#he also thought the hook made him look cool

[laurellala-comics]

HOORAY MIRACULOUS LADYBUG BUT ROCK STARS!

Ok thought dump time (sorry it's so long):

The story picks up with them in their early twenties. The band "Miraculous" has picked up a small cult following amongst the youths, they play at small local festivals and stuff but they've also started doing their own shows and traveling a little bit around France

Rose plays bass and sings, Alya plays lead guitar and sings, Juleka's on drums

Marinette is the only one that doesn't play an instrument- she wasn't originally part of the band, she was actually just friends with Rose and got invited to sit in on band practice and shyly inserted herself into the friend group by offering to help them with styling and their look and everything. She did costumes and ran the social media accounts.

Marinette does not sing "well" in the technical sense but she has a kind of awesome raspy scream singing style that she's able to pull off. She was joking around the first time she did it at practice, but someone in the band was like "omg wait that's really special and cool you should do it in a performance" and that person was... LUKA! Dun dun dunnnnn

Luka is Juleka's twin in this version (i know canon in mlb flops around on his age) and he and Juleka had originally started the band as a sibling duo, then Rose got involved when she and Juleka started dating, then they held actual tryouts to find a lead singer and wound up with Alya.

Marinette feels hugely untalented but Luka has such strong faith in her that she obliges and starts taking lead vocals, and this is when they really start picking up in popularity. She and Luka start dating around this time too (but it's kind of a thing where Luka is just in awe of her from a musical standpoint and Marinette likes him because he sees value in her. They probably should've just been friends but Oops too late)

Marinette is very much playing a character when she's out on stage, Ladybug, who is much more confident and cool! She's always been really shy and awkward but for the first time she feels accepted by her bandmates and by the audiences!

They have a small but dedicated fanbase and one of the most active members issss ADRIEN AGRESTE famed fashion influencer and lifestyle tik toker! He posts about his daily life in a sort of insidious form of advertising for the agreste brand (his dad is still a fashion designer in this au)

He has this very pure "boy next door" thing going on and he just posts his outfits (which happens to be agreste brand) and daily life as a model and he's also genuinely likeable and charming and so he's a bit of an internet celebrity

But although his posts aim to be very casual and encourage parasocial relationships, everything is sooo produced and has to pass by his father's marketing team and he is so micromanaged he cannot stand it!!! SO in his free time he kind of messes around online and he stumbled across someone's uploaded videos of concert footage of the band Miraculous... and he is hooked

He watches everything he can find and he wants to reach out to other fans and find out more about this band butttt his dad would never allow it :( His fancy son at a grungy alt band's concert? This would ruin the Agreste brand image!

And so he creates a FAKE ACCOUNT and inspired by the animal themed characters of Miraculous, he calls himself CHAT NOIR! and he comes up with his own dorky costume!

And though he hasn't made it to a real concert yet, he's in all of the fan spaces online, he even makes an official discord server and brings people together to chat about the band, and he comments really nice things on all the video uploads. Because he is LONELY.

And the fans are really nice and supportive of his little bandsona and it makes him feel really nice.

So this is all the background... here is the initiating event of where the au story "starts"

Luka leaves the band miraculous (and breaks up with Marinette).

They had mostly been playing around and having fun with things, with a very rock sound and aesthetic, but Luka wanted to get more experimental and more purposeful with their lyrics (more into the punk end of it)

He had started doing his own side project and Marinette had been kind of hesitant about it- basically she was nervous about doing anything that was a political statement because she didn't want to make anyone angry.

They fundamentally clashed, he believed that if you didn't make anyone angry you weren't saying anything worth saying, he saw music as an avenue for activism.

On the other hand, Marinette sees the band as something to entertain people and make them feel good as a distraction from crappy stuff, and also a security blanket/a way to make people like her. She just wants to keep the good thing going so she can feel accepted.

They couldn't see eachother's point of view, they break up and Luka starts doing his side project exclusively.

Marinette starts to worry that without Luka's musical guidance they'll flop, and that the other band members were only including her at Luka's insistence. Will they even want her around anymore? Are they even really her friends?

It's kind of embarrassing, but when she's feeling panicked it really helps to see the nice things that some of their fans say online. So SHE has a fake account that's not affiliated with herself (maybe it's called Tikki or like ladybugfan5000 or something silly) and she joins fan spaces so that she can talk to fans undercover and see what they really think of her (she is a little paranoid)

And while she's scrolling on her fake account sometimes she sees Adrien Agreste videos recommended to her. And maybe she watches some of them bc she has nothing better to do because he does have nice outfits and he's kind of cute or whatever and his voice is really calming so she ends up following him. But surely nothing will come of this (forshadowing).

Anyway. Back in Miraculous fandom spaces, Chat Noir is a big ladybug fan and so she keeps seeing him when she's looking for positive feedback. And she sees how sweet and welcoming he is to others in the fan space and so she starts interacting with him a little bit

Adrien can see that she is following his Adrien Agreste account and thinks this is really funny, and so he starts to poke fun at her as Chat Noir for liking Adrien Agreste. And she makes fun of him for liking Ladybug, which she sees as a private little joke because she is Ladybug

And it's like not a real crush it's very much a celebrity crush moment, but it's like a friendship bonding activity to talk about their celebrity crushes, and as they do they start to get to know eachother better and confide in eachother more... because Adrien is actually going through angst too

"what kind of angst" you ask? HAHAHA you fell for my TRAP! It's time for the asexualification beam of all my fav characters because if nobody will write my ace angst I will have to!!!

ACE ANGST: Adrien had been dating Kagami at his father's request, kind of as an image thing but also they were family friends and he was like I think I have a crush on her so yeah sure I'll date her!

ISSUE: Adrien does not actually want to makeout with her or touch her that much, like he doesn't MIND but it's not something he's really motivated by. Privately Kagami is kind of hurt that he doesn't seem interested in her and communicates this repeatedly but Adrien doesn't really know what to do about it... because he knows he cares about her but not in the way she wants

She breaks up with him and he breaks the news to his dad and Nathalie (who is part of the PR team that works on his videos)

And his dad is very focused on WHY they broke up and it's confusing at first but Adrien realizes that he's trying to figure out if Adrien is coming out as gay, which he absolutely would not be allowed to do publicly

And Adrien is like no no that's not it I like girls I just idk I feel like I'm not liking them in the right way and his dad is like ok great i don't care about this conversation anymore, as long as you aren't going to isolate any of our key demographics for agreste products by being gay i don't care!

And adrien is like :( oh. Ok. Good talk. And he starts thinking like "yeah no i definitely don't want to be kissing boys so I guess that's it and I'm straight totally and for sure and I'll never ruin my father's branding plans so I can stop worrying about this" *smash cut to him lying awake at night worrying about this*

So Basically the themes here are being liked vs being true to yourself. Adrien's Chat Noir sona is freeing for him as it allows him to express himself freely and represents him finding support in a community (oh gee what could this be a metaphor for Huh!). On the other hand, Ladybug is Marinette's desperate plea to be liked. There are some aspects that are freeing but ultimately she's being who she thinks people will want to see. She will have to learn about authenticity and that sometimes to support the ones you love you DO have to make a statement

It's also an exploration of some cool ace stuff I don't see explored often, namely that it is easier to have a crush on someone out of your reach like a fictional character or a celebrity because you won't have to actually ever deal with the possibility of them liking you back and the pressures of navigating a physical relationship.

Adrien starts to fall in love with Marinette on her secret account a little but he's also kinda thinking "would I still feel this way if I knew her in person? What if I only feel this way because she's far away and this is safe..." and then they have to decide if it's worth trying to meet up and seeing if their feelings go anywhere while ALSO navigating being honest about who they REALLY are. Oh mortifying ordeal of being known, the fickleness of emotion, etc

AND ALSOOOO i think examining how queer community can still be so important for hetero-romantic aces. YOU ARE PART OF THE COMMUNITY IF YOU WANT TO BE! Your experience is queer and atypical even if it may not be as obvious to others. I think het ace people are still subconsciously drawn to other queer people in the same way other queer folks experience, but then feel tentative about engaging because they worry it isn't for them. IT IS FOR YOU!!!! An ace relationship is SO punk, you are reconstructing the idea of what a romantic relationship needs and entails and you are stomping all over amatonormativity and it's so awesome I LOVE YOU!!!

Additionally, I think this is a love letter to online fandom spaces and the way that anonymity lets us be more honest with eachother... people are so unabashedly themselves online and that can lead to some really deep genuine relationships forming

My thing is I like this idea too much to tie it fully to Miraculous because I've drifted away from the fandom a lot over the past 4 years that I've spent cooking this up (i still love the concept of the show I'm just behind on episodes and plot), but I'm also not committed enough to execute this story in an original way with new characters. So it's just in this awkward limbo state. Um but yeah... check out my miraculous ladybug rockstar au tag in case i make more and check out the band show-ya for my inspo xoxo

[pigeonstab]

Btw, college au Nightmare lost his hand (literally misplaced it) for like 370 years and wore a hook instead. Dream teases him relentlessly about it.

[satorena]

#INTRO2MUNCH101

summ. when suguru “eat it off the bone” geto actually turns out to be suguru “flaps the left lip until she calls it a night” geto, he finds himself questioning everything he thought he knew about his skills. . . talk about a rude awakening.

cw. explicit content. foul language. fem!reader. college!au. eventual smut (but not in the way you think. . .) mild modern lingo. allusions to music artists. cunningulūs. male masturbation. reader has a belly piercing. she’s also depicted mean by the boys. gojo cameos bc i can’t not mention him. tattoo artist!geto. substance consumption. lowkeyyy self-indulgent reader. 10k wc.

rena's note. this is a spin-off to p power, so i’d suggest reading that first to understand the correlation! & shoutout to @yung-notorious for the idea <3

suguru geto is a simple man.

your pleasure is his pleasure. he’s always prided himself on being a pro at the art of cunningulus. honest— he’s always left with swollen lips, a heavily sprayed face and a solid five star ratings at the end of his work. his jaw feels tired out, scalp burning from consistent hair tugs, and his breathing uneven from lack of oxygen. but at the feel of plush thighs squeezing his face and the repetition of his name flowing into the air before getting squirted on, he remembers it’s always worth it.

no pain no gain, right?

wrong.

because here he finds himself, a hefty hour in since he first dove in between your soft legs, and there’s been absolutely no development. sprawled on your back on his sheets, arm slung over your eyes, and your breathing even. you look fucking bored, and his heart is sinking to his ass.

geto will use every trick he has in the book. he’s noticed overtime that girls have different bodies, therefore he needs different tactics to stimulate those bodies. he nips at your puffy bud, sucking on your clit for external pleasure. no use. fine, then he’ll push your thighs up some more for a deeper penetration of his fingers in your cunt— still no use. the only sounds being produced are his mouth slipping against his own saliva at your pussy because he can’t even get you wet enough.

the pit in his stomach grows larger. he wonders if maybe you’re just the silent type? he’s come across those before.

he’s getting nervous out of his mind, so shaky and uncoordinated that his hand slips and meets your lips for the umpteenth time— and only then do you release a guttural groan, the very first sound you’ve made in a long ass time. wait—

“did. . . did you cum?” he pants, pulling his sticky lips away from yours. his face feels moist, blood rushing all in his head and he’s lightheaded. but still, he has to know.

you push yourself up to your elbows, annoyance clear as day. he’s yet to seen this look on a girl after pulling every card known on the table, “yeah. . . to the wrong fucking house.”

oh fuck.

☆ ☆ ☆

he first spotted you chatting it up with your friends on the school’s soccer field, on a random tuesday afternoon, and he’s been hooked on you ever since.

the universe played a funny game, and he realized university truly is a small ass world. amongst your friends, he noticed a familiar face. one he’s been hearing and seeing of one too many times lately, on multiple separate and traumatic occasions— gojo’s girlfriend. suguru found himself bonding with her due to their familiar point of interest— that being gojo— and believes he can now make of her a friend.

geto watches his best friend’s eyes shimmer and he flashes his infamous million dollar smile. he really is obsessed with his girlfriend and she doesn’t even know— and geto finds himself wishing he had somebody he’d be this ecstatic over. must be nice.

“i’m gonna go say hi to my girl real quick,” gojo taps at his shoulder, and geto nods. he’s cool on it, he’ll wait back here until he’s done, or can make his way to his next class depending on whatever gojo and his girlfriend arrange. “you comin’?”

“i’m probably gonna head to our next lecture.” geto voices out, pulling his phone from his pocket to check the time. he feels gojo peeking over his shoulder, in which he assumes to verify if that would be necessary.

over forty-five minutes. damn it.

“that’s mad pointless, class doesn’t start till more than half an hour,” gojo says, and geto doesn’t see himself waiting around that long for a lecture. no way, “just come— her friends are chill.”

fuck it, he goes. naturally, gojo is all over his girl and her friends expect it. geto does give them a little wave when gojo introduces him. one of the girls mention having heard of him through a friend— something about a failed talking stage. mad federal, and the sheepish chuckle geto offers when you give him an unreadable look makes him want to crawl into a ditch.

so now you think he’s a whore. awesome.

and gojo’s smirk definitely doesn’t help him out. he doesn’t help out at all actually, so enamoured by his girlfriend that he leaves geto to fend for himself against a pack of wolves (read: nosy girls). he replies only when spoken to, nods when necessary and throws in a few “that’s crazy,” to which the girls fail to pick up he’s out of words to say.

well, everyone except you.

you’re quiet. in fact, the whole time, you haven’t said shit to him. you sit back and observe, occasionally typing on your macbook, or reapplying your lip combo. you didn’t have any words to say to him. even when your friends would talk to you, you gave them short answers and went back to listening to whatever was playing in your airpods. he could tell from that small interaction alone, you were the mean one out of your clique.

and fuck if that didn’t make him want you more. there was just something about mean women that made him want to break through their fake ass exteriors and watch them turn all soft and chummy for him.

blame it on his corruption kink.

gojo confirms his thoughts when they’re finally on their way to class. he kissed his girl goodbye and waved off her friends, to which they all (minus you) collectively cooed, “byeee gojooo!” which he found odd, but kept silent. he gave them a small nod before following his best friend.

they’re a few steps in the science building when the words slip before he can help it, ultimately cutting gojo’s rambling off, “yo, who was that girl?”

gojo glances at him before chuckling, “there was like seven of ‘em. which one?”

“the quiet one.”

it throws him off guard when gojo laughs hard. like, really hard. it attracts the attention of bystanders, who give him a crazy look but gojo ignores. as if they’d try to press him about his volume— the two were pretty adored around campus.

geto does find his reaction quite interesting, to which he cocks a brow and offers a chuckle of his own, “what?”

“oh, you definitely mean y/n,” when his laughter dies down, he finally answers. he lifts his shades to his hairline to swipe a tear. “she’s mean as fuck, bro.”

“right?!” geto laughs, tapping at gojo’s shoulder. it only charges gojo’s laughing fit back up, “i could tell from her vibe. she gives off those ‘men ain’t shit’ girlies on twitter. whole time, she’s probably laid up in bed with one.”

“you don’t even knowww,” gojo holds his shoulder and shakes him a bit. geto does in fact know, because he’s dealt with girls like her before. they’re always a good ass time. “she does men dirty. like, absolutely dogs them. heard one phone call too many.”

oh? even better than he expected. she’s probably the type that used to love hard before getting her heart trampled on and decided to seek revenge on all men. like, on some jennifer’s body shit. geto can’t help but smirk, “lemme see for myself. put me on.”

gojo falters in his step. his grip on geto’s shoulders loosen and his expression changes— not by much, but the once lighthearted smile switches to a skeptical one, “you serious?”

geto lets out a soft sigh, shrugging gojo’s hands off his shoulders. “don’t start asking too much. i did a favour for you and your girl, didn’t i?,” well, technically speaking it wasn’t like his comment had been the deciding factor for the two, but it did open gojo’s eyes. “you owe me one.”

“i don’t owe you shit,” gojo laughs, throwing his arm around geto anyways, “buuut you’re my boy and i’m not stingy. i’ll see what i can do, i know you’ve been getting a lil jealous of wifey and i.”

“shut the fuck up.” geto’s chuckles contradict his statement.

from that point on, it’s smooth sailing. gojo texts his girl asking if she’s seeing anybody. they have a little back and forth because his girlfriend assumes he’s asking for himself— which gojo gets all dramatic and throws geto under the bus for free. welp! it all worked out anyway since after he and gojo parted, you’d thought he was fine shyt. judging from your character, he doesn’t exactly take gojo’s words for what they are.

but he’ll take the opening, it’s as good as any.

time to plot.

☆ ☆ ☆

the second encounter was purely coincidental. and simultaneously embarrassing.

see, geto prides himself on his mysterious act— granted he was anything but. people see all that is gojo and automatically assume that geto has to be the cool one. it creates a perfect balance, no?

haven’t people heard of birds of a feather flock together?

so yes, he’s also a nerd. he typically enjoys spending his wednesday afternoons at dice board cafes because why not. it’s a chill, lowkey joint right off campus and not a lot of people gravitate towards, therefore the perfect spot to camp out before his evening lecture.

besides, his buddy choso works there and it gets him discounts. it isn’t the only reason he shows up, but it does help a lot on his pockets. being a student is awful, financially.

geto sips on his choco latte through a straw, browsing through the board games pamphlet as he decides what he’s going to play today. most of these games are pretty pointless if he doesn’t have an opponent, but he likes to think it helps develop his iq. he hears avenoir playing through the cafe and knows choso’s on aux.

who else could be playing this toxic ass shit?

he’s torn choosing between snakes and ladders or chess when he hears chimes at the front door, signalling somebody’s entered the establishment. he doesn’t think much of it, going on about minding his business when he hears choso say your name.

the latte enters the wrong tube and he chokes.

geto collects himself quickly, wiping any stray liquid past his mouth as his head snaps up. you’re propped up against the counter, and though he can’t see your face, he definitely recognizes your build. . . okay, yeah that sounds fucking pervy but if he stalked your page a few times, who’s business is it but his own? it’s not like you’d know. granted, he had got caught up liking one of your older photos but he took the like right back!

he debates on walking up to you. how would that even work without seeming desperate? you’ve been checking out all of his boxes so far— your face, body and attitude (question mark) are all tens. he does want to get to know you— at least be somebody in your life. but damn, why is he overthinking this? all he has to get up there and sweet talk you. he’s done this shit before.

“yo, suguru!”

shit.

purple orbs shift towards where his name was called, and lo and behold, there stands choso. and naturally, you look back to who was summoned, but god— social media does not do your face justice. he last seen you about a week ago, and had nothing but your instagram and his memory to rely on.

he makes his way to the counter and ignores you. doesn’t spare you a glance once— though he stands right at your side and watches you watching him through his peripheral. he nods at choso, “what’s up?”

choso, ever the genius, flicks his eyes between geto and you, before clearing his throat, “shoko just texted— somethin’ about a new client. how’s the studio looking?”

“booked all week,” geto answers truthfully, and he notices you’ve shifted your gaze, “little to no openings. why though?”

choso hums, jolting down online orders into a little notebook, “not even for a special friend?”

geto squints his eyes at that. there isn’t anybody he’d call a special friend that hasn’t already been booked or wouldn’t have his number to squeeze in an appointment. granted, he is a dnd warrior but even his friends know of that quirk of his, “depends. who’s the special friend?”

“me.” and he feels his heart skip a beat. fuck. he tilts his head over to the side, and good lord, your face card gave every girl on campus runs for their money. seriously, your facial features complimented you in a way that told aphrodite— the textbook definition of beauty— to go fuck herself, and hard.

“oh?” geto cocks a brow, and lets his eyes roam up and down your frame. shameless, yes, but he has a reputation to uphold. your rest in face makes his own look like child’s play, “didn’t realize we were on special friends basis.”

you click your tongue, “didn’t realize we were on lurking spam accounts but pretend we don’t exist the next day basis either,” you quip right back, picking at the white bow glued to your acrylics.

sassy. geto chuckles, now fully turning his body around to face you. you match his movements, and he toys with a ring on his middle finger, “guess you got me all figured out,” he pauses, shifting his gaze to choso, who’s already eyeing him. “sounds like you wanted me to reach out.”

“boy please,” you scoff, pausing your nail inspection. you let your hand hang, “you choked earlier because you heard my name. that corny nonchalant act isn’t the flex you’re thinking it is,” a huff escapes your lips, and geto feels blood rushing to his face. “your lurking ass was months deep into my page just a week ago— did you find any men ain’t shit vibes from the photo dump?”

choso stifles a laugh, and when geto looks at him, it dies into a cough. well damn, you really didn’t hold anything back. read him like a book actually— and it doesn’t help that gojo can’t keep his mouth shut for shit. it widens the grin on his face. he thinks he likes you.

“well,” geto smirks, “can’t say i have— means there’s still an opening.”

you furrow your brows, “oh? an opening to what exactly?”

“an appointment, of course,” he shrugs, running a hand through his hair. his locks are getting in his face, but the messy look always gets him compliments. might as well shoot his shot, “you know. . .” leaning his chin into the palm of his hand, “for a special friend.”

his double entendre definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by you. he watches how, despite the mean mugging, there’s a glint of mischief in your eyes. you’re squinting just slightly, almost as if you were weighing out the pros and cons. geto won’t break the eye contact first— he’s on a mission. he hopes the tired eyes look will be on his side this time.

tattoo or dick appointment— he would one hundred percent make an opening for you. anything to get his hands on your body.

“are we still talking about the tattoo parlour or . . .”

both you and he turn to choso, who’s watching the situation unfold. just count on him to ruin the mood, whether the obliviousness was feigned or not. choso tightens his brows at the look geto shoots him, “what?”

“i’m gonna head out,” you grab at your handbag, hopping of the seat. nicely played choso. you gather your items and slip them in your purse, sliding a few bucks across the counter. choso grabs the bills and stick them in the tip jar, nodding at her. “catch you in poly sci?”

“if you don’t skip again.” choso snorts and you flip him off, slinging your bag over your shoulder. you turn on your heel and make your way towards the exit, ultimately dismissing geto. that doesn’t feel too nice, he should probably stop that bad habit.

he rises to his feet before he can help it. his hand grabs at your wrist and notices how much smaller it seems in comparaison to his, and he hates the next words that leave his mouth, “what about me?”

you glance down at his hold on you, before looking back up at him, “what about you?” your face says everything your lips haven’t— you’re getting the ick.

he wants to wince. okay, yeah that was corny, “when do i get to see you?”

you drag out a mini hum, your gaze dancing over his silver chain around his collarbone, “dunno. you have my socials so i assume in the next hour.”

he tilts his head to the side, and the pad of his thumb grazes over your smooth skin. he doesn’t fail to notice the way your hand stiffens under his touch, “so if i slide in your dms in the next hour, i can expect an answer?”

a snort leaves your chest, and he can’t tell if it’s a condescending one or an amused one. what he does know, however, is that he’s going to be seeing you sometime soon. you take your hand back into your possession before laying it in the dead centre of his chest, pushing him back just slightly, “i’ll see you around, geto.”

his eyes trail over your figure, every step you take out of the establishment, slightly starstruck by the entirety of you— your boldness. the thrill he was beginning to feel felt like a high. he hasn’t met anybody this entertaining in a while.

“you’re so fucking corny.” he thinks he hears choso insult him from behind. he doesn’t pay him any mind, despite the middle finger that tips towards the ceiling. partynextdoor blasts in the cafe, specifically freak in you, and he hates how he finds himself relating to the lyrics,

room full of beautiful women but he only wants one.

☆ ☆ ☆

“you stalking me, pretty?”

“sure,” you nod your head, raking through the items on the clothing rack. you don’t spare him a single glance, picking a top off the rack and inspecting it, “if stalking means visiting the busiest thrift store on the busiest hour in the busiest city.”

geto lets out a small laugh, shoving his hands in the pockets of his cargos. you make him feel like a nuisance, like he’s a pest wasting your time. ironic, seeing as he wasn’t that much of a bother just last night, when you’d been indulging him in your inbox, “of course you’re the thrifting type.”

you pause your actions, price tag in your fingers as you side eye him through locks of your hair, “and you’re not?”

“didn’t mean it in a bad way, sweetheart.” geto shrugs, pulling off a cropped baby tee and bringing towards you. it has sequins sewn in the material, the gems writing out juicy couture. “this would suit you— belly piercing and whatnot.”

the top is cute, there was no denying so. a pretty shade of pink that suited your complexion, but letting his ego inflate bigger than it already was out of the question. he could tell your thought process from the judgmental look you offered, “oh god—you’re one of those fake ass, streetwearing fashionistas, aren’t you?”

geto blinks a few times, before letting out a sincere laugh. he’s been called a multitude of things before, but that one was new, “you got all that from me suggesting you buy this juicy couture tee? don’t all girls fiend over this vintage shit?”

“it’s that corny ass personality of yours,” you grab the shirt, throwing it in your cart. he wants to make a comment on that, but you beat him to the chase, “the phoney nonchalant act, the streetwear, your insta aesthetic— you’re so scripted.”

“my insta aesthetic?” he repeats, and doesn’t miss a step to catch up to you. your hands are back on the handle of your shopping cart, and if the way his elbows bump into your shoulders bothers you, you don’t make point in commenting on it. “who’s the lurker now, hm?”

you roll your eyes, pushing the strolley ahead, “don’t let it get to your big ass head. your feed screams you’re those toxic ass brent faiyaz wannabes,” he watches your fingertips rake through more clothings that pass your way, before you shoot him a glance, “let me guess— he showed on your spotify wrapped.”

his silence speaks volumes, and you click your tongue, “see? scripted.”

“and what about you?” geto counters when you make a pit stop. you pull away from your cart when a denim skirt catches your eye. you lift the skirt up to your eyes, before looking over your shoulder, cocking a brow.

“what about me?”

“the tweet reposts, the song choices for your highlights, the whole spiritual baddie persona,” he presses behind you, his chest meeting your back. he rests his chin atop your head, purple eyes landing on the clothing article that’s lowering in your hold, “if my page gives brent then yours definitely gives jhene.”

you’re mute for a second, and you chuck the skirt into the cart. you pull away from beneath him, spinning on your feet to face him, and you’ve got a scowl on your lips, “what’s wrong with jhene?”

“and you call me the toxic one.” geto pokes at your cheek. you swipe his hand away, and he laughs, “don’t get me wrong though— she makes good music. but let’s not act like she’s all innocent either,” his gaze lowers to your glossy lips, the fullness of the pair hypnotic, “a real freak. should i call you my pussy fairy?”

“do not,” you reply, weaving around him to make your way back to your cart. geto laughs, snatching a few things of the racks before dumping them in your stuff. you give him a deadpanned look and he whistles it off, feigning ignorance. “jhene’s a lovergirl. thought i was part of the men ain’t shit community.”

“you’re not gonna let that go, are you?” geto sighs. he owes gojo another thump in the head.

you roll your eyes, “thank your homeboy for that.”

“two things can be true at once,” geto fiddles with the hem of his jacket. he’s back at walking step by step with you, and you haven’t told him to fuck off yet, so he’s going to milk the opportunity out. “you’re mean but a lovergirl. you hate men but a real freak with them. right or wrong?”

you halter in your steps, and geto’s now a few steps ahead of you, so he looks over his shoulder to meet your bored expression, “i know you’re not trying to read me in the middle of value village.”

