I want you, Morales.

Morales, he thinks—fingers dipping into your wetness, slick covering his fingers, and it’s his turn to groan. More so when he drags his finger over your swollen clit, admiring how you arch into him, mouth desperate to find him, breath ghosting over him as he grins, all cocky, likely lit up by the moon and the street light.

“You’re the prettiest fucking thing,” he groans.

Pressing two of his fingers inside your heat, the hand on your jaw—finger under your chin—keeping your eyes up, lifted, perfectly on him so he can watch how your flashes flutter. Watch in the highest of definitions what he’s doing to you.

“Always have been,” he continues.

His focus is only on you, and all you’ll give him as he pumps his fingers in and out—the sound of how much you want this, want him, coating the air. So much so that he can practically taste it.

A part of him knows how close you are before you whisper it.

Imagining the way heat is pooling in your stomach, that your fingers must be aching from how you’re gripping the kitchen counter for leverage as he curls his fingers inside of you. And fuck, does he hate jeans—hates how tight they feel on his hard cock, how all he wants is to relieve some pressure, to grip the base in his hand and squeeze so he can marvel at how fucking gorgeous you are like this.

“Eyes on me,” he says, gruffer, laced in gravel—all low, like it’s coming from somewhere deep inside of him. It has, truthfully.

The moment he began seeing your lashes fluttering, he knew he didn’t want them to close.

Your whine, peppered with a moan emitting. “I’m so cl—close.”

Smirking, he licks his lips—dragging his tongue across his bottom lip. The one you want where his fingers currently are. Almost wishing you could speak so you could ask, beg, plead.

“I know, querida. I know. It’s why I want your eyes on me.”

Your body pauses. Halts.

Then he feels it, the beginning—the telltale sign. The incoming he wants to have a second sight for by the end of the night, as he marries his lips to yours, desperate, needy, to taste what it’s like when you call his name as you come.

Fuck you even sound pretty.

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought of him.

But dreams could never live up to him.

His hands on either side of your face, kissing you as you step out of your sweats, and underwear, that he’d yanked down your thighs when you’d caught your breath.

Fuck, he is good with his hands.

It’s the first thought you have since he caged you in the kitchen—all serious, something etched into his forehead that is now smooth, like it was never there. It’s also the first solid thought you’ve had since you returned to Earth from him making you come in the kitchen.

And you’re thankful that his fingers are on your cheeks, your body having turned into liquid—muscles having forgotten their role with your bones betraying you too. Your hand loosened on his wrist, the one you’d gripped to feel what it was he was doing to you, needing to be present with each thrust of his fingers.

Now, you’re leading him.

Body having taken over, while your brain is left still reeling.

Because fuck do you want this. You’ve imagined it, dreamt of it. Frankie, your best friend, the one who knows you better than you know yourself—clearly in more ways than you ever counted on for how quickly he undid you in the kitchen.

It’s why you turn, realising you know him too.

Stories coming to you, memories—ghostly snippets that had filled you with rage that now fuel you—as your hand grips him through his jeans. Quick, careful—well-versed—in the way you crash your mouth to his as his groan vibrates against your tongue. Your spine met the wall closest to your room, him thrusting into your hand, words falling, all laced in lust and dusted in desperation.

“Por favor, te deseo. Please, querida.”

You’re slow in the way you undo his jeans. The pop of the button is dramatic, a sign. Your mouth places kisses against his lips, his cheeks, jaw and neck.

Then, you’re unzipping his fly. The sound cutting through the pants, the heady breaths—the only other discernible sound is the movie the two of you have left playing.

“Wanna wrap my mouth around you, Morales.”

You can’t see him, but you can hear his throat swallow, likely imagining the way his eyes are staring at you, drinking you in, dragging them up and down your face like he was in the kitchen.

“Yeah, you wanna taste me?”

Nodding, you bite your lip, palm brushing over his covered cock—lashes fluttering at the feel of him. Because he’s thick, big—fucking hard. Something you should have known from the way his pants hugged him, the way it commanded a glance when he wore those lighter-wash jeans.

“You think you can take all of me down that pretty throat of yours, baby?”

