#get him some shots or something idk i don’t drink

[ivanttakethis]

Personally, I think Ivan should’ve been at the club.

[notlongtolove]

like a lover

he doesn’t answer. he doesn’t even look at you again. he just shakes his head and walks into the bedroom. by the time you follow him, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it holds the answer to whatever’s boiling inside him. fine. If he wants to ice you out, two can play that game.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: hurt comfort

content: student!reader gets drunk after a brutal final and spencer is beyond mad. very brief mention of abduction. lowkey spencer is in the right bc #safety but he made reader cry n for that he is found #guilty!!!

word count: 3.1k

note: based off this ask! random fact the last line of this fic was the inspiration for empty my soul but idk why i just couldnt fit it in there, anyways i hope you guys like it! (pls tell me if u do i was struggling with a resolution for this)

a line: Spencer thinks, for a split second, that he’d rather die than ever have to see you cry like that again.

I give you an onion. It is a moon wrapped in brown paper. It promises light like the careful undressing of love. Here. It will blind you with tears like a lover. It will make your reflection a wobbling photo of grief. I am trying to be truthful. - carol ann duffy

You probably should’ve stopped five drinks ago—maybe four if you were feeling merciful. That last Vodka cran? A spectacularly bad idea. But whatever. You earned this. You’re young, you’re fun, you look good, and for the first time in weeks, you have no deadlines clawing at you. The final had been a nightmare. You knew your fate was sealed the second you flipped to question three. What the hell is textual and symbolic environmentalisation? But it’s over now. That’s all that matters.

The wind bites at your bare legs as you stand by the curb, aimlessly kicking a pebble. You hug your arms close, fighting off the chill. Maybe you should’ve brought a jacket. Spencer had suggested it, but you’d waved him off. He’s usually right.

You frown, glancing up at the street sign. He said he’d be here. Right? Your phone’s dying battery blinks at you in its final moments, mocking you before shutting off completely. Definitely should’ve taken his offer of a portable charger, too. You sigh, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

A man stumbles by, reeking of booze. You don’t need to look to know.

"Hey," he calls out, voice slurred and gravelly.

You keep your eyes down, pretending not to hear.

“Hey,” he says again, louder this time.

Where the hell is Spencer?

"D’you know when the bus starts running again?"

You hesitate, half-relieved that he’s asking something semi-coherent. "I—I’m sorry, I’m not sure."

He nods to himself, swaying on his feet. 

"I told you to wait by the bodega on 3rd," a familiar voice mutters. Spencer’s hand closes around your arm, already steering you away.

"Oh, hey," you say softly, relief washing over you. "Is this not—" You glance at the street sign overhead—4 Maple Drive. Shit. "I—sorry, I thought—"

"It’s fine," he says, but the sharp edge in his voice tells you it’s not.

The car ride is suffocatingly silent. When he pulls open the passenger door for you, there’s no trace of his usual warmth. No soft smile, no gentle tease about your perpetually dead phone. Just a click of the door and the quiet thud of it shutting behind you.

You hate this. Hate the tension humming between you, the way his jaw is set tight as he drives. He was so different this afternoon, greeting you after your final with those cupcakes he knows you love from the bakery on the other side of town, his lips brushing yours in endless, giddy kisses. This Spencer is nothing like that. 

"They played ‘Dancing Queen’ tonight," you venture, voice tentative. He knows it’s your favourite. Knows it always pulls you to the dance floor, no matter how tired or tipsy you are. "It was so funny—some guy bought us a round of shots—"

"And you drank it?"

The question lands heavy. His first words to you since he’d started driving. 

"Well... yeah?"

"What else did you drink?"

"Not a lot," you say quickly, tripping over your words. "Just vodka, tequila, a bit of wine—"

"You mixed?" 

The way he says it makes you bristle. There’s a hint of disbelief, maybe even disappointment. 

"Spence," you say softly. "I’m not that drunk, I promise."

Nothing.

His knuckles tighten on the steering wheel. The silence in the air is almost tangible, a crackling, oppressive thing. When he pulls into the driveway and kills the engine, he doesn’t move to open your door. He always does that. But not tonight. 

You’re pretty sure he’s mad at you, though you’re not entirely sure why. It’s not like you go out that often, and you can’t even remember the last time you let yourself get this drunk. Tonight was an exception, a celebration. He understands, doesn’t he?

You follow him inside, trailing behind like a shadow. He doesn’t head to the kitchen like he does after you get back from a night out—no tea, no toast, no quiet ritual of making sure you’re okay. Instead, he walks straight into the study, his back to you. Yeah, he’s definitely mad. 

"You’re mad at me," you say, standing in the doorway.

He doesn’t answer. His hands grip the back of his chair, his head bowed like he’s trying to gather himself. You’re not one to push, usually giving him the space he needs when he gets all broody like this, but the alcohol that’s running through your system is making it hard to practice patience. 

"Why are you mad at me?"

Still nothing. 

When he finally moves, it’s only to brush past you, heading for the bedroom without so much as a glance. "We’ll talk about this tomorrow," he says, his tone flat, clipped. "I can’t talk to you when you’re like this."

This. The word hits like a slap, sharp and dismissive. It irks you. 

"If you didn’t want to come, then you shouldn’t have come," you mutter under your breath, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "I could’ve gotten a ride—"

"You were slurring on the phone." He stops in the hallway, turning just enough for you to see the tight set of his jaw. 

"Yeah, no shit, Spencer. People slur when they drink," you fire back a little too harshly, the alcohol fueling your irritation as you cross your arms defensively.

"Don’t," he warns, his voice low, dangerous in a way that makes your chest tighten.

​​You glare at him, heat rising in your cheeks. "Don’t what? Don’t point out how ridiculous you’re being right now?"

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even look at you again. He just shakes his head and walks into the bedroom. By the time you follow him, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it holds the answer to whatever’s boiling inside him. Fine. If he wants to ice you out, two can play that game.

You head to the bathroom without a word, your movements jerky as you swipe at the remnants of your makeup. You grab your moisturizer, fingers fumbling with the cap. A sharp tug and it goes flying out of your hands, clattering to the floor. 

"Fuck," you mutter, bracing yourself for a bout of instability as you bend down to retrieve it.

Before you can grab it, Spencer moves. He scoops it up, straightening with an ease that feels almost mocking. When you meet his eyes, they’re unfamiliar. It’s not the Spencer you know. Not the Spencer who covers your eyes during scary movies or kisses your forehead when you’re half-asleep. No, this Spencer feels distant, cold. 

"And I’m supposed to believe you’re not that drunk," he says flatly. Your chest tightens, a lump forming in your throat as heat flushes your face. He offers a hand as you steady yourself, trying to rise to your feet, but you brush him off, snatching the bottle from his grip with a bitterness you don’t try to mask. 

"What the hell is your problem?" you snap.

"My problem?" he repeats, incredulous. "I’m not the one blackout drunk on a Wednesday night."

"I’m not—"

"Would you—would you just stop!" he barks, the words sharp enough to make you flinch. "You’re slurring your words. You got the streets wrong. You couldn’t even get the damn moisturizer open," he snaps, gesturing toward you harshly with a mixture of frustration and exasperation.

Your knuckles whiten as you cling to the edge of the sink, unsure if you’re holding on for balance or just to keep from breaking. You spin back toward the mirror willing yourself not to cry. The frustration, the confusion, the ache in your chest—everything wells up at once.

"God, you’re being so—"

"So what?" he interrupts, his voice rising as he steps closer. His eyes bore into yours, daring you to say it. "So concerned? So worried? So—"

"So fucking mean!"

The silence that follows deafening. For a moment, he freezes, the hard edges of his expression softening into something else—shock, regret, guilt—but it’s fleeting.

"So what if I’m drunk?" Your voice cracks as the words tumble out, your frustration too overwhelming to contain. "And yeah, maybe—" You shake your head, swallowing the lump in your throat as you glare at him, "Maybe I’m slurring a little but forgive me for wanting a drink after the final I’ve been stressing over all fucking month."

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, his frustration barely contained. "It’s not about you having a drink. It’s about you not knowing your limits—"

"Oh, for fucks sake," you interrupt, throwing your hands up. The movement makes you sway slightly, and you hate how it only seems to prove his point. "Newsflash, Spencer, I’m a university student. Sometimes we get drunk. You don’t get to make me feel like shit just because you don’t drink.”

You push past him, your shoulder grazing his as you move to sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips under your weight, and you grip the edge, willing the room to stop spinning.

"You were being reckless," he bites back, the word hanging heavy in the air. "You don’t see what I see. You’re out alone, you don’t—"

"I wasn’t alone," you say, your voice rising to meet his. "I had friends—"

"Yeah, friends who left you alone on a curb at 3am," he shoots back, cutting you off. The words land with precision, a calculated jab, but you refuse to flinch.

"Because you said you were on the way!" you fire back.

His voice is cold now, practically seething. "And what do you think would’ve happened if I hadn’t reached you just as that guy was coming on to you?"

"He was asking for the bus!" you shoot back, the words ringing out louder than you intended. You hate everything about this fight. You hate how unfamiliar he feels, hate the part of you that wonders if you’re the one who brought this out of him. "Nothing would’ve—"

Spencer’s expression darkens, his gaze narrowing. "Nothing?" He scoffs. "Tell that to Nina Radha. To Caroline Wrenley. To Mindy Denver. They were all ‘just waiting for a ride home’ last week. And now? All abducted. All dead." 

The room goes silent. Your chest tightens, and the fight drains out of you as his meaning sinks in. 

"You’re being cruel," your words are barely audible, trembling on the edge of your lips. The tears come faster now, streaking your face, but you don’t bother wiping them away. "Why—" you whisper, weak and watery, "Why are you being like this?" 

When Spencer finally turns to look at you, the sight of your tears stops him cold. They streak your face in uneven paths, and he feels something inside him splinter. Spencer never likes seeing you cry—he hates it, actually. It’s not just discomfort or unease; it’s a literal, physical ache. But knowing he’s the reason for your tears tonight? That’s pain in its most visceral form. It’s failure in its purest state.

"I—" he starts, his voice faltering. It cracks mid-sentence, and he stops, swallowing hard. His breath shudders as he exhales, trying to find the words, but all that comes out is a quiet, broken, "I was scared." 

Your tears have momentarily slowed, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. The anger in his voice has faded, replaced by something softer, something raw—fear, tangled with guilt, with regret. He takes a tentative step closer, then hesitates, unsure of what to do. 

"I thought that… something could’ve happened to you, and I—I didn’t know how to handle it." 

After a moment, he lowers himself to your level, crouching in front of you. He lifts his hand, reaching out to wipe away the tears that stain your face. But the instant his fingers near you, you flinch, turning your head to avoid his touch. The movement is small, but Spencer’s heart shatters at the rejection all the same. He hates that he’s made you cry, hates that you won’t let him near you, hates that you won’t even look at him.

"I’m sorry," he says, the words low and weighted with sincerity. He knows it’s not enough, but it’s all he has left to give. 

Your tears fall, dripping onto your hands that rest limply in your lap. You shake your head, your shoulders tense, refusing to meet his eyes. The rejection stings, sharper than he expected, but he doesn’t blame you. He knows he deserves this. The room is still except for the sound of your quiet sniffles. 

Spencer tries again, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. "I just—" His breath catches as he exhales, his hand running through his hair in agitation, the movement more to calm himself than anything else. "When I saw you standing there alone—alone and with that man, I got scared. And I lashed out. I shouldn’t have. You didn’t— you didn’t deserve that."

The silence that follows is thick, but finally, you break it. Your voice is quiet, bitter. 

"I’m not them."

You’re still not meeting his eyes, still keeping that distance, but at least it’s something. 

"Those girls… I’m not them, Spencer."

"I know, I know. I was—", his voice is low, the regret weighing heavily on every syllable.

​​"That case was tough on you, I know it was," you interrupt, "And what happened to those girls, it was horrible. But I'm not them, Spence. I'm not…" Spencer watches helplessly as you furiously wipe away a tear from your cheek. 

"I'm not dead. I'm here."

“I was projecting, I—” His voice catches, “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you,” he admits quietly. You nod, grimly. Another single, heavy tear slips down your cheek and Spencer feels his heart break all over again. 

"I know you’re scared. How do you think I feel every time you go out into the field?" You take a deep breath, and say bitterly, "I get it." 

Each word is a struggle, but you say it with conviction. He can see how much you’re holding in, the effort it takes for you to keep your voice from cracking. 

You pause, swallowing hard as you steady yourself, "But you—You don’t get to talk to me like that." When your eyes meet his, they flash with both anger and sadness. "You don’t get to take that out on me." 

"I know, I—That was—I was being horrible, I was an ass," Spencer admits, his voice small. "You didn’t deserve that, honey. God, I’m just—I’m so, so, sorry." 

You look at him for a long moment, searching for any sign that he’s being sincere. All you see is regret, raw and heavy. And something else, something softer. Love. He reaches out, and this time you don’t pull away. Just getting to touch you is a brief, bittersweet, blinding relief. Spencer lets his fingers graze your cheek as he wipes away your tears gently, his thumb brushing over the wet path they’ve left behind. 

A soft, almost bitter laugh escapes you. "An ass is putting it lightly." 

Spencer’s chest tightens, a small breath of relief escaping him, though it’s quickly replaced with guilt. "M’so sorry sweetheart," he breathes out, comforted by the familiar bite in your tone. It lightens the air between you, just a little.

He shifts to sit next to you on the bed. "I didn’t—I really didn’t mean to," he says quietly. You rest your head on his shoulder, letting out a soft sigh, the fight slowly draining out of you. Spencer gently takes your hands, cradling them in his. 

"I—I never want to hurt you, never want to make you cry. Ever." Spencer's voice cracks slightly as he talks, fingers tracing your palm. "You know that, right?"

You nod, your voice small but steady. "I know."

Shifting, you tuck your legs beneath you, turning to face him fully. Your hands lift to cup his face gently, your thumbs brushing against the faint stubble on his jaw. The touch is tender, almost protective, as you guide his face to meet yours. His eyes can’t hold your gaze for long, shame clearly written across them.

"I was just—I was—" He stumbles over his words.

"Scared," you finish softly, filling the silence for him. 

"I—I’m sorry," Spencer’s voice falters, "I’m really sorry honey, I should’ve never—That was—"

Your hands guide his face back toward yours, coaxing him to meet your eyes. This time, he doesn’t resist, his breath shaky as he clings to the comfort you offer. "S’okay, baby. M’not mad anymore," you murmur.

"Sad?" he asks, his voice barely audible, like he’s afraid of what you’ll say.

"No," you smile faintly, shaking your head, "Not sad, baby," you whisper, leaning closer. Your thumb traces the curve of his cheek in silent reassurance. His shoulders relax just a little. "I just—" you sigh as you let out one last, quiet sniffle, "I really hate fighting." 

Carefully, he coaxes you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you. "Me too, honey," he says, his voice thick with emotion as he shifts closer. You don’t resist, letting your head rest in the crook of his neck, your breath warm against his skin.

"S’not nice," you murmur against him, your words muffled.

"I know, I know," Spencer whispers, his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles along your back. You let out a shaky sigh, sinking further into his embrace. “Was awful, wasn’t it?” he says, quietly.

"Mhm," you mumble quietly, your voice soft but pointed as you lean into his touch. "Made me cry," you say, looking at him through wet lashes to prove your point. Spencer thinks, for a split second, that he’d rather die than ever have to see you cry like that again. After a beat of quiet, he tilts his head just enough to press a soft kiss to your temple. 

"I love you, you know that?" 

You hum softly, nuzzling your face into his neck with a contented sigh, "Love you too."

"Love you so much, sweet girl," he says again, quieter this time, like it’s a truth meant only for you.

"Sap," you tease, lifting your head just enough to meet his gaze, the faintest hint of a smile on your lips.

Spencer grins, soft and boyish. "Always for you," he mumbles fondly, and before you can respond, he leans forward, pressing a playful kiss to the tip of your nose.

You stick your tongue out at him in mock protest, but he’s already chasing the moment. A kiss lands on your cheek. Then another on the other side. Each one dripping with easy affection. 

"Spence—" you laugh, the sound bubbling up. It spreads a warmth through Spencer’s chest. 

"My sweet girl," he says quietly, almost to himself. 

His smile only grows as he drinks in the sound of your giggles, tears long gone. He presses a fluttering series of kisses across your form until you’re laughing into his lips, each kiss softer than the last. 

One on your cheek, two on your shoulder, a thousand on your lips.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: false god by taylor swift moon river by frank ocean

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.12 how you get the girl

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot, marijuana use, sexism, sexual harassment (verbal only)

ᰔ chapter. 12/x (probably 18)

ᰔ words. 11.3k

a/n. man the color scheme for this chapter is kinda giving BRAT lolol...i mean gojo IS brat. anywho, i don't have much to say at the beginning of this chapter but i do have a LOT to say at the end of it sooo see y'all at the bottom!! hope u enjoy. also BIG THANK YOU to @whereflowerswenttodie who beta read parts of this chapter for me n convinced me not to scrap it lol

nav. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1 :: ♬.*ﾟplaylist

11:03am you: hi! 11:03am you: good luck today 11:03am you: incase i don’t see you

11:05am Gojo Satoru: Why wouldn’t you? Aren’t you gonna be on the field for your newsletter shots?

11:07am you: i mean yes but idk where i’m gonna be stationed so 11:07am you: it might not be on UTokyo’s side of the field

11:08am Gojo Satoru: Okay then I’ll look for you before the game starts

11:10am you: no pls don’t. coach yaga thinks i distract you. i don’t want to get yelled at again. he scares me :(

11:12am Gojo Satoru: Haha you’re silly 11:13am Gojo Satoru: East side entrance at 2 11:13am Gojo Satoru: Be there

11:14am you: or be square?

11:15am Gojo Satoru: Yea whatever shape you wanna be in is fine cutie

It’s a bright sunny day outside, perfectly blue sky with a scattering of fluffy clouds seen outside the window of your shared room in your apartment, and you realize spring is fully here from the way birds chirp past the glass. You’re stuffing your camera case full of chilled Kodak film rolls, your last stash left, and it’s the last piece of equipment you pack before slinging the strap over your shoulder and heading out the door.

Mina had offered to give you a ride to the stadium since your car’s still at the shop, but you’re happy you opted for the bumpy bus ride and although you come close to low-grade concussions from the bang of your head to the window at every other speed bump, the music in your ears while someone else is operating a public transport vehicle helps you think creatively before shooting shots.

It was surprise enough that Mina of all people was going to this game, and when you questioned her about it in the morning, she looked at you like you were absurd to assume anyone from UTokyo wouldn’t be at this game, and sure enough, it’s all anyone on Instagram has been repping on their stories or talking about in the bustling minutes before lectures. Even Utahime was going to this game, and she hates all intercollegiate sports. You knew the game was a big deal, given the way Coach Yaga was yelled at via email by the Dean of UTokyo to make sure the team wins today because a multimillion dollar Nike sponsorship would be greenlit by the prospect (for some reason you were cc’d in an email chain among divisional higher-ups, but you weren’t opposed to snooping in on conversations that were entirely outside of your tax bracket).

It’s because it’s the second to last home game before the season ends, and apparently this has been statistically the best season the UTokyo D1 Men’s Soccer team has played since the new millenia. No pressure to the players on that fact, but failure wasn’t much of an option for them anymore. 

And you can feel the stakes the second you step inside the stadium. Packed would be an understatement, there were people flooding the aisles, overbooked for the sake of the university pocketing an extra buck no doubt, but spectators could care less since they were able to at least get in on the basis of that irresponsibility in the first place, despite the stadium’s capacity having long been reached before the pregame festivities even start. Banners and signs drape over railings with the school’s striking blue and golden colors, every single replay screen is lit up and brightly pixelated at every north, south, east, and west entrance for inclusive viewing. As you pass VIP security and make it into the lower field-level entry, the scattered chants from the crowd amplify in volume and you almost wince a little to yourself from the noise. The stadium felt like a living, breathing entity, pulsing with the collective heartbeat of everyone inside. 

You’ve never been more overstimulated in your life, except instead of finding it frightening, it was electrifying. And for once, you think you can understand what an athlete must feel when playing on their own home turf surrounded by those that are wholeheartedly rooting for them.

Hana is quick to spot you, panic clear across her face as she regards you with a couple pages with your assigned vantage points, a rushed briefing session, and then she’s darting down the sidelines to make sure equipment is set up appropriately where needed. She’s understaffed, given you told Utahime about Kai’s little intervention last week and she made a nasty point to the university (and possibly a handful of legal threats) and they relented in firing him. So now the three of you were down a photographer, and the extra work shows in the instructions she gave you as you skim the sheets. 

A glance at your phone tells you it’s close to 2pm, and your eyes take in the expanse of green on the field. UTokyo’s players practice kicking shots off to the right goal post, while YCU’s players practice shots off to the left. You can’t spot where Gojo is, but you faithfully head down to the East Side entrance like he asked you to. 

When you round the corner, you almost crash right into an Ichiko mascot, but swiftly dodge, and then you stop in your tracks when you see Gojo standing right at the concrete entrance. He’s leaning back against the adjacent wall, arms crossed at his chest, and he’s stretching his neck side to side with a creased brow, an intense look in his eyes, lost in serious thought, scanning the wall across from him like he’s mapping out plays in his head. 

When you approach him and catch the corner of his eyesight, he leans off the wall and flashes you one of his so extremely charmed to see you grins on reflex, and suddenly there’s nothing your senses seem to pick up on except him. Like everything else around you just disappears.

“Hey, you,” he says when he comes up to you, and you walk him like a dog back to a corner that’s tucked further away from noises and sights. You lean your back against the wall now, the coolness of concrete seeping through the fabric of your shirt, and he stands a step in front of you. Your hands toy with the strap of your camera.

“Are you ready to win today?” you ask him, and look off to the right into the flourishing seats that are still being filled to the brim, “clearly there’s no pressure.”

He breathes in deep, and releases it slowly, like there really was tension to relieve. “We’ve got no choice but to win.”

“Is that something Coach Yaga says to you guys often?” you ask him, because the man recited the same thing about five times in that email chain. “Also, apparently you take years off of his life.” Another thing he recited about five times in that email chain.

Gojo only addresses what he wants to address, as per usual. “Yeah, it’s something he says to us often.” 

“So,” you say, “what did you want to talk about?”

He looks at you puzzled, tilting his head to the side. “Nothing. I just wanted to see you.”

It’s hard to assume that he didn’t have something to talk about with the intention of telling you to meet him here, because this is the same place you confessed to him a few weeks ago, and so is also the place he so painfully rejected you. But maybe he doesn’t think about these kinds of things as much as you do. “I see.”

His tongue pokes to his cheek as he studies your anticipating expression, and then he sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly. “What are we doing? I mean, I like you, and you like me too, at least I hope you still do. Why don’t we—…why don’t we just give it a go already? I don’t see how we can move forward if you won’t at least let me take you out on a date.”

Your hands stop fidgeting with your camera strap from his words, and you lick your lips, suddenly unable to keep eye contact with him so your gaze drifts down to his chest in front of you. His uniform is clean, no smudges of dirt or grass, just pure white fabric underneath heat-pressed blue and golden accents, and of course, that signature number 10. You’re sure he’s all you’ll ever think of when you see that number now for the rest of your life. 

You know when you want something so bad you don’t know what to do once you have it? Because it almost seems too good to be true? 

“I just wanted to let stuff between us breathe for a little bit,” you confess, “it’s just, it was a lot to deal with. Being around you when I thought you didn’t want me the way I wanted you. I don’t know if this is odd to say, and maybe I’m overthinking it, but I just feel like somewhere along the way, I kind of…forgot who you were for a little bit.” This kind of vulnerability would have you running away with your tail between your legs with anyone else, but not with him. Not after everything. 

His expression softens, melting away that confrontational energy he had earlier, and he nods slowly. He opens his mouth to speak, but he can’t seem to find words. The presence of them is there, though, you can feel them. But what good are his thoughts if not voiced? 

“I just wanted to spend a little bit of time getting to know you again, I guess.” You squeeze your arm in reassurance of yourself because he wasn’t giving it to you. You let out an awkward laugh. “I don’t really know what I’m saying right now, to be honest.”

You can tell he’s at a crossroads, and you think back to this week and his efforts to get you to open up to him again. You know how he feels right now, because it’s exactly how you felt when he rejected you. Like when someone is so close, yet so far, you can feel that they’re within arms reach but never truly. And they’re slipping away for some reason that you may never know, but all you can do is assume that it’s a fault of your own. You’re not really sure what he can do to make you feel secure about this whole thing anymore, and you can see the slight panic in his eyes when he realizes that too.

“I don’t mind waiting,” he tells you, rushed with a desperation entirely contrary to his words, “what’s a week or two when I want to spend a lot more of those with you anyways.” But he takes a deep breath, like he’s already mentally preparing himself for an agonizing wait in his head.

There’s a sound over the stadium speakers, something technical and sporty and goes entirely over your head in dismissal, but to Gojo it seems to have a different effect, as he’s suddenly attentive and stands up straighter, that focused expression on his face from earlier resurfacing. You realize he needs to get back to the field. 

“Can we continue this conversation after the game?” he asks you hastily, already turning towards the center of the stadium. And he adds an obligatory, “sorry.”

“Yeah, sure,” you quickly agree, suddenly feeling like you’re taking up his time. 

He gives you a small smile, unsure in its presentation but pure in its intention. But he can only take one step towards the field before you reach out and pinch the fabric of his jersey to keep him still. He feels the tug of it and fully faces you once again. 

“Um. Just a sec,” you say, “I have something to give you before your game.”

“Oh?” he looks at you with interest, “I fucking love things.” 

“You have to close your eyes though.”

“…what is the thing…” He squints at you with a what are you up to expression.