“no better time than the present,” he smiles, one that creases a dimple in his cheeks. “come on up— what are you waiting for?”

you stare at him some more, inhaling sharply, “mind you, i never invited you to join me,” you shake your head but comply regardless. cute, looks like you’re enjoying his company more than you’re letting on.

so he graces you his presence some more. he shops along with you, sneaks clothes into your cart when you’re distracted and asks you stupid questions. it’s a good time— to him at least, being able to get to know you some more without interruptions. naturally, you feign that his company is the bane of your existence, but he doesn’t miss the twitch of your lips when he taps his card into the reader at the check out.

hell yeah he’s got money to spend and is willing to show off if it means getting on your good side.

it’s only after he helps you bag your shit into your car, that he realizes this is where the both of you part ways. it annoys him slightly, but he doesn’t need to overstep his boundaries. he closes your trunk and makes his way to the driver’s side, where you’re already buckled up.

he taps at your window and the glass rolls down all the way, to which he leans forward. he’s in your line of sight now and you sigh, tilting your head sideways, “what?”

“do i get a goodbye kiss?” geto teases, honest, the boyish smirk he offers accentuating the playful undertone. the last thing he expects is you shifting in your seat, pushing yourself up and peaking your head out the window.

his smirk drops, brows jumping to his hairline. you’re really fucking close now, and for a split second he thinks you’re actually going to do it. he can see the flecks of colours swimming in your orbs, the tip of your nose bumps into his and your breath fans his cupid’s bow.

fuck, you smell really good. he bets you taste even better. his mouth is running dry, mindlessly darting his tongue out to wet his own lips. he doesn’t realize he’s let himself lean into your space, eyes narrowing on your mouth parting over his.

he’s pulled out of his trance when two fingers press at his forehead and push. he blinks his lashes, snapping back to reality as you sit back into your seat. you look amused— as if you’d played the funniest game right in his face and he’d been the star player.

“i’ll see you around, geto.”

and you drive off.

☆ ☆ ☆

“come back in a few weeks for a checkup. we’ll make sure the healing process is running smoothly. i’ll catch you soon.”

he lets out a tired sigh when the door finally closes, slumping into his seat and shuts his eyes. he’s exhausted— having woken up early for lectures and labs to back to back appointments with clients. this time around, the parlour is always booked and busy. students find it the perfect timing to get tatted to let it heal before showing it off in the summer.

it’s smart for them but idiotic for him. midterms are up, and the only time he has to study is in between appointments. he slides off his gloves and drags his seat towards his desk, redirecting his attention focus towards the blinding screen.

he feels a headache building at his temple, sipping at his iced coffee to keep him energized. contradicting, sure, but you didn’t have the luxury to be a beggar and a chooser when you were a full time student. the parlour he ran resided in his loft apartment, on the second floor. he enjoyed the comfort of his own home, spacious room and wide windows compared to outside stores.

his cat, nanako, purrs at his feet and he feels his heart swell. if there was one weakness he had in this world, it’d be her. he picks her up from the floor, presses her at his rib cage and nuzzles his nose in her fur.

“hi baby,” geto coos, and nanako lets out a sound. he continues to coddle her, fluffing her fur and rubbing at her ears, “it’s been pretty lively in here, hasn’t it? i knowww,” he coos, and as if nanako understands his words, she makes a pitiful sound that slightly shatters his heart.

geto decides to place her on his lap, her company serving plenty of motivation as he rolls back to his desk. he grabs the remote to his built-in speakers, turning the volume higher, before locking back in. exams are full of crap, and words are starting to jumble on his screen— he’s beginning to contemplate if this education shit is even worth the stress.

he’s an hour deep in jolting notes down on his ipad when he hears a knock at his front door. he scrunches his brows and glances at his agenda— he isn’t due for an appointment until another few hours. he sits it out, starting to believe he’d maybe imagined the sound. he knows it isn’t gojo since he’s celebrating an anniversary with his girl, and any other friend would’ve called to let him know they’re outside.

probably some jehovah witness shit, he thinks to himself, fingers hovering over his speaker remote to crank the volume back up. he turns back to his laptop screen, petting nanako mindlessly when his ipad flashes an instagram notification.

yourstruly.yn: open up

he jumps to his feet, chair rolling back. nanako flies to his desk, landing on all fours as she hisses at him for his suddenness. geto grabs her and kisses her ear, “sorry baby,” before sitting her on the floor. she walks off to her mini bean bag right at the foot of his desk, and he senses an attitude coming from her.

damn, he’d forgotten he squeezed you in last night in the midst of his sweet talking. that was truly a stupid move, he was already behind on studying, and because he likes to think with his head instead of his actual head, he’d fall even further behind.

he checks around the flat— picks up stray wrappers and fixes throw pillows, arranges his sheets. he was a clean man for the most part— he had been so distracted with his studies that there wasn’t much to dirty in the first place. his candles had already been lit so he knew the place smelled fine. he’s pretty positive his loft is clean enough to leave a good first impression.

he fixes loose hairs and straightens out his hoodie and sweats. thank fuck he’d showered not too long ago— he’s beginning to understand why his mother was always so insistent on being clean in case of random pop ups.

when he does finally open the door, there you stood. it was pretty chilly outside this time around, so he wasn’t surprised by the harsh wind flowing in and the clutch of your coat in your hold. your nose began reddening, and you sniffled, scowling from the cold.

you’re so cute, he sends you a smile, “hey.”

“hi,” you replied, sniffling again. “you ever planning on letting me in?”

“dunno,” he crosses his arms over his chest. he leans against the doorframe, ignoring the way he was starting to feel the frosty wind setting in his bones, “maybe if you ask nicely.”

you shoot him a deadpanned look, “move.”

“no.” geto smiles, “try again.”

“move, now.” a small pout is starting to form on your lips. he really liked testing your patience, since it always seemed to run low. you must’ve met your match— because geto always had time to fuck around.

“close, but not quite.”

“oh my goddd,” you groan, and that’s when he decides to let up. it really is colder than a bitch outside and he’d already kept you waiting while tidying up. he lets out a chuckle when you turn to the side, “i’m leaving— too damn cold for this.”

“alright, i’m playing,” geto widens the door. you stop your movements and glare at him. he aims an arm towards the inside of his loft, “don’t go, come in.”

you grumble something beneath your breath but comply, walking right past him. he follows behind you, shutting the door close and is immediately greeted back with warmth. you slip your shoes off and place them on the rack, before stepping in further into his apartment.

he slides his hands into his sweatpants’ pockets, catching up to you in the living room. your head is tilted upwards as you inspect the place though you remain in place. he stands beside you, bumping his shoulder into your arm, “so? up to your standards?”

you’re quiet for a while, letting your eyes roam around as the words build in your mind, “it’s typical,” you shrug but don’t elaborate. you’ve been staring at an art piece he’d done first year when he was fried out of his mind. you shift your gaze back to him, “where do i put my shit?”

“you can leave it in my bedroom, if that’s fine.” geto suggests and you nod wordlessly, to which he leads you to the second floor. he’s walking up the stairs and prays he doesn’t fall flat on his face— his socks can be a real bitch sometimes.

you both make it to his bedroom, with you trailing a little behind. he grabs a hanger from his mobile clothing rack, stretching an arm out to you, “i’ll hang your jacket here.”

you slide off the coat from your frame and hand it to him, to which he hangs on the rack. you circle around his bedroom with your tote on your shoulder, while he makes his way back to next to his desk. it’s pretty quiet for the most part, besides the music playing gently in the background.

your gaze lands on the cluttered items on his desk, noticing the half empty cup of coffee, notebooks and ipad on display, “did i catch you at a bad time?”

“honestly? yeah,” geto shrugs, before motioning at your tote bag. you slip it off and hand it to him, to which he sits at his nightstand, “but it’s my fault anyway, i squeezed you in a busy time. you know how exam season gets.”

“i can always reschedule,” you offer, checking your phone screen for the date, “it’s not that deep.”

“i don’t want you to leave,” geto slumps back into his seat and heaves out a sigh. he spins the chair around to catch you giving him a flat look. he leans back in his seat and spreads his thighs, smirking, “would you stay?”

“depends. are you going to be studying?” you quip, crossing your arms back to your chest.

geto ponders on what to say next. it’s not like he doesn’t want to tatt you up, but he really is caught in a bind. he also doesn’t want you to leave— not when he’s been wanting to see you since the last time he’d seen you. does he prioritize his wants or his needs?

he hums, “i’ll do whatever you want me to.”

you roll your eyes, scoffing as you make your way to his nightstand. for a second, he thinks you’re getting ready to leave and a weird feeling of disappointment settles in his gut. instead, you grab the bag and sit on the edge of his bed, pulling out your macbook and crossing your legs.

he smiles at that, “attagirl.”

“corny.” you mumble, chewing on your bottom lip as you begin typing away.

there’s a comfortable silence that fills the room. he’s back to browsing through his lecture notes, noting down valuable information and memorizing terminology. you don’t say anything either, but the sound of your nails typing at your keyboard blends well with his r&b playlist playing. sounds like you’re writing down an essay or report, depending on whatever your major is.

about half an hour into the silence, does he decide to break it. he looks over his shoulder to where you’re settled on his bed, “you good?” he checks up on you, and you let out a burnt out sigh. he knows exactly how you’re feeling.

“i guess,” you huff, twirling your necklace. your eyes are stuck on your screen, brows creasing into a scowl, “this shit is frying my brain though.”

“what are you writing?” he indulges, dropping his apple pen back onto his desk and spins in his seat to face you. maybe he’s also in due of a break— he’d rather be talking to you anyway.

“this crim report,” you answer, picking at your nail, “it’s not exactly hard but mad lengthy. i have to write a ten page report based on this article and how it contradicts societal norms.”

“ten pages?” geto whistles, rubbing at his chin. he’s settled deeper in his seat, naturally manspreading. you’re much better than him, he would’ve given up before even starting— reports were not his thing, “how far are you in?”

“i started this morning,” you hum, “so i’m four pages in.”

geto nods, “and when is it due?”

“tomorrow night.” you push your laptop off your lap. you close the screen shut and stretch out your legs, releasing a breathy moan as you relax your thighs. “i’ll do this shit later— my head’s starting to hurt.”

geto swears he’s never been so in sync in thought. he dismisses the idea of studying the second you had closed your macbook. probably a bad idea but at the moment, he couldn’t care any less, “want some entertainment?”

you cock a brow, “don’t say no stupid shit.”

“twenty one questions,” geto speaks nonetheless and finds himself beaming brightly when you scoff, “can’t a guy want to get to know you better?”

you ease yourself on his bed, slumping into his sheets as you exhale. you shift onto your side— a sinful curve at your side— tucking your knees and lean your head into your palm, “oh fuck off,” a breathless laugh and nanako makes her presence known, hopping right by you in the space between your body and the edge of the bed, “didn’t know you had a cat. she’s cute.”

“how’d you know she was a she?” geto wonders, surprised just slightly by how welcoming nanako was around you. she purred when you stroke at her fur, nuzzling further into your chest. nanako hated everyone— especially gojo, who unironically visited the most.

“instinct,” you shrugged but there’s a faint smile on your lips. not directed towards him, but his baby, “i also have a cat— he’s a fucking menace though.”

that’s one thing in common already, “like mother like son,” geto grins lazily when you flip him off mindlessly, and when you raise nanako in both your hands, he’s ready to warn you she isn’t a big fan of sudden movements— but when she mewls, the same sound she makes when geto brings home a new toy, the words die down in his throat.

he observes you both silently. you cradle nana as if she were a newborn infant, adoring and loving yet simultaneously careful and steadily. you’re cooing, calling her a sweet girl and rubbing at her ear, and nanako accepts you rather easily— too easily.

“woah.” was this those non-sexual turn ons people spoke about? for somebody so mean, you were oddly gentle with pets. he liked that— really liked that, so much that he pulls his phone out and snaps a photo of you two. but of course, because the universe loves to see him fumble, the flash goes off.

your head snaps to the side and he freezes. you narrow your eyes at him, slowly lowering nanako, “did you just—”

“so!” geto cuts you off, chucking his phone back onto his desk. it makes a loud cluttering sound, damn near knocks his drink all over, but ignores it, “my turn. what’s your cat’s name?”

“milo. and don’t cut me off—”

“milo the menace,” he cuts you off regardless, not wanting to have to decipher just what exactly possessed him to do that. he’s never done so, and he wasn’t about to explain why he’d done it just now. deflecting king! “i need to see the little guy. got any pics?”

you huff, extending a hand behind you to find your phone. when you clutch onto the device, you swing your legs off the bedside, always careful with nanako clinging to your lap. you lay her down on the floor, much to her dismay, before making your way towards him.

his eyes are stuck on your body before his mind can tell him to stop. not like it mattered much, your own eyes glued to your phone screen as you searched for the pictures he’d asked. you’ve got a matching tracksuit on— though the hoodie is cropped, thus exposing your navel piercing. he’d always had a thing for those, the pretty good jewel dangling below the button.

it didn’t help that your thong straps sat atop your waist.

he spreads his legs further open, and you stop right in between. for a moment, you’re stuck on your phone, and geto really wants to get those thighs straddling him. you look delectable— he’d pin your knees to your damn ears, sprawled on your back, and eat you out until you pleaded him to stop.

your hair was pulled back into a bun, and from this angle, he spotted scripture at the column of your neck. there was wording inked in arabic, and he made a mental note to ask you what it meant later.

geto leans back into his seat when you fold forwards, and he gets a good whiff of your vanilla scented perfume, tingling his senses in the best way, “found it?”

you nod your head, swiping through your gallery, “yeah, my bad,” you have a folder named ‘mimi’ and as expected, was filled off candid photos of your cat. he pays attention as you slide your finger on your screen, selfies of you both in the morning passing by.

“cute,” he isn’t talking about the cat, and his gaze flicks from the screen to your face. there’s still a considerate amount of space between you both, but he can see your eye colour much clearer this close up. you blink your lashes at him and he smirks, “anything else you wanna show me?”

you sniff, “don’t be gross.”

“i meant of milo,” geto definitely didn’t mean of milo. you cock a brow skeptically, and he mirrors the look, though the smile on his face grows, “what a cute lil thing,” his voice lowers and his words trail off. there’s a beat of a pause for a while, and his gaze falls on the plumpness of your lips, “you gonna let me pet your kitty?”

another beat of silence. you’re staring at his lips, and he wonders what you’re thinking. he can tell you’ve picked up on what he’s laying down (hopefully you in the next few minutes) but he can’t tell what your next move will be.

“depends. . .” a soft whisper, and he feels your breath fanning over his cupid’s bow. you flick your eyes back at him, and he finally understands the whole siren eyes shit. through lidded eyes, your stare is intense— simultaneously pulling him in closer while pushing him back. you’re toying with him, and the hand he slides up from your thigh to your ass is enough fuel. “you any good?”

he brings a second hand to the other ass cheek, and urges you onto his lap. you comply, looping your arms at the back of his neck. he feels your nails grazing at his scalp and he holds back a lethal shudder. your weight feels amazing against him— his hard on poking and making its presence well aware.

“i’d like to think i am,” he knows he is, but playing humble always goes a long way. he lets his hands run over the cup of your ass, trails back up to your hips, and slides a finger beneath the thong strap. when he snaps the material at your skin, your back arches and you press your chest against his own.

“well,” you exhale when he noses into the crook of your neck, right above your tattoo. he’s littering wet kisses at your hot skin, your taste ever so sweet against his tongue. god, you must taste divine. at your jugular, he’s able to imprint your perfume into his mind. “only one way to find out.”

geto hums at that, relishing in the way you moan at a particular suck, and focus on nibbling at that spot once more. you’re tilting your head for easier access, hips grinding against his own for better friction. your hands are soft and cautious— they trail from his nape down to his chest, and further down to his waistband.

he’s on go, ready for whatever timing you’re on. though, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out by the way your fingertip traces right above his pelvis, that you’re both on the same page. he drags his lips from the column of your neck up to your jaw, and stops right above your parted lips.

he has another cocky remark on the tip of his tongue, in typical suguru fashion, but you beat him to the chase, glossy lips pressing against his. the kiss is short and definitely leaves him wanting more when you pull back as soon as you’d leaned in— but you’re a mere centimetre away.

you whisper, not before another kiss, “don’t disappoint me, suguru.”

and he’s never ran into bed so fast.

☆ ☆ ☆

the door slams shut.

he’s left with a painfully hard reminder in his sweats that he fucked up bad. he thinks he dissociated a little between the labia flapping to the coat zipping. it’s only when he notices that instead of hearing lip smacking sounds, he hears bryson tiller’s lame ass (no shade, his ego is simply wounded), that you really left.

fuck.

geto rushes back to his bedroom, the walk of shame up the steps enough to make him want to jump off— as he takes out his phone, immediately goes through his contact list and presses on the name. it rings twice before the call gets picked up.

“yooo!”

“you still busy?” geto asks, voice hoarse as he flops down on the edge of the bed— his now empty bed. damn.

“nah, just dropped off wifey,” gojo replies. he hears music playing faintly in the back, as well as the sounds of honking. he must still be in the car, “why, what’s up?”

“i fucked up.” geto sighs, running a hand over his face.

“oh?” he isn’t surprised to find out gojo’s surprised. he’s still surprised by how the events turned out and it’s barely been ten minutes, let alone five. “say no more, i’m on my way.”

geto hangs up. he throws the phone away, before falling flat onto his bed. he picks up your scent on his sheets, your warmth slowly disappearing— another painful reminder he messed up. where he’s expecting a wet patch of anything on his duvets, he finds nothing. zip. nada.

his eyes fall shut, “shit.”

☆ ☆ ☆

“and that’s pretty much the gist of it all.”

he exhales a cloud of smoke. more silence. geto’s starting to get sick of all this silence. it was radio silence with you and now even more radio silence from gojo. his hand never stops to rub at nanako, who’s been serving as a cuddling partner in this grand moment of crisis. the only person to ever have his back.

so, geto knew that confiding in his best friend this secret of his would be risky for a multitude of reasons. for starters, geto never fucks up. this would be ultimate blackmail content for him, and geto honestly doesn’t blame him. for two, he was just giving gojo shit about never having eaten pussy. that’s just downright humiliating. and for three, he has a girlfriend who he doesn’t keep anything from. on top of that— his girlfriend is friends with the main culprit here.

overall a bad idea. he does it nonetheless, because satoru is his best friend despite it all. he isn’t too shocked when the silence is filled with bellyaching laughter, though.

“wait— i’m cryinggg,” more laughter. gojo’s now kicked his feet off the couch and is doubling forward. his shades bounce off his head and hit the leg of the coffee table. he doesn’t pause his laughing fit one bit, not even when geto throws a throw pillow his way.

it bounces off his big head and geto scoffs, bringing the joint back to his lips, “oh fuck off.”

“my fault man,” gojo apologizes though he doesn’t sound apologetic. he’s leaning forward to grab his shades back, and he’s back to swiping stray tears. “that was a good laugh— shit.”

geto hums at that, extending the blunt towards him,“glad to hear my misery has brought you entertainment.”

“see, you get it!” gojo jokes, welcoming the joint. seems like he got cocky, however, his laughing mood not quite over as he inhales. he quickly chokes on the smoke, which fades back into cackling, “oh shit—”

geto sneers, annoyance quickly rising, “quit fucking around or pass it back.” he was being pissy, yes, but his pride had been curb stomped. and it hadn’t even been an hour ago!

“nah, nah, i’m good,” gojo waves him off, despite his free hand tapping at his chest. he collects himself soon enough, and takes another hit. this time it’s successful. geto lowkey hoped it would get caught in his throat again.

“sooo,” gojo drags out, melting into the couch, “what now.”

“what now?” geto parrots.

“what’s the next move?” gojo elaborates, fingertip tapping at the blunt, and ashes fall into the tray. the end of the stick crumbles in the same way geto’s ego had earlier. “you’re gonna keep letting her think you suck at giving head?”

geto throws his head back and sighs tiredly, “what else is there to do?” he hears the sound of sizzling in the background, “i fumbled bad, bro. you don’t think she already posted about me in her girls’ private story?” more sizzling and exhaling, “i’m the storytime of the day!”

he feels gojo nudge his thigh with his foot. he looks back and the joint is presented to him. he gladly accepts it.

“what even happened?” gojo wonders. and oh boy, if that isn’t the question of the day. geto is still trying to find the answer to that. had it been out of nervousness? had he gotten too cocky? had it been her?

“i honestly wish i could answer that,” geto slips the roach into his mouth. “i didn’t feel nervous until after i realized she wasn’t fazed,” he drags out a hit and ghost inhales, “maybe it was a sign from above— to shut the fuck up sometimes.”

“maybe,” gojo snorts, throwing his legs over geto’s lap. nanako hisses at the intrusion, but the white haired man ignores her, “don’t let yourself go out sad like this. hit her back up— whatever happened to loving challenges?”

“what kind of fucked up ass challenge is this?” geto mumbles, mainly to himself.

“if i was in your shoes— which i’d never be,” because he’s gojo, he feels the need to add, “i’d put my pride aside and talk to her. like no homo shit, but you’re a great eater— yeah, no, i’m taking that back instantly.”

geto looks as horrified as he feels, “quickly, even.”

of course, gojo laughs but proceeds, “the point is, you know you’re good at it. everybody fucks up once in a while— don’t let it define you though. think of it as a minor setback for a major comeback— if you care enough, you’ll put your pride aside and do something about it. if you’re this down about it, then it must mean something to you.”

geto can’t tell anymore whether gojo’s talking about the failed pussy eating attempt or you. regardless, he knows there’s truth to his words. has to be the weed talking.

“and who made you the pussy connoisseur?” geto snorts, pressing the bud of his joint in the tray. it sizzles weakly as he kills it, starting to feel that high course through his veins.

gojo sighs dreamily, “why my lovely lady, of course.”

“looks like she taught you well,” geto relaxes himself into the tight space of the couch, settling nanako on his chest. it’s now his turn to nudge gojo with his foot, his sock-cladded toe digging at his jaw. “woulda never expected this from a rookie just a few months ago.”

“well duh,” gojo swipes his foot away, “i aced that course. got my phD in cunningulusophy and all. even won valedictorian.”

geto laughs, resting his lids. he was starting to feel sleepy, indica will do that to you, “enroll me in whatever class you took— i may need to slut myself out for extra credit. my prof’s a tough nut to bust.”

“intro to munch 101,” gojo nods his head, shutting his eyes close as well. there’s a comfortable silence that fills the air for a while. and despite the fact that his sight manipulated, he could hear the smirk dripping off his tone, “if you ever need a letter of recommendation, i got you— alumni’s honour.”

“oh fuck off,” a mixed harmony of laughter and vibrating chests.

☆ ☆ ☆

fun fact: suguru geto loves showers.

the aroma of cleanliness enhanced by thick fog. the scorching water droplets trickling down his skin, the vulnerability of his nakedness inside these four walls. he strangely feels most at ease, most raw in this moment of solitude.

he’s able to gather himself too. there isn’t much to accomplish in a shower once you’ve gotten rid of the day’s dirt. so, he likes to take the opportunity to think. to think deep and hard.

his mind’s all scrambled up. it’s been about three days since you were last in his apartment, two days since he’d thought about it, and a day since he last seen you (granted it’d been on your story, virtually, but still).

this has been the biggest feat he’s faced in a while. if he recaps it, this is what’s he gotten: he invited you over. you came the next day. he didn’t cater to you the sole reason you came. you didn’t mind. you both studied for a bit. he asked about your cat. you ended up on his lap. he ended up in bed with you. you ended up leaving with a chunk of his dignity.

that didn’t explain shit, but it did remind him of his failure. it reminded him that he’d finally met his match. it reminded him he needs to start backing his shit up. it reminded him of how good you smelled and tasted down there. it reminded him of how pretty you looked.

his cock twitches and he glances down. it also reminds him he never ended up cumming, too engrossed in his anxiety to jerk one out.

he feels as though the glass doors of his shower protect him from reality. he’s hard, though mortified, but still hard. he’d spent a long time (two days) suppressing the memory away, but there was no way to mistaken your taste on his tongue. how sweet you smelled. how soft you felt—

geto fists at his dick before he can help it. his free hand plants at the wall before him, and he works his wrist. he twists at his shaft slowly and closes his eyes— behind his lids are photographic memories of you on his lap. memories of you on his bed. memories of the scent of your panties. memories of your tits in his mouth.

sure, you’d made more sounds off the foreplay for the foreplay— but that didn’t take away how turned on he’d been. how his dick twitched in his boxers. how he’d humped the mattress. how he’d moan in your cunt.

“y/n,” geto moans your name, sinful yet hushed, his hand working faster. his thumb grazes his over slit and his gut drowns in heat. he wants a redo. he deserves a redo— you deserved a redo. “fuckkkk,”

next time, he’ll get it right. and if he doesn’t, then he’ll want to try again and again and again— until it ends with your cunt clenching around his tongue and his face sprayed vigorously in your essence. until your thighs tremble around his face, your hand clawing at his hair and your back arched off his bed. until his name bounces off his walls and echoes so loudly his neighbours complain.

he wants a redo.

he jerks back as he paints the tiles white. the joints in his hand ache, the water from the shower head getting colder. geto pants heavily, chest heaving as his load is released from him. his cum drips from the wall and into the drain at his feet— but his dick is far from well spent. if he spends another hour in the shower, it’s nobody’s business but his own.

suguru geto loves showers.

☆ ☆ ☆

“oh. you actually showed.”

“redo,” geto pants, having sprinted from his apartment. he’d spent the next three days after his shower incident wallowing some more— at some point, it just annoyed him. though slightly underwhelming, he was on his phone in bed a few minutes ago, going through his camera roll when he’d seen that picture he took of you and nanako. his feet guided him to his car before he could help it. choso helped him out with the address.

“redo?” you parrot his words, leaning against your doorframe. you crossed your arms over your chest, and it’s only then he noticed your appearance— flimsy camisole and pink lace panties. fuck, he wants a redo now.

“i want a redo.” geto repeats, but is quickly hit with a gust of wind. he hadn’t brought a jacket with him in the midst of his impulse, and goosebumps were beginning to form at his skin. he shoots his shot, “you ever planning on letting me in?” talk about deja vu.

“dunno,” you play along, eyes narrowing. “maybe if you ask nicely.”

swallow your pride, he hears gojo somewhere in the back of his mind. he shakes that thought off quickly. this desperation had to be bigger than a pride issue— he was ready to get on his knees and beg her to let him in. pride? that had been drained to the sewers the second he busted all over his shower days ago.

“lemme in and i’ll make it up to you,” geto tries instead, taking a step closer, “please?”

that seemed to be the correct answer as you push open the door to your apartment further. you turn your back and geto lets himself drink up your backside— he hadn’t seen it last time but you had dimples sitting right above your perky ass. he watches your hips sway left and right, and even tilt your head back, a smirk etched on your face, “you comin’?”

you will be, “cute.” his lips twitch into a small smile, and closes the door behind him.

☆ ☆ ☆

fool him once? shame on him.

geto doesn’t allow himself to make the same mistakes twice. if one fuck up is enough to tear him down for a week straight then why the hell would he do it again?

you’re sprawled on your back, legs spread with enough space to fit his body in between. his hands plant on either side of your face, his bulge pushed up against your core. he feels your warmth through these layers of clothes, and he rolls his hips greedily, feeling himself already grow addicted. your chin is raised high, lids blown open as you stare at him all doe-eyed.

his brows pinch in the centre of his forehead. that faux look of innocence you’re offering is doing wonders to his dick. your tits sit beautifully beneath your top, arms back on him as you pull him in closer, and he lets himself fall prey to you. for a moment, the tip of his nose bumps into yours, lips ghosting over the other, hips colliding to meet yours.