Snorting, you flatten your palm against him—hearing him hiss, wishing there was light, wanting to see the expression on his face. “I’d give it a good go.”

Dragging his thumb over the curve of your breast, the fabric moving, applying additional friction before he’s lingering, drawing a circle over your nipple until it pebbles, just as you hear him smirk—adamant, somehow you can even see it.

“Later,” he adds. “Need to feel you come around my cock first.”

You couldn’t argue with him. Less so when more clothes fall, unveiling him. All soft muscles, defined when he flexes, the pair of you down to your underwear—a path of removed clothes detailing the route the two of you have taken.

Frankie kisses you hard.

Pulling you back to him, removing any other thought from your mind with ease. Not that you have the time to think about how you can’t believe this is happening, or the movie that’s still playing. Not when he’s leading you, walking you backwards, hand on your waist, thumb drawing circles, squares, triangles and everything else until the back of your legs meet your bed.

Then, you’re falling, landing on cool, cushioning fabric, bouncing ever so slightly as he wipes his hand across his bottom lip.

“Still can’t believe you ever thought you’d repulse me.”

Your skin warms, burns. A part of you wants to hide yourself, cover your stomach with your arm, hide your face in a pillow.

His fingers slide over the fabric at your waist, a whispered can I that you’re quick to nod at, until you’re bare in front of him. No hiding, illuminated by the moon and the stars outside, covered in milky-white light, hoping it’s forgiving on your curves.

“Querida, where are your—“

“I’m clean. Are y-you?”

He nods, direct, quick. Evident of a former soldier as his fingers slide under your chin. Mouth asking if you’re sure, he doesn’t mind. You just kiss his touch, bringing your hand around his wrist, sliding his fingers into your mouth.

I’m sure.

I’m so sure.

Then he’s crawling up you, his mouth slanting over yours. All tongue, all passion. His hand wraps around your head as the other guides the head of his cock through your slick, tilting your face up, opening your eyes to see him barely a breath away as he stares down at the two of you. Eyes pausing on the place where you’ll soon be conjoined.

“Look at me,” you say this time.

Watching his eyes drag back up to yours, your arms wrapping around his neck.

“Please fuck me, Frankie.”

He nods, wearing the most gentle, sweetest smile on his face. “I will, I promise. Anything for you, querida.”

All you can think is fuck.

Not getting a second to comprehend his words before he sinks in, every inch of him making you feel so full. Your head going limp in his head, arms tightening around his neck, gasping as he keeps going, and going until he’s buried in you to the hilt.

And you’re sure, could swear on it with confidence, you’ve never felt such fullness—filled to the brim, stuffed.

“So full,” you moan.

You swear he smiles, lit up by the light through your undrawn curtains.

“Thought about this,” he says as he pulls out and slams back in. “After Ben’s party, when you wore those jeans—in the summer when you wore those shorts. Fuck, baby, your legs—”

He says it as he runs a hand over the outside of your thigh, gripping the top as he punctuates it with a thrust.

“Always thought you were pretty, too fucking good for those people you dated—”

Your hips push back, meeting him. “—Frankie—”

“—too good for me, really.”

And you groan, whimper, moan. Letting a no fall out, an attempt at arguing with him for what he said.

But he kisses it away.

Desperate, more passion and teeth than before. A silent pleading for you to bury your words. A mixture of all three coming out at once, hitting the air, tainting it in something good that should feel sinful. Your hand slides down over his neck, shoulder and torso, clutching his waist as you mirror his movements, meeting him with everything you have, lips ghosting over his neck, tasting the salt and smelling the scent you know is just him.

A scent you hope digs into your skin, able to wear it long after this. An aroma that has always brought you comfort, even if it shouldn’t—even if the two of you are friends, nothing more.

And you’re close, beads of sweat on his brow, and if he isn’t the most handsome man you’ve ever had above you. One that you want to flip onto his back so you can admire him from above—sitting poised on his cock, bouncing on him until your eyes are blazed with stars and satisfaction.

The sounds of the two of you, all obscene, wet, as he grips the back of your thighs and somehow fucks you deeper. Each thrust punches a breath from your lungs, fingers clutching his shoulder, the other buried in the duvet.