“Just close your eyes!” you snap at him.

“Okay, okay, jeez,” he holds his hands up in front of him in surrender, shaking his head to get his hair out of his face and then he closes his eyes. “You’re scary as hell sometimes. Excuse me for being cautious.”

You roll your eyes, useless because he doesn’t see it, and then take a step towards him. You cup his jaw with the palm of your hand, his cheek twitching slightly from the unexpected contact, and then you raise on your tiptoes to press your lips to his cheek. It’s short and sweet with the sound of a peck.

“For good luck,” you whisper, then you quickly lower yourself back onto your heels, take a step back and tuck some strands of hair behind your ear. The ground suddenly interests you.

He opens his eyes, blinking a few times with shock and his hand comes up to brush the tips of his fingers against the spot you kissed him, and then his gaze goes comically dazed when he reaches out to hold you. “Alright, c’mere you,” he says, closing his eyes and puckering his lips as he leans down to kiss you but you laugh and push his face away.

“No no no, only on the cheek for now,” you say with a small laugh.

He does nothing to restrain his frustrated groan. “You can’t do something that cute and then expect me to be chill about it.”

“If you win, then, maybe I’ll let you kiss me for real.”

“Maybe?”

“Yes. Maybe.”

He’s close, towering over you near this bustling east side entrance that he seems to like so much, and his eyes drop to your lips. “Alright. I like those odds.” 

You give him a smile and slip away from him to get back towards the field, and you feel his eyes on you as you walk away.

The pregame events are a blur, with blaring music accompanied by the sounds of the sports announcers clipping across the speakers, finally quieted down in time for the players to line up on the field for the national anthem which was then followed by UTokyo’s alma mater. 

You’re stationed on the same side of the field as Minato, UTokyo’s side, while Hana is covering the sidelines of the opposite end with the opponents goal post. Minato’s filling up a cup of Gatorade for himself at the athlete’s station and then he comes back around to find you.

“Are you ready to take your shots? I see Hana wanted you to shoot on film today,” he says to you as he sloshes around Glacier Freeze in a flimsy plastic cup.

You twist your aperture dial with your thumb. “Yesss, all set. I’ll try to keep up.” 

He nods at you in approval.

The atmosphere feels nerve wracking. Something felt different about this game, the stakes feeling high. Well, of course they’re high, because if they lose today then they’re out of the tournament. But the stakes feel high for other reasons too, an energy you can pick up on but can’t quite discern. 

Your eyes drift across the field where you can see a referee placing a ball at the center of the field. Off to the right, you can see Gojo standing with a few of his other teammates, including Geto, Nanami, and Choso, and they’re all gesticulating to various corners of the field as they discuss what you can only imagine have to do with their plays for today. And you realize— it’s their last college soccer season. Their second-to-last official home match before the championship, and for those of them that haven’t qualified for the national league, it may be their second-to-last match of this caliber for the rest of their lives. One of the final chances that they have to prove something of themselves. The determination was palpable. 

The chief referee’s whistle cuts through the air with three short chirps, and that gathers the attention of all the players on the field. UTokyo wins the coin toss, choosing to kickoff, and YCU’s players choose to attack the left side goal.

Your stomach churns with anticipation, the crowd hushing too as all the players take their places on the field. If you feel nervous, you can only imagine how the athletes feel. There’s a rhythm that you’ve learned over the past couple of months getting to know the sport, where players stretch out their necks and kick out their feet and take subtle deep breaths as they survey the stands. Idle moments before the start of the match where they have no choice but to look forward and only forward, so they take a moment to stay in the present for as long as they can gather. You’ve never been much of a sports spectator, and perhaps you’ve only recently had some personal interest in the team, but you realize you feel pride in your school as you stand behind chalk sideline and see UTokyo’s colors scattered across the field in uniform. And fuck, you wanted them to win. You wanted them to win with fierceness and wrath, and it’s a desire you share with the crowd. 

Gojo spends a minute talking to the referee before the black and white striped man pats him high on the back in the good sport and urges him towards the center of the field. He lifts his foot up onto the ball, rolling it back and forth underneath the spikes of his cleat, and you can see it in his eyes, even from all the way over here, that he seems to have different ideas in mind for this game too. High stakes. Pre-determined, set with will, evident in the clench of his jaw and the concentrated furrow of his brow as he surveys the field with his eyes, and you’re lost in the sight for what feels like forever because you can hardly register the chirp of the ref’s whistle. 

And then the kickoff starts. 

The ball is tapped to Geto to start the play, and the first few minutes were intense as the ball was passed back and forth between UTokyo’s players, placing pressure on YCU’s defense as they inched closer and closer towards the goal. A pass between UTokyo’s #4 was intercepted by YCU and the ball was rushed down towards the left side, the crowd’s horror evident in the uproar as they raise to their feet in fearful anticipation, and with ruthless offense, YCU’s forward takes a clear sink shot towards the goal, and the crowd holds their breath before they watch Choso lunge for it in air, gloved hands firmly grabbing the ball and then pulling it to his chest with a possessiveness you can only expect to see from a skilled goalie, before he crashes down into the ground and the crowd releases relief in the form of rowdy roars.

Ten minutes in, with everyone on their toes, each team tested each other’s defenses. UTokyo were known for stellar offense, especially within the past few years with players like Gojo Satoru and Takuma Ino joining the league as powerful forwards, but UTokyo’s overall offense was still statistically second to none other than YCU. And the pressure YCU was putting on UTokyo’s defense was wearisome to say the least. You glance to see Nanami, who is UTokyo’s best defensive player, huffing and puffing as he stands between two light-footed YCU players in an attempt to guard, and fails an attempt to steal the ball before it gets to the feet of YCU’s striker #6, passed in a split second off to his teammate, with a fake so seamless that it has Choso just a couple inches away from touching the ball before it’s sent flying into the net. 

The noises from the crowd are still loud, but dampened in spirit. 

With the referees hand signal up in the air, the current score is confirmed. 0-1, YCU. 

Coach Yaga calls for a sub, in which he switches Nanami out for who you believe is a 2nd-year defensive player name Yuta you’ve seen around practice with a promising statistical record for interceptions, and you watch as Nanami takes the bench before he swipes the sweat off his face in exhaustion. God. Just fifteen minutes into the match, and YCU already has UTokyo’s defense winded from play. 

You bring your camera up to your face, forgetting for a moment that there was still a job to do here, and you position the direction of the lens towards the center of the field, where Gojo takes his place at the ball once more. Yuta briefly passes by him, signaling some play to him by holding up a number three, likely something Coach Yaga asked him to pass on to Gojo, and you see him briefly nod, his mouth slightly agape as he breathes slowly and pulls his jersey up to wipe at the sweat at his forehead. 

The referee chirps the whistle, Gojo taps the ball to Yuta, and the play starts. 

YCU immediately puts pressure on UTokyo’s offensive play once more, with eager movements to steal the ball, but it’s passed between UTokyo’s players with ease, more practiced and more sure. The kind of play that you and the rest of the school was used to seeing from them. However, Geto loses the ball on a left-back pass, but right when YCU makes attempts to cover field in a long-shot kick towards the left, Yuta intercepts the ball and swiftly passes it to Gojo.

The crowd immediately rises to their feet in anticipation, watching as Gojo shuffles the ball down the field, dangerously close to off-field boundaries, a signature tactic he uses because he knows there’s not a single player in the league that can match him in precision and control to keep the ball in-field on a steal, and he swiftly passes it towards Geto with a side-swept kick, beelining down towards the goal post, in perfect time for Geto pass-back to meet his feet and when Gojo was this close to a net, there was no stopping him. 

He draws his right foot back, and explosively kicks the ball forward, chipping the grass under it in the motion, and it’s sent flying towards the goal, and then threaded past the goalie right to the back of the net. The cheers that erupt across the stadium rumble the ground beneath you. 

1-1, even match.

UTokyo spends no time celebrating, other than a few pats to Gojo’s back as he nods in acknowledgement, no emotion on his face other than pure concentration and greed. The greed to win, like a righteous sin. He stretches his neck out, panting slightly as he takes his place towards the right side of the field and the referee chirps his whistle to signal YCU to start the kickoff.

They quickly make attempts in moving the ball towards their scoring-end of the field, but face push-back from UTokyo’s defense, unable to make it much further past the midfield line, and you bring your camera up to take a snap of Gojo, who you see is still standing off to the right side of the field. But when you position it and peer through the viewfinder, that space he once stood at was empty. You pull your camera down, and blink at the sight, and then the crowd is picking up in volume once more.

Gojo sprints down the flank, cutting past every defender, and moves towards YCU’s attacking goal, which was a shocking place to be for a center forward, but you could feel his desire and determination to steal this back-and-forth ball, and succeeds when YCU makes an open pass, thinking they were in the clear, only to have Gojo sneak in at the last moment and get the ball at his feet. 

The play moves by in a flash, a blur that you or anyone else in the stadium could hardly keep up with it, movements so fast you were shocked a human being was capable of even running that far in such a short amount of time, and in an almost embarrassingly easy play, Gojo makes a fool out of YCU’s defenders as he slips the ball through the legs of his last obstacle before he struck it with sharp precision, sending it soaring to the corner of the goal, past the outstretched arms of the goalie, and into the net. 

2-1, UTokyo.

It was electrifying, the feeling that strikes through the stadium, one that reaches you in your own blood. You’re shocked, standing here, after witnessing Gojo score two goals within the matter of minutes, against one of the top three teams in the league. It’s a shock that reaches everyone, including Coach Yaga who’s standing about ten feet down the line from you, his arms crossed, and you see his eyes for the first time as he takes his sunglasses off to get a better look at what he’s seeing.

You trail his sight, dragging your gaze across the field until it lands at Gojo, who is barely acknowledging the encouraging pats and shakes and goodhearted shoves that his teammates were giving him, because he was focused. It might sound crazy to say, but you swear his eyes looked like a fiercer shade of blue, like they were lit up, and you’re insanely glad you’re not one of YCU’s defensive players at the moment because you feel fearful of him even just standing on the sidelines. 

Your gaze trails back to Coach Yaga, who slowly puts his sunglasses back on but his brows are narrowed tightly as he crosses his arms over his chest tightly.

The “athletic zone”... You’ve heard of it before. A state of pure focus, of peak performance, where an athlete experiences optimal concentration and a sense of effortless control over their actions. In which they perform at their highest level, where time slows down, any and all distractions fade away, and they’re completely immersed in their sport at hand. At the task at hand.

Coach Yaga seems to pick up on the fact that Gojo was on the edge of tapping into that state. 

YCU makes a substitution, and you watch in anticipation as they begin the kickoff. 

There’s fire in their veins with desperation to even out the score once more, rushing the ball down the off-field line, one of their center forwards mimicking Gojo’s signature attack pattern, and Yuta struggles to keep up with the expert dribbling of a fourth-year player with more experience on him, so much so to where he completely leaves the ball unguarded and there’s an open shot, but Geto places pressure at the last moment, in a fierce battle for the ball, before YCU’s center forward loses the ball over the goal line. 

Choso picks the ball up, tapping on it harshly a few times as he surveys his eyes down the field, and all offensive players begin to shuffle towards their attacking goal in anticipation for the goal kick. He signals his hand down and then holds up two fingers in the air before placing the ball down on the six-yard box. He tightens the strap of one of his gloves, eyes squinting, and you follow his gaze down to a part of the field where you note UTokyo’s best aerial players are located and being guarded by YCU’s defense. And with complete trust in his team, that’s exactly where he kicks the ball. 

Geto makes first contact with the ball, his chest colliding with two other YCU players as his head comes out on top and he headbutts the ball closer towards the inner field, and Gojo immediately gains access to it with a bounce of his knee. The crowd holds their breath, fear that they’ll lose the ball to a steal in the split second it spends floating in the air, but Gojo urges it forward with a bounce off of his chest and then rushes it straight down towards the goal post. 

You wonder what sight he sees right now. Where you’re dead center, at no angle, lunging towards the sight of an open goal with a sole goalie standing in the center, anticipating to block your shot, and three defenders on your tail. There’s no room for error, no time to think, only instincts that you cultivate in the last leading milliseconds. They say that, in sports, athletes channel one hundred hours of practice in just a brief second on the field. A split second success that was years in the making. You can’t even imagine possessing that level of perfection in your body, or possessing that level of confidence that you can follow through with it in a moment as dire as this.

It was unreal, the way Gojo fades away from all the defenders, and faces no fear when confronted with the sight of the goalie in front of him while drawing his foot back to kick the ball. You lift your camera up at the last second, no time to think about aperture or ISO, just like he had no time to second-doubt a single twitch in his muscles, and his foot makes contact with the ball so harshly that you can hear the explosive sound even among the delirious cheers from the crowd, before he hook, line, and sinks it straight past the goalie’s head, rushing by like a scarcely deflected bullet, and into the net behind him. 

3-1, UTokyo.

The whole stadium is momentarily speechless, all players and referees and recruiters and reporters and coaches and employees alike, before the most deafening cheers you’ve ever heard in your life scatter across the stands.

There’s a moment of brief reprieve, where the players can catch their breath while YCU makes yet another substitution, as if they’re just trial-and-erroring it at this point, and the cheers in the stadiums remain idle as you can’t tear your gaze away from Gojo.

It’s one of those moments where you realize that someone who you thought was so familiar to you was actually someone you hardly knew at all. You knew he was a talented soccer player, everyone on campus knows it, potentially one of the best to ever grace the league, and the amount of times you passively watched his plays on a lecture hall projector screen as your professor enthusiastically broke them down during class, even before you met him, was good enough for you to realize that he was insane, a one-in-a-million, a talent you cannot replicate, one you have by divinity. One you were born with. 

And yet, somehow, getting to know him these past couple of months, he just felt so human. For someone so seemingly beyond you, he felt so…close? In those moments where it was just the two of you, it was hard to imagine that he was capable of such greatness, and that so many people were rooting for him with wholehearted tears in their eyes and cheers from their hearts, because most of the time, when he was with you, he was just a dorky idiot. You find that your heart is beating fast in your chest, that feeling of being unsure of what to do with what you’ve been wanting resurfacing powerfully. 

“This is insane,” you hear Minato say from beside you and you jump a little from your thoughts being interrupted.

You twiddle with your camera straps. “I know…almost done with the first half and we’re up 3-1…I thought YCU are number one in offense for the league?”

“Oh, yeah, I mean, yes, that is insane too. But what’s even more insane is that three of the goals so far have been scored by one player.” He tips his chin towards the right sight of the field and you trail his line of sight. “By Gojo Satoru.”

Your brow furrows as you watch Gojo, his hands on his hips and his mouth slightly open as he indulges in a few shallow breaths to gain energy while YCU prepares for kickoff. Three goals, by just one player. Your eyes widen when you realize that is insane, especially for a D1 semi-final qualifying match.

“You know what the divisional record is for most goals scored by a single player during a championship match, y/n?” Minato asks you as he lifts his camera up to take a picture of the area Gojo was standing in. 

You shake your head and wait for his response.

He drops his camera down and glances at the photo on his screen. “Four. During Keio Uni vs. Osaka Uni, near the beginning of the tournament back in 1997 by Osaka’s center forward number 24, Yuji Nakazawa. Meaning no one’s managed to beat that record since the new millenia, for a couple decades. Although a few players came close.”

You blink at him, and Minato is jerking his chin over in the direction of Gojo again.

“I think he’s trying to beat the record.”

You can only widen your eyes at Minato in realization, and then the chirp of the referee’s whistle draws everyone’s attention back to the field. 

The sports announcers go wild on the speakers, the crowd raving all the same, standing to their feet like the team just won the championship match.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!! We are watching HISTORY in the making!! Gojo Satoru, UTokyo’s very own 3-year consecutive MVP, has scored his 34th goal of the season, highest of any player in this year’s season so far, and is now on the road to beat the league’s long-standing record for most goals scored by a single player in a championship match since 1997!!” And the crowd roars even louder as you stare out at the field in awe.

YCU starts the kickoff following the prompt short chirp of the referee’s whistle, and with two minutes remaining on the clock for the first half, make desperate attempts to book it down the field towards their attacking goal, one of their midfielders making a clumsy attempt to strike the ball to the net in the final minutes of the half, and Choso easily catches it in his arms, right before the buzzer of the timer sounds, and the match moves into halftime. 

All of UTokyo’s players immediately flock towards Gojo in sportful glee, finally having a chance to surround him and harass him with harsh pats on his back and ruffles of his hair for his play in the first half. Choso even puts him in a headlock because they all don’t know what else to do with their excitement and adrenaline rushing through their bodies. Their win for today was basically confirmed with the way he was playing. 

You catch a glimpse of him through the crowd of people, and he has a boyish grin on his face, reveling in the embarrassing amount of attention from his teammates, that focused look from before dissolving into his normal self again. But you can see through him, as well enough as you’ve learned to at least, and you can tell he’s not satisfied. He’s thinking it’s not enough. There’s still more to be done, and it’s not time to celebrate yet. 

His eyes scan down the sideline until they find you. 

Your heart jumps a second in your chest. He stands up straighter, despite his teammates still clinging to him, and there’s a twinkle in his eyes when your eyes meet. 

Cheerleaders take their place out onto the field, performing their numbers with loud music blaring, and the recruiters seated at their white tables get up to roam across the sidelines in discussion with referees and with Coach Yaga and with whatever players they can sink their greedy teeth into, as well as sneak at refreshments while they’re at it. You can see off to the right that Hana has reunited with Minato and she’s showing him some of the shots she took over at the opponent's side. 

UTokyo’s players start to make their way to the benches to grab for towels and drinks of water and to sprawl across in rest, and you hear loud familiar laughter approaching as you watch the players sprawl across the benches, so you avert your eyes towards the source of the sound. 

You see Gojo approaching the benches, two of his teammates slung with their arms around him in some type of adrenaline-drunken glee as they talk dramatically and theatrically which Gojo entertains with his own drunk-off-of-adrenaline glee. And you raise an eyebrow at his demeanor when he makes eye contact with you.

“There’s my freaky little photographer,” he says, and he’s standing up straight and—wait, is he puffing his chest out as he makes his way towards you? Oh for fucks sake.

Gojo has always been confident around you, for as long as you can remember, but in the fair few moments he’s been cocky, he’s been a menace. And you can only assume the testosterone-induced high of being on the verge of breaking a league record in front of the entire school then subsequently getting homiesexually praised by his teammates for the better part of the past five minutes, not to mention with the crowd and the reporters feeding his ego with a spoon across the speakers, he’s been transformed into the final boss of cocky.

His teammates surround you too, their hands on their hips as they assess you and Gojo when he meanders right up to you, arms held out to hug you, a sleazy sight you’ve seen probably six times this week, and you feel a rush of warmth in your cheeks as you place a hand on his chest to keep him away.

“You’re sweaty and gross, please stay away from me,” you reprimand him, “this is an expensive lens that is not humidity-proof.” 

“Hey, you’re the girl that Kentaro socked in the face with a ball the other day at practice, right?” one of his teammates asks, leaning in towards you to take a closer look at your face.

“Oh yeahhh, ‘cause Satoru wasn’t paying attention,” another one of his teammates chimes in teasingly, hardly heard over the loud remix playing in the background as the cheerleaders continue to perform on the field. 

You shrink a little from where you stand. Gojo’s got an irritated look on his face and he’s shrugging his teammate’s elbow off of his shoulder.

“I really hope you’re getting my good angles,” his teammate to the left comments before winking at you, and you purse your lips together. 

The one on the right leans in too, looking at your cheek with an assessing look in his eye. “At least it didn’t leave a scar on your cute face—”

Gojo shoves the both of them back and away from you by elbowing them in the chest, and they make deep eugh noises before stepping away and rubbing at their sternums with pouts on their faces.

“Get the fuck away from her,” he grumbles, “she’s mine.”

Your cheeks flush slightly with warmth at the attention, and you watch as his teammates scurry away to adhere to some social hierarchy Gojo seems to possess over them.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Yours?”

“Yes. Eventually. Whatever, did you see me out there?” he turns his torso towards the field and points behind himself with his thumb, “when I—”

“Oh god, you know what’s soooooooooo super sexy to me?” you interrupt him. “When guys are humble.”

“Oh c’monnn,” he curls his arm around your waist and pulls you to him, to where you stumble a little on grass and he holds you when you fall into him with more clumsiness than grace. “Tell me you aren’t at least impressed by me.”

You pout, because you are, and you’d really like to give him some reassurance and validation, but for some reason his cocky attitude is setting you off. “Satoru,” you sigh, wiggling a little in his hug, but he holds you tighter, “I’m working right now. Cut it out.”

He lets go of you at that, sober enough from the adrenaline to realize you’re being serious, but he steps into your space so only you can hear him. “What? Are you embarrassed?”

“Of what?” Your face twists with confusion.

“Of me. Are you embarrassed of me?” he asks.

“No. Why would I be embarrassed of you?” you ask with sharpness.

“I don’t know, just, sometimes I feel like you’re always annoyed by me,” he says with a sigh. “It’s like, you’re really sweet sometimes, and then kinda rude out of nowhere, and it’s sort of messing with my head.”

You pout. “You were messing with my head for weeks.”

“And I’m sorry about that,” he quickly interjects, like he already knew you were brewing up that counterargument, “but you don’t have to act like you’re all disinterested and indifferent just to get back at me for it.” He places his hands on his hips and wipes his temple on the round part of his shoulder when he feels a drop of sweat trickle down from his hairline. “You don’t have to act embarrassed around me either.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” you deny, and your cheeks feel hot, and for some reason you feel angry. “In fact, I’m the one that should be asking you that question. Because I still very clearly remember that time you said I was just someone you know in front of your friends.”

He groans and tilts his head back with frustration. “Can you just let that go? Things have changed between us since then. Move on.” 

“You kissed me and then pretended I was just a stranger to you in front of your friends,” you grit as you cross your arms. “That’s the level of sincerity that I know from you, Satoru.”

“Oh, okay, so there’s nothing else I’ve done that shows you that I’m serious about you?” he asks rhetorically with incredulity, throwing his hands up in the air in disbelief.

No. That’s not true, not true at all. But he’s pissed you off now and so all logic was to the wind. “Doesn’t matter. If you���re not embarassed of me, and if you’re really serious about me this time, then fucking prove it.” You’re speaking out of spite, and you fear you’ve just set him off too.

“Fine,” he says, and he grabs the microphone straight out from a passing reporter’s hand, replacing it with a gatorade bottle. The reporter stares at the bottle he’s now holding with confusion. “I will.”

“W-Wait—” you squeak out, feeling the hair at the back of your neck bristle in anticipation and a shiver gets sent down your spine. The cheerleaders are making their way off the field at the end of their routine, and you can hear the thumps across the loud boisterous speakers when Gojo whacks his palm to the microphone to make sure the thing was on before he jogs to the center of the field.

The crowd is already cheering, ecstatic to see the afternoon's star player and pride & joy of their school, and Gojo takes a moment to soak in all the glory in comical appreciation with bowing towards all 360 degree angles of the stadium.

“Uhhh,” you hear Choso from beside you, who’s strapping his thick goalie gloves tightly to his wrists, “Why the fuck does Satoru have a microphone while standing in the middle of the field.”

“It can’t be for any publicly decent reason,” Geto muses.

All you can do is watch.

“Hi, uh,” Gojo starts, static blaring slightly across the speakers and the crowd winces with him, “sorry. I’m Satoru, Gojo Satoru, you might know me from—uh, the game you’ve been watching?”

Cheers all around, because as if a single person wouldn’t know who he is. The stands were rowdy and most definitely drunk off of sidestep beers the stadium has been serving all afternoon long. 

Gojo is about to continue speaking, when he catches sight of the table of recruiters in the corner of his eye and he turns to face them out of respect. “Oh, yeah, uh, number 10,” he tugs his jersey up at the shoulder to stretch out the fabric, the 1 and the 0 flattened in view, “division player ID 233-997. Coach Yaga keeps my business cards in his purse if you want one.”

“SAAAAATTOOORRUUUU!!!!!” you hear Coach Yaga yell from somewhere in the distance.

“Anywho,” Gojo continues, and the music dims slightly, so he glances at the stop clock on the screen, which shows him he’s got roughly five minutes left to pull off whatever idiocracy he had in mind before the second half of the game starts. “Just here to say that there’s this girl I really like.”

The crowd gets louder, almost deafening, and sonically mostly feminine in (delusional) hope he’s gonna name call one of them.

Gojo’s voice is crisp and clear through the speakers as he clarifies. “She’s standing over there,” he says as he nonchalantly points to your exact latitude and longitudinal direction, “with the big camera slung around her neck that looks like it could pull her down to the center of the earth. Yeah. She’s super cute and I really like talking to her.”

“Uh-oh,” Geto murmurs from beside you, and you glance at him to try to get a read on the situation but you can’t.

Gojo starts to pace across the center of the field now, like he’s working the crowd. “But get this—she thinks I’m not fuckin’ serious about her!!!”

The crowd groans with him in unison. Yep, most certainly drunk. Or high off of glee. Either way, he’s playing them like a violin.

“Huh?” Gojo’s voice sounds distant now, away from the mic, and you can see on the large pixelated screen that he’s being interrupted by someone that looks like one of the videographers, “oh, what’s that? This is being broadcasted? Uh-huh. Oh. I’m not allowed to cuss? Oh fuck, okay. Er— shit, okay. Wait—shoot, okay.”

Choso’s smirk is heard from beside you, and you catch Geto and Nanami shaking their heads in your periphery.

“LIKE I SAID,” Gojo continues into the mic, “the girl I like thinks I’m just messing around, so. Uh. To show her that I’m serious about her, I’m gonna…” He looks up at the sky to ponder, and you can hear people shouting all sorts of suggestions of nonsense from the crowd. And instead of saying proclaim my undying affection for her through a romantic soliloquy straight from my heart in the presence of the entire school, he says—“I’m gonna strip. Yes. Down to my tighty whities, Imma strip.”