“mhm, that’s it.” you let out a sigh, throwing your head back into your pillows. there’s an opening to your neck calling his name, and geto wastes no time to latch his lips there. he slips a hand beneath your tank top, fingernails grazing over your skin to creep up to your mounds. he flicks a thumb over the bud and you sigh blissfully again— he then cups the flesh.

he loves the way you squirm when he kisses down your body, “i got you, pretty,” stripped from your cami, his lips leave open mouthed marks all over your skin. from the column of your neck, to your breasts, down your torso and past your navel, “let me take care of you.” the lower he gets, the more intense your rawness reeks— and it’s a damned good smell.

he lands right above your clothed pelvis, and he inhales sharply. he won’t make the same mistake this time, he can feel it. there’s something lingering in the air, something indescribable— but he’s confident he won’t. because when he skips your cunt in favour to pamper your inner thighs, dragging his wet tongue all over erogenous zones, he spots dampening right where your clit would be.

bingo.

your hand cradles his hair, and the other props your body up by the elbow. he glances up at you, cock throbbing against your mattress. your beauty still renders him speechless— runs his throat dry and makes his tongue feel heavy. he doesn’t want to decipher what this means either, and decides to conclude he’s simply thirsty for you.

“suguru,” you call at him. he blinks and the hand in his hair snakes down his neck, and pushes him deeper. his nose nudges at your throbbing clit, and his tongue peeks out of his mouth to lick at the damp material before he can help it. two fingers hook at your panties and push them to the side, revealing glistening folds. your slick drips between your crack and stains your sheets. he thinks he hears his stomach growl a little.

another swipe of his tongue, this time in contact with the raw you, and a breathless moan rips from you, “don’t disappoint me this time.”

and he feasts.

☆ ☆ ☆

gojo’s woken up to a notification from his phone.

it’s still pretty late— or maybe early, and his pretty girlfriend is miles away in lalaland. she snores softly, cuddling into his side, and gojo’s ready to cuss out whoever dares potentially meddle with his girl’s sleep. he’s starting to get grumpy.

when his phone undergoes face recognition, he lowers the brightness immediately. he swipes through his notification center and notices an attachment sent by geto.

now that peeks his interest. he presses on the message.

suguboo: [1 attachment]

suguboo: passed intro2munch101 with an A+ 🫡

gojo can’t help the laugh that leaves him, though is quickly quieted down when he feels stirring at his side.

“well i’ll be damned.”

yes, gojo is obsessed with his girlfriend. also 10k words on geto???

[whytheylosttheirminds]

Don't Call Me Kid - Chapter 5 (part two)

(Rafe Cameron x Reader series, 3.8k words)

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

series content: some angst, eventual fluff, slow burn, tomfoolery and shenanigans, drinking, fem!reader has occasional insecurity and body image issues

⇢ series masterlist

Years later, you’d still wonder if Topper did it all on purpose. 

When you asked him, he’d just wink and say “bet you’d like to know.” 

As your group walked down the dock towards the rental kiosk, Topper pulled out his phone, grinning down at the screen.

“What’s funny?” Carter tried to read over his shoulder.

“Nothing,” he tucked his phone in his pocket quickly, failing to hide the cheeky look in his eyes, zero poker face. “Kelce is coming.”

The guy Carter had haggled with brought your group over to the three jet skis and gave you a demonstration on how to drive them. You weren’t paying very close attention, more focused on the uneven pairing of the five of you and how to ensure you didn’t end up on the same jet ski as Tom. His rudeness this morning was the final nail in the coffin of your crush.

The guy gave Carter three keys, and you met her eyes, knowing she was thinking the same thing. 

Topper looked at Carter hopefully, his big puppy dog eyes watching her with anticipation. You felt for him, the two of you really weren’t all that different. Sure, he’d gotten to hook up with Carter plenty of times, his crush not totally unrequited, but she’d never given him what he really wanted. At the end of the day, you were just two people who were really good at loving people who didn’t love you back. Still, you knew in your heart of hearts that Carter did love him back, even if she wouldn’t admit it. Maybe you would never get your dream, but you could make sure that two people you cared about got theirs, and that might be the only thing that made this all worth it.

You planned it out quick, knowing Carter was seconds from asking you to ride with her so you wouldn’t be with Tom, and also knowing that what she really wanted was an afternoon alone with Topper.

“I told Kelce I’d ride with him,” you blurted out. 

“Did you?” Carter asked skeptically, trying to figure you out.

“Yeah, I think he’s still worried I’m mad at him,” you made up off the top of your head. “Thought I’d throw him a bone.”

Carter watched you the whole time she boarded the back of Topper’s jet ski, telling him to wait up so they didn’t leave you alone. Tom and Sabrina didn’t seem to care about leaving you, speeding off the second they climbed on their jet ski, Sabrina’s over-the-top shrieks echoing through the air.

“That bother you?” Topper asked when he caught you scowling in their direction.

“Actually, I’m thinking they might be made for each other,” you concluded.

“So you’re not, like, into him?” Topper asked hopefully.

“Not anymore. That ship sailed so quick,” you snorted.

“Ah,” he tried to play it cool, “good to know.” 

“Don’t get any fucking ideas,” Carter warned him.

“I didn’t say anything!” He insisted.

“You don’t have to, you have zero poker face,” Carter said. “No Tom does not equal yes Rafe.”

“I’m just saying it’s good to know. Am I not allowed to know things?” 

You rolled your eyes at their bickering, less than surprised they were having this conversation right in front of you.

“Y’know, you guys can just take off, I’ll be fine waiting for Kelce,” you offered, desperate to move this conversation about your love life out to sea and away from you.

“Right, Kelce,” Topper nodded. “Kelce is coming.”

“Why are you being so weird?!” Carter squinted at him.

“I’m not! I just wanna go!” Topper revved the engine of the jet ski.

Carter looked at you one more time, checking that you were okay with this.

“Have fun!” You said to reassure her.

That’s all Topper needed to hear, he hit the throttle and pulled away from the dock as fast as he could. Carter’s laughter filled the air, she grabbed him tight and tucked her chin in the crook of his shoulder as he drove. She was happy, so you were happy. Your whole life, that’s really all it took, and you knew she felt the same way about you.

With that lovely thought, you climbed on the jet ski so you’d be ready to go as soon as Kelce arrived. 

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Rafe held the keys a little too tight, Kelce struggling to pry them from his hands.

“You gotta take it easy on the clutch, she’s sensitive.”

“I know how to drive, man,” Kelce wriggled the keys from his grip as he climbed into the driver’s seat of Rafe’s truck.

Rafe stalled by the door for a minute, his feet suddenly feeling very heavy. He looked around the marina, scanning for the group. His heart skipped a beat when he found only you, bobbing in the water on your jet ski all alone.

He’d texted Topper a head’s up that he was coming and asked him to let you know. He didn’t want you to think he was in on Topper’s dumbass scheme to get you two together. If he was gonna do this he was gonna do it right, not try to trick you into it.

Now you were waiting for him, looking so gorgeous with your legs on either side of the seat and your hair blowing gently in the wind. 

Usually, he didn’t call girls beautiful, typically opting for hot, or sometimes pretty if he was drunk. But the only word for you right now, and always, was beautiful.

“You gonna let me leave, man?” Kelce asked, gesturing to Rafe’s hands, still clutching the handle of the door.

“Yeah, sorry,” Rafe pulled away, wiping his hand against his board shorts when he realized it was clammy, the sight of you making him nervous in a way he had never been before.

“What’s got you so worried? Are you scared of her or something?” Kelce mocked him.

Rafe was surprised that Kelce had actually caught on to who he was looking at, giving him an annoyed eye roll.

“I’m not scared of her,” he defended himself.

“Don’t even worry about it man, I bet she’s still wrapped around your finger.”

Rafe shot Kelce a steely warning look he’d given him a thousand times.

“I’m just saying, you don’t need to worry,” Kelce explained. “You’re the man.”

Kelce was an idiot, and he spent a good ninety percent of their friendship pissing Rafe off, but he always tried to hype Rafe up. Usually he was annoyed by it, but right now, he actually needed it.

You used to talk about him that way, too. Oh, the money he would pay for you to see him in a good light again. He’d swim across this entire bay just to hear one kind word about him coming from your lips. 

“Nah, I’m really not,” he shook his head slightly, looking back toward you. “But I think with her I could be.”

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The audacity, the fucking nerve of him to come strolling down the dock looking that good. The sun actually broke through the crowds at his arrival, like he’d bribed the gods. He strolled towards you so casually, his grin easy, like he didn’t know he was the most attractive man you’d ever seen in real life. It pissed you off.

“What are you doing here?” You snapped at him when he reached you.

His grin faltered, like he was the one surprised to see you.

“Didn’t Topper tell you I was coming?” He asked.

“No, of course he didn’t,” you said, finally understanding the reason for Topper’s strangeness earlier.

“I asked him to,” Rafe swore. “I didn’t want to make you think I was trying to-”

“I think I’m just gonna go alone,” you cut him off, turning the key in the engine of the jet ski, desperate to put an ocean between you and him before he said another considerate thing that he’d just undo later. “You can rent your own.”

“No can do,” said the owner, arriving to hand Rafe a lifejacket. “This is our last one. You better take your boyfriend with you, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes at the situation and the misogynistic comment. 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you mumbled. 

Rafe felt the correction was unnecessary, but you didn’t seem to be in the mood for constructive feedback at the moment.

“Is it cool if I, uh, can I come with you?” He wasn’t walking back down this dock without trying.

“Fine,” you agreed reluctantly. “But I’m driving.”

“Good with me,” he climbed on quickly before you could change your mind.

With a kick that sent you both lurching forward, the jet ski roared as you tightened your hand on the throttle. Instinctually, Rafe’s hands landed on your side, holding you both in place. You only had a second to feel the pads of his fingers clinging to the soft skin of your waist before he pulled them away.

“Shit, sorry,” he said.

The guy on the dock leaned forward to push the jet ski from the dock, redirecting you out toward the bay.

“No, actually you should hold on,” he instructed. “These babies go fast and it’s a little choppy out there today. Take it real easy out of the marina and then you can kick it up when you’re in open water.”

You could feel Rafe’s hands twitch with hesitancy before they rested on your sides again, so lightly you wondered if he was actually touching you at all.

With a push, you drifted out to sea, slowly picking up speed with the turn of the throttle.

“Do you want me to let go?” He asked, leaning in so you could hear him over the roar of the motor.

Somehow, you thought two completely conflicting thoughts at the exact same time:

Yes, now.

and

No, never.

You settled on, “whatever.”

Rafe started to let go, but the jet ski hit the wake of a nearby boat, and you both nearly flew off the seat. His grip tightened protectively, practically pinning your body down. With his strong hands on you so firmly, it felt like you could hit a tidal wave and he’d still have you in his grasp. You needed more of whatever that was.

Your laughter filled the salty air as you purposefully drove you and Rafe over the choppiest patches of the water, hair whipping behind you into his face, and he didn’t even care. He watched you in the side view mirror on the front of the jet ski, memorizing every inch of your smile like he’d never see it again.

“Jesus, are you trying to kill us?” He teased, yelling over the woosh of the wind.

“It’d be a fun way to go!” You yelled back, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

Rafe’s hands still on your waist, you felt him lean in slightly. Even with two lifejackets between you, the proximity of your bodies was electrifying. You could feel his strong thighs on either side of your hips, closing you in everytime you hit a bump, securing you in place. You wondered if he was doing it on purpose or if it was just his instinct, you didn’t know which was hotter.

The water rushed behind you, a foamy wake marking your path as you continued driving as fast as you could. The others must’ve gone a different way out of the marina, because they were nowhere in sight. The sky was darkening slightly, the shift in weather causing most boats to drive the opposite way, back to the docks. But you just kept going, and Rafe didn’t tell you to turn around, both drunk on the adrenaline of the speed and the feeling of each other’s skin.

After a particularly jostling bump, the engine sputtered slightly.

“Fuck, what was that?” You puzzled, turning the throttle harder but gaining no speed.

“Here, you gotta twist it like this,” Rafe’s arms wrapped around you, his hands covering yours as he guided you to turn the throttle in the exact way you just were.

“That’s exactly what I was doing,” you bickered. “It’s not working.”

“Maybe I should drive?”

“It’s not my driving, something’s wrong with the jet ski,” you argued, swatting his hands away. 

“Can you just let me try?” He argued back.

“No, you’re making it worse!” 

The engine continued to sputter until it cut completely, causing both your bodies to lunge forward as it came to an abrupt halt.

“Rafe what did you do?” You accused him.

“What did I do? You wouldn’t even let me touch it!” He snapped.

You turned the key in the ignition over and over. The jet ski growled a few times but never started back up. Eventually, you gave up with a frustrated huff.

“I think we’re out of gas,” you conceded.

“Well, did you ask the guy if it was filled before you left?” Rafe questioned.

“Oh, so now this is my fault?” You craned your neck to see him, anger in your eyes.

“No, that’s not-”

“I’m so tired of this, Rafe.”

“We’ve only been out here for like a minute.”

“No, not this,” you motioned toward the water, “this,” you motioned between you and him.

“Oh. Me?” He tried and failed to hide his hurt feelings.

“Not you, just, all this back and forth. One second we’re having a good time and the next you’re pulling away or snapping at me. I have fucking whiplash.”

“Are you sure it’s not just from the jet ski?” He attempted a joke, it only half worked.

“How are we gonna get back?” You redirected the conversation before he could see you were smirking.

“A boat will come by,” he said confidently. “We’ll be fine.”

No boats came by in the following minute, or the following five. You sat in tense silence, your previous words still hanging between you. Your head hurt from the wind and trying to figure this man out.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, almost inaudible. “I know I’m…difficult.”

You turned your neck, not quite far enough to see him, but enough to let him know you were listening, that he should go on.

“I don’t know how to act around you,” he admitted. “One second I feel like I’ve fucked it up so bad that there’s not even a point in trying to fix it and the next…”

This time, you do turn, twisting your torso so you could look him intently in the eyes, imploring him to say something right for once, begging him not to let you fall off this cliff alone again.

“…you look at me like that,” he almost whispered. “And then I think fuck it, I’d try forever if you let me.”

For the first time ever, he was with you on the way down, finally jumping together.

“Can I?” He asked, voice low.

“Can you what?” you blinked at him slowly, the moment so surreal you worried it wasn’t happening, that you’d wake up in Carter’s bed, all of this day just one long fever dream.

“Fix things…with you?”

“I don’t know.”

It was the most honest answer you could give him.

“Can I try?” His voice broke slightly when he said it, and you could feel the vulnerability leaking through the cracks.

“Yeah,” you gave in.

“I miss you,” he breathed, and your heart felt heavy with longing and resentment at the same time.

“I don’t think you ever really knew me, Rafe,” you said, turning to face forward again, sad eyes scanning the horizon. “You never paid close enough attention.”

He thought over your words, and you could feel that there was something brewing in his mind, a decision he was making. When he finally spoke again, it wasn’t the words you expected.

“What’s your favorite color?”

You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face as you said, “huh?”

“Just tell me,” he smiled back, even though you weren’t looking, you could hear it in his voice.

You answered him, and he followed that question up with another, and another, and they kept rolling off his tongue and you kept answering, until the strangeness of it faded and the two of you were just talking.

For over an hour, you drifted, leaning forward on the handlebars with your back to him as Rafe asked you questions and listened intently to your long, detailed answers. You were hesitant, just at first. No one had ever let you talk this long without interrupting you. No one had ever wanted so badly to hear what you had to say. He nodded along to everything, responding with thoughtful mhms and carefully worded follow up questions.

After a while, you forgot about the surrealness of it all, where you were, who you were with. It was just you and your old friend, sharing your lives with each other. 

I could do this for a long time, you thought, like maybe forever.

Everytime you thought he must be bored by now, he just kept asking, hanging on every word like he was collecting them for some secret project.

“What do you want to do after you graduate?” and “Who’s your closest friend?” and “Are you still into that one band?” and eventually, when he was running low on ideas, “what’s the last movie you saw?”

You laughed. 

“What?” He asked with a timidness that squeezed your heart.

“The last movie I saw was the last movie you saw,” you reminded him.

“Oh, right,” he chuckled, but there was an edge to it.

“It’s a good movie, though,” you leaned back toward him a little, trying to pull him from whatever thoughts were causing his spirit to fall. “My favorite.”

He nodded, “Tom did a nice job putting together that little shindig.”

“I guess so,” you said, not sure how to proceed.

“You know he plays football for U of F?” He said. “Or did I guess, before he graduated.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yeah, he was All American,” he nodded. You’d give all the money you had for one glimpse of what was going on in his head.

“He’s an impressive guy,” he admitted. “I can see why you’d end up in his room.”

“Rafe, oh my god,” you huffed, standing suddenly. Your body rose above him, his eyes tracking every movement. You swung your leg over the seat, flipping around so you were facing him, sitting back down so you could look him in the eyes when you said, “I didn’t sleep in Tom’s room.”

“Oh.”

It was all he could muster up, his throat going dry from both the embarrassment he felt for being wrong and the sudden proximity of your bodies. He willed himself not to let his eyes travel down to the way your lifejacket was pushing your chest together, or the soft skin of your bare thighs, now spread open in front of him as you straddled the seat. He kept his eyes on yours, the most respectful option, though it didn’t help his speechlessness. The uninterrupted contact with your beautiful irises nearly put him over the edge. He almost hoped no boats would come by after all so he could look into your eyes for hours.

“Is that why you got up and left last night?” You questioned, not missing the way his eyes were trained intensely on yours.

“The floor was uncomfortable,” he mumbled.

“The floor,” you nodded, “the floor was uncomfortable. Got it.”

“You're mad at me again,” he surmised.

“When was I ever not mad at you?” 

“I dunno,” he shrugged sarcastically, “somewhere between the movie and your panties hitting the floor.”

You wanted to slap him. And kiss him. He could tell, teasing you with a sideways smirk. You tried to channel the newfound confidence you’d had last night, addicted to the taste of power.

You leaned forward, hands on the leather seat between you, looking up at him with hooded eyes.

“Did you like that?” 

“You know I did.” 

He responded so fast and his voice was so low you couldn’t tell if he was pissed off or turned on. Either way, he wasn’t fucking around anymore.

“Then why didn’t you stay?” 

It felt like that one question held so many questions, and based on the look on his face, you knew he could hear it too. You weren’t just asking about last night, you weren’t just asking why he went to sleep on the couch. You were asking about years of him coming up short, why he’d failed you so many times, why he never, ever seemed to pick you.

“I didn’t know you wanted me to.”

As he said it, the wind kicked up, and the jet ski began to rock even harder as waves rose and fell beneath you. One particularly choppy wave had you tilting a little too far off the seat, and Rafe’s hands landed on your waist again. This time, there was nothing hesitant about it. When you didn’t push him away, his thumb brushed an experimental circle into your skin.

“Do you want me to let go?”

In lieu of answering, your hands came to rest over his. He assumed you were gonna pull them off of you, and for a moment you thought you might too, but then his words echoed in your mind: he didn’t know you wanted him to.

You could do this. You could lean into it and just let it happen. You were supposed to fight it, make him grovel more, make him pay you back for the years you’d waited. It’s what everyone expected. You were only a few hundred yards off shore, but the rest of the world felt lightyears away, and out here, there was nothing stopping you letting him touch you, kiss you, have you. You could just let it happen, and no one would have to know.

But before you could decide if you wanted to, a deep rumble of thunder broke out across the sky.

“Shit,” you jumped. 

“We gotta get out of here,” Rafe looked up at the darkening sky nervously.

“But how?” 

“How well can you swim?”

That’s how Rafe ended up in the water, gripping the back of the jet ski as the waves rocked it harshly, water splashing up and landing on your feet. You tightened your lifejacket, feeling apprehensive about the whole thing.

“I can just push us if you want to stay on,” Rafe offered.

“No, it’ll go faster if it’s both of us.”

You stepped to the edge, hesitating, wanting to rip the bandaid and just jump in but not wanting to jump too far off and get separated. Your indecision cost you, your foot slipped and you dropped into the water, your leg scraping against the edge of the jet ski as you fell. 

Blinded by pain, you reached for Rafe as your head slipped under the surface, but your hands came up empty.

(Chapter 6: part one)

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a/n: please note, the taglist for this series is currently closed. For updates, follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifs 💕

[mmegwrld]

𖤓.ೃ࿔* WARM + jeon jungkook

you and jungkook are college roommates, but sometimes you two hook up. all the time, actually. he continuously pushes you away.. and you stay.

word count : 3.8k

genre : super angsty, some smut some fluff… a little bit of everything. MDNI!

warnings : HEAVILY INSPIRED BY WARM BY ARIANA GRANDE !! guys i’m sorry it’s so angsty, hurt.. comfort, situationship jk, you’re too patient with him.. crying, slow build up? a little bit of smut - praises, oral (m receiving), JK IS AN ASSHOLE IN SOME PARTS

a/n : this is my first time doing anything like this so pleaseee give me grace!! 🤗💐✨🐬🌞 and THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD!!

masterlist

the first time you met jeon jungkook was when you first went into your shared dorm room. it was an apartment sized dorm, with a kitchen, bathroom and two rooms. you didn’t expect much with college. a dorm, hard classes and an awkward roommate is what you thought about. you knew you were going to get some random person, but you didn’t expect him, jungkook. your first impression was great, some random hot guy i have to live with for the next four years.

his surfer cut, full tattooed sleeve, toned body. he barely glances at you, he doesn’t even say a word until you do. you wonder how long he was here for. you set down your bags and look at him, “so you’re jungkook?” you finally speak up. you’re met with an “mhm.” what? mhm? that’s it? no questions about you as if he already knew what you looked like. whatever. rude, cool, whatever. you roll your eyes with a huff, “can’t wait to be friends with my cool roommate,” you mutter. jungkook finally takes a real glance at you, “good luck with that,” he smirks softly. oh.. ohhh, he’s that type of quiet, you thought. quiet, cocky, an asshole. fine, i don’t need to be friends with him anyways.

sadly, that’s not how roommates work. you have to speak. nights in your shared dorm meant soft brushes past each other. it means accidentally catching him laughing quietly at something on his phone when he thinks you aren’t looking. it also meant studying silently together, glancing at each other. it made you want to know him. he was interesting… an asshole, but interesting.

jungkook when he first met you. he knew you were going to be a handful. you went to a nice college, your luggages were expensive. you had the newest phone. nice clothes. everything. you two have been coexisting with each other for months now. you tease him sometimes for being so silent but he acted like he didn’t care. doesn’t matter.

it happened so casually, he almost didn’t even notice. one night, he saw you. not just on a regular thing, he really sees you. it was a late night for the both of you. he went out with jimin and taehyung to some all night ramen restaurant. he entered the dorm, seeing you in the living room. you sit on the floor with your back to the couch, half asleep while reading some crime textbook. your laptop screen glows softly, highlighting your puffy cheeks… the way your lashes flutter when you’re fighting sleep.

jungkook felt something shift because he’s seen you a hundred times before, but never like this. not this soft, so vulnerable. not in a way that makes his chest tighten. he sets down his keys and walks over to you. he watches you exhale, your head tipping back slightly. his fingers twitch softly. he’s aware… he’s suddenly aware of how close you two have become over the months. he notices the little things he’s remembered. the way you hum softly while you think or the way you shiver whenever you’re super nervous. that’s it, he thinks to himself. i’m fucked. he quickly realizes you’re not just his roommate. you’re her… and he doesn’t know what to do with that.

he gathers your stuff and puts them on your desk in your room. he plugs up your phone and laptop before heading back to you. he thinks for a second. should he pick you up and take you to your bed, leave you there or wake you up and make you walk. he sighs and picks you up slowly, bridal style. you groan softly, “wha—“ “it’s me..” jungkook says softly as he puts you onto your bed. you flutter your eyes open, “jungkook?” you barely whisper. he doesn’t reply as he leaves the room. you furrow your brows and quickly fall back asleep.

jungkook never spoke about his feelings— to anybody. but when he realized he wasn’t just feeling nothing towards you, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. so he does the only thing a guy would do, call his friends. jimin and taehyung meet him at some cafe in the downtown area. jungkook sits across from them, stirring his iced coffee like it personally offended him. jimin raises his left brow, “so what’s wrong?” he asks. jungkook groans, “ugh.. it’s— it’s my fucking roommate,” he finally admits. taehyung bucks his head back, “your roommate?” he questions. jungkook looks at them, “yes.”