“Takin’ me so well, baby. Can’t believe I’m fucking you.”

“Fucking me so good, Frankie. Fuck.”

“Better than your exes?”

You nod, words at a loss. All stolen, punched from you by his cock—because you feel so good, he makes you feel so good.

You swear you hear him say good, all low, voice dark, as you feel his hand sliding between you before he brushes his thumb over your clit. Circling, circling, circling—

Frankie knowing what you need, likely skimmed his fingers across your skin and read you like a map. 

That, and the fact he must feel you squeezing him, tightening, vice-like around him as he begins to pound into you.

“I always fucking hated your exes.”

Your back arches, like he commanded it. It sparking, what he’d been driving you to, erupting, rippling out from your core across your body, as his name rips from your throat. The sound of your moan blending into the air, tingeing it, painting it with his groans as he continues to work you through it.

Ever-determined, focused.

Your hand slides down from his shoulder to his chest, to his waist, feeling his muscles flex under the skin.

It’s only as you begin to catch your breath, that you realise how close he is.

You smirk, devilish, all laced with cockiness as you beckon him down, knotting your fingers in his curls, dragging his head down, so your mouth is close to his ear. “Always hated your exes, too,” you say, punctuating the words. “Now be good and fill me up, Morales.”

CHAPTER TWO ->

[lotties-ashwagandha]

OUR OWN KINGS AND GODS (nsfw)

(adult) lottie matthews x reader (gender neutral but afab), word count 2k

after an argument with lottie, she shares her anxieties with you over a bottle of rum, and in the late hours of the night you find solace in each other’s arms. set post season two finale, but no hunt au (you'll see what i mean). this took me so long to write pls interact/comment/reblog if u enjoy it :(

You have never seen her like this — tired, defeated. Usually such a source of peace, of joy, but as she stands before you, her love for the world is gone. 

“I’m sorry,” she says again – the third time – breaking the silence that has seemed unending. “It’s been a hard day.” 

You nod. You forgive her, as you always do. Even as the sting of her words still digs into you, still has your hands shaking with words of unspoken fury. You hardly ever get in arguments with Lottie, but when you do, it breaks you both.

“Say something,” she asks. You shrug. You clear your throat, try to swallow the knot building inside it. 

It had started early in the morning. Lottie had left the wellness center without telling you, without leaving a note and without taking her phone that she kept for emergencies when she usually left the compound. When she returned you had been calm about it — it wasn’t worth starting anything over. Yet she had been abandoning you frequently all day, sparing no words for you that weren’t sharp. You finally confronted her about it and she had denied you an explanation. She claimed that she needed space. That you were being clingy. She weaponized ways she knew would hurt you and took pride in it when they did. You knew how to reach her, too — hours you had spent sniping at each other just to see who would be the first to fall. 

“Tell me next time,” you say, “if something’s bothering you.” 

Her anxiety — that’s what she had told you caused the dispute. It’s what caused her to abandon you for the day and deny you entry to her mind. She was overwhelmed. You believed her, but you also believed it was more than that. It was the anniversary of the crash. 

Lottie stands before you still. She agrees to your request that she open up next time. 

“I never meant to hurt you,” she tells you. Her voice has become hoarse from all the yelling. 

You take her hands in yours. I know. You trail your thumbs over her knuckles and meet her gaze. “I want to move on from it.” 

She nods. She closes her eyes for a moment, takes a deep breath. “I do, too.” 

The tension begins to dissipate from the silence, yet the kitchen still feels stuffy. The whole house feels tainted by anger. 

“I can’t be in here anymore,” you say. “I’m going outside to get some air.” 

“Hold on,” Lottie orders. You sigh, but wait. She takes a bottle of rum from the counter and comes back. 

“I can hardly stomach rum.” 

“No one can stomach rum.” 

You smile at that. It seems to endear her. Slowly the two of you are becoming more regulated. 

Lottie leads you outside. You take in the fresh air, look up at the dark sky and your clear view of the stars. It’s one of the perks of being out so far from the rest of society at the wellness center, that you’re so connected to the natural world. 