H–

Huh?!?!?

You don’t even have time to be horrified or scared, you’re just bewildered beyond belief that that’s what he came up with.

What the fuck kind of reassurance did you ask for. And what the fuck kind of reassurance were you about to get?

The crowd goes wild, it’s no surprise to say everyone and their mothers wants to see him naked, even the straight dudes would dig it for the gym inspo. And he points straight to you, sleazy look on his face and you’re going to ignore the fact that he just winked at you too as he crosses his arms to hold the hem of his jersey and pulls it up over his head in the most raunchy and slutty way a man can take his shirt off.

The music manager is quick with the bit, and is most definitely a fellow Gen Z college student, because Justin Timberlake’s SexyBack (ft. Timbaland) starts playing across the speakers and the crowd goes ballistic.

“Ayo why’s Satoru Magic Mike’ing the field right now?” one of his other teammates calls out through a mouthful of protein bar, “What the fuck did I miss?”

The cameraman does God’s work in a hella zoom-in of Gojo’s sweat glistened abs, then pans up the naked expanse of the perfect taut skin across his chest, and you can’t help but stare even among all your horror. It’s like when a male bird embarrasses the fuck outta himself to attract a female bird sitting on a perch, except instead of within the context of a NatGeo documentary, this was your real life. Everyone wants him, but he’s making a fool out of himself for you. 

He pretends to stretch his arms up into the air, a cover-up to flex his biceps, and then he kicks his cleats off, and the socks come off too. Entirely unnecessary, as showing one's ankles is simply too slutty, but alas he’s a whore. And when his thumbs dip into the waistband of his shorts, and there’s anticipating screeching from the crowd, he finally gets chased by security. 

Except he’s an intercollegiate D1 athlete, why the fuck wouldn’t he be able to outrun a bunch of dudes in black?

The camerawork on him is phenomenal as he runs across the sidelines of the field, eliciting a wave down the bleachers. So good in fact that you’re pretty sure the camera man could shoot for the Olympic track and field, with the way the stadium’s got a clear sight of Gojo mouthing the lyrics Them other fuckers don’t know how to act from the song still blaring with satirical rage on his face as he makes a fool of the men chasing him around the perimeter of the field.

And then he does it, drops his shorts, discards them with a kick, and he’s down to his tighty whities as promised. Cameraman has got to be displaying some previously undiscovered level of talent as he zeroes in on a shot of said tighty whities, with Gojo’s—forgive me, I need to be crass—huge bulge prominent in Big Dick Energy fashion except his tighty whities have little red hearts in rows across the fabric so do with that duality what you will.

He’s outrun security with a steady grin on his face as he eats up the drunken crowd’s cheers and riots and roars and you feel like you’re the only sane person in this stadium, or maybe you’re just not used to the fanatics of a college sports crowd. You peep the men in black trailed all the way on the left side of the field where they abandoned their pursuit of Gojo.

He taps imaginary pockets at his thighs, very muscular thighs you take indulgence in noticing, as if he expected to find something there, and he looks around when he doesn’t. He shrugs and grabs the microphone of the next passing sports commentator he spots, and then he makes his way back to you.

His breathing is a little shallow, and he inhales deep to catch his breath. “Baby.” The crowd SCREAMS at the way he purrs the word into the mic. “Will you do me the honor,” he’s huffing and puffing, heard across blaring speakers, “of being my lawfully wedded girlfriend?” And then he holds the mic to your lips.

“W-Wha—” you stutter, and there’s chanting across the crowd with words that barely make sense until you finally realize they’ve started to yell say yes! say yes! say yes! “Oh my gosh, okay, yes, fine, now please, for the love of god, put some freaking clothes on!”

The crowd goes wild with cheerful glees, and Gojo shoots fists up in the air in celebration as he runs all the way towards the center of the field with high knees, and you’re gawking at the sight, before he falls backward onto the grass and makes delirious snow angels on the ground. You see Coach Yaga’s vein popping in his neck from pure agitation as he storms off towards the center of the field to knock some sense into Gojo, but you know that Coach Yaga can’t kick him out, because they still have a game to win. The perks of being the most valued player in the league is getting to act like an absolutely insane idiot because you know they still need you in the end to bring it home.

You glance to the right, seeing his teammates nodding slowly then getting back to wrapping athletic tape around ankles and stretching out shoulders, with immediate acceptance of his actions like it wasn’t even out of character for him to do. And you realize again that you don’t know Gojo as well as you think you do.

And then the halftime timer is up.

You see Gojo approach the benches in a quick jog, squeezing some water into his mouth with his green gatorade squirt bottle, and when your eyes flit up to the screens on all four entrances, you see that the cameramen are still all focused on him accompanied by the continued buzz of conversation among the crowd following his public spectacle. But he seems to already be past any semblance of embarrassment as he takes the attention with ease, before he glances up to make eye contact with you and then lightly jogs right up to you.

“Did that prove to you that I’m not embarrassed of you?” he asks you, cocking a brow with a smug look on his face as he gets all up in your personal space. 

“I don’t know, but I’m certainly thoroughly and expeditiously embarrassed of you now,” you say, cheeks feeling flush when he leans forward so he can make eye contact with you at eye level. “I’ll have to move to a different country.”

His grin is relaxed. “Yeah well you asked for it.”

“Maybe. But I underestimated what a lunatic you are.”

“You’re my girlfriend now, you’ve gotta get used to it.”

Your heart skips a beat in your chest. “Satoru–”

“Tomorrow,” he cuts you off, “Hinode pier. I’ll pick you up at six. It’s a date, so wear something cute. And preferably easy to take off.” And then he’s attentive to the chirp of the referee’s whistle in the air before jogging backwards towards the feel and eventually turns on his heel towards the field while you’re left with warm cheeks and a heart that felt like it was moving at a mile a minute.

The timer for the second half refreshes on the screen while you loosely hold your camera in your shaking hands. It occurs to you that you haven’t taken a single photo of him before the start of the kickoff, and so you bring the piece of consolidated metal up to your eyes, peering through the viewfinder and focusing it on the center of the field. And there he was. Your muse.

Gojo lets out a breath, which you can see even from here that it’s shaky and staggered with resistance, and he lifts his jersey up to swipe at the sweat trickling down his face as he eyes the ball underneath YCU’s player’s foot just prior to the start of the second half. There it was—that look again of pure focus. 

3-1, forty-five minutes on the clock. And the referee chirps the whistle to start the second half.

It’s immediately evident that YCU has returned to the field following halftime with renewed energy, pressing high down the flank relentlessly past UTokyo’s defense, so fast it was hard for anybody to even keep a steady eye on the ball with the fluidity of their passes. The persistence pays off in the fake double-pass that slips past Geto’s feet, a moment of hesitation in the broken flow of UTokyo’s defense, and one of YCU’s strikers has the perfect line of shot towards the goal before digging his foot under the ball and sending it flying towards the corner of the goal post, scoring themselves a goal within just the first five minutes of play.

3-2.

The pressure mounts at the next kickoff, and with about seven minutes of solid play, with back-and-forth passes, multiple attempts at both goal posts to no avail on either side, it was clear that exhaustion was bustling in the veins of all the players.

One of YCU’s offensive players seems to capitalize on this, jumping on a defensive lapse of a pass Nanami attempted to make towards Yuta, and the ball is swiftly stolen then raced back towards the goal post. Choso prepared himself at the line, light on his feet paired with a solid stance, but in a millisecond of a moment, YCU’s offense unexpectedly passes the ball to a player racing up the midfield, and the player chips the ball neatly into the exposed corner of the goal despite Choso’s attempt to lunge for it in mid air.

Equalized, 3-3 game, momentary shock across the players’ faces, and the crowd bustles with something that sounds less like glee and more life fear. YCU was prepared to live up to and hold onto their title as the league’s number one offense, and as Minato explained to you during your time working in this job, an offensive team isn’t good at scoring goals, but rather exceptional at breaking down the other team’s defense.

Your eyes zero in on Geto, who stands in the center of the field for kickoff, and he’s huffing and puffing. He's the lead of defense for the team, and you can only imagine the level of pressure he feels right now. He glances around to his players, over to Nanami who seemed to share the same level of exhaustion, and then he glances towards Gojo who stood in front of him off to the right. Except you notice that Gojo looks relaxed, albeit still exhausted, but there’s a composed expression on his face even in the moment of heightened stakes. With locked eyes, Geto nods at Gojo and raises two fingers up into the air to signal a play, of which Gojo seems to respond to by closing more distance between him and the goal post prior to the kickoff, positioning himself almost directly in front of it, to which YCU’s defense immediately begin to guard him in a tight radius. 

The kickoff begins, with Geto making a few passbacks with Nanami as they close distance towards the field before passing it off to UTokyo’s string of offense and then receding back to their defending goal. UTokyo continues to close distance, raising stakes for YCU as their defense begins to falter under pressure, and the ball gets passed to Gojo, who only keeps it in possession for less than three seconds before he passes it back to Yuuji, a risky decision to make in the second half of a semifinal match, but the first-year swiftly unleashes a powerful shot that rockets past YCU’s goalkeeper, up towards the corner, except–

It bounces off the metal of the goal post, shot off with projectile speed back towards the center of the field, but with razor-sharp reflexes, Gojo headbutts the ball in air, twists his torso and strikes the ball with his foot past a dumbfounded goalie who can’t even move an inch to guard the ball that he already knew was going to sink right into the goal, and that’s exactly what it does. 

The stadium erupts with the momentum.

4-3, UTokyo. 

It was a sweet moment, one you manage to capture on camera of Gojo running up to Yuuji and ruffling his hair in reassurance, despite the missed goal. Your heart feels warm in your chest, feeling your own sense of melancholy that this was one of the last times they’ll ever get to play together on a team. 

Your eyes widen when you glance at the scoreboard, realizing that he’s tied. Gojo is tied for the most goals scored during a championship match. There were less than three minutes left on the clock. UTokyo either preserves their lead, or they risk moving into overtime, which, judging by the exhaustion on the UTokyo players’ faces in the wake of YCU’s relentless offense this entire game, moving into overtime would be a hefty, hefty risk. 

YCU’s center forward takes his place in the center of the field, fire evident in his eyes as he glances across the field. YCU are light on their feet, channeling everything in their bodies into these last moments of the game as they prepare to start the kickoff. You glance across UTokyo’s players, and although they look spent, there was a resolute look to all of them. It wasn’t the time to give up or feel at ease even near the end of this grueling battle. Now was the time to play. 

The referee chirped his whistle, and the kickoff began.

YCU immediately presses hard, as all their other plays have been all game, in their desperation to score. You can already see UTokyo’s midfielders move sluggishly in comparison to YCU’s offense, a drag to their feet as YCU pushes past the first layer of defense towards their attacking goal. Geto takes an aggressive approach, making moves to steal the ball while Nanami and Yuta guarded both flanks, and there was a relentless pass-off happening that ate up more than a minute of the remaining time.

Nanami succeeds in stealing the ball, but immediately loses it under his feet by a YCU midfielder, who makes a broad pass down the sidelines to YCU’s star forward who then powerfully kicks the ball towards the unguarded area of their goal, a dangerous shot that was clear towards the crossbar and Choso makes a leap for it, high into the air, his glove brushing against the ball, the entire crowd holding their breath in anticipation–

And the ball lands in the net. 

4-4, tied game. With one minute and seventeen seconds left on the clock. 

There was no time wasted in getting back to center field. No time spent dwelling in the horrific roars of the crowd as they watch with anxiety and fear. No time spent to process or consider or signal any plays. Not even a single second used to catch breath. When there is this much at stake, an athlete thrives on momentum. 

To your surprise, Gojo isn’t the one that takes place at the center of the field to start the kickoff. Yuta stands there instead, and you notice his eyes are erratic as he surveys all corners of the field. 

The referee chirps his whistle. 

Yuta immediately passes it off to the side to UTokyo’s midfielder, who curls it towards their attacking goal with a swift pass to Ino, who closes distance towards the goal, but one of YCU’s defender slips in, undoing any progress they had made in their offense by stealing the ball and sending it back towards mid-field. Forty-three seconds. The crowd’s roars heightened as YCU continued to push forward, thirty yards now from scoring, and UTokyo’s defense was desperate to stop them but their momentum was cracking in the wake of their exhaustion. 

It was a moment you don’t think you could ever fully or truly recall, one that you wish you had focused all your energy and attention to so that you could commit it to memory for the rest of your life. The image of Gojo pushing all the way to ten yards before their defending goal, a place where no center forward should really be at in a game like this, but it was exactly what their defense needed. It was exactly what the team needed. It was exactly what the school needed. For the ball to be in his possession.

With twenty-two seconds left on the clock, he steals the ball from right under YCU’s offensive feet, and then charges towards the opposite side of the field. The crowd rises to their feet, thunderous roaring that overtook any and all senses, as Gojo weaves through forwards, center forwards, midfielders, and defenders, covering the entire span of the field in lightning time. Fifty yards, forty yards, thirty yards, twenty hards, ten yards–

In a moment you couldn’t believe, he digs his foot underneath the ball, and sends it flying out towards the goal. There was not even a margin of an inch in which it slipped past the goalie’s hands, past his head, and swiftly flew right into the net.

With three-two-one seconds, the match was over. 

5-4, UTokyo’s win.

The final whistle blew, and for a moment, there was silence. As if the world paused to catch its breath. Then, all at once, the crowd erupted with glee that shook the entire stadium at its core. Flags waving, scarves held high, toasts of beer held up to the sky, it was deafening, and it almost makes you want to cry. Thousands of voices shouting in unison, celebrating the hard-fought victory of their school’s team. A type of pride that was fostered, and well-deserved, and long-lived.

You quickly glance towards the field again, and see Gojo standing right at the same spot where he had kicked the last and final goal, staring towards the net. You can’t see the expression on his face, but it surprises you how still he is. Like a statue, staring at the goal with the ball tucked into its corner. The very epitome of what it means to succeed in this sport was right in front of him, and it seemed like he wanted to soak the visual in for as long as he could.

His trance is abruptly interrupted when his teammates swarm in, rushing over like a wave of pure adrenaline. They slap him on the back, ruffle his hair, shout his name, the sounds of gleeful disbelief mixed with exhausted sighs of relief swarming into the air. And Gojo finally melts away from the tension of the match and into the celebration as he weakly returns the embraces of his teammates while he catches his breath. 

“IT’S OFFICIAL!! IT’S OFFICIAL!! UTOKYO’S VERY OWN GOJO SATORU HAS OBLITERATED OSAKA UNIVERSITY’S RECORD FOR MOST GOALS SCORED BY A SINGLE PLAYER IN A CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH!!” 

The speakers are blaring the voices of the sports announcers, along with ambient music to match the intensity of the match that everyone had just witnessed. 

You should probably be doing your job. You know, take a picture of the huddle of players on the field as they bask in the glory of a close victory, but instead your feet start moving on their own. Like a magnet drawn to him, you make your way towards Gojo, only a slight hesitation in your step as you stop about ten feet away, suddenly unsure. But when he makes eye contact with you, all that fear melts away.

He hastily pats the backs of some of his teammates, acknowledging their praise at the center of the huddle before tightly squeezing past them to make his way over to you. Your heart is beating fast in your chest, feeling an almost overwhelming sense of pride in your school’s team, but more importantly, in him. What was the acceptable thing to do? Run to him, into his arms, and hug him while he twirls you around? Tackle him to the grassy ground? Kiss him like your life depended on it? You have no clue what the acceptable or sane or normal thing to do is. But he’s made his decision for you when he walks right up to you, his hands holding your waist as he pulls you towards him. He smells earthy, of grass and salt and sweat and of all the hard work he poured into today, the wear and tear of the game evident in the wear and tear of his jersey. He only manages to huff out an exhale at the sight of you, like some relief washing over him just by looking into your eyes. Forget the fact that the crowd was all watching and that all of the screens you could see past his head were focused on the two of you, because all you could hear or see or think was him.

“I believe you owe me a kiss,” he says, huffing as he catches his breath but that doesn’t stop the smile that makes its way onto his face.

You nod your head, giving him your own version of a sweet smile as your arms slide up past his shoulders, crossing behind his neck, and he leans down to kiss you.

You hear a swell from the crowd, some teasing comments off in the distance from some of his teammates, you’re pretty sure you hear Coach Yaga yelling at him to get back to the benches, but it all melts away with the feeling of him smiling against your lips as he kisses you at the center of this stadium.

It was a moment so pure, so sweet, so picture perfect, and for once, you’re not the one behind the camera taking the photo. You’re the one that’s in it.

.

.

.

.

.

[end of kickoff ch12]

a/n. aaa thanks a lot for reading!! pls the fucking public stripping scene was so stupid i apologize on behalf of kickoff gojo for his behavior 😂😂 i’ll put him in his cage dw this chapter had some of what i consider to be the most challenging aspects of writing for me (internal conflict, grand public gesture, sports jargon) and so writing it felt like an uphill battle the ENTIRE time i wrote it and edited it. i considered scrapping it sooo many times cuz i just wasn't happy w it...but whatever i can't expect to be 100% happy w every chapter i put out there haha. i think kickoff has become a lil sacred for me since i've been working on it for a while now but likeee...sometimes u just gotta say fuck it we ball (tbh kickoff gojo probably says that to himself before a match) anywho, i am veryy thoroughly excited for what i've got planned for the chapters to follow, especially moving into the last angsty arc before the end of the series!! so i look forward to picking up momentum w this series again :0 honestly chapters 10 through 12 were the most difficult things i've written so far for a lot of reasons, but i have a feeling things will go more smoothly for me creatively going forward since what i've got planned falls well within my writing comfort range oh also there seems to be a little confusion about the number of chapters left, as i know i had originally said 12, but i anticipate that there will be about 18 chapters of kickoff total!! so still around six chapters left before the end :)) much lovee thanks for reading!!

OH WAIT ONE LAST NOTE I'M SORRY i didn’t really have a way of organically incorporating this into the story n i’m not sure if i’ll get a chance to in the upcoming chapters, so i just wanted to share this part of ch7 (gojo’s pov chapter) that is relevant to this chapter:

During the thrilling semifinal match between Keio Uni, Gojo’s father’s team, and Yokohama Uni during the end of his senior year, spectators witnessed a game that most college soccer enthusiasts would deem was a once-in-a-lifetime watch. Both teams engaged in relentless offense, and Gojo’s father was on his way to shatter the record of the most goals scored in a single championship match within the history of the league, but when he received a call from his wife during a timeout with the most life-altering news he could have ever heard, he abandoned everything on the field that day to go home and be with her. Grainy footage from the televised broadcast still exists online today—the moment he sprinted across the field, confused players glancing in his direction, amidst the uproar of the crowd. She called to let him know she was pregnant. 

the record that gojo broke in this chapter is the same record that his father almost broke before he got the call that he was going to be a dad :0 

➸ you're all caught up!

additional notes. please do not pressure me for updates or ask when i will next update (read rules); taglist is currently closed (consider subscribing to the story on my ao3 for email updates if you'd like! :0)

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[toxicanonymity]

omg the way every inch makes me drool idk what u did to me i haven’t been the same since 😃 ur so talented i owe u my kidney for that fic alone ! would ever consider part two?? no pressure !!!

EVERY INCH 2

2200 words, m!ghostface x f!reader

follows Every Inch. NEXT: Every inch 3

SERIES MASTERLIST

A/N: He's never unmasked. He is night walks coded. Thank you for all the love on my first Ghostface fic. This was a "one shot fail" because of your engagement & enthusiasm. WARNINGS: I8+ piv, noncon, he calls himself daddy, voyeurism, dirty talk, masturbation, knifeplay, hair pulling, manhandling, choking kinda, degradation, pet names. NO USE OF Y/N. 

SUMMARY: Last time you saw ghostface, he was unconscious from the car wreck and you had your way with him. Now, he's coming to take what's his.

You've put Ghostface behind you, at least in terms of fearing for your life. He's finally left you alone. He must be too humiliated to face you after you restrained him and had your way with him in the car while he was passed out. You still look at the picture you took every day.  You'd like to get it printed and stick it on your bathroom mirror.  He looks so pathetic with his own mess all over his robe. But it's not just the humiliation you love to see. It's his cock. . .

Yeah, his cock.  You've thought about it more than a few times. He would've given you every inch. All you had to do was ask. And the video of him whimpering? You save that for special occasions. Like when you need to cum in a hurry. 

It's Friday night and you're lying in bed after getting home from seeing a movie.  You make sure your vibrator is charged before you start reading, but soon enough you get distracted.  You're looking at your video of Ghostface coming all over himself when a call pops up on the screen. No ringtone.  Your phone is still on silent from the theater.  

The restricted number still makes your heart jump even after such an empowering victory. But you rip the bandaid off and answer it on the first ring. "Hello?"

"So... how'd you like the movie?" the voice changer asks you. 

You panic and hang up, but when he calls right back, you answer again. "This isn't funny, whoever you are."

"You know it's me, baby. You feel it in your. . . pants."

"What do you want?"

"I asked how you liked the movie." 

Friday night. Lucky guess. You know he’s not going to let it go, so you might as well answer. You’re not going to give him the satisfaction of acting aghast that he knows what you did tonight.  "Fine, I liked it. It was fun,” you say dismissively. 

"Picked a bad time to refill your drink. . .  Missed a great kill."

Your heart jumps. ". . .you were there?" The theater wasn't even that crowded. How could he go undetected? Surely you would have recognized something about a man you rode into oblivion. 

He's bemused. "What, you thought I was gone? Nowhere?”

"wishful thinking," you reply. 

Ghostface says, “Oh, we both know what you really wish for. . .”

You’re not even going to argue. 

“How was your date?" 

"How was yours with your hand?" You retort.

"You didn't look interested.” 

"What, are you gonna ask me out?" Your face heats up as you hear your own words.

"Not tonight. 'Cause you've got a date with that toy and my picture, don't ya?”

You freeze. 

He taunts, "Want a third wheel?"

You ask, "How long have you been watching me?"

"Never stopped, sugar." You feel like a fool for thinking he had. “I’ve just been a little. . . distracted.” 

You scoff. 

". . . Okay, did you call just to talk?"

"Wanted some audio with my visual this time."

"Pervert."

“oh I'm the pervert," he chides. Your face is burning up.

"You know, you’ve still got something of mine.”  His knife. You’ve hid it somewhere special.  “Keep comin’ for it. . .but don’t wanna interrupt you.”  

You look out your window, which faces the woods.  "Cause you put on a good show, baby." There’s never been a reason to close the curtains.  You preferred to see danger coming. Danger like him. A lot of good that’s done you. 

“You’re a creature of habit, aren’t you?” 

Are you that predictable?  

“Lucky for me,” he adds darkly.  His breathing becomes audible.  “Oh, you like this, don't you . . . knew ya would. . .  .  .Dripping already.” His voice is steady through the equalizer, but his speech pattern tells you his dick is hard. And god damn if he isn’t turning you on. 

“Dip a finger and show daddy how wet you are.” 

Before you know it, you're doing it. You don’t show him, but you curiously dip you fingers and pull apart the clear string of of your arousal

“Two fingers . . let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”  You lie there clenching your thighs together. 

“Ah, fuck it. Go ahead, turn it on,” he says but you don’t move. You clench your thighs together.  “Turn it on,” he repeats firmer, and something possesses you to turn your vibrator on. 

“Yeah, that’s it . . .”

You don’t even need the picture now, or the video, or your reading. But you don’t exactly want to let him make you come this fast. 

He sighs and says, “You’ve got a nice, juicy pussy." He spits, which the voice changer doesn’t process.

You close your eyes and recall what it felt like impaling yourself on his cock. 

"You don't have to say it," he reassures you menacingly. "I know I’ve got a nice cock.” 

He’s right about that.  You close your eyes as you touch yourself.  You’re too horny to think straight, but in the back of your mind, you try to tell yourself he killed your friends. He killed your friends. It doesn’t make you any less turned on. You sigh in shame at yourself. How does Ghostface have you wrapped around his finger?

“Oh, it’s only natural, baby. This cock’ll fuck you right up.” God, why does that turn you on? “In the guts and the head.” 

"Real shame I wasn’t awake.” He breathes heavily for a few seconds. "Coulda been even better for you.” 

You fail to suppress a moan as heat is bubbling in your core. 

“Yeah. . .Can’t stop thinkin' about this cock, can ya?” 

You turn up the intensity of your vibe. 

“Not everyday someone takes every inch of this.” He moans weakly then spits again. “Filthy girl.  Swallowed it right up.” 

“So tell me, sugar," his breathing is even heavier now. "How do you want it?”

“What if i don’t” you lie, then gasp at the tension in your core.

“Then why’d you take it,” he says with a bite and the heavy breathing stops. 

“Because,” you pant. “It was there.”

You’re getting close.  “How do you want me,” you self-loathingly ask. He doesn’t answer. You look at your phone and he’s gone. Shit. You open the video you took of him and as soon as you hear him whimper, your body jerks as the tension bursts inside you. As soon as you finish pulsing, the regret hits you like a tidal wave. So fucked up. Soooo disgusting.  You need a shower. 

—---

You take a long, hot shower, listening to music. You sigh, feeling a little better already. You turn off the water.

“Soaking wet. That’s how I want you.” You freeze and the only sound is the dripping water for a few seconds while the song changes.  

“Come on, you’re smarter than this.” The voice changer echoes through your bathroom and you almost fall over. “What’s next? Going down to the basement?”

You stand silently in the shower with your heartbeat echoing in your ears.  There’s nothing you can do.  You squat down, hugging your knees.  There’s no good option.   

The shower curtain slowly draws open and he looms above you.