“the hot one?” taehyung adds. jungkook shakes his head, “she’s— that’s not the point,” he sighs. jimin and taehyung exchange a look as jimin speaks up, “ohh… you like her.” “i don’t— i— i think i do.” silence was met with the three before the two start laughing. jimin slaps jungkook’s shoulder, “bro.. we’ve been called this months ago! as soon as we seen her!” “you live with her and it took you this long to realize?” taehyung adds. jungkook glares at them, “you guys are no help,” he shakes his head again and leans back. taehyung tilts his head as he stops laughing, “so, whats the problem? you like her… she kind of likes you sometimes— what’s the matter?”

jungkook hesitates before replying, “what if i mess it up?” his voice is more quiet now, more vulnerable. jimin and taehyung knew how jungkook was with girls. he didn’t like to date. he didn’t like talking to them. he was by far the worst guy to date in their grade. taehyung sighs, “you already like her. you’re already in the deep. what’s worse— messing up or never trying?” he asks. jungkook hates how he’s right. but jungkook knew he would mess it up. he always does. with everything. maybe this time could be different.

the first time you two hooked up was after some frat party. the night felt electric. you and jungkook have been dancing around each other for weeks now. making each other laugh, teasing, not admitting you both want the same thing. you sat in between his legs as he throws his head back. he shivers at the warmth of your mouth. his tattooed hand makes its way into your hair, “just like that..” he moans. you bob your head up and down on his shaft. jungkook… he was big. a big muscle guy and a big dick guy. you jerk the rest you couldn’t fit in your mouth. he looks down at you, “you’re so beautiful, (name). i like seeing you everyday. i fuckin love your cooking.”

you furrow your brows at his confession as you lick his tip, “you do?” you ask softly. he nods, “i like you, (name). i really do. i want to be with you,” he soon cums in your mouth. it was about 15 minutes after. you brush your teeth as he walks in, “did you mean it?” you ask and glance to him in the mirror. he looks at you, “mean what?” “you like seeing me everyday, you love my cooking. you like me.” it was silence, “i dunno what you’re talking about.” what? what the fuck does he even mean— he was fucking cumming when he said that. is that what he does? he gets all sappy and vulnerable right before his burst? fuck that.

somehow, you get sick. like really sick. stuffy nose, groggy voice, wrapped in five covers. jungkook checks in on you, “you good?” he asks. you smile, “yeah. totally.” he says nothing back and leaves. an hour later, he walks into your room with medicine, some warm soup— what the hell? a stuffed bunny? you give him a knowing look as he places the medicine and soup on your bed side table. he takes out the three water bottles from his pockets. he looks back at you and puts the bunny next to you, “don’t make it weird. it was on sale.” you blink up at him, “a stuffed bunny?” your voice hoarse. he huffs and gives you two pills and a open water bottle, “shut up and take the medicine.” you laugh, quickly coughing. you clear your throat, “it looks like you.” he furrows his eyebrows and leaves the room. later on that night, he checks on you again. you’re fast asleep, tightly hugging the bunny. he brushes a hair from your forehead, “i got you.” he whispers.

you guys have hooked up a bunch more times at this point. it’s the summer and there’s parties every night. you two stumble into the dorm after a party. it’s near 2am… you think. you stopped keeping time after your first shot. jungkook holds your heels as his jacket drape over your shoulders. you sigh and plop onto the couch. he sits next to you, throwing your legs onto his lap. “you okay?” he asks softly, massaging your swollen feet. you nod and sigh, “all good.” he stares at you with a unreadable expression, “k.” he kisses your ankle softly, “so beautiful.” you knew what he wanted. just like how you thought, he gets all romantic when he’s needy. you look at him, “can we just lay here?” you ask. he looks at you, “course. give me a kiss,” he helps you up. you kiss his pierced lip, laughing between the kisses. he rubs your butt slowly, “all mine,” he whispers, biting your bottom lip. his tongue slides into your mouth as he spanks you softly. you yelp and pull away, “you’re bad.”

he never took you on a date. but he takes a whole other girl on a date?! oh. hell. no. your friend sent you a picture of them at your fucking restaurant. you scoff and reply fucking asshole. he walks back in as you sat on the couch, like everything is normal. but you felt like you just got tossed out. you wait until he says hi. once he does, you scoff. “you’re a real piece of shit,” you looks at him. jungkook’s eyebrows furrow, “what?” “you took a girl on a date.” “i’ve been doing that.” it hits you. the whole time… the whole time he was hooking up with you at night, he was taking that bitch out during the day. “what about it?” he adds. you scoff once more, “what about it— you been having sex with me for months and taking out a whole different girl.”

he doesn’t even flinch. his eyes flicker to yours for a second than back out the window, “we’re not dating. you knew this was just.. whatever.” the words hit you like a slap in the face. the truth of it. the reality that you’ve been pretending this whole time, pretending it was something it wasn’t. you shake your head, tearing your gaze away from his figure, “i don’t want to be your whatever.” “that’s not my problem,” he replies, cold. you hate how calm he is. how unaffected. it only fuels the fire inside of you. you want to scream. you want to make him feel something. but instead, you just walk past him, your voice shakes. “fine. don’t worry about it. i won’t either.” you slam the door to your room, the sound echoing in the silence. jungkook stands there for a moment, his jaw tight. but he says nothing.

you sit in your room, tapping on your journal. you stare up at the ceiling. you cannot shake off the feeling. that very familiar anger bubbling up. you don’t even understand why you’re so bothered. you guys aren’t talking… dating. nothing. just roommates. strictly roommates. the next few days are tense. jungkook doesn’t act any differently—still distant, still the same nonchalant attitude—but the air between you guys is thick. everytime your paths cross in the dorm, there’s this silent battle happening, neither of you acknowledging the real issue. you, on the other hand, can’t shake it. you try to act normal—just like you always do—but every time you see him, everytime your mind wanders back to that night, you reminded of how cold he was. how little he seemed to care.

it was another summer night for you guys. you sat with some random guy, trying to fulfill the feeling that jungkook gave you. he stares at you tensely. hobi and jimin walk up to him, “earth to kookie!” hobi waves his hand in his face. jungkook looks at the two, “what?” jimin looks back to you and the guy, “ohhh… you messed it up. just wait til taehyung hears about this. he owes me $150.” jungkook smacks his lips, “shut up. i just.. i don’t owe her anything.” hobi knew about their situation.. probably the most considering he’s friends with you and jungkook. hobi hums, “you owe her an explanation.”

jungkook spots you walking away, “i don’t.” “yes… you do. she’s given herself to you. communicated with you. what have you done besides give her mixed signals and rub in her face that you don’t like her when you do?” hobi shrugs as he tells jungkook the truth. jungkook sighs as he stares at you, by yourself. “go talk to her,” jimin says. jungkook shakes his head, “she hadn’t talked to me in weeks.” “(name) is a patient person, just go,” hobi pushes him. you sit by the bonfire by yourself, with a random beer in your lap. you feel a sudden presence next to you. you look away from the fire and see.. oh. him. you look away as he stares at you, “can we talk?” he says softly, like he’s scared.

you stay silent as you stare into the fire. jungkook watches the way the fire lights up your face, your features. your eyes looks hurt. he looks at his lap, “i fucked up,” he says, his tone low. you look at him, your lips pressed into a thin line. he runs a hand through his hair, “i never meant to hurt you, (name). i— i never felt this way about somebody and i don’t know how to handle it.” your eyes narrow out of anger, confusion and mostly hurt. you didn’t know if you wanted to forgive him, but you wanted to hear him out. he sighs, “i know i’ve been really cold to you. i know i pushed you away and told you i don’t care. but i do, i care so much about you.”

you finally speak up, “then why did you take her out? why did you tell me i was a whatever thing to you. i have to see you everyday. i wake up and i see you, you’re the last thing i see when i sleep.” your voice quiet. he swallows hard, “i didn’t think you would get hurt that much.” you stay quiet for longer, your gaze hardening. you were angry, but hurt lingered like a shadow, “you can’t just keep pretending everything’s nothing, jungkook. i don’t work that way.” his hand touches yours, it’s a small gesture but he’s trying. “this doesn’t just go away, jungkook. you have to prove yourself. stand on your words,” you say. he nods, “i’ll prove it to you.”

you were so fucking wrong. he was literally a piece of shit. he treated you like a booty call. you’ve had enough. enough of his mixed signals, enough of pretending you’re okay with something you’re not. you guys were laid in his room. you sat on the end as he laid down, “i can’t do this anymore.” you shake your head. your voice wavers as you hold his gaze, “i need more,” you say barely whispering. he stares at you, jaw clenched. you finally think you’re gonna hear what you’ve been wanting to— thinking he’s going to stop you. “i get it.” that’s it. no fights. no pleading, just.. stupid fucking understanding. as if he always knew you’d leave before him. so you do, you left the dorm for a couple of days.

it’s been weeks since you stopped trying. since you stopped waiting for him. and jungkook? he hates it. he sees you laughing with some guy outside their dorm, sees the way you don’t hesitate before answering his texts. that used to be him. that night, when you come home, jungkook is already there, sitting on your bed like he belongs there, “he’s not me.” his voice is quiet but firm. you stare blankly at him, “and?” it starts with a fight. it always does. jungkook’s distant again. canceling plans, avoiding you, acting like what you guys have isn’t the one thing keeping them both sane. and you’re done pretending like you don’t care, “if you don’t want this anymore, just say it,” you finally snap, standing in the middle of your dorm, arms crossed to keep yourself from shaking. jungkook exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, “it’s not that simple.”

“it is,” you argue. “either you want me, or you don’t. but i can’t keep doing this—this… half-assed love story where im the only one who actually gives a damn.” that hits. you see it in the way his jaw clenches, the way his fists tighten like he’s holding back something big. “you think i don’t care?” his voice is quiet. dangerous. you scoff, “you don’t.” silence. and then— “i care too much.” you stare at him. he steps closer, eyes dark, voice rough. “you want the truth? fine. i’m scared, okay? i don’t know how to do this. i don’t know how to love you the way you deserve. and it’d be so much easier if i didn’t care—but i do. i fucking do.” your breath catches,“then let me in.” jungkook stares at you, and for the first time, you see it—the fear, the way his whole life he’s been taught to guard his heart like it’s a war zone. but then, slowly, carefully, he reaches for you and when you don’t pull away—when you actually lean in—he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years. “okay.” his voice is barely above a whisper. “i’ll try.” and that’s all you need. because for jungkook? that’s everything.

the first morning after the talk, everything feels… different. jungkook wakes up first, lying beside you in bed, staring at the ceiling like the weight of actually trying is sinking in. you stir, blinking up at him, voice still groggy. “you look like you regret everything.” he scoffs, but his fingers tighten slightly on the blanket. “no. just… thinking.” you hum, stretching. “about?” jungkook hesitates. then, finally—“how not to mess this up.” your heart clenches, because that? that’s growth. instead of pushing her away, he’s trying. so you smile, soft and teasing,“well, step one? maybe kiss me good morning.” he rolls his eyes but leans in anyway, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering. “better?” he murmurs. you grin, “much.”

you guys were bound to slip up. you are used to being his exception—the only one he lets in. but now that you guys are together, you want more. you want the soft parts of him, the ones he keeps hidden even from himself. and jungkook? he still doesn’t know how to give that. “you don’t talk to me,” you snap one night. “you keep shutting me out like you’re still scared of this—of us.” jungkook clenches his jaw, eyes flashing. “i don’t shut you out—” “yes, you do!” you throw your hands up. “and i get it, okay? you’re not used to this. but if you don’t let me in, then what’s the point?” he’s quiet. too quiet. and for a moment, you think he’ll walk away. but then— “i don’t want to lose you.” it’s barely a whisper, but it hits you like a confession. like a breaking point. your face softens, “than let me stay.” jungkook exhales sharply—then, slowly, nods. it’s a start.

you guys walking home late one night, hands brushing but not quite holding. you frown, shoving your hands in your pockets. “you still don’t like PDA, huh?” you tease, but there’s something real in your voice. jungkook glances at you—then, suddenly, he reaches for your hand, threading your fingers together. you stop in your tracks, staring at him, “kook?” he shrugs, playing it off, “i can try, right?” your heart melts. “yeah,” you whisper, squeezing his hand. “you can.” and as you guys keep walking, you swear he holds on just a little tighter.

[fireheartpages]

my boy | b.d.

bodhi durran x reader

masterlist

word count: 4.9k

summary: the three times bodhi called you his, and the first time you called him mine.

notes: second person pov with a femreader. canon typical violence. no use of y/n. written in past tense bc by the time i realized it was too late! human beings are flawed by nature. turned out a lil angstier and longer than i intended. onyx storm fucked me up so bad and i missed him. the scene that inspired this whole thing got cut so do with that what you will. set during iron flame. in my head this is bodhi and baby from toml but you don’t have to read that to read this. just a lil drabble. also bringing back headers bc my fics need a little sparkle. proofread after three glasses of wine.

Your face stung.

"I'm sorry," Bodhi said quickly, hand jerking back. "I know, I just—"

"It's fine." You swallowed hard and shut your eyes, like maybe if you didn't see the bloodied cloth with antiseptic on it, it would hurt less.

"That flier did a real number on you," he said quietly, and you felt the warmth of his hand settle on your cheek, before the cool bite against the wound.

"Those challenges are bullshit," you ground out.

There was a heavy sigh, and then the touch lightened. You opened your eyes to see he had moved his hand away, setting the rag down. "I think you need to see a mender."

You shook your head. "It's a scratch. Put an adhesive on it."

"There's a lot of swelling," he said, waves of concern radiating off of him. "What if there's a fracture?"

"I will heal," you snap.

You watch as his eyes flare with surprise, and he quickly masks the hurt. You sigh, shoulders slouching.

"I'm sorry." You wrap your fingers around his wrist, pulling him closer. "I'll be okay, Bo. Seriously."

"Let me go get Brennan," he said gently. "Just to check—"

"I really don't want you to," you said, pleaded, and he seemed to relent. "None of us can have preferential treatment."

"It's not preferential treatment if you need it," he whispered, gingerly placing a bandage across your cheekbone.

"It was an ill-timed punch," you said. "I'll live."

You met his gaze as he pulled back, and he seemed to search you, looking for something you couldn't name. He sighed, looking down.

“Your hands?”

Your head snapped up, and you quickly tucked your hands away, forcing yourself to stop picking at the peeling skin. Wrapping them for sparring always made it a little bit worse.

“It’s fine.”

He only sighed and pulled your wrists gently, tugging them until he could see the splitting on your palms, between your fingers. He reached for the extra salve you kept next to his bedside, and gently began to message it into the skin there, taking extra care where it had split and where it was the thinnest. "Not all fliers are so bad. Syrena is really nice, if you ever get the chance to meet her."

"I like Maren," you supplied, studying the lines of his face. The delicate hook of his nose, the arch of his upper lip, the slope of his cheekbones. "Her best friend is a real piece of work, though."

Bodhi laughed at that, exchanging out your hands. "Yeah, Catriona is... a lot."

"That's one way to say it," you mumbled. You sucked in a deep breath—and wince. A hand went to your ribs.

Bodhi’s head snapped up, a furrow between his strong brows, and he abandoned his task, instead cradling your side with one hand and your face in another. Concern laced in his features. "You didn't say your ribs were hurting."

"I didn't realize they were," you answered. "Got me better than I thought, I guess."

He shook his head. "Let me—"

"No." You cut him a glare, but there wasn’t much menace behind it. "I'll be okay. I just need... sleep, probably."

"Let's get in bed."

You screwed up your nose. "We still have half a day of classes."

"Fuck that," he said sincerely. "My girl is hurt."

You arched a brow. "Your girl?"

He flashed a sheepish smile, ducking his head as his curls fell over his temple. "Sorry, I just... liked the way it sounded."

You sucked in a breath. Suddenly, there was too little space between you. "You still have half a day of classes."

"There is literally nothing I care about less," he said earnestly. "Let me lay down with you. Please."

You glanced at the bed, the black blanket covering it looking like the most inviting thing you'd ever seen. You sighed. "I'm fine. We should go."

"Baby," he said, and you liked the way it sounded. You always liked the way it sounded.

“We probably shouldn’t walk back together,” you said, reaching for your flight jacket. You winced as you tried to pull it over yourself.

A hand on your shoulder stopped you, and Bodhi gently spun you around to face him. “This is about the ‘my girl’ comment,” he said, and pinned you with a look that made all the fight leave your body.

“No,” you said, and it wasn’t a lie. You weren’t sure if it was the truth. You sighed. “I just don’t want people to get any ideas.”

He stepped back. “You don’t wanna be seen with me?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” you said quickly. “You’re talented, and you’re in leadership, and I’m a year below you. With everything between us and the fliers now, someone’s gonna get the wrong idea.”

His shoulders slumped. “You don’t want someone saying you slept your way to safety.”

You nodded, looking down, because it was suddenly impossible to meet his eye. Your cheeks heated. "I can fend for myself."

“Okay,” he said, taking a step closer. He hooked a finger under your chin and lifted your gaze until you were forced to look at him. You expected sadness, hurt, disappointment even, but all you found was mirth. “Sure. I like a good secret anyways. Makes it more fun.”

You couldn’t have even tried to fight the smile as he pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was delicate at first, gently exploring, sensing what you would give him. But you had learned a long time ago that there wasn’t a lot you wouldn’t do for the boy in front of you.

Your hands found the nape of your neck, twisting into the curls there, and he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling your body flush against his.

He broke the kiss only for a moment. “Can it still stay a secret, and we stay in bed for the rest of the day?”

“Someone’s gonna notice we’re both missing,” you say, barely more than a whisper against his cheek.

He brushed his nose against yours. “My cousin owns the place. I think we can get away with it.”

You giggled, nodding as he pulled you back. He sat on the edge of the bed, gingerly framing you between his thighs and looked up at you reverently. His lips were glossy from your kiss, eyes half lidded, and you breath caught in your throat at the sight of him gazing up at you. He smiled lazily.

“You’re so pretty,” he said, and you couldn’t help but think the same about him.

｡･:*˚:✧｡

You had to stop finding yourself in these situations.

The same flier that had challenged you was in front of you and spitting mad. You weren’t even sure what it was about this time, but his shouting had drawn a crowd. Your cheek hadn’t even fully healed yet, and now you had another split lip. Courtesy of this asshole.

You couldn’t even remember his name if you tried. Something with an A? Ash, maybe? It didn’t really matter, once he started swinging. He was a first year, and unused to the fighting style of riders, but by Dunne if he wasn’t giving you a run for your money.

You breathed a sigh of relief when you saw Violet and Sawyer come up behind you, thankful for the back up. Sawyer immediately tried to shove him off you, but was quickly gifted a darkening bruise around his eye.

“What the hell is your problem?” That voice belonged to Ridoc, and you weren’t even sure when he had gotten there. More people pushed around you, until you were surrounded by what looked like your entire section.

Including Bodhi.

“I thought you riders lived and died by your stupid Codex!” the flier spat.

“Our stupid codex says also says I can kill you if I feel like it, so maybe watch where you put your hands,” you snapped, and you feel someone brush at your shoulder.

But not before the flier’s fist landed square in your jaw.

Damn, he must have remembered where he hit you the first time, because the pain is blinding for a moment. The edges of your vision darkened, and you stumbled into a strong, familiar chest. An arm wrapped around you, and you’re shoved to the side. You felt the vibrato of his words in his chest, as if the anger was a palpable thing.

“Touch my girl again and you’ll lose the fucking hand—”

“Bodhi!” you snapped, turning to him with blazing eyes, because now he’d really done it.

Fuck, you practically felt the surprise radiating off of half of the people surrounding you—and there were a lot of people gathered for the show.

The anger in your morphed into something else—something new, something more volatile. Now, you were pissed at this flier, and ready to throttle Bodhi. Gods, you just had this fucking conversation. What did he think he was doing saying shit like that—

“Getting out of a fight because you’re warming leadership’s bed is a lot blow, even for a rider,” the flier said, and you saw red.

More shouting erupted. Bodhi nor anyone remaining soul had even a hope of catching you before you threw the next punch at the flier. It made its mark, landing so hard he stumbled back. Blood immediately sprayed from his nose, and you were too pissed off to care. You shoved the hands grabbing you off, ready to lay into the kid again, but a familiar figure pushed through. Rhiannon got in between the three of you, holding a hand up and sending Bodhi one of the nastiest glares you thought you’d ever seen her produce.

“Am I seriously breaking up fights between other cadets and my Section Leader?” Rhiannon hissed, and Bodhi faltered for a moment, looking to her, then to you, then back to the flier. “This is ridiculous. Go find something else to do with your spare time. Asper, you’re a first year. Pick on someone your own size if you want a chance to win the fight.”

“That’s—”

“I’m not finished.” She turned to you and Bodhi, opening her mouth to say something before shaking her head. “You two… I’m just disappointed. A second year and a Section Leader? Get yourselves under control before you embarrass me any further.” She looked back to Asper, who was still seething at you and Bodhi. “Go find something more productive to do with your time before I find something for you. You won’t like my pick, I promise.”

The flier scoffed. “You’re not even my squad leader.”

Another flier in brown leathers with a mop of brunette hair piled on top of her head appeared behind him. She wore a frown and looked utterly annoyed. “No, but I am.” She grabbed his shoulder, spun him around, and shoved him away from your trio, but not before Asper managed to send a parting glare over his shoulder.

Rhiannon shipped to the two of you, eyes blazing. “Seriously?” she asked, and there was no part of you that wanted to respond. “He’s a first year.”

“He started it!” you protested, and immediately shrunk back. Wrong move.

Rhiannon shot Bodhi a glare. “You’re a Section Leader. You should have been the one to finish it.”

She marched away without a second glance, leaving the last part unsaid. That if you were any other second year, in any other situation, it wouldn’t have escalated the way it did.

A snort came from behind you. You turned and shot Ridoc a glare, but it didn’t deter him from opening his mouth.

“Didn’t know you guys were public like that.”

Four pairs of eyes turned on him.

“Was that the wrong thing to say?”

｡･:*˚:✧｡

You were pissed, and everyone around you knew it. Including, no other than the object of your chagrin.

"I just don't understand why you're mad at him," Saywer said for what felt like the millionth time, and you groaned at the history book in front of you.

"I do get it," Ridoc supplied from where he was seated next to Sawyer, the pair of them across from you at the study table you had snagged in the library. You were supposed to be working on assignments. The boys in front of you had, however, taken it upon themselves to lecture you your love life. Ridoc hadn't even opened the book in front of him. "I just think you're over-reacting."

"Bad choice of words," you warn, shooting him a scalding glare. He remained unperturbed.

"Sure," he continued. "But you know what I mean. Things are different now. Aretia isn't Basgiath. The rules are looser—"

"Hold on," Sawyer interjected.

"I mean, just look at Riorson and Vi," Ridoc continued. "Everyone knows they're together. And he's a lieutenant."

"We are not Xaden and Violet," you said, exasperated. "The point is that I didn't want to shout it from the roof tops. Because look what happens when you do!"

"The fliers hate us," Saywer supplied helpfully. "Your relationship status really has nothing to do with that. They would have chosen one thing or another to be picking fights about anyway."

"Besides, with Violet here, you and Durran are the least of their problems," Ridoc finished.

"You're still missing the point," you said, shaking your head.

"Explain it to me like I'm five, then," Ridoc said, attention focused on you. He had his arms crossed over his textbook. This study session was a damn lost cause.

"She's been doing that," Sawyer mumbled. He looked up to you, then behind you, and his eyes went wide. Ridoc glanced behind you as well, and you almost turned to look—you assumed it was Jesinia. Sawyer had been downright smitten lately, but there was the audible smack of Ridoc hitting his friend under the table. He shook his head.

"Ignore him," Ridoc said, attention turned back to you. "Continue."

You sighed, resigning yourself to the torture of having to explain this bullshit out loud. You had to admit, though. Having people to talk about it all with helped, even if it made you feel more and more like an idiot.

"Yeah, there's the fact that anyone who knows about..." You cringed. "…our situation is going to assume I'm sleeping with him for safety. Or power. Or whatever the hell they think. And that's annoying, because it's a mark on my character. But it also degrades what we have. And so we had that conversation, and I set a boundary, and then the second things get hairy, he crosses it. He makes both of us look like an ass. Makes me look like I can't protect myself without him there. If it had gotten out some other way, I couldn't have handled it. I've never been afraid of the gossip mill. But saying we're together and him overstepping and trying to fight my battles or me are two completely different things."

Ridoc nodded sagely. Sawyer just glanced behind you with wide eyes.

"Baby," and, oh, you know that voice.

You spun around, standing quickly as your pulse skyrocketed. Bodhi was behind you, looking for all the world like you had just kicked his puppy. Or maybe he was the kicked puppy. You sucked in a sharp breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You whipped back to Ridoc. The bastard had a shit-easting grin on his face.

"You did that on purpose," you accused.

He just shrugged. "Wanted to make this all easier on you."

Sawyer smacked him upside his head.

You turned back to Bodhi, ready to say something, but all you could was shake your head.

"I didn't know," he said, and he took a step towards you. You took one back.

His face crumbled, and it was the sort of things a playwright put in a tragedy. Your chest nearly caved in at the sight of his fallen expression, and something broke inside you. Cracked right in two, and you knew then and there that the only glue capable of putting it together again was him.

"You just assumed," you said softly.

He sucked in a sharp breath, nodding. He was no longer looking at you. "Can we talk? Please?"

You grabbed your book from the table, sending Ridoc one last parting glare. You shook your head as you stepped towards him. "I'll see you tonight."

You made for the exit of the library, and when you rounded the corner, you had assumed he had let you go. That you'd made it all the way out.

"Wait, please."

You slowly spun around to see him there.

"I don't like watching my girl walk away upset," he said, low, quiet, and intimate. Private, just for you.

You sucked in a shaky breath. You held out a hand to the library door, as if you could motion at all of your thoughts and feelings and emotions like they were tangible things. "You heard what I said, I guess."

Bodhi nodded, and this time, when he stepped towards you, you didn't step away. "I'm sorry. Gods, I am so, so—"

"Can we talk about this later?" you asked, voice thick.

Bodhi's brow had a deep burrow, and it was clear he wanted to object, but he didn't. He instead shut his mouth, and nodded.

"I'll see you tonight," you said.

And like a fool, you walked away from him.

｡･:*˚:✧｡

There’s not much time for relaxing anymore. No more weekends, no more free time, and certainly no more parties. Leaning to fight venin is hard work.

But every once in a while, someone makes it happen. Leave it to a bunch of bored, pent-up twenty-somethings to find a stash and have a party. The alcohol wasn’t good, by any means, but it was making your head foggy, and you had nothing to do until, like, noon the next day. You were practically free.

It was the best you had felt in a long while. Everything was a little hazy around the edges, and you had trouble staying perfectly still now. There was a makeshift bar at the dais of the room where everyone took meals, and you had ventured up to get yourself a drink. And one for… Shit. You were not supposed to return empty handed. You just weren’t sure how many not empty handed you should be returning with.

When you stumble, there are strong hands on your hips, steadying you. Strong hands that settled much too low to be casual, but you are much too far gone to have reprimanded him. Or, noticed, or cared that much.

“Careful,” Bodhi said, and it was low in your ear, a little more sensual than it should have been.

But then he stood a respectable distance away from you. And through your alcohol-induced haze, he looked so good. You knew, distantly, that you were still pretty annoyed with him. But his leathers were casually undone at the top, just enough to be a tease. His hair was mussed, black curls that fell in a way that should be messy but instead just drove you insane. Like, this should be against the codex. Just looking at him made you want to leave. Made you want to be back in his room, showing your appreciation, giving him your own apology with your mouth.

“I think Violet’s drunk,” Bodhi said, and his gaze was somewhere beyond you.

You frowned. “We’re all drunk.”

Bodhi cocked his head. “I think she’s a little more drunk.”

You nodded sagely. Fair enough.

“I’m gonna go make sure she’s okay,” he said. “Or, at least, makes it to Xaden okay.”

You nodded again, and he departed with a smile that made you giggle like a damn school girl. He was so aware of the effect he had on you. He just chose not to care.

Or maybe, he was finally respecting the line in the sand you had drawn.

“All alone in a room full of people who could kill you? Where's your body guard?” a voice asked.

You turn, and it’s Asper. The fuck ass flier that beat you up, like, twice now. What the hell—

“What do you want?” You tried for venom, but it came out a bit more slurred than you would have liked. Too round about the edges, too loose.

“I know we settled our differences,” Asper said, and he held up a hand. “That’s not what I’m here for.”

“Then what do you want?” you repeated, and it was a little whiny this time. Fuck. Great.

“You know you’re gorgeous, right?” It was the last thing you had expected to have come out of his stupid mouth.

No way this fucker was hitting on you.

“What?” you snapped. Wisely.

“You’re smart. Clearly good in combat,” Asper said. Like that was an answer. “And you’re beautiful.” He leaned in, like the two of you were sharing a secret. “You could do so much better than the dragon feed around here.”

You were picked by a dragon through.

“He’s flirting,” said a voice. Your dragon. Thank you. As if that wasn’t painfully obvious enough. You go to say that down the bond, but you can’t find the right channel. Shocair grumbled. “I heard it.”

“Whatever you’re trying to do,” you said, “I’m not interested.”

“I think you are,” Asper said. He stepped closer. He put his hand on yours.

“My boy’s gonna get real angry if you keep fucking trying your luck,” you snapped.

“Your boy?” he asked, and he was laughing. The asshole was laughing.

You yanked your hand back, and reveled at the look on his face. Anything to wipe that smug grin off his face. “Yeah. My boy.”

Asper rolled his eyes, and for a moment, you had a vision of punching him. Of clocking him square in the jaw, sending blood flying. Your words were a lot steadier than you felt. As soon as you stood up, the world spun. But then there was a hand at your waist, and everything straightened out. Gods, you knew him by touch alone, knew him even through the haze of alcohol. You could be deprived of every sense you have, and still know his presence by memory. He was ingrained in you.

“You heard her,” Bodhi said, low and dangerous and angry and—fuck, really really hot. “She’s not interested. And she shouldn’t need to threaten you with senior leadership to get you to fuck off, Asper.”

The flier scoffed. “I don’t think she’s talking about her section leader.”

Bodhi stepped around you, and shoved him. Hard. “It doesn’t matter if I’m a section leader or her fucking husband. When a woman says no, she means it.”

Asper held his hands up in surrender, turning a deep shade of red and finally walking away. But not before throwing glare back to Bodhi.

When he turned around to you, finally, your cheeks were hot, your breathing choppy. You stared at him, unsure of what to say. Fuck, you hadn’t realized he would over hear you. Hadn’t realized what kind of effect his words would have on you.

Possessive Bodhi was one thing. When he would leave bruises all over your chest and neck, knowing when you stripped your leathers for sparring, they would be visible. When he keeps his hand in the small of your back for a little too long in formation. When he cleans your wounds and punches fliers and calls you his girl.