“Come on,” she calls, and you realize Lottie hasn’t stopped walking. You jog a little to catch up to her. 

“Where are we going? It’s late, everyone’s in bed already. We can’t leave.” 

“We aren’t leaving,” she keeps walking. “But I’m not sitting out here all night.” 

You follow in obedience. Lottie leads you to a wood cabin, and you almost laugh when you see the sign — she’s led you to the Sharing Shack. When you go inside, you let yourself drop to sit on one of the cushions surrounding a small wood table. Lottie sets the rum on it before sitting next to you. 

She sighs. Turns her gaze to you, to examine you, to try to see through you to assess your state. 

“Relax,” you tell her, because though both of you are still coming down from the fight, you can’t handle any more talk of emotions. “Everything’s okay now.” 

Lottie nods. She reaches over to give your hand a small squeeze before directing her attention to the bottle of rum. She opens it, and before you can realize you haven’t brought any glasses she takes a deep drink. 

“Does it taste better than last year’s euthanasia tea you tried to get everyone to drink?” You joke. You know it’s cruel, but you can’t help but remember the last time you were in this cabin at night — the rest of the Yellowjackets, how you hardly averted hunting each other through the woods. 

Lottie falters. She sets the bottle down, she can’t meet your eyes. You realize instantly how horrible it was to bring it up, to joke about it. 

“I didn’t mean it like—”

“I know how you meant it,” she says blankly. Her tone is empty. 

Silence. You take the bottle of rum in your hands and swallow as much as you can in one gulp. 

You watch as Lottie stands and closes the curtains. She craves privacy just as you do — the rest of the wellness center doesn’t need to be awakened when she turns on the lamp on the table. 

Lottie rolls her head, stretching her neck. She sits down next to you again. For a while you sit in silence, passing the bottle of rum between one another until your vision starts to become distorted and your irritability begins to dissipate. 

“I never thought we would make it back,” Lottie admits quietly, unprompted. She’s silent for a moment before something changes in her expression — something raw, honest, something she feels shame in. “I didn’t really want us to make it back.” 

Why would you? You want to ask. Why would you want to waste your time in this world when you can be free? In the wilderness, we are our own kings and gods. 

“Do you still wish you hadn’t?” You ask. You’re a little afraid of the answer, but you have to know. “If you could go back right now, spend the rest of your life where you were in the wilderness, would you?” 

Lottie hesitates. She leans back to lay on her elbows, legs stretched out. Like a teenager. It takes her longer than you’d like to decide. 

“No,” she finally tells you. Her eyes meet yours. “Unless you were there with me, or you were dead.” 

You spend a moment taking in the information. You wonder what she’s seen in the wilderness, what was so beautiful in such horror to let her long for it her entire life. Your thoughts are dulled and loop in unending circles from the rum, yet she occupies all of them. 

“Would you go with me?” Lottie asks. You meet her dark eyes and witness the longing dancing in them. “I know it will never be possible, but if it was…” 

You nod. “Yes.” 

Again, your thoughts are drawn back to the last time you were here, with the Yellowjackets – the moment Lottie raised the glass of clear liquid to her lips and had been effortlessly ready for death if no one else was willing to take the fall. You consider her devotion – and you consider the devotion of her followers, those who would die for her just as readily. You realize you’re one of them. 

You realize the gift of the wilderness has not worn away over time or distance: you are free. 

You lean to her level and pull Lottie into a kiss. It takes her by slight surprise, but she recovers quickly, one of her hands weaving into your hair and pulling you to the angle she wants. Her dominance over you is asserted in the span of a second – it’s a shift you feel potently, one you welcome. 

You’ve been starved of her in conflict. Yet again she is sustaining you in the hunger of her kiss, in the control you give her liberally. You have always been hers to guide and mold. 

Lottie sits up, presses a hand to your chest and pushes you down. The discomfort of the floor is soothed by the cushions you lay on – it’s disregarded anyway as Lottie pulls away and you get a clear view of her as she sits above you. In the dimmed light of the cabin she gazes upon you like an angel, or like a god, one you have dedicated yourself to worshiping. 

Lottie pauses. 