“My turn, baby."  The glint of a knife–your own kitchen knife–catches your eye. He tilts his head slightly and observes you for a moment.  Then he pulls your hair and violently forces you to your feet. You begin to slip and he catches you, then manhandles you out of the tub and you whimper. You’re thrashing around wet and naked.  He drags you to the bathroom sink and puts you between him and the sink, both of you facing the mirror. He reaches out and wipes the mirror with his robe to make sure you can see. 

The sight is surreal. You’re completely nude with Ghostface up against you.  One gloved hand cups your breast while the other raises the knife.  He stays behind you and holds your own kitchen knife to your throat.  

He inhales audibly. “So clean and so filthy.”  

You elbow him in the gut. “Let go of me.” 

“Afraid not, baby. . .” The hand leaves your breast and slides lower.  He presses on your hip, bringing you tight against him. “Too late now.” His hips push forward and the massive shape of his hard cock makes you weak. 

He holds you still with just one of his big arms as you struggle.  “Coulda had it how ya wanted.” 

The unwelcome throb between your legs is spreading through your abdomen. 

“Now you’re gonna take it right here.”  He keeps you pinned to the counter, the arm with the knife holding you still while he lifts his robe and tugs his PJ pants down.  “You’ve put me behind you after all.”  He jerks you back against him, pulling you off the counter and holding you tight against his hard dick.  He lightly trails the tip of the knife down your cleavage and your stomach, dipping into your belly button on its way down to your mound. Then he holds it handle-up and teases your cunt with the flat of the knife as you watch in the mirror. The cold metal sends a shiver down your spine and you watch your nipples harden.

“Who are you?”

“Your favorite bad guy. Ask me a. . . harder one.” He grinds himself against you.

“What do you want?”

“To know what your insides feel like.” You suck in a deep breath and register the smell of weed as his cock twitches against your bare skin. “When I’m awake,” he adds. 

He pries your legs apart with his knee, then his glove brushes your inner thighs as he aligns his cock at your entrance. “Oh you’re ready ready,” he says. He notches himself with the thick head of his cock resting snug against your wet little hole, then he holds you tight and shoves himself into you with a sigh.  You have to try not to moan with the most welcome stretch. “Hell yeah,” the mask says into your ear. Thank God you’re so wet, because there is a lot of him. He pulls back, then slams into you, bottoming out with a grunt then another sigh. You watch your face in the mirror and try to wipe the enjoyment off it. 

The hand with the knife rests against your chest as he pounds you. “You’re lucky you’re so hot.” You want to memorize the feeling of his cock inside you so you can come to it later instead of giving him the satisfaction right now.  He pants as he thrusts into you harder.  “So. . .damn. . . hot.” You look down watching your breasts jiggle as he rails you. “I don’t think so. . . baby.” He grabs your chin and makes you look back up at the mirror. Your drooping eyelids give away how good you feel. 

“Take it like a bad girl.” He grunts and brutally fucks you in the way you’re afraid only he can. No, no, you shouldn’t be thinking thoughts like this. “A real bad girl.” A climax is gathering in your lower belly.  “Cock hungry little slut,” he bites and it makes you twitch. “This pussy’s mine now, you know.” 

He buries himself inside you for another minute and makes it rough. “Now or never baby," he pants. “Know you wanna come on this cock.” God, you do. “Do it now.”  He slams into you harder than ever and groans as he begins to pulse inside you.  You can’t stop it. The feeling of his climax trips you into your own.  Your needy cunt chokes his cock, milking him of an unfathomable load.  He fucks you through it and your body jerks into his imposing, robed form. His cum is in every crevice of your core.  You can’t help but moan and sigh.

“Good girl,” he says.

His cock slides out of you, leaving a void that slowly caves in on itself. He tucks it back into his pants. 

------

Ghostface forcibly positions your chin to take one last look in the mirror. Then he picks up your phone from the counter and forces you to swipe the camera on.  He points it at the mirror and says, “say cheese.” He tosses your phone back on the counter, then slams you chest-first into the back of the door with an impact. He holds the knife to the side of your neck and says, “you’re welcome.” He really smells like weed.

“Now where’s my knife.”

“I don’t have it,” you claim. 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“What’s so special about it?”

“It’s mine.” 

“The cops have it.” 

“No they don’t. Why are you lying?”

You’re not really sure. He presses the flat of the knife so hard against your throat you start to choke. “Okay,” you manage hoarsely. He lets you breathe.  You look behind him toward the toilet. 

He drags you by the elbow to the toilet. He opens the back of it and the knife is wrapped up in a grocery bag. “You watch too many movies,” he says. He pushes you out of the way, opens the door, and leaves. The song turns to Call Me by Blondie.

NEXT: PART 3

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

Please engage (reblog/comment)  if you want more of this <333 It might go a long way in motivation.

Yes this is my night walks coded ghostface but I think most people reading this don't know what night walks is lol.

Call Me:This Blog::Red Right Hand:Canon. But in this case it especially makes sense 🥹

@hearteyed-shawty had a song rec last time: I'm Yours by Isabel Derosa.

Slasher master list

@ghostslittlegf @sunflowerleii @igotmajordaddyissues @rileyquinn07

[mostly-imagines]

Random turn-ons Jason has vs random turn-ons I have

18+

Jason’s

he thinks its really hot when you’re focusing hard on something. its really sweet to him how serious your face gets and how you sometimes bite your lip trying to zero in. his favorite example of this is when you help him shave—you concentrate so hard making sure you wont cut him and that you get every spot.

he absolutely loves it when you undress in front of him casually, the idea that you trust him with seeing you in entirety with no barriers. he tries not to stare but he cant help it. definitely likely to pull you onto his lap before you can get dressed again.

he’s also a sucker for you touching him casually, in any way. touching his arm as you pass him, straightening his hair out, tucking a tag in on his shirt, anything. and if you do it soft enough, sweet enough, and give him that smile—he’s getting hard.

you wearing tank tops is a bit of a guilty pleasure for him, but without the guilt. bonus points if your bra strap is visible. and yeah, he feels like a hormoned teenager with how excited he gets.

seeing you in oversized clothes is another big one. like yeah, obviously seeing you in his clothes gets him hard on sight but honestly you in any clothes that are big on you get him going. yeah, he has a size kink, of course he does.

Mine

why does seeing a man with quick reflexes make me go ooooooh? idk. but he’s catching a glass before it falls off the counter, pulling you out of the way real quick when you’re about to get hit by something, supporting your weight before you even get the chance to fall. i love it

big fan of men wearing sweatshirts/hoodies. i just want him to be comfortable and warm. i also maybe love the idea of slipping underneath it with him when its really cold out and youre pressed right up against his chest and—

idle fidgeting: HOT. why? couldn’t say. but a man being tactile, having good fine motor skills? 😋

i love love love when men defend women that they don’t know/have no social obligation to intervene. im just really into the idea of jason seeing someone messing with some girl, cussing him out, and then going about his day.

him just knowing how to do stuff. a capable man is my cup of tea and i will be drinking it. jason can fix stuff like its nothing, he’s a great driver, an amazing shot, and a good cook. (i think he’s naturally good at a lot of things even though he doesn’t realize it)

[greengoblinswifey]

Club Rendezvous—Luigi Mangione x Fem!Reader

summary— while on spring break, you cross paths with Luigi Mangione at a club, sparking an immediate connection that leads to a night in your hotel room. based on this request.

warnings— grinding, drinking, fingering, cunnilingus, praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare.

a/n— Those photos are so fratboy Luigi coded, idk I like this little mood board, enjoy <3 I really hope he’s doing well, my heart aches when I think about him.

The club was alive, the high energy vibes only spring break could deliver. Neon lights flashed across the crowd, music boomed loud enough to shake the walls, and you and your friends were in the middle of it all. Drinks in hand, laughter over the music, you were living your best life. Your group wasn’t shy about taking over the dance floor, swaying your hips to the beat, your confidence catching more than a few eyes.

Among those eyes were his. Some tall, dark curly haired guy leaned casually against the bar, drink in hand, charm on full display. His backwards cap barely kept his dark curls in check, and his sleeveless shirt revealed toned arms. He was the type of guy who made heads turn without even trying. And tonight, his focus was on you.

You noticed him when you turned toward the bar, locking eyes for the briefest second. His smirk was teasing, and when he tipped his drink in your direction, you knew the game was on.

“Who’s that fine ass staring at you like you’re the last shot at the bar?” your friend shouted over the music, nudging you.

“Probably just some frat boy who thinks he’s cute,” you replied, though your smile betrayed you.

“Girl, he’s cute!” another friend chimed in. “Go dance with him!”

You rolled your eyes playfully but turned your attention back to the dance floor. It wasn’t long before he made his move, walking through the crowd until he was standing close enough for you to feel his presence.

“You dance as good as you look?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

“Why don’t you find out?” you shot back, challenging him.

He laughed, the sound sexy and confident. “I was hoping you’d say that, I’m Luigi by the way.”

“And I’m Y/N,” you flirted.

Before you knew it, he was behind you, his hands resting respectfully at your hips, waiting for your cue. When you started to move, he followed your lead effortlessly, the two of you in sync. The beat pulsed through your body as you threw your ass back, his grip tightening slightly to match your rhythm.

Your friends were cheering you on from the sidelines, one even yelling, “Get it, girl! Pull him in!”

“Your friends are wild,” Luigi said with a chuckle, his lips close enough to your ear to send a shiver down your spine.

“They’re hyping me up,” you replied, glancing back at him. “Don’t let ‘em down.”

“Oh, I won’t,” he promised, his cute smirk widening.

You felt on top of the world as you moved together, his presence grounding you while the world spun around you. The chemistry was undeniable, and the looks your friends shot your way only fueled your confidence.

“You’re stealing the show out here,” he murmured.

“Good,” you said, flashing him a grin over your shoulder. “I’m worth it.”

When the song ended, you turned to face him, breathless but grinning. He looked at you like you were the only person in the room, and for a moment, it felt like maybe you were.

“Wanna grab a drink?” he asked, his tone a mix of boldness and uncertainty.

“Depends,” you said, tilting your head. “Are you buying?”

“For you?” He laughed, already nodding. “Absolutely.”

As you walked toward the bar together, your friends erupted into cheers behind you.

“Go get your white boy, queen!” one shouted, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Guess I’ve got a lot to live up to,” Luigi joked, glancing at your retreating friends.

“You better,” you replied, “Think you can handle it?”

“With you?” His smirk softened into something genuine. “I’ll try my best.”

Spring break had just gotten a whole lot more interesting.

The bass of the club faded slightly as you and Luigi leaned against the bar, drinks in hand. He hadn’t stopped smiling since he’d introduced himself, and you couldn’t deny how charming his boyish confidence was. You had a good feeling about him.

“So, what’s your story?” Luigi asked, sipping his drink and leaning closer to hear you over the music.

“Just here for spring break with my girls,” you said with a shrug, “What about you?”

“Same,” he said, his eyes lingering on yours, “Though I’m thinking this night just got a lot better.”

“You’ve got lines, huh?”

“Only when they’re true,” he replied, raising his glass toward you.

Feeling bold, the words spat out of your mouth before you could overthink them. “You wanna come back to my hotel?”

Luigi’s thick eyebrows raised slightly, his grin widening. “I’d love to,” he said, “But only if I get to take you on a date tomorrow morning.”

“Deal.”

Within minutes, he’d called an Uber he paid for, and the two of you were in the backseat, the city lights blurring past the windows. Luigi had his arm draped casually along the back of the seat, his fingers brushing your shoulder. You turned to him, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was soft at first, testing, but quickly deepened. His hand slid to cup your jaw, pulling you closer. “You taste like trouble,” he murmured against your lips, his breath warm and intoxicating.

“You’re one to talk,” you whispered, nipping at his bottom lip, earning a low chuckle from him.

By the time you reached the hotel, the air between you was charged. In the elevator, the doors had barely closed before Luigi pressed you against the wall, his lips capturing yours in a feral kiss. His hands roamed over your sides before one slid lower, fingers trailing into your bottoms.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

“Luigi,” you breathed out, your knees going weak as his fingers found your pussy.

“You’re so wet for me,” he said, his voice low as his fingers thrusted in slow strokes. “You’re so tight.”

You bit your lip, trying to stay quiet, but the soft whimper you let out when his thumb pressed against your clit betrayed you. His lips found your ear. “Don’t you dare hold those moans. I wanna hear you.”

When the elevator dinged, you both barely managed to pull yourselves together, your face dazed and breaths uneven. Stumbling down the hallway, Luigi was still kissing your neck as you fumbled with the keycard, his lips sending shivers down your spine.

The door finally opened, and the two of you stumbled inside, laughing softly before his lips found yours again. You fell back onto the bed, Luigi bracing himself above you as his kisses moved down your neck to your collarbone.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, his hands tracing your sides. “I’ve never seen anyone like you.”

“You’re just saying that,” you teased.

He shook his head, his eyes meeting yours with a seriousness that made your heart race. “Nah, I mean it. You’re stunning, and you’re driving me insane.”

His lips claimed yours again, his praise melting into your skin as his hands explored, every touch making you feel like he meant what he said.

His hands worked at the hem of your top, his lips brushing against your jawline. His fingers grazed your skin, pulling off your bottoms next slowly, leaving you in your bra and panties.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, his eyes roaming over you like you were something rare. “I don’t think you even realize.”

You felt the warmth rise to your cheeks, your fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt in response. “You first,” you teased.

With a smirk, Luigi pulled off his shirt, revealing a toned torso with abs that had your breath hitching. When his hands worked to remove your bra, his fingers grazed your nipples. Once he freed you from it, he paused, staring at you as if committing every detail to memory.

“You’re perfect,” he said.

Your panties were the last to go, and when you reached for his waistband, he let out a soft laugh, his hands gently stopping yours. “Let me take care of you first, pretty girl. Tonight’s about you.”

Your lips parted in surprise, but Luigi was already lowering himself onto his knees at the edge of the bed. “Can I?” he asked, fingers resting on your thighs.

You nodded, unable to find your voice, and he flashed you a small, reassuring smile. “Good girl,” he murmured.

The first stroke of his tongue had you gasping, your back arching slightly. He knew what he was doing, his mouth working against you with a precision that had your legs trembling. You couldn’t help but run your fingers through his soft curls, tugging gently as he grinned against your skin.

“You taste incredible,” he murmured, his voice muffled as he continued, “I could stay here all night.”

“Luigi,” you breathed, your voice breaking as he pressed his tongue in deeper, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady.

“You like that, don’t you?”

Your only response was a soft whimper, your head falling back as his tongue worked wonders against your quivering pussy. He lapped at your juices like a man starved, leaving not one inch of your pussy untouched. When your body finally gave in, shuddering beneath him and creaming, he pulled away, lips and chin glistening to smirk at you.

“You’re a dream,” he whispered, licking his lips and climbing back onto the bed.

You tugged him down for a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. “Lemme take care of you now,” you offered breathlessly, reaching for his waistband again.

Luigi caught your hand, shaking his head with a smirk. “Another time. Tonight, it’s all about you. You’ve got no idea how lucky I feel.”

He leaned down, kissing your forehead, his tenderness making you realize you had scored the jackpot. He stood at the edge of the bed, his hands moving to unbuckle his pants as your gaze followed him. When he finally slipped them off, your eyes widened in disbelief at the sheer size of his hard dick.

“You’re joking,” you murmured, earning a low chuckle from him.

“Don’t worry, baby” he said, leaning down to kiss you softly. “You can take it. I’ll make sure of it.”

He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his eyes locking onto yours. “Are you sure you wanna do this?” he asked his tone serious.

“Yes,” you replied, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach.

“We can stop anytime,” Luigi reminded you, cupping your cheek. “Just say the word.”

“I’m sure, Luigi,” you assured him.

“Okay, amore,” he whispered, the word rolling off his tongue effortlessly. It sent a shiver down your spine.

Luigi positioned himself above you, one hand gripping yours as he lined his cock with your entrance. His lips brushed against your temple as he slowly pushed in, both of you hissing at the sensation.

“Luigi,” you whimpered, gripping his hand tightly.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” he praised. He set a steady rhythm, his strokes careful but deep enough to find your sweet spot. “You feel so good.”

“You’re so big,” you panted, your head falling back against the pillows.

“Yeah?” he smirked, leaning down to kiss you. “Who’s making you feel good?”

“You are, Luigi,” you gasped, your body reacting to every word and thrust.

“That’s right,” he murmured against your lips. “Only me.”

He quickened his pace slightly, his hand slipping to your waist to steady you. The pleasure was becoming too much as he bottomed out and slammed back in, each thrust making your pussy quiver. “Cum on my dick, amore,” he coaxed, his voice soft.

Your pussy obeyed, a wave of release coursing through you as his thrusts slowed down, pressing gentle kisses along your jaw. “You’re amazing,” he whispered, his lips curving into that beautiful smile.

Before you could fully recover, Luigi flipped you onto your stomach, his hand sliding down your back. “You look so good like this,” he murmured, gripping your hips as he started again.

You pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts, the pleasure building faster this time. “I— I don’t know if I can hold on,” you stammered, your voice trembling.

“You don’t have to,” he reassured. “Cum for me baby. I’ve got you.”

Your body surrendered again, practically soaking his cock and the sheets, and he leaned down, pressing kisses along your shoulder. He gently turned you onto your side, lifting your leg as he settled behind you. His pace was slower now, deeper inside you, his hand brushing over your thigh as he whispered praises into your ear and you moaned his name like it was the only word you knew.

“You’re amazing, amore,” he said, his lips brushing against your neck. “I love this pussy.”

You reached back to touch his arm, your breathing steadying as he continued to hold you close. He pressed kisses to the side of your face, his grip tightening on your leg as he rolled his hips with precision. You were so sensitive, all in your mind was his cock slamming into you then retreating with just the tip before he thrusted back in again. He found your sweet spot each time, your pussy quivering with every movement.

“Luigi,” you moaned, feeling your orgasm approaching.

“I know baby, I know. Cum with me. Can I cum inside you,” he asked.

“Mhmm—please, cum inside me,” you whimpered.

He reached down to rub your clit and it sent you right over the edge. You cried out, your body shaking under his touch as a wave of liquid sprayed from your pussy. He fucked you through your orgasm and soon you felt the feeling of warm sticky cum filling you to the brim.

You both lay there panting, and you could feel his cum oozing from your pussy as he pulled out.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispered, disappearing into the bathroom.

You barely had the energy to lift your head, but moments later, he returned with a warm, damp towel in hand. Sitting beside you, he placed a hand on your thigh and smiled. “Let me take care of you.”

He started cleaning you up carefully. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, glancing at you with concern.

“No,” you replied, your voice a little hoarse. “I’m good. Just tired.”

He chuckled, setting the towel aside and lying down beside you. “Tired? I’ll take that as a compliment,” he teased, brushing a stray curl from your face.

“You would,” you murmured, cracking a small smile.

He shifted closer, pulling the blanket over both of you. “So,” he started, “was it as good as you imagined it would be?”

“Confident much?” you said as you rolled your eyes playfully.

He grinned, leaning on his elbow to look at you better. “Hey, I’m just asking. You’re the one who moaned ‘Luigi’ about a hundred times.”

“Oh, shut up,” you grew flustered and hit his arm lightly.

“Now, tomorrow before the date, breakfast on the beach? Or room service?”

“Surprise me,” you said, already feeling your eyes grow heavy.

He settled in beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “Deal. Sweet dreams, amore.”

“Night, Luigi,” you murmured, your head resting against his chest as you drifted off, feeling completely safe and cared for.

[felibrary]

╭──╯ TWO TRUTHS, ONE LIE

PAIRING: aventurine x reader

SYNOPSIS: in which you invite aventurine to play a drinking game with you: "two truths and one lie." it's an amusing game, what could possibly go wrong? that is until one can't distinguish between the truth and a lie.

wordcount: 1.8k | content & warnings: unestablished relationship, drunk - not really drunk rather intoxicated confession? or drunk idk, alcohol, barely any metaphors - like little to none but more dialogue (i’ve improved..ig!!), the title basically says everything

AUTHORS NOTE: i needed to write something and its two almost three am, im dying. istg i pulled this out of my asscrack. So who am i to proofread?? also this is kinda similar, kinda (really) similar to my other fic. what if i cried. when writers block gets so bad you start copying yourself dawg

“it’ll be fun!” 

you blissfully cheer as you take out two shot glasses out of your cupboard before fetching a bottle of vodka and setting it down onto the big and fancy dining table that stands in the middle of your living room, a moving gift for your new apartment which you received from none other than aventurine. 

(he insisted that it’s a fitting gift for your new home - well it certainly didn’t fit well through your front door, only after a few tries from aventurines employees they managed to transport it inside your new apartment.) 

with quick movements, the blond grabs the transparent alcohol and pours the two of you a glass. “how gentlemanlike of you.” you comment, a pinch of teasing in your words as you let out a huff, smiling as you shake your head before sitting down, right in front of him. 

a faint laugh escapes aventurine's lips and he can only hum in delight as he slides over your glass from across the table. “so if i understood it right, you for an example, tell me one lie and two truths and if i were to guess them correctly, i as the victor get to see you, the loser drinking a shot?” he props his elbow onto the dining table before leaning his cheek into the palm of his left hand, curiously awaiting your answer.

your eyes gleam in excitement “bingo!” and he can’t help the smile that finds its way onto his face. “though we’re not gonna do it one go, we’ll have turns. for example, i start off by telling a lie and you guess if i was telling the truth or not, then it’s my turn to guess, then it’s yours again and so on.” 

you grab the glass from above and lazily twirl around the vodka. “how does that sound?” you tap your fingers around glass before slowly tracing the edges of your glass with your index finger in a languid motion. “is this a wager you’re willing to indulge in, mr. aventurine?” you smile. what a tease you are.

“sure, sure. i see no reason to decline your generous offer.” he returns your smile with one of his own, similar to the one he gives to his clients, polite and charming. “well then, it’s only natural for you as the guest to start, right?” you set your glass down and it makes a light “thump” sound. 

“how kind of you.” he looks down at the dining table, scanning the items with his eyes. a white tablecloth which is stained with some light brown-yellowish spots, probably from the times when you spilled coffee onto your table and weren’t able to properly wash them out. 

he hums as he taps his fingers against the hard surface of the table, deep in thought as if pondering what to say. “let’s start off with an easy one, the critters were a gift from the trailblazer.” a lie.

you’re quick to respond “that’s a lie. although you and the trailblazer get along well, they’ve never gifted you something like a pet. the person whom you received them from is veritas.” upon that aventurine can only give you a content smile before gulping his glass down in one go. 

“very well.” he praises you before opening the alcohol bottle and pouring him another glass, not once breaking eye contact as he shoots you a knowing look that says “your turn.”

unlike aventurine you don’t need a long time to think about what you’re going to say. “i used to like you a lot.” a partial lie - you still like him. 

“that’s a lie.” aventurine immediately points out, not even bothering to meet your gaze. can this be considered a rejection? technically you didn’t confess but you admitted your “former” feelings which he immediately denied as if he doesn’t want to have anything to do with them. in response you can only quickly down your glass, hoping that the alcohol would somehow help you. (does making you feel worse count as help?) 

he continues without any effort, simply just brushing off your admission from just now. “i get along well with topaz and veritas.” the truth.

your eyes that were on his once also glance down at the table as you bury your nails into the tablecloth. “that’s the truth.” you manage to choke out, there’s no way you’re going to start getting all emotional now and start sobbing and weeping, instead you take a deep breath before continuing. 

“although it sometimes gives the impression that you don't get along with either of them and the three of you are just acquainted with one another through work, they trust you a lot and also somewhat get along with you. for an example when topaz entrusted you with her cornerstone during your mission on penacony or as mentioned before when veritas gifted you the critters. he thought you’d take a liking to them. perhaps you’re not friends but at least reliable colleagues that trust each other.” you answer as you continue to dig your nails deeper into the piece of fabric.

“i should’ve known that this was too easy for you.” aventurine chuckles as he drinks the vodka out of the glass, not leaving a single drop behind. “okay, it’s your turn again.”

you can only hum in agreement before speaking up. “i have a high alcohol tolerance.” a lie, a big one at that.

a honeyed laugh meets your ears, the sound of sweet laughter makes you glance up again. aventurine’s laughing. how sweet, bittersweet even.

there were nights when you were curled up in your sheets, wishing that there was someone beside you and not just a cold and empty mattress; wishing that there was aventurine who was laying by your side as he whispers sweet nothings into your ears as one of his arms is draped around your torso, tracing shapes onto your soft skin and tickling you. you’d push him away and laugh at which he could also only laugh. 

laugh like this; laugh like right now.

the delicate and tender moments you yearn for more than anything else are like birds, as soon as you get close to them, they get scared, they flutter their wings and quickly fly away. before you’d ever have a chance with aventurine he’d always be out of your grasp - out of your reach. 

he’s free on his own, not bound to anything and anyone. not having someone to rely on and someone whom he always needs to worry about. someone who’d keep him caged like a bird with little and restricted or rather no freedom.

“why are you laughing?” you shoot him an offended glare as you part your lips at him, a small pout decorating your face. “why are you sulking?” he responds in a teasing tone, it’s supposed to be light hearted but there’s care that glimmers in his eyes. great, does he care about you now?

“i  am not sulking!” you huff as you try to hide your expression from him, putting your arms down the dining table and burying your head in between them. 

“oh you so are!” he laughs lightly.

“shut up ‘rine!” you groan from where you’re laying.

“fine, fine.” if you were to look up at him now, you’d see him admiring you and fondly smiling while looking at the back of your head.

“my answer is that that's a lie. a blatant massive lie! you have a low alcohol tolerance and are basically a lightweight. i mean just look at your face, your cheeks are flushed and so are your ears, they’re literally beet red.” he chuckles. 

you get up from your lying position and greet him with an annoyed look. quickly you grab your glass and gulp everything down to the last bit, eventually you wipe away the remnants that cling onto your skin with your arm before pouring yourself another drink and laying back down, so now you’re back to your previous position. 