But protective Bodhi? You were fighting to stay upright.

He knew you knew how to fight your own fights. You were a decent fighter and could fly circles around rider and flier alike. If someone had an issue, or someone started something, you were good on the follow through. That first fight, or the second when he interfered weren’t about anything other than making it known to everyone else that you were together.

When the end factor was nothing less than a name in front of yours, of his girl tacked onto everything, you were chagrined. When the end factor was keeping you safe, was making sure you had arms to fall into at night? All bets were off.

“Are you okay?” Bodhi asked, a deep furrow finding home between his brow.

You couldn’t catch your breath. Gods above, the way he was looking at you—

“I didn’t know you were there,” you answered.

"I didn't mean to overstep," he said quickly, averting his gaze.

"You didn't," you replied, and suddenly, your eyes were watering. You swallowed around the knot in your throat. "I'm being an asshole."

His head snapped up, and you weren't sure if it was your words or the emotion in your voice that brought the panicked look to the set of his brow, the line of his lips. "No, baby, no—"

"I got overwhelmed," you barrel on. "I got scared, and worried, and I I feel like I'm punishing you for it."

Bodhi shook his head frantically, carefully stepping towards you like you were a scared animal he was trying to approach. "You set a boundary," he said. "I could never fault you for that."

You tried to nod, but instead the tears started to slip out. God, this had to be the alcohol. You were not a crier.

Gingerly, Bodhi's hands were on the sides of your face, thumbs brushing away the escaped tears. "Is this okay?" he whispered.

"All of it is okay," you said meekly. "I was holding onto an idolized version of what I wanted in my head. But people know now, and the world isn't ending."

He laughed, pulling you into him. Your head rested on his chest, right at the perfect angle for him to tuck you under his chin. You wrapped your arms around his waist, and it felt like coming home.

"I never meant to push your boundaries, and I'm so sorry I ever did," he said into your hair. "I know exactly what you're capable of. I don't want you to ever think I'm going to willfully underestimate you."

"I know," you whisper into the fabric of his shirt, and the it occurred to you just how many people were around you. You had just made about a big fuss about the levels of PDA you were willing to accept. And now, here you were. You pulled back. "Can we go back to your room?"

He nodded firmly, eyes raking down your body. "Yes," he said. But he didn't move. "How much have you had to drink?"

You considered for a moment, tilting your head. "Not too much to have not been able to coherently have this conversation, but enough to want to ask you for a kiss right now."

He smirked. Damn infuriating smirk. Gods above, he was beautiful. "A kiss? What, just to tide you over?

"Yeah," you replied, not even bothering to hide how desperate you well and truly were. Your entire body had started to hum.

He leaned in, his head tilted to fit against you. He stopped, his lips a breath away from yours. "In front of all these people?"

"Everyone knows by now. Gossip mill in this place is honestly rather impressive," you said. "Besides, if anyone says anything, I'll just send you after them." You pouted. "I don't even like sparring. I'm no good at it."

He'd leaned in even closer, practically speaking into your mouth. "I can teach you."

"Every time you try to teach me to spar better, I end up pinned underneath you and we end up rushing back to your room. You have absolutely no pure intentions when it comes to sparring. Will you kiss me now?"

He didn't say anything else. Just pressed a smile against your lips. It sent sparks down your spine, and you couldn't help the way you sucked in a breath. It was entirely involuntary, the way your body bowed into him, like you're magnetized in your very core to his.

The kiss was gentle at first, just the press of his lips against yours, but then you opened your mouth, pushing back into him, and his tongue ran along your bottom lip. Your knees nearly gave out.

"Your room," you said, and it was a plea down to its very roots.

Bodhi practically dragged you out of the hall. The trip back to the residential wing was a blur. He kept stopping to kiss you, to run his hands along your waist, up the nape of your neck just to watch you shiver. Finally, and with great effort, the pair of you made it up the corridor and to his room.

He shoved open the door, and snaked an arm around your waist, pressing you into the wall next to it, just inside his room. His lips trailed up your neck, and you nearly whimpered at the contact.

When he pulled away to look at you, his eyes were heavy and lidded, low and dark. So full of adoration and yearning that your chest felt weird. Like it was rearranging so that if you wanted to slot Bodhi's beating heart in next to your own, you could.

"Your boy, huh?" he asked, voice husky.

You smiled, carding your fingers through his hair. "My boy."

Bodhi kicked the door shut behind him, and ascended on you.

[hanniebaeee]

Neon Heat

Felix x fem!reader

Warnings : drinking, making out MDNI

Genre: strangers to lovers, fluff, suggestive

Summary: You are at the pub with your friends, and you're confused by the signs on the bathroom doors. But a sexy stranger helps you out, and then you go on to become more than strangers.

Ok, so this is a problem.

Your bladder is so close to bursting, the two beers you had with your friends demanding an immediate release. You don't understand how your friends have already started on the third one already. 

But now staring at the bathroom doors, you are trying to comprehend which is which. Obviously you've seen those signs before - in your biology textbooks.

But seeing it on bathroom doors? You're confused. And being tipsy isn't helping your situation either. 

One had a circle-and-line (♀️) symbol and the other had some kind of arrow sticking up (♂️).

Which was which?

Your brain tries to connect the dots through the haze of your tipsy buzz. Circle… arrow… wait, what? Who thought this was a good idea? You tilt your head, narrowing your eyes as if staring harder would magically give you clarity.

“Need some help there, love?”

The voice startles you, deep and smooth with a hint of teasing. 

You turn to see the owner of the said voice. He's tall and leaning casually against the wall with his dark hair framing his face neatly. He was dressed in all black - looking way too classy and sexy to be standing here with you. 

His brown eyes sparkle like he knows exactly what kind of effect he is having on you. And even under the dim lighting of the rest area, you can see a dusting of freckles over his skin. And it made him look even more hot somehow. 

You blink, momentarily forgetting how to function as a human being.

“Uh - what?” you stammer, trying not to look as affected as you feel.

He grins and says, “The one with the arrow sticking up? That’s the men’s room. Think of it as a…you know...easier to remember.”

His eyebrows raise suggestively as he point upwards, and then he winks.

He winks.

You blush instantly, and you could feel the heat creeping down your neck.

“Oh. Right. Arrow. Up. Got it.” You nod like an idiot, still staring at him like he’d just descended from the heavens. “Thanks for that. Um.. I gotta-”

“Of course, glad to be of help,” He says, and you bolt into the right bathroom, internally screaming because that did not just happen!!

By the time you calm yourself (and your bladder) down and get back to your table, your friends immediately notice your flustered state.

“What happened?” Jennie asks, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Are you ok?” Jisoo adds, leaning in conspiratorially.

You take a sip of your drink, trying to play it cool as you tell them you're just tispy. Of course the playing cool part doesn't last long because Mr. Freckles was sitting at a table right across from yours, laughing with some other (hot) guys. 

You look away quickly, and try not to glance his way after that. Also failing, because the next time you do, he's already looking at you.

Oh yes, he is. 

The night rolls on, your friends chatting and laughing, but you are only half-listening now. Because his gaze is searing, heavy with intent, and you could feel it in your core.

He looks ethereal under the neon lights and honestly, it was starting to get to you now.

At one point, he leans back in his chair, stretching lazily, and tilts his head toward the exit.

The message was clear: Meet me outside. You watch as he stands up, and walks out, your eyes following him all the way to the exit. 

Your pulse skyrockets. Is this really happening?

This isn't something you do. You don't like casual relationships or hook ups. Hell, you didn't even know his name. But there was something about him that made you want to follow him out. 

Ok, so if this is how you die, then what a pity, because you are already on your feet. 

The girls look up at you, and Jisoo, the always the sharpest says, “If you're going home with him, I'm gonna be so mad.”

“Oh my God! I won't!” You hiss, cheeks heating up. 

“Don't have too much fun!!” Jennie sings as as you make a beeline for the exit. 

The cool night air hits your face as you step out into the dimly lit garden behind the pub. It is quiet except for the muffled bass of music thumping from inside. You barely have time to wonder where he is when you spot him. 

“Thought you might leave me hanging.”  

Bathed in the soft glow of fairy lights, he looks gorgeous. His hands are shoved into his pockets, his posture relaxed, but the intensity in his eyes was anything but relaxed. It doesn't look like he is here to play around.

“I wasn’t sure if you were-” you admit, your voice quieter than you intended. “I don't do one night stands or hookups or whatever.”

“Oh, I wasn't looking for one.” He steps closer, his smile returning. “You’ve been driving me insane all night. So I wanted to know if it was just me, or if you felt it too.”

Your breath hitches as he closes the distance between you.  

“What exactly did you have in mind?” you asked, trying to sound confident (your body is betraying you in more ways than you can count right now).

“I would take you out first. You know, buy you some flowers, take you out to dinner. Talk. If you're interested, of course.”

“Oh.” Loss of vocabulary - you couldn't think of a sentence to say. 

He reaches out, his fingers brushing against yours, sending a jolt of electricity up your arm.

“In our case, I think we'll have to shuffle it up a bit…” He says, before his lips meet yours soft yet firm, and yes. You're gone. Completely. 

His hand cups your jaw, tilting your face up as he deepened the kiss. You can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips as his tongue teases yours. 

And he responds with a low hum that vibrates against your mouth. 

The kiss turns heated quickly, his hands sliding down to grip your waist and pull you flush against him. Your fingers tangle in his hair, earning a groan from him that sends a shiver down your spine. 

“God,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice thick with desire. “You’re going to be the death of me.”  

“You started it,” you tease, your voice breathless as you nipped at his bottom lip.  

He chuckles, but it quickly turns into a sharp intake of breath as you tug him closer. His hands slip down the curve of your hips, and he presses you gently against the brick wall of the pub. 

“What's your name, sweetheart?” he whispers, his lips trailing down your jaw to your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses that have your knees buckling. 

“Y/N,” you say, pulling him back up to your lips. “And yours?”

“Felix,”  

You lost track of time as the two of you melted into each other, the kisses getting more heated, and the feeling of his hands on your body getting more familiar.

Eventually you both pull back, panting and disheveled, and exchange soft smiles.

“So, about that dinner… does tomorrow sound good? I don't want to wait…” Felix asks, moving a strand of hair off your face.

You nod happily, and say, “Sounds perfect.”

“Good. I'll pick you up at 7?” 

“Ok,”

“And come prepared? ‘Cos I'm taking you home,” He says, his teasing grin back on again. “Maybe teach you a little about the signs…”

“Oh my God, Felix!” You laugh, and he laughs with you. 

After exchanging numbers, and one kiss too many, you two walk back to your own tables where your respective friends tease you endlessly for this. 

Jennie and Jisoo are on you for the juicy details and you give in, dying of happiness and also embarrassment - because honestly, this isn't how you pictured finding love.

As the boys start getting ready to leave, Felix glances at you, and you smile. That seems to have snapped something in him because he comes over to press a quick kiss to your cheek (making the boys go feral with laughter), and your own friends watched in amusement as you both said your goodbyes. 

“See you tomorrow,” Felix whispers. 

“See you,” You say, and watch him leave. 

And you squeal in joy making Jennie and Jisoo laugh. Because this feels great. 

Like it's meant to be. 

Divider - @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @satosugu4l

[purinrei]

˚₊۶ৎ˙⋆ RED FLAG

⋆˚˖ wc. 2.3k+ ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ p. sylus x fem!reader ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ nsfw mdni

masterlist navigation

cw: heavy degradation, dom!sylus, overstimulation, choking, face-fucking, rough handling, light pain play (spanking), power dynamics, sylus being a menace, explicit language, and intense tension.

this may or may not be cannon, I’ll let you decide..

y’all I know it’s a little repetitive.. i wrote it, also lowercase is intended, the caps were making me angry to type so I js did it in all lowercase. Happy reading

the fight started like it always did—sharp words, frustration burning in your chest, and sylus standing there like he had all the time in the world.

“you don’t get to decide things for me, sylus!” your voice cracked as you glared at him, fists clenched at your sides. “you disappear, you throw yourself into danger, and I’m just supposed to be okay with it?”

sylus exhaled slowly, eyes half-lidded and unreadable. “kitten,” he drawled, “i handle things my way. you knew that from the start.”

“you don’t handle things, you shut me out!” you nails dug into your palms, frustration twisting into something raw. “you act like nothing matters, not me, not what I think, not what happens to you—”

sylus was on you in an instant, his hand gripping your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

“careful,” he murmured, red eyes burning into yours. “you’re starting to sound like you think you can tell me what to do.”

your breath hitched, your body tensing, but it wasn’t fear keeping you still—it was him. that steady, unshaken control that wrapped around you like a vice.

his thumb brushed your lip, slow and deliberate. “you’re cute when you’re mad,” he said, tilting his head. “all bark, no bite.”

you tried to pull away, but his grip tightened just enough to make your pulse stutter.

“you piss me off,” you snapped, but the heat in your voice wasn’t just anger anymore.

sylus smirked. “that so?” his fingers traced along your jaw, his touch featherlight, mocking. “then why are you still standing here, kitten?”

because he knew.

knew how to unravel you. knew that every sharp word, every push and pull, only made you want him more.

and worst of all? he knew you liked it.

your silence made his smirk widen. “that’s what i thought.”

his other hand skimmed down your waist, slow, lazy, like he had all the time in the world. his fingers trailed lower, playing with the waistband of your shorts.

your breath hitched. “sylus—”

“you’ve got a real mouth on you,” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk. “maybe I should put it to better use.”

before you could react, he was sinking to his knees.

your heart slammed against your ribs. “wait—”

“why?” his hands gripped your hips, keeping you in place as he looked up at you through thick lashes. “scared you won’t be able to stand once I’m done with you?”

your stomach flipped. “sylus—”

he chuckled, dark and low. “that’s cute.”

then he hooked his fingers into your shorts and yanked them down.

you gasped as the cool air hit your skin, but sylus didn’t give you time to react. he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, then another, his teeth scraping just enough to make you shiver.

your hands flew to his shoulders, trying to keep your balance as he nudged your legs further apart.

“already trembling,” he mused, pressing a hot kiss against your clothed core. “and i haven’t even started yet.”

you whimpered, your fingers tightening against him.

Sylus clicked his tongue. “what happened to all that fire, kitten? just a minute ago, you were so eager to put me in my place.”

his teeth grazed against the thin fabric, a teasing pressure that made your legs shake.

“you—” your voice broke as he dragged his tongue over the soaked fabric, slow and deliberate.

“me?” His breath was warm against you. “i think you meant please, sylus.”

you swallowed hard, your pride warring with your desperation.

he exhaled, amused. “suit yourself.”

then he pulled your panties aside and licked a long, slow stripe through your folds.

your whole body jerked, a choked moan slipping past your lips.

sylus groaned against you. “sweet as always,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

his grip on your thighs tightened as he buried his face between them, licking into you with a slow, torturous precision.

your head tilted back, a breathless whine escaping you.

he hummed in approval, the vibration sending shivers down your spine. “look at you,” he murmured between lazy strokes of his tongue. “falling apart already.”

you gasped as he sucked lightly on your clit, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“s-sylus—”

“you taste desperate,” he mused, his fingers digging into your thighs. “like you’ve been waiting for this.”

youYou had, but you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of saying it.

he smirked against you. “still holding out?” his tongue flicked over your clit, teasing, taunting. “i can be patient, kitten.”

you whimpered, your thighs trembling around his head.

sylus chuckled darkly. “or maybe i should just keep you like this. weak. shaking. begging.”

your pride shattered. “please,” you gasped. “sylus, please—”

his grip tightened. “that’s better.”

then he pressed his tongue flat against your clit and devoured you.

your knees buckled, a broken cry ripping from your throat as pleasure slammed into you.

sylus groaned against you, drinking in every sound, every tremble, every sharp gasp.

and just when you thought you’d finally tip over the edge—he stopped.

a whimper tore from your lips. “no—”

sylus wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, red eyes gleaming with amusement. “you don’t get to cum yet, kitten.”

you stared at him, still shaking, your breath uneven. “you bastard—”

he laughed, slow and dark. “you’re so cute.”

then he flipped you onto the couch, pinning you beneath him with ease.

“you really think you get to tell me what to do?” his fingers slipped between your legs, sliding over your soaked folds. “look at you. dripping all over my fingers. desperate. pathetic.”

you whimpered, your body arching into him.

sylus smirked, pressing his lips to your ear. “now, let’s see how much you can take before i finally fuck you.”

sylus had you right where he wanted you.

pinned beneath him, legs spread, your body still trembling from the way he’d devoured you—only to stop just before you could fall apart.

you whimpered, your nails digging into his arms. “sylus—”

he smirked, red eyes gleaming as he tilted his head. “that’s not my problem, kitten.” his fingers trailed along your thigh, light, teasing. “you should’ve begged sooner.”

your hips bucked against him, desperate for something, but sylus only clicked his tongue.

“look at you,” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement. “still so needy. you just don’t learn, do you?”

his fingers traced lower, skimming over your soaked entrance but not pushing in. just hovering, making you squirm.

“you’re dripping,” he mused, as if you were the one at fault. “and all for me.”

you whimpered, your breathing uneven. “please—”

sylus exhaled, pleased. “better,” he murmured. “but not good enough.”

then he slapped your soaked cunt.

you gasped, a sharp cry escaping your lips as the sting shot through you—sharp, sudden, and so good it made your body jerk.

sylus chuckled darkly. “that got your attention.”

you trembled beneath him, your legs weak as he slid his fingers between your folds, rubbing slow, lazy circles around your entrance.

“such a mess,” he murmured, almost mockingly. “all that fight, all that attitude—just to end up like this. weak. helpless.”

his fingers dipped in, barely, before pulling back out, teasing you mercilessly.

you let out a choked whimper, your nails raking down his arms. “sylus, please—”

“please what?” His voice was a purr, smooth and taunting. “use your words, kitten.”

you swallowed hard, your pride warring with your desperation.

sylus sighed, clicking his tongue. “still stubborn?” his fingers slid in—just enough to make you moan—before withdrawing again. “maybe I should just leave you like this.”

your eyes snapped open in panic. “no!—”

he smirked, amused by how quickly you broke. “then say it.”

your pride shattered. “please,” you gasped. “please, sylus—f-fuck me, use me, just—just do something—”

sylus groaned, his fingers tightening around your waist. “good girl.”

then he slammed two fingers inside you.

your back arched instantly, a strangled moan ripping from your throat as he curled them, pressing right against that spot that made your legs shake.

“fuck,” sylus muttered, watching your reaction with dark satisfaction. “took you long enough.”

his fingers pumped into you, slow but deep, dragging along your walls with calculated precision.

you whined, your body writhing beneath him.

“that’s it,” he murmured. “whine for me. let me hear how pathetic you sound when I fuck you with my fingers.”

you gasped, your nails scraping down his arms as his pace quickened, his fingers fucking into you so deep you could barely think.

hell, you could barely form words, your moans spilling out in ragged, broken gasps as he fucked you open with his fingers, stretching you, making sure you felt every inch.

“look at you,” sylus murmured, pressing his forehead against yours. “so dumb. so fucking wet.”

his fingers curled, hitting that spot again, making you cry out.

“you gonna cum?” he taunted. “gonna soak my hand like the needy little thing you are?”

you nodded frantically, your breath hitching. “please—”

sylus chuckled, low and dark. “too bad.”

then he pulled his fingers out.

a broken whimper left your throat, your body trembling as you were left aching, so close, so close..

sylus brought his fingers to his lips, his red eyes never leaving yours as he licked them clean.

you shuddered.

his smirk widened. “you taste fucking perfect.”

then he was pressing you back down, his body covering yours, the heat of him making you whimper.

his hand slid between your legs, teasing you with the tip of his cock, rubbing against your entrance but not pushing in.

“you want it, kitten?” his voice was silk, smooth and taunting.

you nodded, your hands clutching at him. “mhm—”

sylus hummed. “i dunno,” he mused, dragging his cock against you, making you feel how thick he was. “you’ve been pretty fucking bratty tonight.”

you whimpered, trying to press down, to take him yourself—

sylus grabbed your hips, holding you still.

“ah, ah,” he tsked, his grip bruising. “not until I say so.”

tears pricked at your eyes from the need. “sylus, please, i—i need it, i need you—”

his lips curled into a smirk, his red eyes gleaming.

“that’s better,” he murmured.

then he pushed in.

slowly.

your breath hitched, your back arching as he stretched you inch by inch, making you feel every part of him.

sylus groaned, his grip on your hips tightening. “fuck, you’re tight.”

you gasped, nails digging into his back as he bottomed out, filling you completely.

sylus leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. “you belong to me, kitten.”

you were a mess.

your body trembled, your breath shaky, your skin burning with overstimulation. sylus had already dragged you through wave after wave of pleasure, leaving you whimpering beneath him, barely able to keep yourself upright. but he wasn’t done with you yet.

his red eyes burned as he watched you—ruined, desperate, still needing more. his smirk curled, sharp and teasing.

“look at you,” he muttered, his grip tightening around your waist before dragging his fingers up your body, stopping at your chin. he tilted your face up to meet his gaze, his thumb brushing over your swollen lips. “you’re wrecked, kitten.”

you gasped as he pulled away completely, your body aching at the loss, a desperate whine slipping from your lips.

sylus chuckled, dark and low. “dont pout.” his fingers tangled in your hair, tugging sharply as he guided you down onto your knees. “you know what to do.”

you barely had time to breathe before he pressed himself against your lips. you opened for him, letting him slide inside, your tongue curling around him as you hollowed your cheeks.

“fuck,” sylus groaned, his head tipping back for a brief moment before his red eyes dropped to you again, his grip in your hair tightening. “that’s it—take me in.”

he didn’t let you set the pace. his hand held you there, guiding your movements, forcing you to take him deep. you gagged, your throat tightening around him, and he grinned.

“you love this, don’t you?” he muttered, his voice thick with amusement. “on your knees, drooling all over me. so fucking desperate to be used.”

you moaned around him, your hands gripping his thighs, your nails digging into his skin. he groaned at the sensation, his pace quickening, his pleasure unraveling—

but then his free hand slid between your legs.

your whole body jerked, a sharp gasp escaping around him as his fingers found your slick, already sensitive from everything he’d done to you before. but sylus was relentless, two fingers sliding in with ease, curling just right—

your eyes rolled back, a muffled whimper escaping your throat.

sylus chuckled, his smirk sharp. “oh? you weren’t expecting that?” his fingers thrust deep, his pace perfectly matching the way he fucked into your mouth. “you’re so easy to play with, kitten. so fucking responsive.”

you trembled, pleasure coiling tight in your core. his fingers were ruthless, pressing against that perfect spot inside you, dragging you higher and higher—

“you better cum before I do,” sylus warned, his voice dark, amused. “or I won’t let you.”

your entire body tensed, your release hitting you hard, pleasure crashing over you as you came undone around his fingers. you gasped, whimpering against him, your thighs shaking—

and sylus groaned, his grip tightening in your hair. “dont spill a fucking drop.”

he thrust deep, his release spilling into your mouth as you swallowed around him, your body still trembling from your own orgasm.

he watched you, red eyes sharp, his fingers still buried inside you, dragging out every last aftershock before finally pulling away.

but he didn’t let go of you.

his fingers gripped your chin, tilting your face up. “open your mouth.”

you did, your lips parting, tongue out, showing him you’d swallowed everything.

sylus smirked, pleased. “good girl.”

his fingers brushed over your jaw, his voice dropping into something lower, more dangerous. “if you hadn’t—” he chuckled, thumb dragging along your swollen bottom lip. “i would’ve had to teach you a lesson.”

and the look in his eyes told you he meant it.

© purinrei 2025, pls don’t steal, edit / translate, or repost my works on other platforms without asking. thank you pookies

[manicpixiedreamkira]

kigatsukeba

part two | chapter index

megumi x reader, aged up!megumi (and others), early twenties, working as sorcerers, post shinjuku showdown arc but megumi doesn't have his face scars, megumi trying and failing to be in control of his feelings, gojo's gone, bonded through trauma, friends to fwb to lovers, drinking/getting drunk, jealousy, confusing feelings, megumi sucks at feelings, miscommunication, misinterpretation, megumi being stubborn, reader being clueless, slowish burn, idiots in love, jerking off, a bit of size kink ngl, megumi is older here so he’s taller (like 6'2?), he's also buffer (he's toji's son guys, c'mon), reader is described as smaller/shorter than him, takuma ino mentioned, smut, unprotected piv, nasty sex (multiple times), but also love making, confessions, aftercare, a bit of angst, but there's fluff here too, megumi's down bad, not beta'd

w.c: 14,831

The soft, amber light slanting through the curtains was what woke you.

It spilled across the bed in long, golden streaks, painting Megumi’s simple navy sheets in hues too warm for the clean, cool stillness of his room. With a low groan, you sat up, the soft fabric of a familiar black t-shirt sliding over your skin as you moved—his shirt, the one you'd slipped on that morning—falling to your thighs and holding the faint, lingering warmth of his body.

You shifted, one hand drifting absently to your hip—and bit back a tiny squeak. Your panties were on again, warm like they'd just come out of the dryer not too long ago.

You remembered falling asleep bare. Tangled up in him. Skin against skin. A flush crept into your cheeks, your heart giving a startled flip. He must’ve—you bit your lip—he must’ve dressed you.

You turned, eyes scanning the room, and there it was: your slip dress, freshly laundered and hanging neatly on a hanger hooked over the closet door.

He’d done all of it—quietly, carefully—like it was the most natural thing in the world. Made sure you were warm and safe and... and his, in all the ways that mattered but none of the ways that would let him keep you.

You tucked your face into your knees for a second, hiding the ridiculous, giddy grin that tugged at your mouth. God, you thought, squeezing your thighs together, he’s going to kill me.

You stay there for a moment longer, soaking in the comfort of it—the small, tender care stitched into every action—as the memories hit you in soft, hazy waves. The feel of his mouth on your skin. The wrecked sounds he'd pulled from you. The way he’d come, untouched, just from tasting you—from needing you that much.

And after, how he’d collapsed against you—spent, lightly trembling, pressing close like he couldn’t stand the thought of letting go.

Your heart gave a slow, painful squeeze.

You swung your legs off the bed, the cool floorboards kissing your bare feet, and sat there for a moment—breathing him in, the lingering scent of cedar and citrus clinging to your skin. 

A faint, savory scent drifted into the room—something warm and hearty, sharp enough to make your stomach tighten with sudden hunger. You pushed yourself up carefully, smoothing the t-shirt down your thighs, and padded toward the door. The apartment was mostly quiet, but the soft sounds of cooking floated from the kitchen: the clatter of a spatula, the low sizzle of something frying.

You crept forward, peeking around the corner. The kitchen was bathed in soft, dusky light, the last stretch of sunset streaking pink and orange through the windows.

And there he was.

Megumi stood at the stove, barefoot, as he stirred something on the burner. And he was shirtless. The low waistband of his sweatpants clung to his hips, slouching just low enough to reveal the deep V of his hip bones. 

He moved fluidly, almost thoughtlessly—shaking the pan with one hand, flipping what looked like slices of chicken breast seared to a perfect golden brown. A pot simmered gently on the back burner, the smell of garlic and something rich and earthy filling the air.

Your breath caught—not at the sight of him half-naked (though God, that was enough to make your head spin)—but at the quiet, unconscious ease of him.

Scars mapped his back in pale slashes—crisscrossing his ribs, curling under his arms—brutal reminders of a life lived far too violently.

He hadn’t heard you yet.

You watched him move for a second longer—graceful in that unthinking, efficient way he always had. 