“I did it for you,” she says in a hushed voice. You want to ask her what she means, but before you can she stands and crosses the room. You hadn’t noticed them, yet they’re set there all the same – the collection of glasses from last year, one of which had been poisoned. They are all empty now and thoroughly cleaned. One of them is missing. 

Lottie picks one of the glasses. She holds it in her hand and takes a deep breath. After a moment of examining it she comes back, takes the bottle of rum, and pours some of it into the glass. 

“I would have died for you,” she says. She takes a sip of the rum – the glass isn’t poisoned, but adrenaline runs through you as you watch her sip from it. Her gaze never parts from yours. 

You sit up again, and she sits down next to you. One of her hands comes to rest high on the back of your neck. 

“Drink,” she orders. Her voice is quiet but firm, denying her is not an option when she raises the glass to your lips. It’s intense as it travels down your throat – the warmth of it courses through your body, collecting between your thighs. A look of satisfaction comes over her when the glass is emptied. 

“Good,” she praises, and sets the glass down on the table. “You’re so good for me.” 

You bite back a whine. Lottie notices your growing desperation, she thrives in it. She pulls you to her roughly, into another kiss, one that holds promise of more than innocence. She straddles you, pushes you down so you’re laying flat again. 

You begin to fumble with your shirt – she takes it off for you and tosses it to the side. Her lips attach to your neck, biting and sucking and marking you in any way she can. You let out a moan, hear her breath hitch as you do. She moves down your chest, more gentle but just as fervent as she pulls one of your nipples into her mouth. She runs her tongue over it, hands holding you in place as you arch into her touch. You need more. She can feel it, she loves the torture. 

“Please,” you breathe, begging under her touch. Specifics are gone from your mind, just that you need her, in any and every way she would allow. 

“Please? Please, what, honey?” she asks, giving you a look as if she’s oblivious. You don’t respond as soon as she hopes, so before you can speak, Lottie kisses you – it clouds your mind as you feel her pull off your pants. Your hands find her back, yet one moves to her bicep as one of her hands travels between your legs. 

Your grip on her becomes tight as her fingers run through you, stopping to press against your clit. She moves in tight circles in response to your moan, the sudden intensity of her touch overwhelming in the best of ways. 

“Is this what you wanted, baby?” she asks. “This is what you needed, isn’t it?” 

“Yes,” you whine, your eyes falling closed at her touch. One of her hands comes to rest at the base of your neck, and your eyes open again. 

“Look at me, darling,” she demands, and after you nod, she slides two of her fingers into you. She pumps them into you slowly at first, ensuring your adjustment before speeding her pace. Her thumb finds your clit, and you can’t hold back the string of moans that escapes you. 

“Good, let me hear you,” Lottie praises. “You’re doing so well, my love.” 

Every thought other than her, her touch, fades away. All that’s left in the world is her and all the ways you’d let her use you, all of the sacrifices you would make in her name. In the wilderness she was a prophet, and still she rules as one. 

“Breathe,” she reminds you – she could take you to the edge of death and you’d be willing if it meant a moment more of this euphoria. 

You moan, feeling yourself rush close to the edge. Lottie can feel it, the hint of a smile is present at the edge of her lips as she looks down at you. She kisses you, and you pull her as close as you can. 

“Let go for me, baby,” she allows you when she pulls out of the kiss. Her tone is gentle. “Cum for me.” 

Your body responds instantly. At her words your orgasm courses through you, and every muscle in your body tenses before letting go all at once. You can’t hear her praise as you endure, you can’t think. Your breath comes in gasps.  

When finally the pleasure subsides, Lottie pulls her touch from you. Though there’s no cushion to support her on the floor, she lays down on her side and loops her arm around your waist. The care with which she gazes at you sparks the warmth of love in your chest. You feel safe in her arms. 

Through the wilderness you would follow her if it ever came to it. She ruled as a prophet over you, and you would spill blood in devotion. Every sacrifice she wanted she could take – in the wilderness, we are our own kings and gods. 

[villainsandvictimsalliance]

Time to be delulu yet completely serious on my bnha 423 opinions.