“well, it’s my turn again. because i started off with an easy one, i’ll also end it with a simple and really easy one. i have a shopping addiction.” a lie.

“lie! you yell from your place. “what kind of lie is that even?” you complain to him. 

“i told you i’d end it with an easy one. but can you also tell me why it’s a lie?” he asks curiously.

“you’re not too fond of spending credits on materialistic stuff, you use them to help out people who are in need. despite your job.”  the last part was muffled and intended for yourself only but you should’ve known that aventurine would hear it. “what was that?” despite my job?” he asks in amusement. “just forget it!” you groan.

“anyway you do that or buy cute toys for your critters. You prefer to keep your friends close with words, gestures and actions, not money.” you whisper.

“jackpot.” aventurine chuckles before proceeding to drink the vodka in his shot glass. now what will you surprise him with next?

“i still love you.” the truth.

in the past minute you gathered together several questions, statements, personal experiences in your head only to splurt out with this? the boldness came from the vodka, at least that’s what you try to tell yourself nevertheless you’re sure of one thing: alcohol definitely wasn’t a good idea.

“bold as always.” aventurine chuckles amusedly. “the truth.” he hums before standing up from where he was currently sitting, moving towards your side of the table and standing in front of you. you’re dizzy - lightheaded, but you try to look up to where he’s standing, with much effort you move your head into his direction, still lying on the table though. although you feel dizzy you’re able to make out a faint smile on his rosy lips. 

he opens his arms before wrapping them around your body, just like how you always longed. it’s unfair. even though vodka reeks, he doesn’t smell like it at all, rather it’s still his signature scent, a somewhat fresh note mixed with something sweet, the scent that you like so much. “sorry for being an ass before.” he hums as he looks down at your temple and carefully brushes the hair which covers your face, away.

i love you too. he wants to say, but he can’t. aventurine still can’t come to terms with himself and his love towards you. he doesn’t know how to voice it out loud or show it through actions. three simple words that he can’t say together, fearing that they’d be too intimate and wouldn’t seem sincere, especially in this scenario. 

but in all honesty, you’ve probably already caught on. you’re smiling like a lovesick idiot when you stare at him, but who wouldn’t, when aventurine is looking at you with an expression that says more than “i love you” ever could. 

you knew instantly, he too, was guilty. guilty of loving you.

hey girly hold still!!!! this is uhm yeah dedicated to @azullumi i'm not writing you a sappy not until i get mine!! THAT DOESNT CONSISIT OF ONLY BLANING ME FOR MY TYPSOS also childe does no wrong. ajax, you the boy who fell into the abyss, later on known as the 11th harbinger tartaglia whom we met in liyue and called himself childe and then turned out to be apart of the fatui and we also later on meet in other nations, azul loves you a lot!!

© VYNICITY 2024. stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms or feeding them to ai is not permitted.

[httpdwaekki]

fixation | l.f.

summary: you and felix get high before tensions start to rise and who are you to deny your favorite sunshine.

wc: 2.2k

warnings: MDNI 18+ ONLY (minors and ageless blogs WILL be blocked), both felix n the reader are high, smut, nipple play, clit licking/sucking, switch (both), fingering, ddlg (if you really squint), felix calls the reader mama (it felt right in the moment idk how i'm feeling about it), probably more read at your own risk.

a/n: inspired by @felixknow ‘s hannie’s🍒 fixation fic. idk how i’m feeling about this one chat, but i’m kinda obsessed with it at the same time. i hope you all enjoy, remember to eat, drink water and take your meds, ily <3.

hannie’s vers. | my library

please consider donating to this fundraiser!

(images are not mine! credit to owners!)

felix was known for his love of physical touch.

you literally could not find him not touching someone in some sort of way. so much so that you give him the unoriginal title of ‘cuddle bug.’ now this was also true tenfold when he was high.

anytime you got high with him, he’d always somehow find himself on top of you, and 9 times out of 10, with his head on your boobs.

you both were sat  on your bed, a couple of hits deep, when he feels the need to touch you. you were propped up on some pillows on your side, face smushed into a random plushie as you were invested in whatever youtube video was on your phone.

he makes his way over to you from the other side of the bed. he inserts himself in the little space between you and your phone cause you to lean back.

he pushes you fully in your back, before flooping down onto you, his head on your tits. you thought nothing of it, you going back to your video, felix mindless scrolling on twitter. 

a few minutes go by before felix lets out a laugh. he turns his phone to you, showing you something he found scrolling. “this is me.” what was it? literally just a picture of tits, a meme of spongebob smiling big and the caption ‘me when boob’.

“no shot you’re looking at other boobs while laying on mine” you tease. he sits up to defend himself but you won’t here it “foul! foul i’ll tell you! are mine not good enough for you?” 

you were enjoying this too much, felix’s freckled face was red the more flustered he got. “no no! i love your boobs! they’re the best!” you kept egging him, finding it cute as he tried to defend himself.

“suuure they are, i’m sure you tell all the girls that.” unbeknownst to you, you struck a cord. you had forgotten how sensitive the precious sunshine became when he was inebriated.

“no, that’s not true.” he mumbled, causing you to sit up. “hey hey, lix, i’m joking bug, i’m sorry.” you rub his thigh, hoping to soothe him.

he looks over at you with a pout. “don’t do that.” he playfully hits you, pulling a giggle from you. “i’m sorry, i’m sorry.” you squeal, as he toss both your phones away before he throws more playful hits your way.

you throw yourself back, attempting to protect yourself from his attacks. eventually he halts his attacks, finding himself straddling your hips, leaning over you, both of you breathing slightly heavier. you both feel something shift, the tension becoming thicker . 

“you know, i think i deserve something special for you being mean.” your mind hazy not just from the weed but now felix’s presence over you.

“what do you have in mind?” you ask softly. not breaking eye contact, he brings one hand up to cover your clothed tit, giving it a light squeeze. “i think you should let me show you how much love them.” his deep voice sending shockwaves through your system. 

you give him a soft nod, keeping your eyes on his. you had taken your bra off almost as soon as both of you had entered your apartment, you hated the way the underwire felt, especially when he laid on them. 

so you could feel every agonizing movement he made, brushing your senstive bud each time. you watch as he brings himself down, making himself eye level with the now hardened bud.

he brushes his thumb over it, revealing it through the fabric. he takes the bud in his mouth over your shirt, keeping eye contact with you, catching every glimpse of your face he can get.

he alternates between sucking it and flicking his tongue around it. he brings his hand to your other tit, making that peak hard on contact.

the combined stimulation, caused you to let out a soft moan. he pulls away from you, causing a whine to leave you.

“does that feel good mama?” you nod your head, brain too fuzzy to form words. you were sure it was the weed but something about your mind already hazy made this feel that much better.

he places a kiss to the wet peak before reaching down, and pulling at the hem of your shirt, “lean up for me.” he taps the side of your boobs with his free hand. you knew deep down he only did that to see you tit jiggle a bit.

he pulls the shirt off as you lean forward, tossing it somewhere in the room. he kisses the nipple he has had been sucking for the past minute or so before moving to the other one.

he places a kiss to it once again before taking it in his mouth fully. you let out a breathy moan, finally feel his mouth on you. he lets out a moan, sucking the hardened bud happily. you felt like you were on cloud 9, you wrapped your arms around him, one around his shoulder the other in his hair.

he grazed your nipple with his teeth causing you to let out a squeak. “lix please.” you begged, your thighs pressing together. “what’s wrong, hm? you feeling needy.” you pout at his words nodding your head again.

“don’t worry mama, i got you.” he smiles, before taking your nipple between his teeth once more.

you let out a whimper, his voice and actions taking over your senses completely. your hands fisting his soft locks as he continues his work. “lix please.” 

he ignores your pleas, simply too invested in softly sucking your chest. he becomes dazed, cheek pressing against your soft flesh as he relaxes into you. “god, you’re fucking perfect.” he says releasing your nipple for a moment.

he gives it a soft blow before giving it one last lick and kiss before moving to the other side once more.

he melts into you once again, his cheek pressed to you as he lazily sucks. he had his hand playing with your other boob, pulling yet another whine from you.

“baby boy,” you moan, head falling back at the stimulation. “as pretty as you look with my nipple in your mouth i need something more.” he pulls back, pout evident on his freckled face.

“but they feel so nice to play with.” his hands still pawing at them, rolling your nipples between his fingers. you grab his hands, intertwining your fingers. “i know baby but i think i’m gonna go insane if you don’t do something else in the next 10 seconds.” 

his cheeks flush before you pull him down to you. you capture his lips in a feverish kiss, taking one of your hands to card through his soft strands. he moans into your mouth as you gently tug at them, scratching his scalp softly.

his free hand makes its way to the side of your breast, playing with it once more. “have i just unlocked an obsession for my boobs in you.” you ask, pulling away from him, breathing heavy.

he gives you a confused look, “what do you mean just unlocked? i have my face in your tits half the time for a reason.” he says like it’s obvious.

you let out a giggle as he leans down, placing kisses on your jaw before making his way down. he stops at your boobs once again. “felix i swear to god i won’t let you play on them again.” you threaten, cause him to shoot up.

“that seems a bit drastic no?” you roll your eyes, “i don’t care, please.” you whine, feeling yourself going insane at the lack of stimulation. “okay, okay, i’m sorry.” he places one last kiss to each nipple before making his way down.

he trails a bunch of kisses across your soft tummy, one to each hip bone before pulling down your shorts. “fuck angel,” he breathes as he spreads your legs, staring at the wet patch on your light blue panties.

he places a kiss to it before rubbing small circles with his thumb. “ah.” you moan, at the slight stimulation. “lixie, please.” your mind is so far gone and he’s barely touched you. between him and the weed, it was fucking intoxicating.

“i know baby, i know,” he reassures, his voice dropping an octave or two. he’s rubbing smalls circles to your clothed clit, mesmerized by the growing wet patch darken the fabric.

“all this because of me?” he asks, looking back to you. you nod, pout present on your lips, “all you lixie.” you mumbled. he places once last kiss to the wet patch before removing those as well.

“look at this pretty pussy hm?” he spreads your lips apart, eyes sparkling as he takes in the sight of your glistening cunt.

he licks a long stripe from your wet entrance up to your bundle of nerves. he latches onto it, giving it a harsh suck. “ah! fuck.” you moan, back arching as you reach for the closest thing for you to hold, which happened to be a stuffie.

you stuff your face in its tummy and felix expertly plays with your swollen clit. you turn your head to the side moaning into the soft toy and he slips a finger in.

he pulls away, but his finger keeps thrusting into you. “no, no, my sweet girl, let me hear you baby.” his free hand rubbing your inner thigh, as he places kisses all around your clit.

“ lixie,” you cry, turning to look at him while tucking the plushie into your chest. “i know mama, am i making you feel good?” he asks between kisses.

“yes, yes, it feels so good, more please.” you beg, you needed more, you needed your senses completely overwhelmed by him.

he adds a second finger before completely taking your clit in his mouth once more. “ah,” you cry, back arching at the added stimulation. “lixie please, don’t stop.” 

the weed in your system was making everything feel euphoric. he takes the hand that was rubbing soothing circles to your thigh to spread you out, giving him easier access to your pretty clit.

you moan, your hand coming up to squeeze your tit, finger brushing your peaked bud.

“look at you,” he pauses for a moment to flick your clit once more. “so gorgeous for me,” he gives the bundle a suck before grazing his teeth against the nerves, pulling a high pitched moan from you.

“sounding so pretty for me hm?” he speeds up his fingers, curling them into that gummy spot, sending you into a state of pure bliss. “ah!” you scream, breathing heavy, head thrown back.

“fe-felix, p-please, i’m gonna c-cum.” you manage to stutter, your senses fully overtaken by him. “yeah? my pretty girl gonna cum?” he slips a third finger in, causing your eyes to roll back into you head.

“yes, yes, please, li-lixie, i can’t-“ you cut yourself off with a moan, it was feeling almost too good but you needed your release more than air in that moment.

he ignores your comment. “my baby playing with her pretty tits for me,” he blows on your clit, causing you to squeeze and brush your sensitive nipple. “play with your nipple for me baby.” you follow what he says, letting out a pornographic moan.

“felix p-please.” you cry, tears collecting in your eyes as the coil in your tummy becomes tighter and tighter. “come on angel, show me how good i’m making you feel.”

his fingers become impossibly faster, his mouth attached to your clit, sucking it into his mouth while his tongue flicks it.

you scream at the stimulation, your hips rocking against his face, chasing your release. plushie in a death grip to your chest and you roll your nipple between your fingers.

“felix!” you moan as the coil snaps, feeling everything and nothing at the same time. he works you through your high, slowing his fingers but not stopping them.

your clit still in his mouth as he overstimulates you. your body convulses as the shockwaves run through you. “l-lix please, it’s too m-much.” you whimper, body shaking hiding your face once again. 

his stills his fingers, pulling his mouth off you to give your clit a few loving kisses. “so pretty for me angel.” he whispers between kisses. 

“l-lixie.” you call out to him, needing to feel him pressed against you. he looks up at you, making grabby hands to him making him smile.

he carefully pulls his digits out, pulling a whimper from you in the process. he gives your clit a few more kisses, causing your legs to shake involuntarily.

he makes his way up, kissing your tummy and of course, each nipple and even giving one a cheeky suck. 

once he makes his way up you, laying on top of you, plushie squished between you, wrapping your legs and arms around him, pulling him close. he giggles at your cuteness before giving you a loving kiss.

“i love you mama.” he mumbles into the kiss. you smile against him, “i love you more lix.” you pull him tighter to you, both of you falling in a quick, peaceful slumber.

(and yes he does wake you up later, mouth attached to your nipple once again.)

do not repost

p.s. my taglist is open if you would like to be added! just send me an ask <3

[chaoticrockmusic]

↫彡🂡"My Girl can Wear Whatever"🂡彡↬

↫Peter Maximoff↬

You were just trying to get a snack. That was it. But the moment you stepped into the kitchen, Peter nearly dropped his Twinkie.

"Whoa—" His silver brows shot up as his eyes scanned your outfit. Not in a gross way, but in a "Do I need to start running?" way.

You raised a brow. "Problem?"

Peter shook his head way too fast. "Nope! No problems here. You can wear whatever you want, babe."

Jubilee, sitting at the counter, smirked. "Really? You don’t care?"

Peter scoffed, tossing an arm around your shoulders. "Pfft. Why would I? My girl can wear whatever she wants..." He hesitated, glancing at you and then lowering his voice. "...'cause I'm scared of her."

You narrowed your eyes. "What was that last part?"

"Nothing!" He grinned nervously, stepping back. "You look amazing! Stunning! Fantastic! A completely independent person with great fashion sense! I love that for you!"

Jubilee cackled. "Dude, you are terrified of her."

"Well, yeah," Peter said without shame. "Like, you think I'm about to tell her no? You think I got a death wish? Nah, I value my life, I like my face. I’d like to keep it in one piece."

You rolled your eyes, grabbing a granola bar from the pantry. "Good answer, Maximoff."

Peter sighed in relief. You were scary, but hey, at least you were his scary.

彡Logan彡

Logan had been minding his business at the bar when you walked in, dressed in something that made half the room do a double take.

He noticed. Oh, he definitely noticed. But instead of reacting like some jealous, overprotective boyfriend, he just sipped his whiskey.

It was not until some guy at the pool table let his eyes linger a second too long that Logan made a noise in the back of his throat—a low, rumbling ahem that sent a very clear message.

The guy turned, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

Logan smirked, tapping a single claw against his glass. "Nothin'. Just wonderin' if you're stupid or just feelin' lucky tonight."

The guy scoffed. "Relax, old man, it's just a look."

"Mm. See, I ain’t too worried ‘bout what she wears." Logan tilted his head, eyes sharp. "She can wear whatever she wants… ‘cause I can fight." He flashed his Adamantium claws.

The guy raised his hands and backed off real quick. Logan just chuckled, downing the rest of his drink.

You leaned against the bar beside him. "You always gotta scare people?"

He shrugged. "Ain’t my fault they spook easy."

You smirked. "You are such a show-off."

Logan just grunted, but the way he slid a possessive arm around your waist told you everything you needed to know.

🂡Remy LeBeau🂡

Remy was kicked back on the mansion's couch, long legs stretched out, flipping a poker chip between his fingers. He had seen you walk in, noticed the way heads turned, but unlike the others, he did not bat an eye.

Jubilee, being Jubilee, could not help but stir the pot. "Remy, you just gonna let her walk around like that?"

Remy did not even look up from his poker chip. "Remy think his chérie can wear whatever she want," he said lazily.

"Yeah?" Jubilee smirked. "You that confident?"

He flicked the chip up, caught it between two fingers, and finally smirked. "Mm-hmm. ‘Cause she's a houe, and I knew that before we started dating."

Gasps. Laughter. Even Logan huffed out an amused breath from the other side of the room.

Your eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

Remy grinned, finally looking at you. "What? You know it’s true, chérie. I fell for you ‘cause you a heartbreaker. A flirt. A menace." He tilted his head, voice dropping to a lazy drawl. "And yet, here we are."

You crossed your arms. "That does not make it better, you know."

"But it is true, non?" He flashed that dangerous, charming grin. "An’ I do not mind one bit."

You rolled your eyes, but you could not stop the small smirk tugging at your lips. Damn Cajun and his smooth talk.

Jubilee snorted. "I hate that he actually got away with that."

Remy just winked.

Hope you all enjoyed!! Love you all, kits! (houe means hoe in French. Idk what else to put there T ' T)

[heavenlyraindrops]

BOOTHIL X READER PELALSPELLSLS I KNOW NOTHING AB HIM AND ITS BEEN A BIT SINCE I OPENED THE GAME BUT I WANT HIM SO BAD AND I AM SAVING SO MUCH TO GET HIM PSLSOSLSLSL

ʙᴏᴏᴛʜɪʟʟ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ——> saw this pic in a post by @lynettess then I got this req and I just. I had to

Warnings: profanity, very suggestive, Boothill kinda has an accent or smth idk it’s not bad or anything

A/N: see more of her as in, more often? Or in the other way…? Thanks for the ask Adonis. Sorry this was so short tho :( mayb if it gets enough notes I’ll write a pt. 2…

Your plans for a Friday night definitely weren’t to get drunk in some obscure bar in the middle of nowhere, lost all sight of your friend who had dragged you out for a ‘good night.’ They definitely weren’t to be sitting so close to Boothill, to the point where his metal torso was pressed against your warm one, sending a thrill through your body- but his breath fanning across your face was warm.

The alcohol coursed through your system, making you more sluggish than usual- though you were sober enough. Not sober enough to stop and think about whether or not you should get so close to a stranger, and a cyborg at that- albeit an attractive one. Boothill tilted his head to the side, smirk playing across his lips as you giggled at something he said while taking another sip from your glass. 

Your eyes searched your friend out through the crowd of the hot bar, but couldn’t see her anywhere. His hand went to your chin, fixing your gaze back onto his own face. 

“Eyes here,” he said. You grinned, again, face burning, although you couldn’t tell if it was from the heat or from his actions as you swept a couple of strands of hair from your own face. “Didn’t anyone tell ya it’s rude to not look at someone when they’re talkin’?” 

You leaned precariously on your elbow, swirling the amber liquid in your glass. “Apologies,” you teased, hand pressed to your chest. His eyes followed the action. “How ever could I make it up to you?” 

He leaned back, away from you, and you leaned into him again, and his grin only widened. Your eyes traced the marks under his eye and your heart thrummed against your chest. “A favour? From a pretty thing like you? I could never accept that.”

You held up your hand. “Hey, when did I offer you a favour?” You complained, trying to fight the colour rising to your cheeks at his little remark. He tipped his head back to laugh and the sinful thoughts filling your head as you looked at him were definitely not seeing you through to the pearly gates. 

The past hour had been a blur, from when he had slid into the seat next to you, smoothly talking you into flirtatious conversation, up until now, where the tension was tugging at your fervently. And you were so, so close to grabbing him and simply begging him to-

“What’s wrong, sugar? Can’t handle a little compliment?”

No, no, I can’t. Not when it comes from you. Great, now I’m fucking wet. You smiled coolly and took another sip of your drink. “Not when it comes from you,” you shot back, echoing your previous thought. 

“Nice to know I have that sort of effect on ya, sweetheart,” he murmured, and the metal tip of his finger tracing a path along your collarbone. You froze at the provocative touch, hands tightening around your glass, growing more and more restless. 

“Is it?” You stuttered, fighting to keep your voice level. He chuckled, hand dropping down to your waist. 

“Mhm,” he hummed, and suddenly moved back. Your muscles tightened with apprehension- anticipation? You couldn’t tell. 

And then he took his hat off and set it on your head. 

You burned at the thought of the implications of the action as his finger traced the rim of the accessory. “I’m assumin’ ya don’t have any specific plans for the rest of the night?” You took off his hat, setting it in your lap. 

“Well, I didn’t.” You locked eyes with him. 

He raised an eyebrow. 

“But I do now.”

[darnell-la]

𝗬𝗢𝗨'𝗥𝗘 𝗔𝗟𝗪𝗔𝗬𝗦 𝗦𝗢𝗥𝗥𝗬

pairing: possessive!logan howlett x cross-dressing male!readed

warnings: toxicity, cheating, a lot of anger, knocking out, neck grabbing, pinning, forced public sex (consensual), anal, no preparation, crying, begging, apologizing, ass slapping, name calling, caught, etc.

request: Ok so like I think I've commented on this before, But I'd love to see dark dom logan with a male partner who cross-dresses. Male y/n decides to be petty after a very heated fight so he wears one of the most baddest outfits he got to a small get-together and Logan sees this? idk it seems stupid it's my first time requesting!

Of course, you could totally ignore this please take your time! - @reeeeee3737388

———

How do you guys feel about a x men story with reader? Logan being rude Logan at first, then slowly shows small affection towards the reader. Jealousy and things of that sort. They soon hit it off, and after Logan starts acting rude again, because he’s scared of the love he grew for her. It’ll be a long story, but something to read at night. ALL ON WATTPAD! Comment below, please!

———

Y/n had caught Logan flirting with Jean earlier today. When he finally confronted Logan about his actions, Logan laughed in his face.

“You know ion swing that way, Bub,” Logan said as he sat back in his chair and put a cigar to his mouth. “Well, you use to Logan, and even if you didn’t, that’s shitty,” the man said.

Logan couldn’t take y/n seriously. He’s so much smaller than him, it’s almost too funny.

“Well, ladies love me, princess. Can’t do nun about it,” the man said, making y/n scoff, knowing Logan would stop looking at anyone if he just asked. Logan was just a cocky bastard, and y/n has had enough.

“And I guess I can’t do nothing about men wanting me too,” y/n said before turning around to head out of his boyfriend’s room.

“Y/n, don’t start,” Logan warned, knowing Y/n was known for taking things too far. Logan only flirts with women for his ego. He never touches them, but y/n ok the other hand does.

"Get your ass back here! lan done talkin!" Logan yelled at his boyfriend, but he ignored him and slammed the door in his face.

Logan had run after y/n as soon as he left, but he was nowhere to be found. Not in his room. Not in the kitchen. Not in the living room. Nowhere.

He’s now sitting at a table in some club with the x men, waiting for the rest to show up, especially y/n. He ignored Logan’s texts all day. Logan knew he’d be in for some surprise.

“Finally, the girls are here,” Hank stood up and waved for Jean, Storm, and y/n to come to the table he had bought for the night.

Once Logan looked up, he almost flipped the table at the sight of y/n. His tight pants ripped on the side to show his thighs along with a tight shirt that said “I love Milfs”.

Y/n knew there would be a lot of old men here. He also knew Logan looked nowhere near forty years old even though he was one hundred plus.

“Y/n’s looking good today,” Scott spoke as the ladies and he came up to the table. Logan kept quiet as y/n spun around. He instantly dropped his head onto the table at the sight he had just seen.

Y/n’s ass was cut out of the right pants he had on. Logan was going to kill him.

“Right!” Storm said as Hank and Scott covered their mouths, knowing Logan wasn’t going to approve. Everyone bursted out laughing once they saw how stressed the older man was.

“He’ll be okay, ain’t that right, Bub?” Y/n mocked the man. Logan held his hand out as he got up, basically telling y/n to watch himself. With no word said, he had left, going off to the bar to drink and distress.

“Welp — Who’s ready to party!?” Y/n asked loud enough for Logan to hear as he kept walking away. He giggled at the shake of the man’s head, knowing he’d gotten to him, and he hadn’t even started yet.

Throughout the night, Logan watched y/n like a hawk, trying to keep his composure but barely made it. He’s on his second cigar and hundredth shot. The man was unbelievably angry but didn’t want to lash out, or y/n would win.

Y/n took his first look at the man for the night, watching him struggle to get his lighter out of his pocket as he kept eyes on him.

The smirk plastered on y/n’s face only made the man struggle harder. “Fuckin’ hell,” Logan looked away for a quick second to find the lighter that he just had. Once the man looked back up, he was gone.

“Oh, fuck no,” Logan growled as he slammed his cigar and lighter on the bar table before running off to find y/n. “Where the fuck did he go?” Logan asked Jean and Storm who were just dancing with him.

“Don’t know, maybe outside for a break?” Storm said before she continued dancing. “Why does it matter? Didn’t you guys break up?” Jean asked as she placed a hand on the man’s chest.

Logan quickly pushed Jean off and went to turn away but she grabbed his arm. “That's what he said!” Logan looked back at her with wide eyes, hoping she was lying, but she played her memory in his head of y/n telling Jean and Storm that Logan and him had broken up before they got here.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him!” Logan shouted before he yanked his arm away from Jean and pushed through the crowd.