This—

This was what you wanted. Not the sex. Not just the sex.

This.

The way he cooked for you without asking. The way he put you back into his clothes when you were too wrung out to dress yourself. The way he kept touching your life—quietly, steadily—like he was already stitched into it.

You swallowed hard and stepped into the room. He heard you immediately—shoulders stiffening, pan tilting precariously for a second before he righted it with a muttered curse.

His eyes dragged down the length of you—from the messy tumble of your hair to the bare stretch of your legs under the shirt—and then back up, locking onto your face like he couldn't look anywhere else without losing whatever fragile thread of control he was clinging to.

His ears flushed pink.

"You’re up," he said, awkwardly, like the words got tangled in his throat.

You smiled, soft and a little shy. "Yeah. Smelled food."

He turned quickly back to the stove, stirring the pan with unnecessary force.

"It’s nothing fancy," he muttered, voice rough. "Just... thought you’d be hungry. You were out all day..." He trailed off, face going even redder.

"What time is it?" you asked, stepping further into the room, your bare feet whispering across the tile.

"Almost seven."

“Smells good,” you offered, trying for casual.

“Chicken stir-fry,” he said shortly. “Rice is almost done.”

“Thanks,” you said, voice small.

He shrugged—a sharp, jerky motion—and grabbed a bowl from the cabinet, dishing out a portion before handing it to you wordlessly. You took it carefully, your fingers brushing his for the barest second—the touch crackling up your spine like static.

You sat at the little kitchen table, curling your legs under yourself, and dug into the food gratefully. It was simple—chicken, rice, a handful of vegetables seared just enough to stay crisp—but it tasted like heaven after everything you hadn’t eaten in the last who knows how many hours.

Megumi slid into the seat across from you, still carefully not looking at you. You ate slowly, both of you picking at the food like neither quite knew how to fill the growing space between you.

He cleared his throat once, then again.

Then, softly:

"I’m sorry," he said finally, voice low and rough.

You blinked, chopsticks halfway to your mouth. “For what?”

He looked down, his hands flexing uselessly at his sides.

"For... everything," he said finally, grimacing. "Last night. The way I’ve been acting. I just—" He broke off, dragging a hand through his messy hair, leaving it even worse. You tilted your head, swallowing a bite of rice.

"What happened, anyway?" you asked gently. "You’ve been acting strange ever since..." You trailed off, watching the stiff line of his shoulders.

Megumi set his chopsticks down carefully, exhaling a slow, rough breath.

"I’ll tell you," he said after a long beat. "Just... not right now."

You studied him—the tense set of his shoulders, the way he picked at his food without eating—and nodded slowly.

“Okay,” you said quietly. “Whenever you’re ready.”

The tension eased in his shoulders—just a little. Like he hadn’t realized he’d been bracing for a fight.

For a while, you just ate, the sun sinking lower outside, the kitchen filling with soft, golden light.

The meal finished quietly, comfortably.

You stacked the plates, wiping your fingers with a napkin, before you finally spoke again.

"So," you said, trying for lightness, “does this mean you agreed?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Agreed?”

You shrugged, feigning casualness you absolutely didn’t feel.

“To us… hooking up,” you said, forcing the words past the dry hitch in your throat. “No strings. Friends. With… benefits.”

For a long beat, Megumi just stared at you—something raw and searching in his gaze. Then he gave a low, almost self-conscious laugh, raking a hand through his messy hair.

"I can’t..." he started, voice low and raw, "I can’t resist you."

The admission hit you like a punch.

He shoved a hand into his hair again, frustration crackling off him in waves.

"But if we’re gonna do this... I need time," he muttered. 

“Time?” you echoed, amused.

“To think,” he said, dead serious. “To come up with… I don’t know. Rules. Or something.”

You snorted—the sound half-disbelieving, half-affectionate. 

“Of course you’d need rules,” you teased, grinning. “God, you’re such a responsible guy.”

You meant it as a tease—light, familiar—but the way Megumi looked at you after? The way his eyes burned into you, dark and heated and desperate? It wiped the smile clean off your face.

His gaze dragged over you—slow, deliberate—lingering on the bare stretch of your thighs, the hem of his t-shirt clinging soft to your hips. His jaw tightened, his nostrils flaring slightly.

You didn’t mean to look—but your eyes dropped, just for a second.

The front of his sweats was tented slightly—his cock straining against the soft fabric, thick and heavy and unmistakably hard.

You swallowed, heat licking up your spine.

Megumi’s hands flexed at his sides—like he was holding himself back with everything he had.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Your whole body tensed, a soft, involuntary tremor working up your spine. You licked your lips without thinking—and Megumi’s eyes tracked the movement like a predator scenting blood.

For one dizzy, reckless second, you thought he was going to take you right there—haul you out of your chair, bend you over the table, fuck you until you forgot your own name

But instead, Megumi shoved back his chair abruptly, standing up with careful, deliberate movements.

“I’ll, uh… drive you home,” he said, voice tight.

You stared up at him, blinking—your heart thudding, your whole body aching with something sharp and sweet and unfinished. Megumi couldn’t quite meet your eyes—his jaw clenched tight, his hands fisted at his sides—but there was nothing harsh in it. Just… desperate restraint.

"But—" you started, voice breaking.

He shook his head once, sharp and final, already gathering the plates into the sink like he needed the distraction.

"Come on," he said, not looking at you. "Before it gets too late."

You stood slowly, smoothing the hem of his t-shirt down your thighs, and nodded.

“Okay,” you said softly.

You watched him, heart a tangled, aching knot in your chest. And realized: he wasn’t pushing you away because he didn’t want you. He was pushing you away because he did. More than he knew how to survive.

—

A week passed.

Seven long, dragging days of silence.

No calls. No texts. No Megumi.

You tried—really tried—not to let it gnaw at you. You told yourself he was just busy. That he was thinking things through. That he needed space. That he was taking the time he’d said he needed.

You told yourself you understood.

But with each day that ticked by without a word, the knot in your stomach pulled tighter.

By the fourth day, when even Yuuji and Nobara started exchanging suspicious looks every time you casually asked if they’d seen Megumi around, you knew you weren’t fooling anyone.

By the fifth, you’d stopped pretending altogether.

You missed him.

Not just the warmth of his hands or the low rasp of his voice murmuring against your skin—though you missed that too, painfully—but the quiet steadiness he brought with him. The way he made the world seem a little less heavy just by existing beside you.

You missed him—all of him—and it terrified you.

Because maybe he’d decided it wasn’t worth it. Maybe he regretted it. Maybe he realized it had been a mistake. That disappearing was easier than facing you.

You told yourself you wouldn’t reach out. You told yourself you wouldn’t be that girl—the one who chased after someone who clearly didn’t want her.

Still, you kept your phone close. Just in case.

Saturday night found you curled on your couch in an oversized sweater and worn sleep shorts, a mindless show murmuring in the background as you scrolled absently through your phone.

You weren’t really watching. You weren’t really doing anything at all—just slowly allowing the hope you hadn’t admitted you were still clinging to finally die. Which was why, when a knock came at the door, you jolted so hard you nearly dropped your phone.

You blinked, heart lurching into your throat, frowning at the door.

You weren’t expecting anyone. No deliveries. No plans. Maybe a neighbor? A mistake?

Another knock—soft, tentative.

You padded over cautiously, peeking through the peephole—

And your heart stuttered.

Standing there, shifting a little awkwardly on your doorstep, was Megumi.

Black hoodie pushed to the elbows. Joggers slouched low on his hips. His hair a mess, like he’d run his hands through it too many times. He rocked on the balls of his feet, hands buried deep in his pockets, looking utterly, achingly out of place.

He looked… devastating. Soft and nervous and heartbreakingly handsome.

You stared for a second longer, stunned—then scrambled to open the door.

His eyes lifted the moment it opened—like he couldn’t help it—weeping over you, from your bare legs to the sweater swallowing your frame.

“Hi,” you said, breath catching, fingers tight on the doorknob—like it might keep you from falling over.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and rough, like it scraped its way out.

You took him in—the flushed tips of his ears, the way his shoes scuffed against the floor—and your heart slammed against your ribs.

He cleared his throat, glanced away, then forced himself to meet your eyes.

“I, uh…” he hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was wondering if you wanted to go out. With me.”

You blinked. Surely you’d misheard.

“You’re asking me on a date?” you asked, incredulous.

His cheeks flushed, but he nodded once—sharp, determined.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I mean. If you want.”

You stared at him, thrown off balance—confusion tangled with the giddy surge rising in your chest.

“A date?” you repeated, voice a little shaky. “I mean… isn’t that kind of… serious? For, you know. Friends with benefits?”

You winced the moment it left your mouth—the bluntness, the stupidity of it—but Megumi just shook his head, exhaling a breath like he’d expected the question.

“I know,” he said, softer now, steadier. “I thought about that. A lot.”

You shifted, arms crossing protectively over your sweater, watching him carefully.

“And?” you prompted.

He sighed in a slow breath, like he was trying to find the right words.

“I took some time,” he said, voice rough but sincere. “Tried to figure out what I wanted. What would make this…” he hesitated, then forced himself to continue. “…not something I’d regret. Or mess up.”

You swallowed hard. Megumi shifted his weight, finally dragging his gaze back to yours.

“And I realized… if we’re doing this, we’re doing it our own way. Not by some stupid idea of what friends with benefits is supposed to be.”

You barely breathed.

“My way means I get to…” he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking very young, very vulnerable. “…treat you the way you deserve. Not just… take. I like being around you,” he said, almost stubbornly. “I care about you. I want to… to cherish you. Even if it doesn’t mean anything deeper. Even if it’s just… our thing.”

He paused, ducking his head for a second before glancing up at you through messy bangs.

“And I owe you,” he added roughly. “For being an asshole.”

You stared—at the tension in his frame, the flicker of real fear and stubbornness in his eyes—and something melted deep inside you. Completely, helplessly melted.

You stood there, stunned—warmth pooling in your chest, in your stomach, making your fingers curl into the sleeves of your sweater.

You didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to say yes fast enough. A tiny, giddy laugh bubbled up in your throat, and you bit your lip to stifle it. Megumi shifted again, looking nervous at your silence.

“You don’t have to,” he said quickly. “If you think it’s weird or—”

“I’d love to,” you blurted.

He froze, staring at you—a slow, hesitant smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

You laughed—soft and disbelieving and overwhelmed all at once—covering your mouth with your hand.

“Isn’t this a bit old-fashioned?” you teased. “You could’ve just called.”

Megumi gave you a look—somewhere between sheepish and exasperated.

“I wanted to see your face,” he said simply.

The words hit you like a punch to the chest—knocking the breath clean out of you.

“You,” you said, shaking your head, “are… ridiculously good.”

He flushed deeper, scowling faintly. “I’m not—”

“You are,” you cut in, smiling wide.

You didn’t mean to say it. Not like that. Not yet. But he heard it anyway—and he smiled.

A small, devastating, beautiful smile.

You smiled back—even wider and a little breathless—your whole body buzzing with relief and something dangerously close to joy.

“Come in,” you stepped aside.

He ducked his head, trying to hide the grin tugging at his mouth, and stepped past you.

Almost immediately, a soft brush of fur wound around his ankles. The little white blur weaving figure-eights around his legs meowed once, loudly, demanding attention. Megumi froze, startled, looking down—and you couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up.

“That’s Satoru,” you explained, closing the door behind him.

Megumi’s brows lifted slightly. “Satoru?”

“Shoko found him,” you said quickly. “Under her car. She couldn’t keep him and thought… Well, he reminded her of Gojo-sensei. Bright blue eyes. White fur. She asked me to keep the name.”

You hesitated, watching him carefully.

You braced yourself, half-expecting something sharp or sad to cross Megumi’s face—something pained. But instead—

He crouched down, scooping the cat up without hesitation, cradling the soft white bundle against his chest. Satoru immediately headbutted his chin, purring so loudly it filled the room.

Megumi laughed softly—the sound so rare, so warm, you felt it all the way to your bones—and tucked his face against the soft white fur for a moment, nuzzling into the cat’s side. When he straightened, his expression was soft—a softness you hadn’t seen in a long time—gentled by some private grief you both shared, but not broken by it.

The sight made your throat tighten painfully.

“I think,” Megumi said finally, voice low and thick, “he’d be honored.”

Your chest squeezed painfully—too full, too much—but you smiled through it, tucking your face against your shoulder for a second to compose yourself. 

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Me too.”

And there—standing there in your small living room, the ghost of a beloved memory purring between your hands—you had to blink back the sudden sting behind your eyes.

“So,” you said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “wanna go get takoyaki?” Megumi blinked, caught off guard.

“Takoyaki?”

“There’s a stand just a couple blocks down. Best late-night food in the city, and you’re buying. Consider it part of your apology.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, the beginnings of a smirk pulling at his lips.

“Fine,” he said, dry but fond.

You ducked into your bedroom to change, tossing on a pair of fitted jeans and some other soft, oversized sweatshirt—comfortable, easy—smoothing your hair quickly in the mirror before padding back out.

Megumi was crouched near the cat, lazily stroking a hand over Satoru’s back as the kitten purred in loud, determined bursts.

Your heart ached a little at the sight, but you just grabbed your keys and sneakers, calling over your shoulder, “Come on, before they sell out.”

The night air was cool when you stepped outside, the sidewalks gleaming faintly from an earlier rain. Streetlights flickered to life above you, painting the pavement in soft amber hues. Megumi walked close enough that your arms brushed every so often, the contact sending quiet little jolts through your skin. Neither of you mentioned it. 

The takoyaki stand was still bustling, the rich smell of batter and bonito flakes wafting through the air. You ordered a plate to share and snagged one of the small outdoor tables tucked under a striped awning.

Megumi sat across from you, his posture stiff at first—like he didn’t quite know how to relax—but slowly, as you both dug into the steaming, golden balls of dough, he started to ease. You popped a piece into your mouth, burning your tongue slightly, and laughed through the sting. Megumi watched you—a faint, amused look on his face.

“So,” you said around a mouthful of octopus and batter, “about those rules?”

Megumi straightened like he was being called to report.

“Yeah, I figured it’s better if we’re clear from the start.”

You smirked, leaning your chin into your hand.

“Lay it on me, Fushiguro.”

He cleared his throat—obviously having thought this through more seriously than you expected. Even for him. 

“First,” he said, voice a little too formal, “we always use protection.”

You nodded solemnly, even as your lips twitched.

“Second,” he continued, “if either of us engages in sexual activity with another partner, we cease our arrangement immediately.”

You blinked—a little surprised by how clinical he sounded—and then snorted into your drink. Megumi flushed faintly.

“What?” he muttered, defensive.

“Engages in sexual activity with another partner,” you mimicked, grinning. “God, you sound like you’re giving a public health lecture.”

He scowled, but there was laughter in his eyes.

“I’m serious,” he said stubbornly. “It’s about being safe. And… fair.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing harder, but nodded.

“I get it,” you said softly. “I agree.”

You didn’t say it out loud—didn’t dare—but the thought of anyone else had never even crossed your mind.

It was Megumi or nothing.

“Third,” he said, pausing briefly to take a sip of water, “this stays between us. No telling Yuuji, or Nobara, or Shoko. Especially not Nobara. She’d make it her life’s mission to screw with us.”

You laughed, unable to help it. “Smart man.”

Megumi smiled, slow and genuine, before sobering slightly.

“And last,” Megumi said, his voice turning a little quieter, “we’re honest.”

You blinked, the laughter fading from your mouth.

“If something changes—jealousy, attachment, whatever—we talk about it. Immediately. No pretending, no hiding it.”

Your heart flipped painfully, but you kept your face open, listening.

“And,” he added, after a beat, “if it stops feeling good—for any reason—we walk away. No guilt. No forcing something that doesn’t work anymore.”

You exhaled slowly, feeling the weight and tenderness packed into his words.

“You really thought this through,” you murmured.

He shrugged, looking faintly embarrassed.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said, almost under his breath. “Even if it means… walking away before it gets ugly.”

Something heavy and bright lodged itself in your chest. You smiled—soft, real—and reached across the table to brush your fingers against his.

“I agree with your rules, Megumi,” you said, voice warm. “All of them.”

He relaxed visibly, the tension easing from his shoulders.

“There’s one more,” Megumi said after a moment, picking at the edge of the paper napkin.

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head.

“No drunk confessions,” he said wryly. “No drunk hookups. If we’re gonna cross any new lines… we do it sober.”

You blinked—then grinned, wide and uncontrollable.

“Responsible and romantic,” you teased lightly.

Megumi groaned, dragging a hand down his face, but you saw the faint flush painting the tips of his ears.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered.

You leaned your chin into your hand, watching him—feeling the steady, glowing heat spreading through your whole body. Something cracked open in your chest—something big and soft and terrifying. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you just smiled—big and bright and helpless.

You both dug back into the food, talking and laughing more freely now—about the terrible TV shows you were watching, Nobara’s latest hair disaster, the fact that Yuuji had somehow broken yet another set of weights at the gym. The night air cooled further, but you barely noticed—too wrapped in the soft, buzzing warmth building between you.

Megumi laughed more than you’d seen him in months. Maybe years. And you found yourself hoarding every sound, every fleeting smile, like they were something precious.

When you finally finished, Megumi stood and offered you his hand without thinking. You took it—your fingers fitting into his so easily it made your heart ache—and let him pull you to your feet.

The walk back to your apartment was quiet, but not tense. Megumi’s hand brushed yours every few steps, like he couldn’t quite stop himself from reaching for you, even if he didn’t dare actually hold on.

By the time you reached your building, your chest was aching in the best way—full to the brim and bursting with something that felt terrifyingly close to hope.

Maybe this was crazy. Maybe it would hurt eventually.

But right now—

Right now, it felt perfect.

—

Megumi stood near the door, looming tall in the low light—all broad shoulders and long limbs, tension wrapped tight across his frame. He shifted slightly, one hand braced against the doorframe like he needed the support.

“I should go,” he said, voice rough and low.

You smiled—slow and easy—leaning casually against the doorframe. He was so tall up close—big in a way that made your breath catch—all lean muscle and solid heat, towering over you without even trying.

“Or,” you said lightly, tilting your head up to meet his gaze, “you could come in.”

He went still—like you’d struck him—then laughed under his breath, shaking his head.

“I better not,” he said, sounding genuinely regretful. “If I stay, I’m not leaving.”

You grinned wider, emboldened by the way his voice strained at the edges.

“Is that a threat?” you teased, letting your hand skim up his chest—feeling the tense, hard lines of muscle beneath the soft fabric of his hoodie, the breadth of his shoulders dwarfing your palm.

He huffed a low, breathless sound—almost a laugh, almost a groan.

“It’s a promise,” he said, voice thick.

You tilted your head up, studying him—the way he stared down at you, torn between need and stubbornness.

“You’re that sure of yourself?”

He snorted a soft, self-deprecating laugh.

“I’m sure of you,” he muttered, gaze dropping to your mouth for a second before he forced himself to look away. “I wanna take you out properly first. Real date. Real apology. Then… whatever you want.”

The words hit you square in the chest—warm and dizzying.

God, he was cute like this. Sweet and stubborn and so obviously down bad he couldn’t see straight.

You bit your lip, pretending to consider. “Okay.”

“Then at least,” you whispered, voice sweet and dangerous, “give me a goodnight kiss.”

Megumi groaned under his breath—a broken, helpless sound. He hesitated—barely—his hands twitching like he wanted to grab you and haul you against him. You smiled slyly and, rising onto your toes, curled your fingers lightly into the front of his hoodie, tugging him down toward you.

He bent easily—helplessly—his bigger frame folding around you as he lowered his head. Then—because he was a man with no chance against you—he caved. His hands found your waist in one swift, needy movement, pulling you flush against him as his mouth crashed into yours. He kissed you like he couldn’t help it—like he needed it—a low, desperate sound rumbling deep in his chest.

It started gentle—just the brush of his mouth against yours—but you weren’t feeling particularly patient. The kiss deepened immediately—messy and gasping, mouths open, tongues sliding together in slow, desperate strokes.

You moaned softly into his mouth, your fingers fisting in the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him closer, closer, until you felt the hard line of his cock against your hip. It was intoxicating—the sheer size of him, the way he practically caged you against the door, heat rolling off him in waves.

Before you could think, you were tugging him backward, stumbling toward the couch, lips never parting. He let you guide him, too wrecked to resist, until the backs of his knees hit the cushions and you shoved him down with a playful little push.

He landed with a soft grunt, blinking up at you—dazed, flushed, wrecked. You straddled his lap in one smooth motion, thighs bracketing his hips, your hands finding the hem of his hoodie and slipping underneath, feeling the hot, taut skin of his stomach.

He cursed low under his breath, head tipping back against the couch, hands clutching desperately at your thighs.

“Fuck,” he muttered, dragging his mouth from yours to pant against your cheek. “You’re making this impossible.”

You grinned against his skin, nuzzling your nose along his jaw.

“Maybe that’s the point,” you whispered, nipping lightly at his skin.

He shuddered—a full-body tremor—before grabbing your hips, stilling you. He groaned again—a wrecked, guttural sound—and buried his face in your neck for a second.

“Please,” he said, voice raw. “Let me do this right. Just… just for once, let me do the right thing.”

You froze—heart twisting painfully at the naked desperation in his voice. He wasn’t asking for distance because he didn’t want you. He was asking because he wanted you too much.

You pulled back, studying his flushed face, the way his chest rose and fell in quick, uneven breaths.

“Okay,” you said softly, brushing your thumb along his cheek. “Okay, Megs.”

He exhaled, sagging into the couch like a man on the edge of collapse. You shifted, letting your hands wander—tracing slow, teasing lines across his broad chest, down his ribs, over the hard muscle hidden beneath his hoodie. His breath hitched sharply.

“Well,” you said, voice feather-light, “we’re not having sex tonight.”

He nodded quickly—too quickly—trying to regain some semblance of control.

“But,” you added, fingers teasing along his waistband, “at least let me return the favor.”

Megumi frowned, confused. “What favor?”

You smiled sweetly, already slipping your hands lower—fingers dipping under the hem of his sweats. It clicked just as you brushed against the hard line of him, already straining against the fabric. His eyes widened—darkening immediately, mouth parting in a soft, startled sound.

“Fuck,” he muttered, but he didn’t stop you.

You kissed him again—slower this time, gentler—mouthing at the corner of his mouth, his jaw, down the tense line of his throat. He let you, hands falling helplessly to his sides, clutching the edge of the couch like he could anchor himself there. You slid off his lap and onto your knees between his thighs, your hands finding the soft layers of cotton at his waist again.

Megumi made a soft, choked-off noise—half protest, half plea—but lifted his hips obediently when you tugged them down just enough to free him. You swallowed hard, heat blooming low and heavy in your stomach.

He was beautiful—thick, long, flushed, already leaking precum from the tip. And all for you. Your mouth watered at the sight.

You wrapped one hand gently around the base of him, feeling the way he twitched helplessly in your grasp. His breath stuttered—a sharp, embarrassing sound—and his fingers tangled in your hair, trembling slightly.

“You’re not playing fair,” he rasped, voice ragged.

You just laughed softly, breath ghosting against the sensitive skin of his tip, before lowering your mouth onto him.

“You don’t have to,” he rasped again, but it was barely a protest.

You just smiled up at him—slow and sure—and whispered, “I want to.”

You leaned in, licking a slow, teasing stripe up the underside of his cock, savoring the way his whole body jerked.

“Fuck, baby,” he gasped, hips twitching helplessly. His hands tangled further in your hair, gripping tight but not guiding, just holding on.

You took him into your mouth slowly, stretching your lips around the thick weight of him, moaning softly at the taste—at the sheer heat of him. Megumi choked on a whimper, his hips bucking weakly before he caught himself.

You worked him carefully—dragging your tongue along the sensitive vein on the underside, swirling around the flushed head, hollowing your cheeks on every slow pull. Every sound he made—the broken gasps, the strangled moans—shot straight through you, pooling hot and aching between your legs.

“You’re… fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” he panted, hips rocking helplessly up into your mouth despite himself.

You moaned around him—the sound sending a shudder through his whole body—and took him deeper, feeling him hit the back of your throat. He whimpered—an actual, pitchy whimper this time—his thighs trembling against your shoulders.

“Shit— Baby, fuck, I’m not— I can’t—” he gasped, voice wrecked beyond recognition.

You pulled back just slightly, swirling your tongue around the sensitive head again—and that was it. With a broken, desperate cry, Megumi came—hot and fast, spilling down your throat.

You swallowed carefully, savoring every shaky, helpless twitch of his body, every ragged, wrecked sound he couldn’t contain. When you finally pulled off, he was slumped completely into the couch, eyes half-closed, chest still heaving. You smiled—wide, warm, giddy—wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Megumi cracked one eye open, looking utterly destroyed, and muttered hoarsely, “You’re… evil.”

You laughed, crawling back up into his lap, nuzzling into the warm curve of his neck.

“You love it,” you whispered against his skin.

He groaned weakly—not a denial—and pulled you closer, pressing his face into your hair.

“Stay,” you whispered against his shoulder. “Just stay tonight.”

He didn’t even hesitate this time.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “‘Course.”

You tugged him to his feet, half-dragging his sleepy, loose-limbed body toward your bedroom. He barely got his sweats pulled back up before you collapsed onto the bed together, a tangle of limbs and half-suppressed laughter.

Megumi groaned softly, immediately dragging you into his chest, burying his face in your hair. You closed your eyes, breathing him in—cedar and soap and the faint, sweet salt of sweat—and let yourself believe, just for tonight, that you had all the time in the world.

—

You woke slowly—the world coming into focus in soft, golden pieces. Outside, the city murmured in distant, muted hums—but in here, everything was still.

Warm.

Heavy.

Safe. 

You were cocooned, the weight of Megumi wrapped around you—all solid muscle and slow, steady breathing—the heavy warmth of him anchoring you to the world.

For a long moment, you didn’t move. You just… felt. The slow rise and fall of his chest against your back. The thick, steady thrum of his heart under his hoodie. The way his arm was slung over your waist, keeping you tucked tightly against him even in sleep. His body was so much bigger than yours—all lean mass and long limbs, the breadth of his chest swallowing you up easily.

You turned carefully in his hold, moving slow enough not to wake him. Your thigh slid over the thick muscle of his, and you shivered at the heat radiating off his skin even through the soft cotton of his sweatpants. Face to face now, you took him in—the mess of dark hair falling over his forehead, the soft slack of sleep smoothing his normally sharp features.

He looked… younger like this. Unburdened. Human in a way he rarely let himself be seen.

He smelled like sleep and soap and faintly of you—familiar and dizzying all at once. You let your fingers ghost over his side—light, almost hesitant—tracing the raised edges of old scars hidden beneath the soft t-shirt. You knew what most of them were without having to look. Knew the story written in his body better than you wanted to. Silent reminders of everything he had survived—everything that had carved him into the man he was now. Your chest ached, and you swallowed hard, blinking rapidly.

Still, your hand moved higher, following the smooth slope of his chest, feeling the steady, grounding rhythm of his heart beneath your palm. You wanted to memorize this—every inch of him. The warmth. The way his body curled instinctively into yours even in sleep. The safety you felt wrapped in him.

You shifted again, pressing your forehead lightly against the broad plane of his chest.

It was stupid, probably. Dangerous, definitely. But you felt it anyway. You were so completely, devastatingly his. And somehow, impossibly, you thought maybe he was yours too—at least for now, in the haziness between sleep and something else. 

God, he was beautiful. Not just handsome—though he was that, painfully so—but real. Solid. Here.