Good points: The resolution between AFO and Yoichi was satisfactory, love as a reason for evil and evil deeds, the rooftop trio having one final moment full of emotion, the moment of Kurogiri thinking about Tomura and the LOV, Deku having a quirk of his own born out of determination and hard work, Deku as the protagonist of bnha in general, Tomura's last actions and words.

Bad points: Rushed arc conclusions, moments that felt kinda repetitive or lacked the punch given that we've seen/lived them before, not the best compositions we've seen from Horikoshi on the panels, Tomura's arc being rushed to a martyr ending— for impact???? ( or it ending on another cliffhanger that is gonna turn to be different from what we expected ).

I'll go in depth, so please check under the cut.

GOOD POINTS:

Yoichi and AFO:

The last conversation among these brothers was everything I was expecting. The love was there and it transformed them. It made AFO a monster and Yoichi a ghost.

For me, this time the AFO ending needed to be quick because we've already said goodbye to him too many times. This was supposed to be about AFO's refusal to give up on his brother and the unresolved relationship of those two.

I really liked how Yoichi reminded AFO that he needs to face the consequences of his actions and that he's love won't be able to save them.

Villain love:

Love as a reason for pain and destruction is perhaps one of my favorite tropes. So many stories approach love as this purely morally good feeling, when in the end it is just like any other feeling, you know?

People go to war for love all the time. They kill for love. Die for love. Do unforgivable things for love. Human existence is sooooo complex, why would love be the exception?

Horikoshi has been REALLY careful with the AFO backstory and his motivations. He didn't want an antagonist that felt empty. He made AFO human without redeeming him, okay? Because our ability to sympathize with some of AFO's traits doesn't make him less evil. To put it simply, it means that evil things are also human at heart.

Even those acts that you can't forgive or forget are motivated by something.

Kurogiri and the rooftop trio:

We knew from the beginning they were not the main characters of this manga.

We've gotten their story through glimpses and moments. Their time together had always been somehow rushed. Too many things to say, not enough time and they are on opposite sides of the war after all.

We knew that Kurogiri would go back because we knew he would protect Tomura during the final fight. We knew that he'd help the heroes defeat AFO. We knew he'd have to make his choice and say his goodbyes to his old friends.

Kurogiri, Tomura and the LOV

"He's friends are waiting" along with the image of Spinner asking Kurogiri to bring Tomura back to them was the highlight of this chapter for me. (You all expected it, right?)

Something about the way it reads like a father who wants his son to live because he is being waited for. He has friends who love him and would do anything to protect him, see him safe and sound. Something about the symbolism of Spinner putting Father (aka Kotaro's hand) on Kurogiri's face as he asked for it.

This chapter acknowledged that Kurogiri and Shirakumo share the same character core. They are always the protectors, the ones who would sacrifice themselves to see their charge survive. Similar to how Mic was waiting for Shouta so Shirakumo made sure that Shouta would survive, Kurogiri wants to do the same for Spinner and Tomura.

This alone would require an entire post to elaborate.

Deku's quirk:

The debate between endgame quirkless Deku or endgame OFA user Deku is settle.

I really liked that Deku got a quirk on his own that was born out of his own determination to be a hero. It's a nice representation of all he is as a character and what he stands for. Similarly, I enjoyed a lot the fact that it was short-lived. I'm the type who likes it better when things require a sacrifice or when miracles have their own conditions.

Deku doesn't feel overpowered to me. You get that sense that he really deserves everything he has and that it hasn't been a nonsense gift from the narrative. There's also the human condition, the limitations that keep him grounded.

Bnha and Deku:

Deku defeating AFO 'cause villains and heroes help him, his friends being there for him and being there to cheer for him as he fights, his sensei being there despite the fact that Aizawa at first thought Deku wouldn't make it— all the details that make bnha what it is.

They were good.

The UA kids really keep the story consistent when it is about them. They don't give up on anyone, they fight for each other, they stay to witness things for themselves. I love them <3

Tomura's last actions and words:

Careful here. Listen to what I'm saying.

If the narrative had pointed out to this ending, this would have been a good way to execute it.

Tomura coming back along with the vestiges to pack one final punch to defeat AFO— I know many fans that would be moved to tears and would be super excited to see it. Tomura was on point in this chapter, dialoguing with Deku without the hatred in his heart, his face being clearer and almost tender.