Logan’s heart pumped fast as he sniffed y/n out, hoping he was near, but he wasn’t. He had left the damn club. “Son of a bitch!” Logan said.

Logan ran out of the club and stood at the front, concentrating on y/n’s scent. The man almost yelled at the smell he smelled on him. Y/n was leaking. “What the fuck is he up to,”

Logan followed the smell for what felt like hours through the huge parking lot. He almost yelled the boy's name out until he heard a familiar whine.

Logan’s head snapped towards the noise, looking over cars to see the view of y/n’s neck being sucked in by some older man in his truck.

“Motherfucker,” the man cussed under his breath as he sped towards the boy in another man’s car. He was quick and quiet, making no noise for y/n to hear until he opened the door.

Logan pulled the boy out of the car and threw him to the ground before pulling the older man out and giving him a hard punch.

“Logan!” Y/n shouted at the man before he could throw another punch. Logan noticed the man was knocked out, so he drew his attention off of him and to y/n who was on the ground, lips swollen and eyes glossy from the situation he was just in.

“You were just gonna let a man fuck toy in his dirty ass truck!?” Logan shouted, standing over the younger man as he dusted himself off. “Why not? I’m single,” y/n got up with a shoulder shrug that he quickly regretted.

Logan grabbed the boy by his neck and slammed him on the man’s truck with a growl. “You’re a fucking pain in my ass, y/n,” Logan’s jaw clench as y/n tried unlatching the man’s hands.

“Well, we’re broken up now, so-“ Logan threw the younger man to the ground and quickly hovered over him. He took no time to tug at his boyfriend’s clothes, ripping them off in seconds.

“Wanna run around here like a slut? Then keep it up, because I tear cute little bitches up like you as a hobby,” Logan spat before he turned the boy around who was now naked and covered in dirt.

“Logan!” Y/n tried fighting the man off because they were outside in the open, and the man next to him could wake up any second to the sight of him pinned to the ground.

“Get the fuck up,” Logan pulled y/n on his hands and knees before he pulled himself out. “Logan, stop! I-I’m sorry,” y/n tried calming the man down, but the spitting sound he heard made him realize he had fucked up beyond repair. Logan is not going to stop.

“I don’t fucking care,” the man said before he pushed at the younger man’s right hole. Logan watched y/n struggle as he forced himself through, finally getting the tip.

“Logan!” Y/n cried out, clawing at the ground as he tried to keep himself together. “You shut the fuck up, slut,” Logan spat as he pushed in further, eye twitching at the slight pain from how tight he squeezed him, but he’ll get through it.

“L-Lo! Logan!” The younger man shook, cock twitching before he came. Y/n’s cum dropped out of his cock and onto the ground as he cried out, begging for Logan to calm down. Anything. This was too much for him. He wasn’t expecting this.

“Little fucking bitch can’t take a cock in his ass. What a surprise — All talk but no fucking bite!” Logan slammed into y/n roughly, balls slapping against his y/n’s own which only made him get weaker.

“S-Sorry,” y/n back repeatedly arched as the man kept up his brutal pace, hitting his g-spot with every thirst. “Sue you are, y/n. You’re always fuckin’ sorry. Every fucking time!”

Logan’s hands dug into the man’s ass cheeks, drawing a little blood that made him wince. “P-Please, baby. I’m so sorry,” y/n couldn’t help but cry in embarrassment, lemon never stood a chance going against Logan.

“Ian finna stop fuckin’ you, Bub, and you know that. Been a bad little boy recently — Thinkin’ you can go off and let another man touch you,” Logan’s thrust was still rough, but not as they were before.

Hearing the man call him a baby will always make him weak. He loved y/n and loved the way he crumbled and went back to a submissive partner. All for him.

“So sorry,” y/n whined as Logan softly pulled y/n back by his neck, hand gripping a bit tight as his other hand came down on his smooth ass.

“Fuck!” Y/n’s body jolted. “Tell me again,” Logan demanded as he slapped his ass again, but this time, twice. “Fuck, I-I — Lo, I’m sorry!”

“I know you are, baby. You always are,” is all he said in his ear before continuing his harsh slaps on the younger man’s ass, making sure he’ll feel the pain later. It will be a reminder of what Logan can and will do to him to show him he’s his.

“What the fuck,” a man slowly growled behind the two. Y/n’s heard rose and Logan turned back with a smirk, realizing it was the man he had knocked out.

The man took a look at the bottom boy, realizing it was the man he was going to use for the night. He scoffed in disgust before he opened his mouth to say something.

As he did, Logan placed his arm out and brought out his claws, making the man’s words die in his throat.

“Talk, touch, look, or think about my boy, and I’ll claw that saggy needle off,” Logan threatened. Logan gave the man a last look before turning back around and placing that hand on y/n’s waist.

The stranger walked off and stumbled back to the club. Logan could only chuckle as he brought y/n’s hips back into his rough thrust, looking over his head to see his eyes roll back.

“Now he knows this body’s mine,”

[urinarythreatinfection]

Idea popped into my mind, though i've had it in my mind for a while now. Inspired by this one video i saw a while back (can't find it now) of some person who did the same thing to their cats. If i find it later ill quote this with it. Also comment if you want someone else with this. @mere-mortifer this is just a scenario thing but idk if it counts tell me if it doesnt and you just meant one shots.

Thunk

Various x GN!reader. Platonic. Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Robin, Brook.

Luffy

“Did you have to spill it? Haven’t you gotten instincts for that?” You say, peeved as you clean up Luffy’s spilled juice.

“I don’t have that on all the time.” He says with a huff, begrudgingly grabbing more paper towels for you until he realizes something. “There’s no more.” It’s run out.

“No more?” You look back at him and see the empty paper towel roll, sighing. “Give it here.” He hands it to you and you bonk it on his head softly with a “thunk”.

“Hey!” He rubs the spot you did it, putting on his straw hat for protection.

“Small punishment, we’ll have to do it with a cloth so go get that for me; even if it’ll be a hassle to have to rinse it out.” Luffy pouts, but gets it anyway since he’ll be scolded if he doesn’t.

Zoro

You’re cleaning up Zoro’s workout equipment, he could do it himself but you’re doing it this time since he’s eating a sandwich Sanji made for protein. “You don’t clean these as often as you should.” You tell him while cleaning up the pole for weights.

“I’m the one who uses it the most anyway, if you think it’s gross just don’t use them.” The swordsman says in between bites. You notice you’ve managed to clean them with the last paper towel, pleased but still annoyed at what Zoro said. You walk over to him where he’s sitting and bonk his head with the empty roll. It makes a “thunk” sound. “Empty head.” He scowls.

“I didn’t ask you to do this.” You thunk him again. “Hey!” Thunk "Ugh."

“It’s not that much of a hassle to clean it, think of it as practicing your patience or responsibility. There’s other types of responsibilities that aren’t protection or fighting.”

“Whatever.” He mumbles and you thunk him on the head for the 4th time. “Stop!”

Sanji

“You should really take more breaks.” You say while rinsing out a cloth you were using to clean.

“I’m used to working this much from the Baratie, you have nothing to worry about.” He sits at the counter after you barely convinced him to atleast sit down for a bit.

“You only get 5 hours of sleep each night, that isn’t healthy for you even if you’re used to it.” He’s about to say something when you interrupt him. “Zoro sleeps less during the night but he naps during the day as well, Brook is a skeleton, and Luffy sleeps whenever he wants during the day as well if he’s tired. You do not.” The cook closes his mouth having been corrected. You grab a paper towel to dry off the counter and realize it’s the last one. You walk over to Sanji, who’s looking down at the ground, and bonk him on the head using the empty roll with a “thunk” sound. “I don’t mind you asking me for help if you need it, so use that assistance to rest a bit. I mean it.”

“...Okay..” He mumbles, his gaze still to the ground as he fumbles with his hands like a scolded little kid.

Robin

“I’m usually more careful than this.” Robin says while she makes sure none of the books have gotten wet. “I suppose I was too focused on the text.”

“If it means it was interesting enough then I’m sure the author would be flattered.” You say while cleaning up a drink she had knocked over while reading. Once she’s made sure nothing got wet she puts the books down on her lap. “There’s no point feeling bad about it now.” You manage to clean everything up by the time the paper towels have run out.

“I apologize for making you do this, you seemed focused as wel-” You lightly bonk her on the head with the empty roll, making a “thunk” sound. Her eyes widen as she looks up at you, shocked.

“Lighten up, you’re acting like you’ve forced me. Of course I would do this for you, you’re my friend.” Her eyes are still wide but she eventually smiles.

“Then I’ll thank you instead. Thank you.” You smile back at her when she thanks you.

“You’re welcome.” You bonked the bad thoughts out of her.

Brook

“If I could see your pantie-” Brook gets hit on the head HARD by Nami before she storms off, walking past you as you notice Brook now sitting on the ground rubbing his forehead.

“Hit again? You really don’t learn your lesson, huh?” You say while standing in front of him. “It was hard this time too, I heard it from where I was.”

“She knocked my brains out! Not that I had any to begin with yohoho!” He jokes, though he never really expects Nami to show her panties. It’s more of a habit at this point, something he gained from the past he’s reluctant to let go of.

“More like scrambled since you can still joke.” You’re holding an empty paper towel roll, on the way to throw it out before you heard the commotion. You get an idea and thunk him on the head with it, “To unscramble,” then do it again. “now to bonk those thoughts out.” He looks up at you, presumably processing what happened since you can’t really see an expression. He rubs his head for a second.

“You’ve warmed my heart (Y/n)-san, not that I have one!” His laugh is slightly less loud. “You’re a miracle worker…” He’s silent for a bit, then goes back to normal. “We should see panties to celebra-” Thunk.

[nina-ya]

Law Helping You Study (NSFW)

Pairing: Law x AFAB Reader CW: Oral (reader receiving), fingering, uh i think thats it??? WC: 2.5k A/N: This was meant to be a self indulgent Law helping you study thing but idk what happened I blacked out and now its NSFW lol. I might write a part 2 with what happens after the end of this one but for now here have this <3 Tagging: @enchantedforest-network

“Wrong”  Law's deep voice declared from across from you, causing you to look up, irritation flashing through you.

“What? No, I can’t be wrong.” you insisted, narrowing your gaze at the man in front of you.

Law raised an eyebrow, not bothering to hide the amused smirk playing on his lips “Your flashcards don’t lie” 

“Well the flashcards are wrong.” you retorted, crossing your arms defensively.

Law leaned back, studying you with a bemused expression. “But you made them.” 

You let out a frustrated groan, tossing yourself back onto the bed, and running your hands across your face. The stress of the upcoming exam was getting to you, and it seemed Law was enjoying the spectacle.

“You need a break.” Law suggested, putting the flashcards to the side. 

You shot him a skeptical look as you responded, “since when are you one to take breaks?”

“Since I can practically see the steam pouring out of your ears.” he deadpanned, gesturing to your visibly agitated state. 

You sighed deeply and rolled your eyes. Law was right, and you knew it. You needed some sort of destresser before you blew up. You propped yourself onto your elbows and looked at Law. “Fine, a break,” you conceded. “But only a short one.”

Law nodded and got up, putting all of the study materials aside and walking away from your study area. He gestured for you to follow him. You reluctantly got up from the comfort of the bed and followed as he led you into the kitchen. He found himself digging through the fridge, pulling out some random ingredients.

“You could’ve just said you were hungry.” You said as you observed the items he was pulling out of the fridge. 

“It’s not for me, It's for you.” he stated matter-of-factly. “Three cups of coffee, an energy drink, and some cheese and crackers is not proper sustenance.” 

“I don't know, that feels like more than enough sustenance to me.” you retorted, a playful smile forming on your lips. 

“Ahuh, sure. Sit.” He said, gesturing for you to take a seat at the small kitchen table, and you complied. You watched as he threw together a simple sandwich for you, placing it on a plate and pushing it towards you along with a glass of water. You seemed to relax as you took the sandwich in your hand, taking small bites out of it. 

As you made your way through your sandwich, Law leaned forward on the counter, looking at you as he stated, “You seem to be struggling.”

“Excellent observation, Sherlock.” You retorted, finishing the last bits of your sandwich. 

“Still snippy. I thought food was supposed to calm you or something.” He said with amusement, shrugging as he pulled the plate from in front of you, putting it in the sink. 

“There’s nothing calming about feeling like I’ll never understand this subject.” You whined out, dropping your head onto the counter as you let out a groan of frustration. 

Law looked at your state of despair and watched as you lost hope. He suddenly spoke up. “Maybe you need to look at it in a different direction.”

“Huh?” You asked, lifting your head up from the counter to make eye contact with him.

“You need to switch up your studying. Change something in your routine to make studying more tolerable, and hopefully enjoyable.” He said thoughtfully.

“Enjoyable? You severely overestimate just how enjoyable studying can be.” You countered with a groan, clearly not wanting to hear him out.

“Humor me.” he stated plainly. He walked out of the kitchen and waited for you to follow, leading you back to your study area.

You sat down on the bed once more, feet dangling off the edge as Law took a seat in a small chair across from you. He pulled out the study materials, sorting through them as he started, “Studying won't do you any good if you aren’t motivated. You look at each of these flash cards as if they are the enemy.” He waved the flash cards in front of you for emphasis as he continued, “How does a reward system sound?”

“Rewards?” Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the thought, “Like what?” you asked.

He leaned over to a nearby drawer and rummaged around. As he did so he started to explain, “Let’s say for every 5 questions in a row you get right, you get to take a 5 minute break or…” he trailed off as he seemed to be looking for something. Then, he sat back up, a plastic bag in hand as he continued, “I knew you had these,” he muttered to himself triumphantly. He held up the plastic bag, and in that moment, you realized it was your stash of chocolates, “How about, for every question you get right, you get a piece of chocolate?” 

“This is stupid.” You say with a deep sigh, the motivation to study having evaded you hours ago.

Law continued, trying to convince you to give his idea a shot. “It’s not stupid, It’s basic psychology. Do you have any better ideas anyways?”

You stared at him for a moment before sighing in defeat. He smirked at this small victory as he placed the bag of chocolates in his lap, getting into a comfortable position to start with your new study session.

Law held the flash card in your face, and your eyes scanned over the question, reading it carefully. You thought for a moment and perked up as you nearly shouted out an answer. A smirk spread across Law's lips as he placed the flash card down and grabbed a piece of chocolate, tossing it to you. 

The next flash card is up. You thought hard for a moment once more and recited another correct answer. Once again, he grabbed a piece of chocolate, tossing it to you.

Next question. He held the flashcard up and you thought over the content before starting to slowly and unsurely speak. As the wrong answer spilled from your lips, Law’s eyebrows raised as to indicate that you are on the wrong track. You noticed this and hesitantly changed your answer, this time saying the right one.

He nodded his head at you and pulled out another chocolate. This time, being a little more brave as he leaned forward and held the chocolate in front of your mouth. Your eyes flickered between the chocolate and his eyes, your brain stopping momentarily at the action. Nevertheless, you leaned forward and accepted the chocolate, taking it from his fingers. Your tongue ran against the tip of his fingers and  your lips enveloped the digits as you did. When he pulled his fingers away, a small string of saliva connected your lips to his fingers for a moment before it snapped. His eyes grew darker as they fixated on your dampened lips before pulling his hand back towards him.

This action did not go unnoticed by you, as your breathing deepened slightly, heart starting to thump harder in your chest and a slight heat building in your core. You simply stared at him, shifting slightly as you instinctively rubbed your thighs together, seeking any friction of sorts to relieve yourself of this sudden rise in tension. 

He pulled out another flash card and held it in front of you, the fingers that were just in your mouth seconds ago dampening the card underneath. You had to forcefully rip your eyes from his gold ones in order to focus on the question in front of you. 

‘I wonder what he tastes like… wait, that's not what the flash card says… those fingers, that hand, what would that look like around my throat?... Shit! Get yourself together!’

“Having trouble there?” Your heart raced as Law’s voice broke your swirling thoughts, bringing you back into the present moment. You blinked rapidly, trying to regain your composure as you tore your gaze from his intense stare.

“Uh, no, I’m fine,” you stammered, attempting to regain focus on the flashcard in front of you. Your mind was still reeling from the unexpected intimacy of moments ago. The question seemed to wash away before your eyes, the words blurring together as you grappled with the sudden rise in this unexpected desire.

With a shaky breath, you managed to refocus, mentally berating yourself for letting your intrusive thoughts take over. 

“What's the answer?” Law prompted, his tone colored with amusement as he watched you struggle to conceal your emotions.

You forced yourself to ignore the lingering sensations as you recited the correct response. Relief washed over you as Law nodded in approval, his expression rather unreadable at this point. He reached for another piece of chocolate and held it out to you. You hesitated, heart racing as you looked at the compromising position you are once again in with his tattooed fingers delicately holding out the chocolate to your lips.

Without thinking, you leaned forward, parting your lips to accept the offering. As the chocolate met your tongue, you closed your eyes briefly, savoring the sweetness that flooded your senses. Your eyes fluttered open to the feeling of Law’s hand moving, his hand now gently cupping your chin with his thumb resting on your bottom lip. 

You locked eyes with him and you froze, most of the chocolate still poking out of your mouth, being held in place by your teeth as you dared not move. Heat rose to your face and your breathing quickened as his gaze bore into yours, dark and intense. 

Without a word, he closed the remaining distance between you two, his lips parting to meet yours. He gently bit down on the chocolate as his lips brushed against yours with a soft touch, sending shivers down your spine. 

You gasped softly, your heart pounding in your chest as his lips pressed more firmly against yours, the kiss growing more insistent with each passing second. His hand slid from your chin to the curve of your jaw, holding you in place. Your lips parted instinctively, allowing him access as his tongue slipped past, tasting the remaining remnants of chocolate on your tongue.

A soft moan escaped your lips as you surrendered to the intoxicating sensation, your hands reaching up to tangle in his hair as you pulled him closer, deepening the kiss with desire. Without breaking the kiss, Law rose from his chair, his hands finding their way to your shoulders, gently urging you back onto the bed. You complied without hesitation, sinking into the softness of the mattress as he hovered over you. 

His hands roamed freely, tracing your body, gently touching and grabbing everything within his reach. His lips began to trail down your neck, each press of his lips onto your skin sending your mind into a haze with a desire that bordered on intoxication.

You arched into his touch, a soft sigh escaping your lips as his hands explored every inch of your skin. Law’s hands roamed under the fabric of your shirt, and with a desperate touch, he guided the shirt over your head, discarding it with a sense of urgency.

Exposed and vulnerable beneath his gaze, you watched as he leaned down, and you sharply gasped when his lips started trailing down your chest, each touch growing that feeling in your core. You arched into his touch; every caress left you yearning for more, aching with a need only he could satisfy.

Laws hand reached behind your back, his fingers working at the clasp of your bra, releasing it with ease. He tossed the garment aside, not particularly caring about where it ended up. You gasped as his hands met your bare chest, his touch sending shivers down your spin as he grabbed and squeezed at the skin. His fingers teasingly ran over your hardened nipples, chuckling lightly at the reaction he pulled from you when he gave one of them a squeeze.

Your breathing shuttered as his lips closed around one of your buds, his tongue flicking and teasing with a skill that left you trembling with pleasure. Each movement sent waves of ecstasy crashing over you.  

Law's lips traveled lower, leaving a trail of kisses along your abdomen, the feeling of pleasure coiling tightly in the pit of your stomach. Your breath hitched as his hands slid lower, tracing your hips with a light touch.

He lets out a low groan of desire as he pressed his lips against the skin just above the waistband of your pants, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin. You whimpered out at the sensation, your breath shaky as he teased you.

In one smooth motion, he rid you of your pants and underwear, leaving you completely exposed and vulnerable beneath his gaze. His eyes bore into you with complete and utter desire as he took in the sight of you. He closed the gap, and his mouth found its way onto your dripping core, having you moan out in utter pleasure at the feeling. Your fingers dug into the sheets as he worked his tongue on you. Each flick of his tongue around your sensitive bud had you trembling.

You writhed under his touch, your body involuntary moving as the pleasure threatened to consume you whole. But Law held you down, his hands gripping your hips firmly. “Stop squirming,” he murmured his voice low and commanding as he continued his relentless assault.

Law wasn’t content with just his mouth, he wanted to drive you to the edge with the help of his fingers as well. He slipped two of his fishers between your thighs, the digits easily sliding in with the help of your wetness, and soon the ‘E’ and the ‘A’ of his knuckle tattoos disappeared deep within you as he explored your depths. You moaned out, back arching as his fingers and his tongue tortured you, tightening that coil that's threatening to snap with each passing moment. You cried out his name, your voice a desperate plea for release as he brought you closer and closer to answering your prayers. 

With a final thrust of his fingers, he sent you hurdling over the edge, your body convulsing, thighs clenching around his head as a tidal wave of pleasure washed over you. He lapped up your dripping desire with hunger, riding you through your orgasm. Your heart raced and your chest heaved as you lay spent and breathless beneath him. 

He brought his head up from between your thighs, your essence dripping from his chin as he stared at you with a shit-eating grin. He wiped away your arousal with his fingers, popping them into his mouth to lick them clean.

Law was not content with just tasting you; he wanted to feel you. He discarded his shirt, revealing the large tattoo that adorned his chest. His gaze burned with hunger as he leaned down to kiss you once more, his hips planting themselves between your legs, grinding against you as he chased any sort of friction to release his own pent up desires. 

What was meant to be a simple study session has quickly faded into a moment filled with complete and utter desire. Sounds of shared pleasure soon fill the room, studying being the last thing on anyone's mind as you two get lost in the feeling of absolute bliss.

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Lesson Learnt Pt. 2 | John Price x Reader

Summary: After the initial incident that caused your meeting, Johnny sets you and Price up on a date at a little diner nearby.

Word Count: ~ 2.5k

Warnings: can’t say much w/o spoilers but random men, ghost being moody, Johnny being overly friendly, working in customer service…

A/N: idk what happened something possessed me when I made this, it was supposed to be fluff but then it exploded. hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

Previous | Masterlist

Weeks had passed after the initial incident, and your life had quickly changed.

You’d broken up with your toxic boyfriend, now wondering how you hadn’t seen it earlier, and why you hadn’t listened to all your friend's advice and thoughts on him. You’d moved out, blocked him on everything, and found a new apartment closer to your simple job as a barista. It was enough to keep the bills paid, for now. At least until you finally got out of college with your doctorate in nursing science.

Having been in college for nearly eight years now, and not living in the dorm (there were far too many incidents on campus for you to trust any sort of campus police, not to mention the generally shady system of coverups) made it a little bit harder.

Student loans were threatening to suffocate you, but for now, you would focus on one day to the next. All of this, the annoying days that drug on, or the hard times, would all be memories before you knew it, and it would be worth it. Or at least you hoped.

Today wasn’t one of those super slow-moving days where customers were ordering hyper-specific drinks or getting the suspiciously old lemon cakes, only to complain about how stale they were, as if you could do anything about it. No, today was relatively normal, customers minding their own business after ordering, coworkers having idle chatter.

“M’ taking my lunch break.”

You said to your close coworker, Laney. Her honey-brown eyes shifted over to you, and she nodded with a little smile.

“Don’t take too long, might miss some cute boys.”

She teased, knowing full well all of your opinions on relationships right now. You wanted to wait until you had a stable income and were out of school. She’d heard it only about a million times. You huffed a soft laugh, deft fingers untying the knot in your apron as you set it up on a hook, walking out to your car.

Lunch break was about 30 minutes, which was more than enough for you to drive to the nearest cheap restaurant and pick something up. Clicking your key button and heading towards where you heard the beep of your car, you opened the door, sliding into the worn leather. It wasn’t a new car, not by a long shot, but it was your old faithful, and it had served you well for nearly ten years in a row.

You started the car, muscle memory kicking in as you drove to that place right down the road from your work. It was past the chicken shop, a place you would refrain from visiting for a while after seeing some undercover cops staking out there one night.

You turned and pulled into the parking lot, glancing around before opening your door, only for the cold air to nip at your bare arms, when you decided to slip on the warm leathery jacket, with the fur on the inside. The one that the man, John, maybe, had given you. You’d lost the piece of paper with their numbers on it to the washing machine, but oh well. He didn’t look like the type to live around here, anyway, so it wasn’t like you were going to see him again.

Walking into the restaurant, you strode to the front, placing a quick little order and paying with your card, before choosing a small circular table in the corner to wait for your food. This place was usually quick. You idly scanned the guests. Two large men sitting together, chatting. An older woman and what was probably her husband seated with a younger man and woman. Maybe some sort of family double date? A nervous-looking teenager sitting alone, knee bouncing. An old, thin man seated at the far end, mumbling incoherently to himself.

Not unusual.

You pulled your phone out, idly scrolling through social media before your name was called, and you got up to go collect your food.

~

“You sure?”

“M’ tellin’ ya, it’s exactly what Gaz said she looked like.”

Simon glanced out at the girl his sergeant seemed so certain about. He wouldn’t lie, you did match the description pretty decently. Just as he opened his mouth to point anything out that fought against Johnny’s claim (just to spite him, obviously, not because he liked watching Soap get all frustrated and start rambling on for an hour on end), he noticed it.

“She’s wearin’ cap’s jacket.”

Johnny’s brows rose as he snuck another glance at you. You grabbed your tray of food, walking back to the small little corner where your bag was on the seat. You were wearing their captain’s jacket. The brown leather, the slight fuzz in the sides and insides, the buttoned pockets….he wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed it earlier.

“Hell’s bells, been wonderin’ where that thing went.”

Simon only gave a little grunt in reply, eyes narrowed on you before he glanced back at his food. He didn’t want to seem a creep. He already knew he was intimidating enough to the normal civilian, and one of his “I-want-to-eat-your-firstborn-child” glares (named by Johnny and Kyle) probably wasn’t helping.