Megumi stirred against you, a low, soft noise rumbling in his throat. His arm tightened around your waist, pulling you flush against him with a sleepy possessiveness that made your stomach flip. You froze, heart pounding, as he pressed his face into your hair—inhaling deeply like he could breathe you into his bones.

“Mmh,” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep. “Stay.”

The word—rough and almost pleading—shattered something inside you. You tipped your chin up, brushing your nose lightly against the underside of his jaw.

Megumi hummed—a low, lazy sound—and finally cracked one eye open. The sight hit you like a punch: messy hair, heavy-lidded dark eyes still soft with sleep, mouth red and kiss-bruised from the night before. He looked wrecked. Beautiful.

Yours.

“Morning,” you whispered.

He grunted—a low, noncommittal sound—but his mouth quivered in a lazy, wrecked smile.

“Too early,” he muttered, voice scraping low in his throat.

“Pretty sure it’s almost noon,” you teased.

He tsked—a sound of lazy protest—and shifted, nudging his knee between your legs, forcing you to spread them around his thigh. You gasped softly, more from surprise than anything, but the slow, delicious press of him against your core made your breath catch.

Slowly, lazily, he pressed a kiss against the curve where your shoulder met your neck—featherlight, more breath than contact. You tilted your head instinctively, giving him more space, feeling a soft, helpless noise escape you. Megumi chuckled—a low, rumbling sound against your skin—and kissed his way back up your throat, nipping lightly at the edge of your jaw.

“Thought we had rules,” you murmured, breathless, teasing.

He hummed, his hand sliding lower, cupping your hip through your sweatshirt.

“We’re just cuddling,” he said, almost innocently, even as his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your waist.

“You’re not very good at innocence,” you mumbled against his skin.

“Not trying to be,” he said, dragging his nose along your temple. “Never was.”

He shifted again—slow, lazy—grinding his thigh just a little between your legs. You moaned softly before you could stop it, your hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt. Megumi groaned in answer—low and desperate—and pressed a lingering kiss to your temple.

“Fuck,” he whispered against your skin. “you feel so good.”

You turned your head slightly, meeting his mouth halfway. The kiss was slow—sweet and sleepy and messy—mouths parting with soft, wet sounds, teeth nipping playfully.

His hand roamed lower—palming your ass lazily, pulling you tighter against the heavy line of him. You whimpered into his mouth, feeling the slow, thick throb of him against your thigh. Megumi pulled back just enough to look at you—pupils blown wide, face flushed.

“We’re not doing anything,” he whispered, like he was trying to convince himself as much as you.

You laughed quietly, sliding your hand up to cup the side of his face.

“You’re a terrible liar,” you whispered back.

He smiled—slow and crooked and devastating. For a long moment, neither of you moved—just breathing each other in, hearts thudding out a slow, reckless rhythm. Finally, Megumi shifted, pressing another soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“We should eat,” he said, voice hoarse.

You whined, threading your fingers through the messy tangle of his hair. “Only if you make breakfast.”

He grunted—clearly not thrilled at the idea of moving—but nodded, his arm tightening around you for one last squeeze before letting go. You pulled back slowly, missing the heat of him immediately.

But when he looked at you—hair a mess, eyes soft, mouth still pink and wet from your kisses — you knew one thing for certain:

You weren’t going to survive him. And maybe—just maybe—you didn’t want to.

—

Breakfast—or brunch, really—had passed in a haze of soft laughter and casual touches. The kind of morning that slipped under your skin and stayed there, warm and stubborn and sweet. And now—too soon—you found yourself standing at your door again, leaning against the frame while Megumi tugged his hoodie over his head, tousling his hair even more than it already was.

He looked unfairly good like that—all mussed and flushed from sleep, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his sweatshirt, the lazy slouch of his body radiating pure, unintentional heat. You watched him for a second longer than necessary, biting your lip. He caught you staring and huffed a soft breath through his nose, looking at you with that small, fond exasperation he reserved just for you.

You shifted your weight against the doorframe, fingers fiddling with the loose end of your sleeve. It took longer than it should have to work up the nerve, but you finally cleared your throat, forcing casualness into your voice.

“So,” you said, trying for casual and failing miserably. “About that date you promised.”

He blinked, surprised by the sudden shift, then cocked an eyebrow at you—playful.

“Aren’t you eager,” he teased, voice low and rough with amusement.

You didn’t even blink.

“Yeah,” you said, dead serious. “I am.”

Megumi froze for half a beat—caught completely off guard—and then barked out a short, rough laugh, his head dropping forward briefly like he couldn’t quite believe you.

He stepped closer—slow and deliberate—until you had to tilt your head back slightly to meet his eyes. You felt it then—the sheer size of him, the way his frame seemed to block out the world behind him, the quiet gravity he carried without even meaning to. You swallowed—hard—but didn’t back away.

He stared down at you for a moment—like he was trying to memorize you—and then his mouth softened into a real smile.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “You’re something else.”

“Seriously,” you said, softer now, reaching out to brush your fingers lightly against the hem of his sleeve. “I want to go.”

Megumi’s expression changed—something softer, deeper flickering through his eyes.

“I know,” he said, his voice quieter too, steadier. “I want to take you.”

The simple honesty of it made your throat tighten. You toyed with the edge of his hoodie, your fingers brushing his wrist, feeling the steady thrum of his pulse beneath your touch.

“So?” you asked, smiling up at him, trying to hide how much it mattered. “When?”

Megumi tilted his head slightly, regarding you with a small, secret smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Tomorrow night,” he said finally. “If you’re free.”

You smiled—maybe a little recklessly.

“I’m free.”

“Good,” he murmured, stepping closer, crowding into your space in a way that made your entire body buzz. “Because I’m not waiting another week,” he added, voice low and rough, “just to kiss you again.”

And then he did—kissed you, slow and sure, stealing the air from your lungs and the ground from under your feet. When he pulled back, you chased after him instinctively, and he chuckled softly, dropping a kiss onto your forehead like he couldn’t help himself.

“I’ll text you,” he promised, voice rough with something that sounded dangerously close to affection.

Megumi smiled—smug and sweet and absolutely lethal—and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. Before you could pull him back in again, he turned and slipped out the door—leaving you flushed and grinning stupidly against the frame, your heart pounding loudly enough to drown out the rest of the world.

Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

—

The day slipped by in soft, slow pieces. It was a Monday—technically a workday—but you were off-duty today, just on call in case any curses reared their heads.

For now, your biggest concern was the tiny white cat kneading your ribs with determined little paws and the steady, fluttering pulse of excitement low in your belly. Satoru was curled atop you like a living, rumbling blanket, his white fur blending into the old throw covers you were snuggled under. His nose twitched with every breath, little paws flexing against your stomach in tiny, unconscious stretches.

You dragged your fingers through his soft fur absentmindedly, your mind a million miles away—thinking about tonight.

The date.

With Megumi.

You still couldn’t quite believe it.

The thought alone sent a nervous, giddy flutter through your chest that you couldn’t smother, no matter how hard you tried. Your phone buzzed sharply against the coffee table, causing both you and Satoru to jolt slightly.

You reached for it, shifting carefully so you didn’t dislodge your demanding little passenger.

Nobara. You swiped to answer.

“Hey,” you said lazily.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Nobara demanded immediately. “Wanna hang out later? I’m bored out of my mind and Yuuji’s off somewhere being an idiot.”

You bit your lip, heart skipping.

“Uh… can’t,” you said, a little too fast. “Got stuff.”

There was a suspicious pause on the other end.

“Stuff?” Nobara repeated.

You winced.

“Mmhmm,” you replied, noncommittal.

“With who?” she pressed.

You rolled your eyes, smoothing a hand over Satoru’s twitching back.

“Just… stuff. Alone. Important stuff.”

You could practically hear her squinting through the phone.

“Uh huh,” she said, clearly not buying it.

Before you could scramble for a better excuse, she sighed dramatically.

“Fine, whatever,” she muttered. “But Wednesday—you, me, shitty horror movie marathon. You owe me.”

You snorted, adjusting yourself beneath the increasingly grumpy cat.

“You’re spending way too much time with Yuuji, I swear,” you teased, laughing hushedly. 

Nobara scoffed immediately.

“Ew, you take that back,” she snapped, making you laugh harder.

“Fine, fine,” you said, still grinning. “Wednesday it is.”

Nobara hummed—but then, too casually, added, “By the way… did you ever get a hold of Megumi?”

You stiffened.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, too quickly. “All good.”

Nobara made a vaguely interested noise, but thankfully, didn’t push.

“Cool. Tell him to stop being a reclusive little shit sometime.”

“Yeah,” you muttered, relief flooding your chest. “Will do.”

“Cool,” she said. “See you Wednesday.”

You hung up fast, tossing the phone back onto the couch and letting your head fall back. Satoru blinked up at you with lazy, unimpressed blue eyes before stretching out and sprawling heavier across your stomach. You sighed, sinking further into the cushions.

Barely ten seconds later, your phone buzzed again—but this time, your heart jumped in a very different way.

A text from Megumi. 

You scrambled for it, thumbs clumsy with sudden nerves.

[still up for tonight?]

Your chest squeezed tight with something sweet and anxious.

[absolutely.]

His reply came almost instantly.

[picking you up at 7.]

You tucked the phone against your chest, grinning helplessly up at the ceiling.

Seven o’clock.

You had time.

Enough time to panic quietly and change outfits seventeen times.

You nudged Satoru off your stomach—ignoring his indignant meow—and launched yourself off the couch, already mentally sorting through your closet.

—

You started getting ready around five. Standing in front of your closet—towel wrapped around you, hair still damp, you scanned your options with a critical eye.

Pants felt too casual. Shorts felt too playful.

You needed something in between—something you could dress up or down depending on whatever secret plan Megumi had cooked up. Your fingers landed on a black dress tucked neatly to the side.

You pulled it out and smiled.

Soft, comfortable fabric that hugged your curves without strangling them—falling just below your knees, simple and clean. A round neckline that dipped just enough to tease without revealing too much, held up by thin straps that bared the graceful slope of your shoulders.

You slipped it on, smoothing the material down, admiring how it clung to the right places but still left plenty to the imagination.

Understated. Effortless.

Perfect.

Unless he was planning to take you rock climbing—which seemed statistically unlikely for Megumi.

He’s going to lose his mind, you thought, a little giddy.

Shoes were trickier. You eyed your Doc Martens… then the black pointed-toe heels sitting neatly by the door.

You hesitated.

The boots were tempting—easier, safer—but you thought about standing on your toes last time, clinging to Megumi’s hoodie just to kiss him properly. You snorted, shaking your head.

Heels, then.

You put them on, laughing softly to yourself. Maybe this way, you wouldn’t have to climb him like a tree just to get what you wanted.

As you slipped them on, you felt the shift immediately—posture straighter, legs longer, a little more confident with every step. You glanced at yourself in the mirror one last time—dress hugging your body like a second skin, heels making you feel just tall enough to meet him halfway—and smiled.

Not perfect. Not polished. But you looked like you. And tonight, that felt like enough.

You were just smoothing the fabric nervously over your hips when a soft knock echoed at the door. Your heart flipped, landing somewhere dangerously high in your throat. 

Okay, you thought, moving toward the door, here we go.

You pressed a hand lightly against your stomach, breathing through the jittery buzz rattling under your skin, and opened the door.

And nearly forgot how to breathe.

Megumi stood there, tall and composed, dressed in black—simple but sharp. A button-down tucked neatly into slacks, sleeves pushed carelessly to his forearms, the faintest mess to his dark hair that made him look sharper somehow, more dangerous.

He looked—and it physically hurt to admit it—like sin wrapped in elegance.

For a second, neither of you spoke. His eyes flickered—fast, sharp—over the slip of your dress, the curve of your bare shoulders, the slow, careful rise and fall of your breath. And something in his chest twisted so hard it left him dizzy.

You looked… You looked like something he would ruin just by wanting too much.

“You…” he started, voice rough around the edges. Then he shook his head, lips tugging into something half-smile, half-surrender. “You look beautiful.”

You smiled—small, guarded—and smoothed your palms nervously against the sides of your dress.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you teased, voice lighter than you felt.

“Ready?”

Megumi held out his arm without thinking about it, and you stepped into him easily, tucking your hand into the crook of his elbow. His skin was warm beneath the fabric of his shirt, his muscles taut and wired under your fingers.

Outside, Megumi led you toward his car without a word, his hand briefly, almost accidentally, settling at your lower back as you stepped over the curb. A simple gesture. Easy to excuse. But it sent a sharp, hot line straight down your spine anyway.

He opened the car door for you without a word—the small, quiet chivalry of it making your chest ache stupidly.

You slid into the seat carefully, the hem of your dress brushing against your thighs, and he closed the door behind you with a soft click.

He circled around, slipping into the driver’s seat—the engine humming softly to life—and shot you a sidelong glance.

“You hungry?” he asked, voice low, casual.

You nodded, smiling.

“Starving.”

A tiny smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth—gone almost before you caught it.

—

The drive to your location blurred by under the hush of city lights, the smooth purr of the engine filling the spaces you didn’t know how to.

You glanced at him when you thought he wasn’t looking—the way his hand rested steady on the wheel, the set of his jaw, the tightness riding his shoulders like a second skin.

Megumi didn’t speak much. He answered your small comments with low, measured hums, keeping his focus pinned outward—on the road, the lights, the traffic—as if anchoring himself there could stop the wild, lurching pull in his chest every time your thigh brushed lightly against your seat.

You were close enough that the soft scent of your perfume slipped into the car, wrapping itself around him until it was all he could breathe.

He gripped the wheel tighter and kept his eyes forward.

This wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

It wasn’t supposed to feel anything like this.

This was supposed to be simple—a clean apology, a clear line drawn before either of you stepped over it again.

But already he knew.

Already he could feel it unraveling, slow and inevitable, from the second you smiled at him through the open door like you weren’t holding a loaded weapon to his heart.

—

Harajuku was busy as usual, the neon reflections smudged across the wet streets like careless brushstrokes. You could recognise this neighbourhood in your sleep—the countless times you went shopping through these streets with Nobara in high school. 

The car eventually slowed onto a narrower street, lined with restaurants and soft, glowing shop signs. Megumi eased into a spot along the curb, killing the engine with a practiced flick of his wrist.

You glanced around, noting the small clusters of people weaving through the street, the smell of grilling fish, rice and tobacco thick in the air.

“No parking closer,” he said, already unbuckling his seatbelt. “You okay walking a bit?”

You smiled, unbothered.

“I don’t mind.”

You pushed your door open and swung your legs out carefully, adjusting the hem of your dress.

Before you could stand fully, a hand appeared—open, steady—offered without expectation. You glanced up to see Megumi waiting, his expression unreadable but his eyes warmer than you remembered.

You placed your hand in his without thinking. His fingers curled around yours immediately, firm and careful, and helped you up.

He didn’t let go.

It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t careful, either.

Just… necessary. Like something you were both pretending you didn’t notice.

You bit back a grin as you fell into step beside him, your heels clicking softly against the pavement.

Megumi said nothing about it—about the way your hands stayed tangled together—but you felt his thumb trace absent-minded patterns along the back of your hand, slow and steady.

You squeezed his hand lightly, and he squeezed back—just once—before relaxing again.

He was quiet beside you, steps measured, shoulders loose—every inch of him looking composed and in control.

You didn’t know, couldn’t know, how hard he was working to keep it that way.

How your hand in his—small, soft, trusting—was wrecking every defense he had left. Something sick and ugly bloomed under his ribs, because all he could think about was the way you had looked last night—mouth wrapped around him like a curse—and how he was still too much of a coward to admit what he really wanted from you.

The thought hit him so sharply he stumbled on it, lost half a step, had to cover it by tugging his sleeves higher up his arms like the fabric was suddenly too tight.

He was already too deep and you didn’t even know it.

Maybe you never would.

He was wrecked.

Screaming inside.

Because he knew—deep down, in the parts of his heart that took over so suddenly after years of being dormant—that he was torturing himself.

Because this felt too much like a real date.

Because you felt too much like something real.

You squeezed his hand gently once more, feeling his shoulders tense before relaxing again.

“You okay?” you teased, voice light.

He shot you a sideways look—dry, fond.

“Yeah,” he said, his thumb brushing another slow, reckless arc across your knuckles. “Just… concentrating.”

You laughed, the sound slipping out easy and bright.

And in that moment he couldn’t give two fucks about what his heart could or couldn’t take. 

Megumi knew he was making a mistake. Every step he took beside you felt heavier, sinking him deeper into something he wouldn’t be able to crawl out of clean.

This wasn’t just casual. Not for him.

It wasn’t going to be just bodies tangled in the dark. It wasn’t going to be simple, or easy, or safe.

He would ruin himself for you without hesitation—and you didn’t even know it.

But he kept walking anyway.

You navigated like that through the busy streets, lights blurring and blending around you, until he stopped in front of a small, elegant building tucked between brighter storefronts.

A pair of paper lanterns glowed over the entrance, casting soft golden light across polished wood and stone.

The scent of fresh rice and sharp wasabi drifted out as a couple exited, speaking low and happy in each other’s ears.

Megumi opened the door for you—again without hesitation—and you stepped inside together, the quiet hum of the restaurant wrapping around you like a second skin.

The hostess greeted you immediately, bowing politely.

Megumi gave his name for the reservation in that low, steady voice, and you caught the quick flicker of her glance at him—the barest widening of her eyes—before she smiled and said she would be back in a moment.

You stole another look at him while they prepped your table—the way he stood there, calm and collected in his all-black ensemble, his hand still casually resting against the small of your back.

Like he belonged there.

Like you belonged with him.

And maybe—for tonight—you did.

The hostess was standing in front of you in an instant, ready to lead you through the narrow space toward a small table near the back—half-secluded, tucked under the soft halo of a hanging paper lamp.

You slid into your seat carefully, smoothing your dress under the table. He sat across from you, posture clean and contained, his hands loose but ready to clench if either of you said the wrong thing.

For a few moments, you both pretended to study the menus. Pretended you weren’t watching each other out of the corners of your eyes. Pretended that this was still salvageable. Still safe.

Megumi felt the tight, careful distance between you stretch thinner and thinner across the table.

And still he stayed quiet. Still he stayed good. Still he kept his hands folded neatly in front of him when what he wanted—what he ached for—was to reach across the table and cover your hand with his. Feel the weight of you again. Hold something that was never really his to take.

This was too real.

Sitting across from you, your dress brushing against your thighs, your mouth curved into an easy smile—it felt like something he wasn’t allowed to want. Something he should have walked away from the second he realized he couldn’t survive it.

You looked at him, bright-eyed and oblivious, still thinking this was just a way to save what you had.

And Megumi—

Megumi sat there quietly, hiding the ache beneath his ribs, telling himself he’d endure it if it meant staying close to you for even a little longer. Even if it hollowed him out from the inside.

—

The restaurant was quiet in the way nice places usually were—calm, low-lit, hushed voices behind paper-paneled dividers. Nothing rushed. No clatter of dishes, no neon buzzing above your heads. Private. Comfortable. 

The kind of place chosen with quiet intention.

You sat across from Megumi, legs crossed neatly beneath the table, hands curling around the menu. Neither of you had said much since sitting down. But it wasn’t the kind of silence that felt awkward. It was the kind that came from familiarity—the kind that had space for breath and time and thought. You’d always been able to sit in it with him. Let it stretch without demanding more.

Still—you both needed this.

A sense of neutral ground before everything inevitably shifted again.

Neither of you touched the sake list. You hadn’t needed to remind each other—hadn’t needed to say anything at all. No alcohol. No excuses. Because whatever was going to happen between you, it was going to happen clear-eyed. Owned. Chosen. Present. That was the rule.

It made every moment sharper. Every glance. Every ghost of a touch that didn't quite reach. 

When the waitress came by, you both ordered green tea instead, the faint bitterness grounding, steadying.

Megumi sat with his hands folded loosely on the table, shoulders relaxed, his expression as unreadable as ever—but his eyes flicked up to meet yours more often than they used to. And held longer when they did.

You sipped your tea slowly, letting something hazy settle behind your ribs. Comfort. Safety. History. Something that wasn’t going to survive tonight intact.

“You still hate raw uni?” you asked, out of the blue.

He looked up slowly and blinked. “Despise it.”

A grin pulled at your mouth.

“Yuuji tricked you into eating it once,” you said.

Megumi sighed. “He said it was mango.”

You laughed. “I’ve never seen you make that face again.”

“I was betrayed,” he said, as dry as ever—but the corner of his mouth curved just slightly, like the memory had cracked something open.

You rested your chin lightly in your hand, letting yourself stare.

“Remember our first mission together? The abandoned school on the coast?”

“The one Nobara swore was cursed because the classroom doors opened too fast?”

“And Yuuji tried to exorcise them anyway. Just… in case.” you chuckled. 

“He made up a chant,” Megumi muttered. “O spirits of questionable carpentry…”

You couldn’t help it. You laughed loud enough to earn a glance from the waitress. It had been so long since you laughed with him like this. It caught in your chest like a bruise blooming backward—painful and welcome.

“We were so stupid,” you sighed softly.

Megumi tilted his head, a glimmer of something warmer in his eyes. “We were trying.”

“You were always serious,” you mused. “But you took care of all of us. Even when it wasn’t your job.”

He looked down at his tea.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” he murmured.

You stared at him, the words lingering in your chest. Heavy and soft all at once. There was a silence then—not uncomfortable, not tense. Just full.

“So,” you inquired, smiling faintly, “did you ever think we’d end up here?”

Megumi raised an eyebrow, setting down the menu. “Here meaning—Harajuku? Fancy sushi? Or just… alive?”

You giggled, the sound breaking some of the stiffness between you.

“Alive, definitely,” you said, grinning. “But also… this. You and me. Dinner that’s not takeout between missions.”

He huffed something close to a real laugh, glancing away like he didn’t trust himself to meet your eyes for too long.

“You were a mess back then,” he said, voice dry.

“You were worse,” you shot back easily. “I seem to recall a lot of ‘brooding in the corner’ energy from you.”

He smirked—small, reluctant. You hadn’t seen that expression on him in a long time.

“It’s called being cautious,” he retorted, mouth twitching at the edges. “Unlike a certain idiot who ran headfirst into every cursed object she found.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging his shin under the table with the pointed toe of your heel.

“Yeah, well—someone had to make your life interesting.”

A quiet smile tugged at his mouth, soft and a little crooked.

“Do you remember that one mission in Shizuoka?” he quizzed. “The beach town with the cursed painting?”

You raised an eyebrow. “The one that was just a creepy guy in cosplay?” 

His mouth twitched. “The one that turned out to be a school art teacher obsessed with cursed object replicas. Yeah.”

You laughed—quiet and warm, the sound slipping loose without effort. “Yuuji still has that stupid cursed brush.”

“He keeps it in a shoebox under his bed,” Megumi said dryly. “Claims it improves his handwriting.”

You covered your mouth, stifling another laugh.

“It doesn’t.”

He shook his head, his eyes crinkling faintly.

“Summer training camp in Kyoto? Our first year?” you tilted your head at him. 

“The one Gojo forgot to tell the faculty we were coming to?”

“Where we had to sleep in that busted storage room for two nights before someone noticed.” you managed to say through your chuckles. 

He let out a quiet breath—something between a scoff and a laugh—and shook his head.

“And Yuuji tried to grill fish over that weird cursed stove we found in the shed.”

“That thing exploded.”

“It growled first,” Megumi corrected.

You bursted giggling, soft and sudden, the noise catching you by surprise.

Megumi’s eyes warmed faintly at the sound, and for a moment he just watched you. The way your shoulders curled a little forward when you laughed, like you were trying to soften it. Like it still felt dangerous to be that unguarded.

“The cursed tool Gojo tried to teach us how to use that one time?” Megumi pressed, determined to pull another laugh from you.

“The one that almost took Yuuji’s hand off?”

“That one,” he let out a quiet huff of a chuckle, shaking his head. “Pretty sure it took out half the training field too.”

You tittered softly, the melody threading warm through the dim air.

“Gojo just shrugged it off,” you added. “Like it was part of the lesson plan.”

“He said something about ‘experiential learning,’” Megumi muttered, taking a slow sip of his tea. “And then left early to get takoyaki.”

You covered your mouth to muffle your chirps.

It was stupid, really. These old memories—small, chaotic, messy—still alive between you. Still something you could touch without it burning your hands.

You leaned forward a little, the candle catching the gleam in your eyes.

“Did you know he used to let Nobara and me cheat at drills if we brought him sweets?”

Megumi snorted under his breath, a sound so rare and unguarded it made your heart hitch.

“I knew,” he said. “I just didn’t care enough to snitch.”

You smiled at him—tenderly through the haze of the past. 

“You always were good at letting us be idiots,” you observed.

He shrugged, eyes dropping to the table for a beat.

“Someone had to keep you alive,” he murmured.

The words weren’t sharp.

Just simple.

True.

Your smile faded a little, the warmth between you shifting into something heavier, something thicker.

“Thanks for that,” you noted quietly.

Megumi’s hand flexed slightly where it rested on the table, like he almost moved—almost reached for you—then thought better of it.

The silence settled again, softer now.

“How about that mission with the warehouse full of cursed larvae?”

Megumi huffed a quiet breath, shaking his head. “Don’t remind me.”

You chimed in. “I still have scars from that.”

“You deserved them,” he teased dryly. “You walked in without waiting for backup.”

“I had a plan.”

“You had a death wish.”

You laughed, and so did he—just a breath, quick and rare, but it lit something in your chest all the same. 

“I think that was the mission where Yuuji got the bright idea to use a fire extinguisher as a cursed weapon,” you added.

“He nearly concussed himself,” Megumi quipped, lips twitching. “And he still brags about it like it was a strategic win.”

You smiled, letting the memory settle around you like old fabric—well-worn, familiar. The moment between you built slowly—quiet and soft, woven with small stories, shared laughter, harmless teasing.

He told you about the time Gojo tried to prank Kusakabe by switching out his tea for sake during a staff meeting, and forgot which cup was which.

“Didn’t he end up drinking it himself?” you pried, grinning.

“Yeah,” Megumi remarked, lips twitching. “Then tried to teach class drunk and fell asleep halfway through the sparring demo.”

“That was the class he made Yuuji wear the panda costume, wasn’t it?”

“God. That thing.” Megumi winced.

“He claimed it helped with ‘fear resistance.’”

“And made him more ‘approachable.’” he chipped in.

You beamed again, easier now, the chime catching in your throat a little. Your eyes felt damp, but not from sadness.

Megumi watched you.

You ended up talking about Nobara next, about her stubbornness, about the time she’d broken her wrist during training and still insisted she could fight, her threats of violence every time she was made to study.

About Yuuji, dragging everyone out for ramen after missions, smiling so wide it felt impossible not to match it. About his endless pranks. 

And about Gojo.

The name hung heavier between you, but you didn’t dodge it.

Not tonight.

You found yourself laughing—really laughing—leaning into the warmth that sprouted slowly between you, so natural you barely noticed it until it was already there.

You mentioned a photo Nobara had found a few weeks ago—an old one from your first year. Gojo had taken it. You and Megumi blurry in the background, Yuuji posing with something flaming and ridiculous in the foreground.

Megumi stirred his tea, eyes watching the slow swirl of the liquid.

“I miss that,” you stated. “All of us. Back when things were still… manageable.”

He went quiet. His gaze dropped to the cup in his hand, expression unreadable. You knew what you’d done—what you’d invoked. And still, you waited.

“I think that’s the last time we were all together, before…” he trailed off.

He didn’t need to finish it. You nodded once. Quiet. Heavy.

“It still feels recent,” you remarked. “But also… far.”

“It is both,” he replied softly.