He felt defeated, like he had accepted his death already. There's also the connection to Kurogiri and Nana (who defended him) and his words to Spinner, that are meant as a general message to depict how much Tomura values the LOV.

Even the fact that AFO kept him around 'cause a part of him loved / cared about Tomura feels fitting, but I'm not sure if I correctly read the leaks in that part...

Anyway, we got the old trope of the antagonist who used his last moments to help defeat the real villain. It serves as his redemption and the expectation is for the public to feel sorry bad for him.

BAD POINTS

Rushed conclusions:

In my opinion, this chapter was too fast paced and therefore was not as emotional as it should have been.

It doesn't give the feeling that it's fast because the battle is intense. It gives the feeling of too much information packed on one chapter, so nothing really shines on its own. It's way too informative, not enough action narration.

Like I said before, the fatal mistake of a story is to be boring. Art has to provoke you, it has to engage with you, question you, awake things in you. This chapter tho, many things happened at the same time and it grew a bit murky.

Repetitive moments

Again, personal opinion here.

I think certain bnha movies were a mistake. Not because they were bad or boring or whatever, but because Horikoshi wrote parts of bnha real ending into them to the point you'd say "we've already seen that" while reading bnha 423.

Deku and Bakugo teaming up to defeat AFO was so expected. Not as in "the narrative is making sense", but as in "we saw it on heroes rising".

I feel the same with the students all appearing to help Deku fight AFO. That's a typical shonen structure where the friends making space for the protagonist to reach the main villain. It was already happening, so why bring AFO back?? I think the story is over-explaining here, making everything way too obvious. We could have had AFO's resolution with Yoichi before and the students moment after. In truth, it feels like Horikoshi closed some character arcs before he should and left plot holes without explanation, so he needed to reopen to accommodate.

Panel composition:

I admire Horikoshi when it comes to panel composition. He has some amazing panels that make the story really flow, but bnha 423 isn't there.

There are too many elements clustered and empty spaces that don't feel with purpose (in manga, even the blanks must have a purpose). This chapter should have been at least two, so you wouldn't have to rush Bakugo appearing, Yoichi and AFO resolution, Kurogiri saying his goodbye to the rooftop trio and facing AFO for Tomura's sake, Deku remembering where he started and where he is, Tomura last words and the Tomura and Deku resolution...

Those are too many important plot points to illustrate in a hurry.

Also?? The panel of Tomura and Deku punching AFO is so unserious. Totally wrong place to be funny sjbdjdnd why does it even feel like the vestiges are punching air???

" Tomura's ending " :

I'm not the first to say it feels anticlimactic and as if it isn't the ending at all.

The major problem is that through the manga, Horikoshi has focused a lot on Tomura as a character, carefully developing him, giving him tropes that are often reserved for the hero or the main character, making sure we empathize with him, we understand him, hyping up Deku's journey to rescue him.

We got an entire arc from the LOV perspective. This is not the type of one sentence ending you give to an antagonist you spent so much ink and sweat on. The nonchalant way of Tomura accepting his death? The little reaction from Deku? What was the purpose of the manga building up the LOV friendship to the moment where Kurogiri told AFO that Tomura's friends were waiting for him, if you'd make him just disappear on thin air?

This reads absolutely like a bunny within a hat.

That's being optimistic.

If we want to be cynical, maybe this is all there is. I don't find it readable to end the story with Tomura dying. All that effort to save him and it ends in "oh well, he decayed along with AFO"?!

If you think about it, Toga status is unknown because we don't even know where she went or if she's still alive, Touya status is also unknown although we know he wanted to live and that the ice prevented him from further damage, we haven't seen Spinner, we don't know if Kurogiri vanished with that last attack on AFO and now we saw Tomura decaying into the wind.

Yo kill half the surviving LOV would be a bold move that wouldn't follow the narrative. The reward for the hero students should be being able to save their counterpart, so the world can regard them as the greatest heroes 'cause they save the unsalable and blah blah blah.