“Sounds like Price’s found ‘imself a pretty birdie.”

Johnny lit up at those words, a devilish grin lighting his features, one that Simon usually only saw before he demolished buildings or people with explosives. He was already dreading it before it came out of his mouth.

“We shoul’ set ‘em up on a date.”

“No.”

“Don’ tell me it wouldn’ be a good idea. Might keep him from giving us so many sprints at training, yeah? Ya know he’s been overworkin’ us lately…”

The slight pause Simon took was all Soap needed to continue spewing his disarming, convincing words that usually always worked on his Lieutenant. His lips further curled into a grin as he went on.

“He’s been so tense lately, jus’ let us do this for ‘im, help him relax some…”

“Fine. Get on wit’ it.”

Simon finally relented, suddenly finding his food very interesting to look at as Johnny got up, striding over to you with a confidence one could only expect from the Scotsman.

He glanced up, trying to subtly watch as his sergeant approached you. You were on a call with someone, the phone held up to your ear by your shoulder while you ate your fries, the main entree of your order already gone. When Johnny walked up, you immediately sized him up.

Paranoid. Simon didn’t blame you, living on this end of town. The only reason he and the guys stayed here was for the cheap flats they could get when on leave for a few months. Price had a little house more up South, but never visited it much, letting it gather some dust.

You took the phone from your ear, muttering something to whoever was on the other end, and hanging up. You raised a brow at Johnny, who in turn gestured to your jacket and struck up a conversation. Johnny was trying to look unthreatening, he could tell. Sitting down so he wasn’t standing over you. A small, easygoing smile. Trying to make you laugh, and succeeding a bit.

Five minutes in, and you were seeming more comfortable with him. He wrote something down on a napkin from your table with a pen in his pocket, handing it to you, giving a teasing wink which you snorted at, and walking back over to his and Simon’s table with a huge smile.

“Wha’ did you just do?”

Simon asked, suspiciously eying Soap.

“I set our cap’ up with a date.”

He beamed, and Simon only sighed, knowing that Price wouldn’t take it too well to be sent on a date with a girl he’d only just met a few weeks ago. A girl that hadn’t texted him since. But maybe, just maybe, it would go decently.

~

That had been one of the strangest encounters in your life.

A Scottish man introduces himself as a friend of Price’s, saying something about working together at their jobs and telling you he recognized the jacket you were wearing. So much for not ever seeing John Price again, considering his friend had just set the two of you up, and given you the man’s number too. All the while the gruff-looking man had sat at Johnny’s table, watching the interaction.

It had made you more than a little nervous, but nothing had gone bad. The Scotsman had been friendly, and even funny, but not pushing too far.

And now you had a date on Friday night.

When you got back to work, off of lunch break, Laney helped you into your apron, tying the knot for you like she always did.

“You’re late, what took so long?”

She knew you weren’t usually ever late. Always on time, punctual, even. You managed your time properly.

“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

She grinned at that, nudging you with an elbow as you started taking orders.

“C’mon, spill it.”

And you did.

You began with the incident a few weeks ago, which she’d mostly already heard about, then told her all about the Scotsman and his friend, and finally the date on Friday. Right when you were about to finish the story, you felt your phone buzz, and you took it out to check it despite usually keeping it on Do Not Disturb. A text from an unknown number, but you knew who it was.

“Sorry for my muppets bothering you, they don’t know how to keep their mouths shut.”

You snorted in undignified laughter, replying while an older customer complained, mumbling something about ‘this generation and their phones’.

“I’m assuming you’re talking about Johnny?”

“Yes, the one that barely talks in coherent English.”

“Aw, he was funny. I liked him.”

“Don’t go liking him too much. We apparently have a date on Friday.”

“I’ll see you there, then?”

“See you there.”

You finally silenced your phone, slipping it back into your pocket as you went back to work with a noticeable pep in your step and a warm, fuzzy smile you offered to customers.

Laney certainly noticed.

When your shift was over, ending quickly, she talked to you while walking out to the parking lot through the back exit.

“I can help you get ready for the date, if you want?”

She offered. You’d be stupid to deny, with the impeccable makeup and fashion sense that she had.

“Sure, I can swing by at 3. That’ll give you plenty of time.”

“You have any shifts the rest of the week?”

“Barely. Just little half-times I squeezed in between lecturers. Last year’s always the busiest.”

“See you Friday, then.”

You beamed at her, sliding into your car as she walked to your own.

“See you Friday.”

~

Some of the days passed in a blur, some dragged on slower than ever before.

Eventually, though, Friday rolled around, and you were sitting in your friend’s chair as she did your hair, your makeup light, but good. You were wearing a simple outfit, some clean jeans, and a cute brown sweater over your white shirt.

It was 4:30, and you had only thirty minutes to haul your ass out to the nice diner the both of you were meeting at for dinner.

“It’s fine, I need to go. Seriously.”

Laney gave you a look, but reluctantly started putting all her things away. You hugged her, mumbling thanks in her ear, before grabbing your purse that had all of your things in it and walking to the exit of her quaint home.

You drive to the diner, finding the parking lot to have the familiar old car you’d seen Price driving in the first place. You parked got out of the car, and walked into the diner, only for the server up front to inform you that you’d already been paid for, and she led you to a table where Price was seated.

He’d tried to dress nicely, you could tell. Beard combed and hair done, dressed in jeans and a comfortable-looking dress shirt. He gave you a small smile as you slid into the booth, and there was already a tray of crinkle-cut fries in the center.

“Hope you didn’ mind that I ordered, big fella like me needs a lotta food.”

He said with a chuckle, and you grinned.

“I don’t mind, trust me, my older brother devours food like no other.”

He smiled, a little bob of his head before his brow raised in mild curiosity.

“You got a brother?”

A nod.

“Yeah, name’s Gary. He’s quiet, but we love ‘im for it.”

“Me and the boys are just about brothers, wish they’d be quiet for once.”

You snorted at that, taking a sip of your water before the waitress came by and you ordered your meal. Price’s was the first to come out, he’d ordered a full English breakfast that the diner somehow served, despite it being around dinner time. Yours came out next, and you both idly chattered about your life, family, jobs (he was apparently military and off on leave right now, not that you minded), and whatnot.

When he was about more than halfway through his food, his phone began buzzing, and his face went serious as he held a small finger up to you with a slightly apologetic expression, taking the phone call.

He listened, and you simply continued eating your food, not minding. Everyone had to take important calls every now and then, sometimes it just wasn’t avoidable.

He gave a few gruff yes’ and no’s, before sighing as he replied for one last time into the phone.

“I’ll be right there.”

When he clicked off the call, shoving his phone into his pocket, he gave an apologetic look.

“It’s an emergency, can’t stay. ‘M sorry.”

You nodded in understanding.

“Is everything alright?”

You asked, and he nodded, face set in what looked like a grim determination. He called a waitress over, paying the bill before you both got up. He gave you a light pat on the shoulder as you both walked out, right before you went to your car.

“We could do this again, if you’d like. With no interruptions.”

“I’d like that.”

He breathed an audible sigh of relief at that.

“I’ll text you when I can.”

Before he began walking to his car, getting in. You walked to yours, opened up the driver’s side door, and slid in before you saw his jacket sitting on the passenger seat. Cursing to yourself, you grabbed it, having it in mind to go take it to him before he left.

Before you could move, though, a hand clasped over your mouth.

A cold prick of pain in the back of your neck. Liquid.

“Don’t scream.”

A voice warned as if you could make any noise at all with a hand over your mouth.

An overwhelming sense of heaviness overtook you, and your vision began swimming, before turning black as your eyes fluttered closed.

“What’re we getting ‘er for?”

“Bargaining chip.”

Tags:

@yearninglustfully

@ashy-kit

@theoslove

@mayoforthewin

[hwallazia]

LOVE LANGUAGE – 정우영 & 최산

⋆ synopsis. after a long, tiring day at work, all you want to do is come home to your boyfriends and cuddle with them. of course they fulfill your wish, but with something more. a little surprise for you.

pairing. poly! woosan & fem! reader

wc. 2,8k

warnings. smut but the fluffiest (still, mdni!), softest doms! woosan (like fr they’re devoted to yn), sub! reader, fingering, begging, sooo much praise, dirty talk, suggestive language, nicknames (baby, princess, darling, good girl, & more), sweetest touches, just the three of them being stupidly in love and woosan being the best boyfriends ever <3

nic’s notes ⋆ i know all the smut one shots or drabbles i’ve written have the same tags. it’s just that i can’t bring myself to write idk something more hardcore? ㅠㅅㅠ i just write whatever comes to my head but with my preferences, which is vanilla sex essentially with a looot of nicknames and praise. next time i’ll try to do something a bit rougher and more passionate ♡

You’re having a hard day.

You’ve already lost count of how long your boss has been talking to you, reminding you how much he hates mistakes in a company like his. His eyebrows furrowed together as a sign of frustration. You’ve honestly forgotten what you had originally started talking about. The more the man continued speaking, the more entangled you became with his words. After being scolded by your superior, you sit down in your desk chair and take a sip of your already lukewarm coffee. A gesture of disgust curves your lips.

You sigh, leaning back in your seat. It’s too much to bear for it being eight-thirty in the morning, you repeatedly think about how much you want to yell at your boss to fuck off. He’s had you like this for weeks, busy with projects that don’t even concern you, but rather the other team his stepdaughter is on.

Of course, he wouldn’t make her work like he makes you work. Baggy eyes? In her lover’s daughter's eyes? Over his dead body. Your blood boiled every time you scanned her carefully every time she entered a room, almost always surrounded by three girls who followed her like fans, more like stalkers you think, smiling as if she was a celebrity, while you were trapped at your desk, doing her job.

You remember that time when you deigned to complain to your boss about this situation. “You get paid to work, not to complain. Go back to your desk” were the only words he said to you. Choking with all your strength the desire to suffocate him with your own hands, you replied with a “Yes, sir” with your hurt pride held high.

At some point in the morning, Miss Everybody-loves-me walks by your desk, her finger pressing to the surface of it as it runs over it, collecting dust particles from her fingertips. In her other hand resting her Starbucks drink.

“New project?” She says, showing a row of white, perfectly arranged teeth.

You shake your head, “It's the same one from the other day,” You reply, “Yesterday.” A tone of annoyance highlighted in your voice.

She nods repeatedly as if she understands you, as if she is being empathetic with you. Hypocrite. “My bad. I really thought you’d have it ready by today. You know, because the executive meeting is tomorrow and—.”

“Yes,” You say loudly. Of course you already know that you have to have it ready for tomorrow, it’s for that same reason that you haven’t been sleeping properly the last few days. Because you’re busy doing the work of the bitch who was in front of you, talking to you, “Yes, yes. I already know that piece of information. Thank you.”

“Just stopping by to remind you.” A giggle slips past her lips, the desire to want to smack her growing bigger and bigger, “Keep up the good work! Bye.”

She presses her longest fingers against her lips and then peels them away, sending you a flying kiss. You’re grateful she left, you can’t hold back the urge to finally shut her up with a good smack on that stupid smile of hers. A low “shit” escapes your lips as you watch her turn around and face your desk again, still not leaving you alone. “Oh, by the way. I hope you liked the coffee. Before I left my place, I saw that there was still that cup of coffee that I hadn't finished a few days ago. Four days have passed? I don’t know, nor do I remember. Anyway, bye.”

You finally watch as her anatomy disappears as she walks further. You turn and bitterly scan the coffee mug resting on a small oak table not too far from you. Your fingers hold the mug’s handle and throw it right into the trash. You want to scream at this exact moment, and the only way you find to relieve your miserable morning anger a little is to scream into the sleeve of your blazer.

The morning passes with difficulty and you smile for the first time today when you take a quick look at your watch and realize there are only two minutes left until you finish your workday. You had successfully completed the project and its presentation for the meeting you have the next day. At least your day was productive—after all.

Those are the longest two minutes of your life, but when they are finally over, you almost run towards the exit of the large building in which you’ve spent almost eleven hours of your day locked up.

In the blink of an eye, you’re already parking your car in the garage of the apartment where you live with your other two boyfriends. You know they were already home, probably cooking, watching a movie, or playing. As usual.

In about five minutes you’re already inserting your key, the sound of the locks and their mechanism working correctly to unlock the door being the only thing you could hear. Once the door is wide open, you cross the threshold and kick off your heels which have trapped your feet from a long day at work. You feel like you’re floating when you finally touch the warm floor of your apartment, and you trudge to your room, finding San leaning against the bed’s headboard, smiling at finally seeing you after a long day. A book resting on his right palm and his glasses decorating his beautiful face. The sigh that leaves your lips is inevitable. A soft smile is placed on your lips.

“Sannie.” You murmur, your arms outstretched for him to wrap you in a hug as you walk towards him.

“My love,” he crawls to the edge of the bed where he reciprocates your hug.

Your cheek resting against his flat chest, his hand gently caressing your hair. Through your nostrils, you can perceive the combination of that lavender shampoo you bought him a few months ago and soap. He smells so good, you thought to yourself. Him cooing at you like you were a baby is an image you want to keep in your head forever. You swear you can give into his arms as the tiredness starts affecting you.

You manage to hear the sound of a door opening. Then you turn round and find your other lover, Wooyoung, his hand drying his damp hair with the help of a small towel. However, you can’t see him, because your eyes have closed involuntarily while you enjoyed San's loving hug.

His eyes shine when he sees your figure. “There’s my girl.” He approaches you and San. His lips make contact with your other cheek.

Finally separating from San, they can ask you how your day was.

You sigh to look them in the eyes. “Terrible. Everything was so overwhelming today.” You pause, “Too much paperwork, too much.” You repeat it a second time, this time even more exhausted.

“Mm,” San murmurs, “Do you want to talk about that?”

“Not really. I just want—”

Wooyoung interrupts you to say, “Did that bitch have anything to do with it?” He says referring to Bora.

A loud gasp leaves your lips as you remember that she’s also been part of your day, “You have no idea what she did to me today,” You tell him what happened with your coffee. A soft giggle comes from San, the same person you just denied wanting to talk about your day.

“That bitch. How dare she?” San lets out an annoyed ‘mhm’ when he hears him speak. Your chivalrous San never uses that kind of insult to refer to women. He never actually insults women, “What? She deserves it. Look what she did to your girl today!”

“Our.” You correct him, a smile decorating his lips as he hears you say that.

“Yes, that. Ours.” You cup his chin and pull him to your lips to place a kiss on his cheek. His smile growing even bigger as San shakes his head at him.

A sigh leaves your lips, “To be honest, I just want to take a bath in the tub.”

“With bubbles?”

“And massages?” San adds after Wooyoung.

You can’t contain your smile, your boys’ hearts melting at the sight of you, “You guys want to bathe me? Really?”

“As if we haven’t seen you naked already,” Wooyoung speaks, your palm crashing against his side in a poor attempt to hide your embarrassment.

Your boyfriends guide you to their spacious bathroom. San heading to the bathtub while Wooyoung rummages through the drawers, looking for the bubbles he mentioned to you a few minutes ago. Your body collapses in slow motion against the cold porcelain of the tub, San holding you securely in his arms like a baby.

“You’re home now. You don’t have to worry about anything else, okay?” He places a quick kiss on your forehead, “Let us take care of the rest.”

Tiredness barely allows you to give him one of those smiles that your boyfriend falls in love with so much, “Found ’em!” You turn to meet Wooyoung with a victorious smile on his lips.

It takes several minutes for the tub to fill almost completely. When it does, Wooyoung undresses in a flash and climbs into the bathtub, keeping you company. San was still sitting behind you on the wide edge, his hands working your scalp so you don’t even have to worry about washing your hair.

You hum under his touch, your body gradually relaxing. Meanwhile, Wooyoung starts putting bath bombs of your favorite scents. The delicious aroma of vanilla and coconut invading your senses.

You feel San’s laborious hands leave your hair and subtly dry it with a towel. Now his hands move down to focus on your shoulders, his fingers exerting gentle pressure against your skin. Again, you hum as you felt him work that area.

“We know how hard you work every day. And how hard you try, and we love you so much for that.” You’ve already lost count of how many kisses San has pressed against your forehead, “That’s why we want to take care of you,” He paused briefly, “Tonight and always.”

A genuine smile forms on your lips. You really had no idea what you’d done to deserve two great boyfriends, so caring and affectionate. Your love for them can’t be described in words and neither can theirs for you. You melt after hearing their words, only being able to utter a soft ‘thank you’, hoping they understand that that ‘thank you’ was much more than the meaning of the word itself.

Wooyoung’s hand brushing against your skin as it goes down is what takes you away from the sweet words of the man behind you, his eyes never disconnecting from your gaze. You finally understand the way your boyfriends want to pamper you. And you’re not against their intentions at all.

“Just relax, my love.” Wooyoung whispers, “I’ll make you feel so good.”

Heat flushes through you as he drags his hand even lower, your legs unconsciously opening a little more, your cheeks turning a cute red. You hum when his fingers caress your folds softly, leaning your head against San’s forearm.

“Young-ah,” His name is nothing more than a simple breath of air in the silent bathroom, “Please.”

“What is it, princess?” San’s low voice resonates inside your ears, “Tell us what you want.”

“P-please,” You beg, “Touch me.”

“I am touching you, love.”

You let out a minimal desperate pant. “Come on. Don’t tease, Woo”

“I’m not teasing, babe. I’m just doing want you’re telling me to do, aren’t I?” He scoffs. Your hips slightly rocking against his hand looking for some friction.

You let out a long sigh and with that your last trace of bashfulness, “Please. Put your fingers inside me, Woo. Please.” You give him your best doe-eyes, you know it worked when he emits a 'fuck' under his breath. 

Wooyoung dips his middle finger into your heat, the sound of your stickiness being drowned out by the warm water, how wet your cunt is being a secret between your boyfriend and his fingers. Thanks to the habit of doing this almost every week, he now knows where to touch, when to increase his pace, and above all, how to drive you crazy with just his long phalanges.

You don’t know when your eyes closed, but you know it was because of the satisfaction that was overtaking you. You unconsciously raise your hips in an attempt to get his fingers even deeper into you. 

For a moment you think San was enjoying the view in front of him with fierce eyes, hungry for you. You imagine him lightly pumping his cock behind you, a sight for sore eyes.

That is until you feel a pair of hands rest on your breasts, skilled fingers touching your nipples, varying in a pattern of touching and pinching them.

“I’m—” You can’t even formulate a coherent word, everything just being overwhelming in a good way, a very good way. 

Wooyoung hits the soft, right spot and you tremble beneath him, your back arching beautifully. Your lips vocalize a precious moan, “Wooyoung, baby. Don't stop.”

“Fuck, your moans are so pretty,” San says as he reclines and attaches his lips to the side of your neck, leaving cute lovebites that will surely turn purple by tomorrow morning. You’ll have to take care of that, but later. Right now you’re trying to hold onto the last piece of sanity you have left.

“Definitely our favorite sound,” Wooyoung replies, his fingers pumping into you faster, “Are you close, my love? Gonna cum on my fingers?”

His husky voice just pushes you even closer to the edge, “Yes, yes!” San sucks sharply in the right place as you cum. A long moan leaves your lips as you tremble beneath Wooyoung, him helping you ride your orgasm the best way possible.

Your eyes shut the moment you come. A few seconds later, you feel movement in the waters, as if someone has left and entered again. You think it’s Wooyoung, who came out to get a towel and dry you off, but when you feel a hand, different from the one that had been touching you until a few seconds ago, caressing your inner thighs you open your eyes meeting San’s.

“Hi, beautiful.” He admires your blissed-out expression for a moment, “Can you give us another one?”

You whimper, trying to hold yourself together, “I-I don’t know, Sannie,” You try to say “no” since you’re still sensitive and kind of overstimulated, but you just don’t want to admit it. Somehow you turn to your shy self again. It only lasts a few seconds though. His fingers make their way into your arousal and a hot, loud moan escapes from your lips.

He starts pumping his fingers into you at a fast pace, barely bearable for you. His movements cause you pleasure and pain at the same time, after all, you haven’t fully recovered from your previous orgasm and your boyfriend is already pushing you toward the abyss of pleasure again.

“Oh, princess,” He murmurs with the sweetest voice, “You’re being such a good girl for us.”

Wooyoung now is occupying the sit San was in, behind you. He reclines and murmurs right into your ear, “Come for us, darling. Just let it go. We’ve got you.” His voice is so unrecognizable, so fucking deep.

Your visual field begins to be covered by small black dots that get bigger and smaller, overstimulation causing this effect. Your body trembles in a sudden rush of heat, finally releasing into the now lukewarm water with a loud, long moan that sounds more like a cry. The small tears caused by pleasure slide beautifully down your cheek, dripping down your chin and mingling in the water. Your body feeling as if a fresh wave of water has washed over it.

“Mm,” San starts, “The only bad thing about doing this in the tub is that I can’t taste you, but honestly seeing your face as you come undone for us is more than enough.” He presses a kiss against your slightly open lips. Your blissed-out gaze making them fall even more in love with you.

“I... I love you both, so much. Thank you for doing this for me.”

“You deserve to be loved and pampered for everything you do for yourself and us every day. You’re amazing and we’re so proud of you.” Wooyoung mentions.

If you had the strength to cry right now, you would. However, sleep is taking you over so you can only mutter, “You both mean everything to me.”

You really have no idea when you fell asleep, but it’s okay. You know perfectly well that your boyfriends are going to set everything up and snuggle you in bed.

Wooyoung watches as San sees you with all the tenderness in the world. He was about to tease him saying that he was going to scare you if he kept looking at you so intensely, when he heard a cute, low snore.

“Did she fall asleep?” Wooyoung asks.

“Like an angel.” San replies, still admiring you.

“Well, let’s get her into a pair of pijamas so we can cuddle with her in bed.”

They both dry themselves off before taking you out of the tub. Seeing you so adorable and soundly asleep makes them share one of those looks of theirs. 

Yes, they have a big, painful boner with no relief, but tonight was all about you, so they decided to put their needs aside and focus on you and making you feel good, loved and important. Because you are, because they’re willing to give their lives for you if they had to. 

Because you’re their everything and they love you more than the word itself could mean. 

| masterlist

[lees-chaotic-brain]

A hopeful fan's suggestion for a fic:

Song: 'Streetfight' - Smallpools

Character: Gojo

Genre: Angst

🙃

summary: you've always been there for him, but he doesn't realize until it's too late

cw: underage drinking (like one paragraph mention), alcohol consumption (briefly in beginning), gojo's a bit of an asshole, some swearing, korean word used in a japanese dessert because idk the japanese word, self-depreciation, reader has reverse cursed technique, reader is a little pushy, blood, implied panic attack sorta, not canon compliant, major character death, gojo is a little ooc in the beginning, spoilers, angst, hurt/minimal comfort

wc: 6.4k (holy fuck)

note: hi anon. again, sorry this took so long. i'm unsure about how i feel about this, but i hope you enjoy it. this is formatted a little differently than the rest of the song fics, but i hope that's okay!! to everyone else who is awaiting a request: i promise it will get done at some point i just need to finish all of my event fics, and all my swapped extras, then i'll be back on track. thank you for being so patient with me <3

you can listen to this while reading, however the beat and tune itself is a little upbeat for the tone of this fic so i would recommend listening to it before/after reading!!

Event Guide | Event Masterlist | JJK Masterlist | Blog Navigation

January 9, 2018, 4:03 AM

The stale air reminds you of how deep under the surface you are, constricting your lungs. The ropes chafe at your wrists, and you’ve long since given up on staving off your boredom by counting the endless talismans covering the walls. Leaning back in the chair, you attempt to breathe. To forget that tons of earth are surrounding you, to ignore the oppressive weight of the talismans crushing your cursed energy. 

Looking back, you’re not sure when your admiration for your upperclassman had shifted from admiration and respect to something deeper. Perhaps it was the first time you noticed he wasn’t invincible. That he was human and struggled too. Or maybe it was when you shared your cheap supermarket candy with him, not expecting anything in return, only to be pleasantly surprised when he shared his expensive daifuku with you a few days later.

It could have been even later than that, when the reality of being a jujutsu sorcerer hit your little group without warning and you realized just how fragile Satoru was. But as waves of memories crash over you it was unimportant exactly when it happened. Succumbing to their pull, you sink into their peaceful blue depths, allowing the ebb and flow of the past to drag you away. 

January 1, 2006, 12:07 AM

Stumbling out of the second year’s dorm, the welcome sensation of the cold winter night washed over your flushed skin. You had counted down the new year just a few minutes ago and needed a break from taking shots with Shoko seeing as your upperclassman could outdrink you any day. 

Probably a little too tipsy to climb up to your favorite spot on top of the dorms you instead opt to take a short walk through the gardens, hoping the fresh air and sharp bite of the air would help you sober up. The silvery moonlight filters down through clouds that promise a snowy morning, barely illuminating the stone path beneath your feet.

Passing by a side path that leads to a small grassy clearing you pause, backing up. There, sprawled on his back with his blindfold removed, lay Gojo Satoru staring up at the sky. The innate beauty of the sight stuns you. His hair gleams as the moonlight highlights the pure white of his hair, and his eyes glitter, crystalline and sharp.

Your breath leaves you as you marvel at his otherworldly appearance before you approach him, laying down beside him on the frozen grass with a crisp crunch. Staring up at the navy sky scattered with stars you don’t say anything for a couple of moments.

“It’s a New Year.” You’re surprised he speaks first, but listen quietly, breath puffing in plumes of white before drifting away and disappearing. “It’s a New Year yet I’m not excited.”

Mulling over his words for a moment, you reply. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing. But do you want to talk about why?”

His hesitation is palpable so you continue. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. But if you do, I promise that it’ll stay between us.”