There's also the fact Tomura hasn't been saved yet. Tenko? Nana and Deku saved him from Kotaro. The crying kid? Saved from AFO by Deku and the vestiges and the others. Tomura? Nop, he's dying/dead. The one person Spinner really wanted to save was Tomura. He didn't know about the crying kid or Tenko. He wanted to save his friend, the "irredeemable" villain, the young man he played videogames with and fought alongside and vowed to follow.

If this is the end, it's incomplete.

So we might hope it is not the end.

[pixelchills]

Okay, you anon on my inbox,

you said that some followers of mine have been disappointed in me for partaking in the tsams harassment document, since I am a creator a lot of people look up to. I am not answering the ask itself because it has a blog mentioned, but I will answer your worries about the situation the best I can.

I am not going to talk about the drama itself since I have retained myself from discussing and spinning things any further about the situation.

But those of you who are mad at me for being part of the document; please at least read my part of it, if you haven't already.

The document was made as an archive for the victims of that hate blog (biased-tsams-confessions). Every screenshotted post on the document is available publicly, and all I did was allow my content and posts about the situation to be used in the document.

I was an unnecessary victim of the hate blog. Had no one name-dropped me in that blog and caused me to get anons and not-anons harass me and claim that I was one of the people sending minors gore, I would not have needed to publicly talk about anything relating to the drama. I would not be in the document if I wasn't a victim of being wrongly assumed to support NSFW being sent to minors. Which is a heavy allegation.

The document is not about the gore anon victims. It's about the victims of the witch hunt that people caused by starting to blame innocent people for being or supporting the gore anons.

I am not asking myself to be removed from the document. I am there as a victim. The other people in the document, as well as their actions, have nothing to do with me, or my part in this, other than them being my friends/mutuals in the fandom, and victims of the same hate blog and witch hunt. If some of them have answered or reacted aggressively to something regarding the situation, it is on them. It is not my job to decide what my friends/mutuals are allowed to answer or do.

During this whole time, I have kept saying over and over that people should just block and move on and ignore and not vague about each other, but I cannot control other people besides myself.

I do not support harassment of any kind. But I am also not going to be silent for being a victim. Even if I was just a small misstep for the hate blog, I was still targeted because of them. I was truly ready to just forgive them and put it all behind me, if their reply to my request to apologise to me publicly hadn’t been so aggressive, and they hadn’t targeted another innocent person later (Z). The mod responding to my dm said I was manipulating them, and that they didn't believe me. So their posted apology wasn't genuine, it was just them trying to save themselves from me exposing them.

If you think I should've not allowed my posts to be part of the document then I want to ask you this:

Should a victim be quiet about being harassed just because the other harassed people have said or done something you disagree with?

Again, what I had to deal with was very small compared to some of the other people the hate blog targeted, but even a small victim is a victim if they gained harm from it.

As what comes to the document: I did not write it, nor did I read it until it was publicly shared. All I did was give my permission to use my posts in it.

I was aware that the doc included names of the people who have also participated in or supported the harassment by the hate blog or shattered. 

I did not find the list of supporters necessary to include, and I told the others this. The list has recently been removed by the owner of the document after new information has come to light. I know this will not erase the fact the names were there.

I am not making statements about the harassment supporters mentioned in the doc, because I am not going to dig up if they should be there or not. I have spent too much time on this drama publicly already, when all I wanted to do was ignore it and let my friends vent their frustration to me privately if needed.

Despite the situation being what it is, I have wanted to stay neutral in it, besides the hate blog which is the sole reason I had to pipe up in the first place. I have been keeping my stance neutral between the two groups. I have not blocked anyone from either side (except the hate blog), and I have no hard feelings towards my friends, or my followers who are disagreeing with each other.

If you want me to apologise for being part of the document, I'm sorry but I can't. It's the same as saying "I'm sorry I talked about being harassed."

If you still feel like you're personally affected by my involvement in this, or you are a follower of mine getting harassed because of this document, please DM me and I'll try to help you out the best I can.

The blogs mentioned in the document have not been actively harassing me, and those who did take part in smearing my name I will not name, because I genuinely think they realised their mistake (unlike the hate blog) and understood that I have nothing to do with the gore anons nor do I believe they were a hoax.