"It's just...I’m a year closer to graduating now, and I don't want to graduate. As soon as I graduate I'll officially be the honored one. The strongest sorcerer. The one expected to protect everyone. But I don't have a domain expansion and I barely have control over my cursed technique. I don't care about what the stupid higher ups think but..."

"But?" You prompted gently, turning your head to look over at him. As if sensing you gaze, he turns his head as well, meeting your eyes.

"But I don't want to let you guys down." He looks a little embarrassed. "Suguru, You, Shoko, Nanami, Principal Yaga, and Haibara. Oh, and Utahime I guess. I really really really don't want to disappoint you."

You sigh, and he sees your expression soften. "It may not be my place to say anything, but I don't think any of us would be disappointed in you no matter what you did. The higher ups and others may see you as the honored one, but to us you're just Gojo, our fun, sometimes obnoxious, classmate."

He snorts at that and you smile, relieved that it seemed to make him feel better. "Thank you." He says sincerely. "I really appreciate it."

"O-of course!" You stammer, flustered by his gratitude. "It was nothing, really. If you ever feel like that again you can come talk to me if you'd like."

He flashes his signature smirk, but it lacks its usual cockiness. "That would be nice. I'll keep it in mind."

With an endearing mixture of ease and awkward clumsiness he climbs to his feet, brushing himself off. "Well, I'm headed back in. Maybe you should stay out here and cool off a little longer. You're looking a little red."

Winking cheekily, he disappears in the direction of the dorm leaving you lying on the grass blushing furiously. A cold prick hits the side of your face, and when you turn to look up at the sky you notice it began to snow.

And despite the frozen flurries lazily drifting down before landing on you and stealing your heat, your chest feels warm and fuzzy. Maybe next time he needs to talk to someone he will come to you. Maybe he would allow you to be there with him. Maybe next time you would have a longer conversation.

Absorbed in your maybes and hopes for the future, you had no way of knowing this was the last time he would be open and let his vulnerability show.

May 14, 2006, 3:01 PM

The mood is strange as your group of five finally enter the barrier surrounding jujutsu high. On one hand, everyone is relieved to have finally reached safety, but on the other hand…

You glance over at Riko Amanai, the lively girl you had gotten to know over the past few days. It isn’t fair. She was only a year or so younger than you and yet for some perverse reason the universe had decided that her duty was to sacrifice herself and die.

Lost in your thoughts, you vaguely hear Gojo saying something stupid about never babysitting a kid again and Riko responding indignantly. 

It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair. It isn’t- 

Schlick

The wet sound of a blade running through flesh snaps you out of your thoughts, and you slowly turn, looking to your left. A long, vicious looking blade protrudes from the center of Gojo’s chest, the dark blue fabric of his uniform slowly turning a deep purple as his blood seeps into it.

Time freezes as you struggle to process what you’re seeing. You don’t understand. You made it within the barrier. You should be safe. So how-

Your breathing quickens as you try to make yourself move. Gojo is using weird, unnecessary metaphors to explain how he managed to save himself from the stab wound and telling Geto to leave, to take Riko and go. Your body still refuses to respond. Why are you so useless? Why can’t you-

Geto yells your name. “Stay here and look after Satoru! If something happens and he gets badly hurt you’re the only one who can help him. I’m counting on you!”

With that he’s gone, leaving you with the stranger with the scar on his lower lip, and Gojo, who’s muttering under his breath about how Geto must have no faith in him, assuming he’s going to get hurt like that. He’s gone and they’re fighting and-

Blood. There’s so much blood.

The man who did this is gone, not even bothering to go after you as you pose no threat to him. But Gojo, Gojo is on the ground, lying in a rapidly expanding pool of his own blood. A strange garbled sound falls out of your mouth, and you’re scrambling towards him, scraping the skin off your knees as you kneel at his side.

One glance is enough to tell you that you don’t have the amount of reverse cursed energy or skill that you would need to save him. But you had to do something. You couldn’t just leave him to die. 

“Gojo!” You yell at him as you place your hands over the gaping hole in his throat, blood spurting out from between your fingers. “Remember when Shoko and I tried to teach you how to use reverse cursed technique? Do you remember? Can you try to help me?”

Tears stream down your face as you push energy into him, slowly knitting the muscle and tendon in his throat back together. Already you could feel the toll healing him was taking on you, and your progress was too slow.

“Gojo! If you don’t figure it out you’re going to die. Hurry up, damnit!!” You sob, hoping against all hope that a miracle will occur and he’ll figure it out before the little time you are buying him with your healing runs out and he dies. 

Just as you’re about to lose hope, to give in and accept that you aren’t good for anything, that you can’t even heal a couple of wounds and save a life, the blood seeping through your fingers slows before stopping. With bated breath you pull your hands away and reveal…nothing.

Smooth, unmarred skin greets you, no sign of the gaping wound that was there only seconds ago. A quick glance down reveals that the stab wound in his chest is gone too. You know you weren’t responsible for his rapid recovery, so that could only mean-

“Gojo?” Your voice is quiet as you tentatively wave your hand over his eyes. “You in there? I can’t believe you figured out how to use reversed cursed technique on yourself that fast! You really are insanely talented!”

He opens his eyes, and you can just tell that something is wrong. For one, any emotion or sign of the upperclassman you so cherished was gone, replaced with an empty mask, devoid of all feeling. For another, his eyes were glowing. Glowing so bright it almost hurt to look at them.

“...Gojo?” You reach for him hesitantly, but he just stares right through you, almost like he’s looking at something in the distance beyond you. Your fingers only barely brush the dirty, torn fabric of his uniform before he appears to glitch, and disappears without a word.

Sitting back on your heels, you gaze in shock at where he had been only seconds before, unable to stop the sickening feeling crawling along your insides, telling you nothing will ever be the same again. 

August 03, 2007, 11:23 am

If the death of Amanai Riko just over a year ago was your polite -albeit cold- introduction to death, then the death of Haibara Yu is an unwanted guest barging into your house and forcefully familiarizing itself with you.

Of the six members of your ragtag group of second and third years Yu was by far the best person, beloved by all. His death probably hit Kento the hardest as they were the closest, but everybody felt the hole left by his death.

In the immediate weeks after you didn’t have time to question about what happened or think about how your upperclassmen were faring. You were stuck in an endless loop of caring for Kento; convincing him to eat, making sure he takes care of himself, telling him to keep on living. Caring for him took a decent amount of your time, and the rest of it was spent having breakdowns in your room and trying to hide the fact that you were having said breakdowns. You couldn’t be falling apart. You didn’t have much worth as a jujutsu sorcerer, you couldn’t help them much in a fight, but you could be there for them as a classmate and friend. If you couldn’t you were just useless all around.

Somewhere around when it had been a month since Yu’s death, you thought of Gojo. Gojo, who had told you a little over a year and a half ago about the pressure he felt to protect everyone. To not let anyone down. And once that thought occurred to you, it hung around in the back of your mind, a constant presence reminding you that Gojo could be suffering, that he may be blaming himself for all of this and no one was there to tell him it wasn’t his fault. So one day you went looking for him.

He was a relatively predictable person, so after checking his dorm, then the common area, then the training grounds, you were almost positive he was in the garden. The very spot where he had opened up to you for the first time. And sure enough, when you had picked your way through the overgrown foliage lush with summer you found him in the same position he was then; lying on his back and gazing up at the sky.

Quietly, you make your way over to him, flopping down onto the grass beside him. Getting comfortable, you take a moment to speak, and are caught off guard when he addresses you first.

“Hey.”

He speaks, not sounding surprised to see you. Well, of course he wasn’t. He probably sensed your cursed energy as soon as you started heading in this direction. Annoying jerk.

“Hey.” Fluffy clouds drift by overhead. “How are you?”

“I’m fine.” He answers in his normal overly cheerful tone. “What about you?”

A dry laugh escapes you before you can hold it back. “Hanging in there. Are you sure you’re okay? I just wanted to check in. You know, no matter what anyone else says or what you expect of yourself you couldn’t have-”

“I told you I was fine.” He interrupts, sitting up and ruffling your hair. You protest, sitting up and batting his hands away as he just laughs. “Don’t be such a worry wart. I can see the exhaustion on your face. Go get some sleep. Seriously. You look half dead.”

“Wow, just what every girl wants to hear.” You roll your eyes. “You flatter me, Gojo.”

“I know I know.” He grins at you. “Now, I’ve got important third year duties to attend to so I’ve gotta scram. See ya!”

With that, he’s gone, vanished to who knows where. Flopping back down onto the grass, you consider taking a nap outside hoping the fresh air would do you some good. It was a beautiful day, after all, and Gojo had told you to get some rest. But every time you close your eyes, all you can see is the grin on Gojo’s face. It’s large and toothy, and if you didn’t know him as well as you did you would think it was real. 

You would think it was real, except you know him well enough to tell that behind those tinted glasses, his smile doesn’t reach his tired, bloodshot eyes.

September 28, 2008, 2:36 PM

As soon as you heard the news you went to find him, knowing that he was in pain. Following Shoko’s directions and ignoring her warnings about leaving him be. If he needed to be alone you would leave. If he needed someone to lash out at, you would sit there and take it. If he needed someone to cry on, you would offer him your shoulder.

Whatever it was that he needed in this moment, you would be that for him. But you weren’t about to let him be alone at a time like this. Not when he just lost his best friend. You knew you were no replacement for Geto, and that it was selfish of you to go looking for him if he did truly want to be alone. But on the off chance that he did need someone, you couldn’t just leave him be.

Just as Shoko said you would, you found him sitting on the stairs leading up to Jujutsu Tech. He’s manspread, his elbows propped on his knees as he gazes out at Tokyo sprawled out below. 

“What is it?” His voice is empty and monotonous, so unlike his usual cheer. “Do you need something?”

“I, uh.” You flounder, words leaving you. What were you even supposed to say? “No. I don’t need anything.”

Slowly, you make your way down the stairs until you’re only a few steps away and pause. “I just wanted to ask if you need anything.”

“If I need anything?” He parrots, scoffing. “If I need something? Yeah I need something. I need my best fucking friend that’s what I need.”

You wince, the vitriol and anger in his voice apparent. Shoko was right. He was clearly struggling and needed space. You made a mistake in coming here.

“Of course. I’m sorry for coming here, I should have just left you alone.” You start to head back up the stairs and hesitate. “Just know, if you ever need something, anything really, I’m here for you. We all are. You don’t have to shoulder this burden alone.”

Having said what you needed to, you begin the climb back up to the entrance of the school, pausing when you hear him spit your name. You turn around, waiting for him to say more.

“You seem to believe that you, Shoko, and Nanami are capable of helping me and supporting me.” He spits the words at you, and you’re stunned by the quiet rage and despair that laces them. “But you aren’t. Simply because you guys aren’t strong enough. You don’t have enough talent. You will never understand what it is like to wield the strength and power that Suguru and I do. He is the only one that can even begin to understand the burden I carry. So don’t be presumptuous to assume that you can do anything for me.”

You open your mouth, your words sticking in your throat as you struggle to find your voice. He’s right, after all. You’re weak and useless. Who were you to think that you could do anything for him? “Gojo, I-”

The chime of his phone going off interrupts you, and he pulls it out of his pocket to check it. Standing abruptly, he shoves his phone back into his pocket, not even sparing a glance back at you. “Sorry. They’ve spotted him. I’ll be leaving now.” 

And yet again, he uses his technique to warp space, disappearing before your eyes. You’re left standing there alone as the wind whips at your hair, gazing at the city that you’re sworn to protect as a jujutsu sorcerer. 

Gojo was right. Not once have you been able to help anyone. At best you’ve managed to stay out of the way, and at worst your weakness caused trouble and put others in danger. You were worthless. You stand there silently for a long time trapped in a spiral of self-loathing and helplessness before you head back to the school, retiring to your dorm.

Later that night, when you’re washing your face and getting ready for bed you look in the mirror and stop. The look on your face, the look of self-hatred and worthlessness accompanied by the deep bags under your eyes and the unhealthy pallor of your skin is strangely familiar. You suck in a breath.

That’s right. This is the expression Gojo wore when you spoke to him earlier. That’s where you had seen it before.

December 27, 2017, 11:54 PM

“Hey.”

You flick on the lights, bathing Gojo’s apartment in a warm glow. After no one had heard from him in a few days, you finally went to check on him at your students' behest. All of them expressed concern for him in one way or another, wanting to know if he was okay so you finally gave in and said you would go check on him. 

He uses the same password for everything, so guessing the pin to his apartment was easy enough, although you weren’t sure what to expect when you actually saw him. Almost ten years have passed since the last time you tried to have a real conversation with Gojo, and as the last one didn’t exactly go well you weren’t eager to approach him with the same topic.

He was sprawled on an obnoxiously large couch in the main space when you entered, blindfold draped haphazardly over his face but at the sound of your voice he startled and sat up. You frowned.

That was strange. He should have been able to sense your cursed energy from miles away. Him being caught off guard by you meant he must be really out of it. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to surprise you.” You’re hesitant, slowly approaching him. Smiling awkwardly, you hold up the bag of daifuku (a favorite of both of you) that you picked up on your way here. “I brought sweets. You want some?”

You half expect him to tell you to get lost, so you’re surprised when you find yourself sitting beside him on the couch, silently sharing the mochi. Taking advantage of the quiet you survey his apartment, your chest aching at how empty and cold it is. It doesn’t look like anyone lives here, and you suspect this is the first time he’s spent the night here in months. You wouldn’t be surprised if you were the first person to enter this place other than him since he bought it.

“So.” You fidget with the soft treat in your hands, thick, dark red patso oozing out from the center when you squish it. “The first years are doing well. I was able to patch up Inumaki’s throat and head injury pretty easily while Ieri took care of Maki. Panda’s fine too. Yaga has him good as new. Oh, and Yuuta is closer to them than ever, I-”

“I’m assuming you didn’t just come to share daifuku with me.” He chirps, cramming another one of the sweets into his mouth whole. “I’ve seen you eat your weight in these and you threatened to castrate me the last time I tried to steal some of your daifuku. What’s up?”

“Okay first of all, that was almost a decade ago, get over it.” You shoot him a look, taking a bite of mochi. Normally the combination of the thick, sweetened patso and the stretchy, chewy glutinous rice cake was your favorite, but today it just tasted like a sticky mouthful of nothing. “Second of all I’m here because the first years are worried about you, and I am too. How are you holding up?”

“Me?” He laughs, the sound grating on you. “I’m perfectly fine. I just needed a day off to rest my eyes. I get that you all love and need me so much but can’t a man take a day off every now and again? Ah, the struggles of being important.”

“Gojo.” Your voice is quiet, but deathly serious. “Drop the act.”

“What act?” He reaches for another sweet, biting into it. The sticky smack of the rice cake separating from itself as his teeth sink into it makes you slightly nauseous. “Oh, are you talking about Geto? I’m not too torn up about it. I mean, he left what, eight, nine years ago now? He was practically a stranger at this point.”

“Then why did you tell Yuuta that he was the only friend you ever had?” When the sweet, floppy haired first year told you that you had almost started crying in front of him. “Did killing your best friend really mean nothing to you? How can you say you’re okay?”

He shrugged nonchalantly, popping another bite of daifuku into his mouth. “I dunno. But really, there’s no need for you to be so concerned. This doesn’t involve you-”

“How can you say that?!” You’re shaking, unable to hold back any longer. “You are the most selfish, self-absorbed person I have ever met! There’s no need for me to be concerned? This doesn't involve me? Did it ever occur to you that he was my friend too?”

Embarrassingly, tears blur your vision and you blink furiously to hold them back. “What about Ieri? Is this none of her business? All this time you’ve acted like you were the only one who lost him. You seem to forget that Ieri was in your year as well. That there were three of you, not two.”

The daifuku pops in your fist, sticky sweet filling smearing across your palm. Despite the white wrapping loosely draped over his eyes you knew that he wasn’t even looking at you as he calmly reached for another rice cake. That was your last straw.

You snatch the styrofoam tray away from him and hurl it against the nearest wall with all your might, unable to express your rage and hurt in any other way. The force of your throw sends bits of exploded rice cake and red bean paste flying around the room, splattering on everything. 

Silence falls over the room, and neither of you move. Then, infuriatingly, he barks out a laugh.

“You’ve gotten a lot stronger. I’m impressed. You must have worked hard.”

“Yeah, yeah I did.” You take a deep breath and make your way towards the door. Pausing with one foot outside, you look back. “Come find me when you’re ready to stop being an asshole. We’ll talk then.”

With that being said you disappear out the door, leaving him behind for the first (but not last) time. 

January 8, 2018, 12:03 PM

Absentmindedly swirling your stupidly expensive chai latte, you watch as eddies of milky foam spiral into fragrant chai. Across from you, a certain white haired man stuffs himself awkwardly into the booth, the cozy corner it’s located in not exactly tall-people friendly. 

“Did you deliberately choose the smallest booth in here?” Gojo huffs, rearranging his bunched limbs under the table. His leg presses against yours. “Long time no see. How have you been?”

“It’s been less than two weeks.” You sigh, setting down your mug and crossing your legs, severing your contact with him. “But I’ve been good.

You pointedly don’t ask how he’s been, and he doesn’t tell you, not that he would have had you asked. “I’m sorry I was an asshole. You were right.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“Is there anything else you want me to say? I don’t want to give you excuses.”

“You’re actually the biggest idiot I’ve ever met. Listen.” You lock eyes with him, holding his gaze. “While I would obviously prefer it if you just opened up to me completely, I would also be overjoyed if you gave me excuses because it would mean that you cared enough about my impression of you to try and fix it. But you have never once tried to explain yourself to me, or Ieri, or Kento. How do you think that makes us feel?”

He at least has the decency to look abashed. “I-I’m sorry. I never thought about it that way.” He clears his throat. “I never wanted to force you guys to share my burden. I realize I was wrong and that I was only making things worse by shutting you out.”

“Do you really?” Your gaze is intense, and he can’t help but admire the fire shining in the depths of your beautiful eyes. “I do. Truly. Can I…Can I talk to you about something?”

“I’ve been telling you, that’s literally all I want you to do.”

—-----------------------------------------

Hours later, you stare at Gojo’s retreating form, the warmth from his parting embrace still lingering on your body. Adrenaline is buzzing in your veins, your brain running a million miles a minute. Gojo was planning on killing the higher up. Gojo was planning to kill the higher ups. And he had trusted you enough to tell you about his plans.

Holy fuck.

Flopping onto your bed the instant you get inside, you stare up at the uneven drywall of your ceiling. Gojo is going to kill the higher ups, and when he does it will send jujutsu society spiraling. Some will support him wholly out of fear or respect. Some will attempt to put him on trial for his crimes. And some will attempt to cozy up to him in an attempt to gain power. 

Rolling over onto your side, you bend your arm and rest your head in the crook of your elbow, closing your eyes. Wouldn’t it be better if he just hired someone to kill the higher ups? No, because if they were traced back to him it would only make things worse. Honestly it would be best if he wasn’t involved at all. 

The faces of the second years and little Megumi (well, he wasn’t so little anymore) flash in your mind's eye. They need him. He’s the only one who is guaranteed to be able to protect them. He is their best chance at having a bright future.

 Mulling over your options, you briefly consider hiring assassins yourself but quickly dismiss the idea. There was no guarantee they would be able to kill the higher ups. In the last few years you were able to rise to a grade one sorcerer -and one of the more powerful ones at that- but even you wouldn’t have a chance at taking out all of them unless you caught them by surprise. 

Wait. That was it. It wasn’t guaranteed but if you plan accordingly you like your odds. Gojo had done so much for all of you over the last decade and finally it was your chance to repay him and show him that you were useful. That your training had paid off. The only problem was, he didn’t tell you when he planned to kill them. Which means if you want to make sure you get to them before he does…

You have to come up with a strategy, prepare, and take out the higher ups tonight. 

January 9, 2018, 4:54 AM

Gojo swears his heart stops beating for a few seconds as he stares at Principal Yaga in shock. “She did what?”

As his teacher speaks, Gojo is aware of the words leaving Yaga’s lips, but there is a strange disassociation between the syllables he speaks and their meaning as Gojo’s ears ring. After a few minutes of numb questions interspersed with stunned silence he understands enough of what happened and is gone.

He’s not sure how, exactly, he managed to figure out and get to where you are (Yaga must have pulled some strings) and everything is one confusing blur of gray until the door to the catacomb you’re being held in swings open. Then he sees you, bound to a chair and disheveled, the bruises marring your skin stark in the soft glow of the talismans. Yet somehow, he finds you as beautiful as ever.

“Who is-” You lift your head, and your eyes widen when you see him. “Gojo? What are you doing here?”

“Me? What am I doing here?” He shakes his head in incredulity. “Why are you here? Also, why wouldn’t I be here?”

“Because I’m basically a dead woman and associating with me will only cause you more trouble, especially after they’re done disposing of me.”

“No. Don’t say that.” He shakes his head in denial, his brow furrowed in determination. “I’m not going to let them execute you. Don’t worry I-“

“Gojo.” Your voice echoes through the chamber, and he falls silent, hair falling across his forehead and obscuring his eyes. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not!” His long legs carry him across the limited space as he paces agitatedly, anger in his voice. “How are you okay with dying? Actually, never mind. I don’t want to hear you say anything.”

Spinning, he faces you and for the first time since he entered he makes eye contact with you. His heart skips a beat when your eyes meet his, fire still blazing in the depths of your eyes despite the bone-deep weariness lining your features. It takes him a moment to find his voice.

“I’ll be back.” He interrupts, not letting you speak. “Just give me an hour, okay? Promise me that you’ll wait. Just for an hour. Promise me that you’ll still be here when I come back for you.”

Your hesitation is palpable, and in that moment he would have given anything in exchange for knowing what was occurring in your mind, your face revealing nothing. Finally you seem to come to a conclusion to whatever you were considering, and exhale loudly. 

“Okay. I promise.”

He nods jerkily, and turns, exiting the cell without saying goodbye, rationalizing that there was no need for goodbyes since he would be seeing you in an hour. As the doors swing shut, he turns around and catches a final glimpse of you, bloodstained and bound, before the door bangs shut with a finality that didn’t sit well with him.

As he shakes off the ominous sense of foreboding swirling within his chest and leaves, he has no way of knowing that in a mere fifteen minutes from that second, only a quarter of the time you promised him, the clan elders finished their meeting and sentenced you to death.

He has no way of knowing that in thirty three minutes, only a little over a half of the time you promised him, an executioner would enter the room he just left, before leaving a measly thirty seconds later, blood staining the edge of his clothes.

You promised him thirty six thousand seconds of time, but it only took less than two percent of that for your life to end in a cold, dank, room miles beneath the earth’s surface. It takes only half a minute, a fraction of a fraction of fraction of a lifetime, but in that tiny, insignificant amount of time, you leave him behind for the second, and last, time.

Present Time and a Little Past That

There’s no doubt that Itadori Yuuji is a good kid that deserves saving. Anyone with eyes and a conscience would agree. However, Gojo’s motivations for wanting to save him are a little less pure. Where he should see a fifteen year old boy, scared out of his mind and needing guidance, all he can see is you, and an opportunity to make up for his past failure.

When he first saw Yuuji, and on occasion after that, he didn't see fluffy pink hair and wide brown eyes. Instead, he sees your hair, lightly dusted with snow as you lay beside him on frost-kissed grass and your eyes, gleaming in the moonlight as you tell him the words he never knew he so desperately needed to hear.

Looking Yuuji is simultaneously so painful Gojo thinks death may be preferable, and as close to peace as he’ll ever get because even if it’s just little glimpses, he can see you again. So time and time again, he saves Yuuji’s life, and puts the futures and safety of his students above his own in an attempt to repay the insurmountable debt he owes you. 

A little less than six months later, as he lays on his back gazing at the bright blue December sky above him, he finds himself thinking about his students. Even without his lingering guilt and the responsibility he felt as the Honored One, he thinks that he still would have done everything he could to protect his students because they were good kids. 

He finds himself hoping that they will somehow find a way to triumph, and live normal, peaceful lives filled with love and joy and laughter just like they deserve. But in the final moments before his eyes drift shut he thinks of you, and hopes that wherever you are you’re happy. And maybe, just maybe, when he next opens his eyes he’ll be greeted by your smiling face, and he’ll finally get to say all the things he never got to tell you.

Little does he know that somewhere far, far, away there is a little airport. It’s a strange airport; there are no entrances, no baggage claims, no security. There is only one gate, leading to a single, unmanned plane that doesn’t have a set departure time, and a small waiting area with simple black seats.

In this area, a small group of people are gathered. There is a boy, around Yuuji’s age with dark brown hair and an animated smile, happily chattering away with another boy his age sporting a side part and an old soul that doesn’t match his physical appearance. Off to the side, a young man with deep, haunted eyes apologizes quietly to a grizzled older man, his body trembling as he cries.

The older man removes his glasses and wipes at his eyes, before patting the younger mans’ back and telling him he’s forgiven. And there, sitting on the chairs closest to the windows with a soft smile on her face, sits a girl.

A girl with eyes that burn with determination, and a self-sacrificing attitude. A girl who has so many things she wants to say, but the person she wants to say them to has yet to arrive. A girl who will wait, as many lifetimes as it takes, to see him again and tell him the words she holds deep in her heart.

In her fantasies, when they reunite he sweeps her up in his arms and holds her like he never wants to let her go again. No words are needed, and there are tears and laughter, and yes, kissing. She shows him the others. He embraces the young man with the dark eyes, and pokes fun at the old soul. Then they all go and board the plane together, heading to their final destination.

As the plane soars away into the sky in her mind's eye, something tells her to turn around. Slowly, she does, and a melancholy tinged smile stretches across her face as a familiar figure materializes in the center of the waiting area.

He may be a little early, but at last, he’s here.

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