You didn’t speak. Not right away.

“Freshman year feels like another life,” he muttered. “Some days it doesn’t feel real. Other days it’s the only thing that does.”

Your chest tightened.

“Sometimes I still think I’ll see him at the school gate. Or that he’s just late. Just somewhere else for a while.” Megumi scoffs. “I still expect him to be around the corner sometimes, or barging into a mission briefing with something insane.”

His gaze dropped to the table once more. He sat still, almost too still.

“I can still hear his laugh sometimes,” you murmured. “In those stupid moments. Like when Yuuji trips over his own feet or Nobara makes fun of me for running from rats. I hear it.”

“He was the reason I could be at Jujutsu High at all. The reason Tsumiki and I weren’t left at our own luck. She'd be God knows where… I'd be stuck with that fucking family.”

You nodded, listening.

“He bought my uniforms. Paid my school fees. Covered every meal for years before I ever knew how to say thank you. And when I finally did… he just made a joke about how expensive I was.”

You smiled, lips pressed tight against the ache.

“He used to show up at Tsumiki’s school plays,” he mumbled eventually, voice low. “Even when I told him not to. Always in sunglasses. Always late. But he was there.”

His hands were still, palms pressed lightly to the lacquered tabletop.

“He taught me how to fight,” he stated. “But more than that—he taught me how to choose. What to walk away from. What not to. What mattered.”

You let the silence hold him, because you knew he needed it.

Megumi swallowed. “He was the first person I ever saw treat power like a responsibility, not a privilege. And I still—”

His jaw locked. His hand curled tighter around the cup.

You gulped, throat thick and dry with sorrow. He finally looked up at you, and his voice changed—softer, rasping a little at the edge.

“When he died…” he paused. “I thought I’d feel angry. Or lost. But it was more like something foundational just… gave out.” 

The words came slow, like they cost him. “It’s hard to talk about him.”

“I know,” you replied.

“You’re the only person I can talk about him with like this,” he said quietly.

The shift was gentle, but immediate.

You lowered your hands to your lap, your expression softening. “Why?”

He shook his head slowly. “It’s not that I don’t miss him. I do. Constantly. But usually when people bring him up, it’s like… all they see is how he died.”

“And with me?”

“With you,” he asserted, voice low, “I can remember how he lived.”

You didn’t speak right away. Just looked at him—at the curve of his mouth, the steady line of his jaw, the way his eyes didn’t flinch under yours.

“I still feel it,” he declared, softer now. “The dread. The guilt. But when it’s you, it’s easier to remember the good parts too. Not just… the ending.”

You let the moment breathe between you.

“It wasn’t just that he was powerful,” Megumi went on. “It was that he made space for us. Me. Tsumiki. You. He made room for us when no one else did. Even when he was reckless. Even when he was impossible.”

A pause.

“He wasn’t perfect,” he continued eventually, “But he was… ours.”

“I think he’d be glad we still talk about him,” you offered. “That we still remember.”

“I think,” Megumi murmured, “he’d be making inappropriate jokes about this dinner.”

You huffed softly, smiling into your tea.

“He’d make fun of me for this,” Megumi tossed in with a faint smirk. “For getting sentimental.”

“He’d cry. Loudly. In public. Just to embarrass you.”

Megumi huffed a small laugh, shaking his head.

“I don’t know if it ever gets easier,” he said quietly, “but with you it’s… bearable. Even good, sometimes. It doesn’t feel like… like dragging a knife through it.”

The air between you felt heavier, softer.

“Thank you,” he added after a moment, the words simple but so heavy they pinned you in place.

You blinked. “For what?”

“For not making it feel like a eulogy. Just… like remembering someone we knew. Someone who was ours.”

You swallowed around the lump rising in your throat.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you declared.

“I know,” he asserted. “Still do.”

He held your gaze for a moment longer than he should have, the air between you taut with something that had nothing to do with grief and everything to do with the impossible space that had grown smaller and smaller between you over the years.

You didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to answer that kind of raw honesty.

So you just smiled, soft and a little unsteady, and said: “You’re welcome.”

And he smiled back.

You didn’t reach for his hand. You didn’t need to. The space between you felt full, and for a moment, that was enough.

—

The food came. You ate slowly, the conversation turning back to softer things—missions with Kusakabe, Nobara’s absolute refusal to follow any instruction she didn’t agree with, Yuuji’s brief obsession with boxing after watching a late-night documentary.

“I remember thinking Kusakabe hated us,” you said, picking at the last piece of sushi.

“He probably did,” Megumi replied, smirking faintly. “We weren’t exactly easy.”

“You were.” you shrugged—a raw honesty in your tone this time. “You were focused. Thoughtful. And terrifying when you got serious.”

That made him laugh—just a breath—but it shook something loose inside you.

“I'm glad you thought so highly of me.” he chuckled. “Truth is I didn't know what the fuck I was doing either.”

You giggled. “I had a crush on you, you know. Back then.” you added, bringing back up the little confession you let slip when this whole thing started—just in case he was too tuned out to catch it fully, just in case he had forgotten. 

He blinked. “I didn’t.”

You beamed, eyes lowered. “I wasn’t subtle.”

“I was,” he muttered.

Your gaze lifted.

He looked away.

And just like that, the tension between you swelled again—rising from the floor, the walls, the candlelight, curling warm and dangerous around your ribs.

Dinner stretched long into the evening, plates cleared away, tea growing cold in abandoned cups.

Still, Megumi didn’t move to leave. He lingered—fingers tapping idly against the edge of the table, asking questions he already knew the answers to just to keep hearing your voice.

You told him about a mission last year where you and Yuuji got trapped underground for twelve hours, eating protein bars and playing stupid card games by flashlight. He listened, head tilted slightly, the ghost of a smile touching his mouth at the parts you made dramatic just to make him roll his eyes.

Megumi then asked you about an old mission—one from your second year that had gone sideways because of a misread sigil—and listened to you recount it with amused embarrassment. His eyes softened when you talked about Kusakabe, and how you still remembered the way he sighed every time Yuuji opened his mouth during briefings.

“Do you miss it?” you pried. “Before everything?”

Megumi didn’t answer right away.

“I don’t miss being younger,” he stated finally. “But I miss being… less aware.”

You nodded. “I miss thinking I knew what I wanted.” you said softly. “I used to think I’d be a teacher someday.”

Megumi looked up. “You?”

You huffed a small giggle. “Only because Gojo once said I had the attitude for it. And I didn’t know if that was a compliment or an insult.”

“Both,” he affirmed without hesitation.

You tittered, and he caught it again—the sound, the flash of your smile—and it made something under his skin hum like an exposed wire.

God, how long had it been like this? He didn’t understand it—how it had crept up on him, this thing in his chest that pressed harder every time you were near.

All these years—you had always been there. Always familiar. Always close enough to reach for and never quite touched. When had it changed? All these years beside you, and somehow it had only taken root now. Or maybe it had been growing all along, silent and patient and waiting for him to look.

A flicker of memory—Yuuji years ago, chirping, nudging him too hard during a walk back from a mission, saying something like “man, you’re practically her shadow, you know that?”

Megumi had shoved him off with a glare. Brushed it off—laughed it off, even.

He wasn’t laughing now. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Maybe he just hadn’t let himself see it—hidden, buried under missions and responsibility and the quiet certainty that he didn’t get to have things like you. Until now, when it was already too late.

Still, he didn't move to leave—shoulders loose but too still, like part of him wanted to stretch the moment out longer, hold it there between you. Not just because he particularly enjoyed it. Because he knew what was waiting once you left. The final nail in the coffin—and he was as excited as terrified.

He knew he was being selfish, sitting there, dragging it out. He knew it—and still he stayed. Across the table, you simpered at him—soft, patient—and Megumi felt it again, that stupid, traitorous ache inside him.

The waitress returned with the check, bowing gently. The spell broke. It felt too soon. Too final. Like someone had yanked a thread loose too hard and now it was unraveling.

He reached for his wallet before you could even move.

“I’ve got it,” he announced.

You touched his wrist lightly, fingers brushing his skin in a way that wasn’t casual.

“You always do,” you murmured.

Time was up.

—

The car ride back wasn’t silent. It was waiting. Every red light felt longer. Every gear shift too loud. The engine low and smooth beneath you, your bodies still too aware of how close they were.

You shifted in your seat, your dress whispering softly against the leather. Your legs crossed, then uncrossed, a stretch of your skin exposed every time the streetlights cut across the glass. You didn’t shift to hide it. You didn’t need to.

Megumi didn’t speak. Didn’t reach for the radio. He drove with one hand on the wheel—knuckles pale against the dark interior—the other resting on his thigh. 

Every glance at you was a fight. 

You smelled like the soap you used, like faint perfume and skin and something warmer now, something that wasn’t just memory anymore but promise. He could feel you watching him—small glances, flickers—and knew you were feeling it too. The weight of it. The inevitability. Every mile closer to home wound the tension tighter and tighter between you, until the only thing louder than the hum of the car was the desperate pounding of his own heart.

When he glanced at you, once, your eyes were already on him. But you didn’t smile. You looked… calm. Ready. Like you knew the moment he stopped the car, everything would change. And you weren’t afraid of it. He didn’t know if that terrified him more—or if it was the fact that he wasn’t, either.

The gravity had already shifted. You were just waiting to hit the ground.

—

You made it up the stairs with your breath already caught in your chest, fumbling with your keys, your heels clicking too loudly in the quiet.

Megumi followed just behind—silent, tall, composed in a way that made your skin feel too tight. You could feel him without looking. The heat of him. The pressure. The way his presence always filled every corner of the space he stood in.

He could still taste your voice in his ear from dinner, still feel the weight of your laughter behind his ribs, still see the shape of you sitting across the table—wrapped in soft fabric, legs crossed, mouth shining from the tea. The dress clinging to you like it had been sewn for his hands to take apart.

You paused at the door. Your fingers trembled a little as you unlocked it. The bolt clicked. You pushed the door open halfway. And then—just as you turned to him—his voice stopped you cold.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in this time?” he said, tone dark with amusement, a rare, teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The sound of it—quiet, low, teasing in a way that was completely uncharacteristic—ripped a whimper straight out of you.

You turned to face him fully, heat flooding your face. He was leaning slightly against the doorframe, one hand in his pocket, the other braced above your head. It made your knees nearly buckle.

Even in heels, he loomed over you—broad-shouldered, long-limbed, the shadow of him spilling into your apartment before he even stepped through. He watched your cheeks burn red. Watched your lashes flutter. Watched your fingers tighten around the doorknob like you might melt.

You grabbed his wrist, dragging him inside with a force that surprised even you, shoving the door closed behind him—but he didn’t let you take him far. His hand came up, catching you easily at the hip, spinning you so your back hit the wood with a soft thud—breathing in the sound you made when you landed there. 

His palm splayed wide across your waist—his fingers spanning the space easily, like you were something breakable in his hands. Your body under his hands was unreal—warm, alive, straining forward into him. 

Even through your heels, you barely reached his collarbones. He had to dip his head to speak close, to kiss your temple. He didn’t mind. He loved that he had to bend to reach you. Loved the way your body folded under his like it had always meant to. 

He hovered just close enough to feel the tremble in your limbs. To feel your breath catch. His body stayed close but didn’t press, holding just enough distance to make you ache.

“Slow down,” he murmured, voice dark silk against your ear.

Your hands fumbled for his shirt, tugging him closer, trying to yank him down. He let you for a moment, just long enough for your fingers to fist the fabric. Then he leaned in over you and kissed the corner of your mouth, maddeningly slow. Like he was testing the shape of you, like he had all night to learn your taste.

You arched into him, mouth parting. But he didn’t deepen it. Not yet. Instead, his hands skimmed along your hips, up your sides, over the fabric of your dress. You shivered at the friction of his palms dragging up the tight, body-con material.

“You wore this for me?” he murmured, voice husky.

You nodded before you could stop yourself.

“It’s tight,” he said, voice dipping lower, almost reverent. “Fuck.”

“It’d be off in thirty seconds if you’d stop teasing me.”

His lips curved against your jaw. “You think I’m teasing you now?”

You were already flushed. Already wet. Already squirming. 

You reached for the straps of your dress, dragging them down your shoulders fast, half-crazed with need. But Megumi caught your wrists—gently, but firmly. Pushed the straps back into place. Smoothed them over your skin with careful fingers.

You let out a small, wounded groan and he laughed softly, unsteady and quiet. He almost kissed you for it.

“Gumi,” you gasped, “come on—”

“Oh. I'm Gumi now?” he smirked, dropping his forehead lightly against yours. “Are you trying to be cute to get what you want?”

“You’re not calm,” you accused, trying to wriggle forward against him. “You’re pretending.”

He bent down again—bigger than you in every direction, boxing you against the door, shadowing you completely.

“I’m savoring,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the hollow under your ear. You whimpered as he kissed a line up your neck, slow, lazy, like he was tasting you inch by inch. 

How could you not feel it? How hard he was shaking under the surface? He wasn’t calm. He was on fire.

“How are you—” your voice caught in your throat, “—how are you still in control?” It almost made him laugh. His control was performance now, a costume—threadbare and useless.

His mouth brushed your ear.

“I’m not,” he stated, exhaling. “I’m just holding on long enough to make you feel everything.”

Your knees buckled slightly. He caught you again—easily, carefully—his large hands firm around your hips, steadying you.

“I want you trembling,” he whispered. “Shaking so bad you can’t think.”

You moaned, soft and ragged.

“I’ll take this dress off when you’re begging me to,” he went on. “Not a second before.”

You whimpered, mouth falling open, your entire body already pressing into his, trying to close the distance he kept teasing wide again.

He caught your chin between his fingers, tilting your face to look at him. His eyes were dark, fevered, wild with the effort it took to stay controlled.

“Be patient, baby,” he demanded. “I’m gonna have you come on my tongue… and my fingers… before you even think about taking me.”

You shivered violently, your thighs pressing together instinctively. He chuckled, feeling it.

“I'm gonna break you in for me,” he breathed into you. “Gonna be soaked before I even take this off you. Dripping down these gorgeous fucking legs.”

You pushed up on your toes, kissing his jaw, his cheek, his mouth—anything you could reach. Your hands clutched at his shirt again, dragging him down, chasing the heat. And he let you. Let you press against his chest, tug at his sleeves. But when you ground your hips into his—he stilled you with a hand at your waist. Firm, grounding.

He knew—knew—he could have you against the wall in seconds if he wanted. You’d let him. You’d beg for it. But he wanted more. He wanted to own the look on your face when you unraveled. Wanted to memorize the way you said his name when there was nothing left in you but need.

His lips brushed yours—slow, coaxing—until your mouth opened to him, and then he kissed you properly, tongue stroking slow and deep, like he was claiming every inch of your mouth with quiet, patient ruin. You were melting. Panting. Whimpering. And still, his hands moved only in measured strokes—over your sides, your waist, the curve of your ass, slow enough to drive you insane.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, between kisses. “Let me take care of you.”

You nodded, barely aware you were doing it. Your body—hot, trembling, aching—pressed into him shamelessly now.

When his fingers finally caught the hem of your dress, it wasn’t rushed. It was reverent. When he finally peeled it from you, he didn’t yank it. He unwrapped you.

He bunched the body-con fabric slowly, slowly up your thighs. It hugged you like a second skin, and he cursed under his breath when it caught at the swell of your ass. You were so fucking beautiful. Every curve poured into that dress like it had been designed to drive him insane.

He eased it up higher—hands warm on the backs of your thighs, over your hips, around your waist. You whimpered when he lifted it over your chest, and he kissed the center of your collarbone to keep you quiet. The dress came off over your head with care. The fabric whispered to the floor, like a secret you’d finally let go of.

You stood there against the door in nothing but your heels and your panties.

Megumi stepped back, just slightly, to look at you. And fuck, the way he looked at you—It was like worship. Like devastation.

His chest rose and fell too fast. His hands twitched at his sides, aching to touch but still holding back, still drinking you in like he could memorize every inch of you with his eyes alone. 

You shifted, squirming under the intensity of it, one hand brushing instinctively over your stomach. He caught your wrist gently, pulling it away.

“Don’t,” he said, voice shaking faintly. “Don’t hide from me. You’re fucking perfect.”

Your knees wobbled as you swallowed a moan. “Gumi…”

His eyes lifted to yours—dark, glassy, hungry.

“You don’t even know,” he said, voice wrecked. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

Then he sank to his knees in front of you—this time, not to worship.

To devour.

© MANICPIXIEDREAMKIRA - do not repost, translate, plagiarise or claim any of my works as your own.

[alwayslurkinginthebackground]

Rest - A Joel Miller Drabble

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader Rating: We all need fluff right now and that's what this is. Word Count: 1133 a/n: I hope everyone is surviving out there. In an attempt to halt my near-constant crying I wrote this. Note that there are two little references in here that will hopefully help everything feel a little bit better are also little spoilers for Part II, so if you want to avoid any and all spoilers, let that be known. It's pretty darn tiny though.

"Joel?"

Your voice is soft, but it still feels obtrusive as you sneak your way past the door to his office. It's actually pretty spacious, the space his brother has set up for him amidst the growing town of Jackson, but in the quiet of the night, even though you know you're not bothering him in the slightest, it still feels almost like you're intruding.

He's at the desk, though, right where you expected him to be. His glasses are perched low on the bridge of his nose and you can see the tension in his neck and shoulders, a sure sign that he's been focused on the plans in front of him for far too long.

"Hey," he breathes out, looking over at you with what seems to be relief. You knew from Maria that he's been bombarded all day with everything from questions to problems to Tommy's constant insistence that they have to work faster. You and Joel could both easily admit that there was an obvious need for additional homes, but you were also aware that construction takes time. One would think Tommy would understand that, especially considering his own background and the fact that none of this is what it was before, but you'd also known from the look in Maria's eyes and the lateness of the hour that Joel was the one putting it on himself to try and make it happen.

The door closes softly behind you as you move to his side, setting down a thermos on the desk next to the multitude of renovation plans. "Brought you some coffee. I thought it might help."

"Come to check on me is more like it," he jokes, but he's already taken off his glasses and is reaching to draw you into his lap. You don't argue, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you settle onto his thighs, a light kiss pressed to his forehead as he buries his face against your neck.

"Maria told me Tommy was on your case today," you explain simply, fingers running carefully through his curls.

Joel nods. "Maria and I met this morning about the houses on Clark Street, but then her idiot husband had to come in here and give me a debrief of everything we'd already covered because he missed the meeting. Wasted nearly a fucking hour of my day."

It makes you laugh, the way the rivalry between the Miller brothers seems to transcend all reason, even if at the heart of it you knew they love each other more than either would be willing to admit. "Is that why you're still here working when he's at home?"

There's no response from him, just quiet, and you know you've hit the nail on the head. This isn't the first time, and you knew it wouldn't be the last, that Joel took the needs of the town on his own shoulders. You needed houses and somehow he always made it happen, even if it meant stretching himself too thin.

"You know what? Come on," you continue suddenly, pressing another kiss to his hairline before standing. "Let's go home."

The protests begin immediately. "I really need to..."

"Joel," you return sternly, already grabbing his coat off the hook. "Home. Now."

There's a long sigh and then he stands, turning off the desk lamp and crossing to take his jacket from you. He shrugs it on and then his hand finds yours, fingers woven together as you lead him from the office and out into the cool night air.

Spring hasn't quite set in yet, but the harsh realities of winter are finally behind you. It's one of the reasons the council has been pushing for new houses, almost too aware of the fact that construction is easier with the warming weather and with new people showing up every day it's become a necessity to move as quickly as possible.

Not that Joel needs to be thinking about that right now.

"I made some chicken for dinner," you tell him, swinging your arms about just slightly in the way that makes you both feel like you're simply two lovers on an evening stroll. You do your best to find these kinds of moments, the ones that remind you of the good, because if you didn't you'd simply spend your whole existence dwelling on the opposite. On the constant weight of ensuring the survival of a community twenty-seven years after the end of the world. "I could heat it up for you when we get back."

"Sounds nice," he returns, his pace slowed to match yours as you make your way home. There are still a few people out and about, but not many, and it almost makes your town feel small again, in the way it had when you'd both first arrived. You're quiet, even as you pass to the edge of town and eventually find your way along the dirt path that will guide you home. The house you share sits in the distance, unassuming amidst fields that will soon blossom into a lush green landscape.

He doesn't let go of your hand until you're both through the door, only relinquishing his grasp after you kiss him quickly and head to the kitchen to find him some dinner. You hear him sit on the bench by the door, removing his boots with a huff, and then the unmistakable creek of the floorboards as he transitions to the living room.

You talk to him absentmindedly all the while, about your day, about watching JJ for Dina and Ellie, about what you're hoping to plant in the garden this summer, but it's only when the chicken is plated that you realize he hasn't said a word.

"Joel?" you question, making your way back to the living room. "Baby?" you ask again, crossing the threshold to find him sprawled out on the couch, sound asleep.

It's peaceful, really, the way he seems to soften in slumber, and it makes you relax, too. Your feet carry you to his side, abandoning the food on the counter as you grab the blanket from the back of the couch. You shift him slightly, just enough for you to wedge onto the sofa next to him and drape the afghan over both of your bodies. He wakes, ever so slightly, wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you back against him, nose tucked into the back of your neck as he drifts off once more.

And the next day, when you wake to find him already gone, the blanket wrapped tightly around your body and a note on the coffee table that reminds you he loves you, all you can hope for is that the coffee in the thermos still on his desk isn't too cold.

[locusfandomtime]

fake book covers based on Cub’s museum gift shop and the signs he posted with fake book titles! This was a lot of fun haha. I know there are more fake books, and now he’s getting signed books from hermits, so I plan on making more soon! May even make a Reddit account just to post these guys on the subreddit

design notes under cut!

The Diamond Pillar Saga: Hotguy(TM) Flies Again - this title evoked such a visceral image of something you’d find in a Scholastic book fair so I went for sort of pre-teen superhero action novel, the kind with a bunch of pictures and stupid chapter titles. I imagine in-universe Scar is trying to sell as much Hotguy merch as possible so whilst he has stuff for the adults (shirtless calendars) he’d also have comic books and novels for the kids. There’s a concorp logo because I like to think the Hotguy brand is owned by concorp and it was just a cool touch

Grian’s Theory of The Mind - have you ever seen books on like psychology and breaking habits and behaviour, that kind of stuff? They always look like this. There’s a yellow background, a simple abstract design, a bunch of book awards/reviews, and a single sentence hook. This one was the easiest and most fun to design!

Joe Hills: Transformative Poems - this was based on the “Joe Hills Poetry Corner”. Transformative poems is from “transformative works” meaning… fanfiction basically. Joe has written fanfic before and I thought an Iliad/Hermit crossover would be something he’d do. Joe made the cover himself so it has a dyed leather cover and a simple design. He tried to ask Cleo for a review so he could put one on the front but she was kinda mean about it and laughed at him so he wrote a fake one instead

Ren the King: A Complicated Legacy - this one had no explicit author but I decided Cleo made the most logical sense. Historical non-fiction books often have these B+W photo backgrounds with some dramatic, fancy text overtop, so I painted the Crastle and added then messed around with text. There’s a reduced sticker over Cleo’s name because this is Cub’s gift shop and he wouldn’t want to give her credit (but still wants to stock up his shop)

[moonyysgirl]

i NEED another loser!dealer!remus x reader PLEAK 🙏

ask and you shall receive !! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

I'm the only one who can touch you - Remus Lupin x reader

paring; remus x fem!dealer summary; dealer!remus and reader meets at a party after hooking up cw; smut, dealer!remus, loser!remus, jealous!remus, remus is giving subby kinda, semi-public kink, both reader and remus are intoxicated pt 1; pt 3; pt 4

A week had passed since you and Remus made out and you couldn’t stop thinking about it. He would make eye contact with you in the hallways and you would blush and try to keep your cool while listening to your friends talk, oblivious of what happened.

You wanted to speak to him, you wanted to spend time with him, you just wanted to be in his presence really, but you didn’t know how. You weren’t brave enough to go and speak to him in front of everyone, in front of his friends, or yours.

It was so hard and frustrating to sit in front of him in the classes you had together. His scent intoxicating you, your thighs squirming together at the thought of his hands on you. Everyone unaware of your secret, you and him the only ones knowing.

When you heard about this house party you were honestly relieved, you wanted to have some fun and maybe get a little tipsy to distract yourself from Remus and really even from your ex, that was still so present in your thoughts, making you sad and regretful after realizing it was the biggest waste of your time.

And also, you knew Remus was going to be there, cause he didn’t miss a single party: he was always there selling stuff. You had him in mind while getting ready. You wore a tight shirt, with long loose sleeves, a short pleated skirt -without tights, as he liked- and a pair of black docs.

The party was at one of your classmate’s house, he would always host parties cause he had a huge house and his parents were often away for the weekend. You arrived late after pregaming with your friends, the music already blasting, the backyard crowded with little groups smoking in circles and throwing themselves in the heated pool.

You spotted the rest of your group, sitting around the fire pit on the patio. You went up to them, and you were greeted with enthusiasm. You decided to go inside to greet some friends and maybe take a couple of shots. 

Your heart dropped when you spotted your ex in the crowd, talking to his friends. You were going back outside when you heard his voice calling you. You sighed deeply, your chest filling with dread. 

“Hey y/n!” You could see he was a little tipsy “hi” “how are you doing” you shrugged “fine” “I’m happy to hear, you know, I’m still upset about how everything went down” “right, yeah, no, I know” there was a moment of silence, your eyes were wandering in search of a way out of that conversation.

“Hey, you wanna take a shot?” He asked suddenly, everything about him was so odd, you gritted your teeth and just nodded, hoping that he would leave you alone after that. He picked a couple of shot cups from the counter and filled them with vodka.

You inhaled deeply before chugging the shot in one sip. As the bitter liquid was burning your throat, a syrupy stripe fell down the side of your lip. Your ex boyfriend smiled at you, his thumb brushing your lip, cleaning it up.

You flinched, squirming away from his touch “what is it?” He asked “Nothing, it’s just…” “do you want to take a walk?” You sighed “listen, it was nice to see you, but I think it’s better if I go back outside, the girls are waiting for me” 

He shrugged “who cares, just lemme- you shook your head “I don’t want to okay? You were always so shitty to me and i don’t want to have anything to do with you. anymore.” You snapped before walking away from him, without looking at his reaction.

You made yourself a drink before going back out, filling a plastic cup with vodka and peach tea. As you took a sip you realized the drink was almost all vodka, the faint peach flavor completely covered. You sighed, who cared anyway.

You plopped on a chair in between of your friends. They were laughing and talking about some old story. You swallowed the sadness that was clouding up your eyes, looking at the flames moving slowly in an hypnotizing dance. You could feel your legs getting warmer and weaker as the alcohol started circling in your system. 

You lighted up a cigarette, to help the alcohol work, and as you lifted your gaze to watch the people on the backyard you spotted him. On that couch on the grass, slouched on the cushions, getting stoned with his friends. 

Your breath hitched. For how long was he there? Did he see you? Did his friends knew about you? You took a long drag, your eyes glued on him. He was wearing an old loose sweater, the sleeves stretched out on his hands, baggy jeans, and a pair of beaten up sneakers.

He looked incredibly hot. And he noticed you. Your heart skipped a bit as you watched his gaze wander on your figure. You looked away, then looked at him again, your eyes meeting. He took a drag of his joint before passing it to his friend and standing up.

You didn’t need him to do anything else. You said to your friends that you needed to go to the bathroom and you stood up too, realizing in that moment that the alcohol was getting up to you. You felt slightly light headed and your legs were weak.

You stabilized yourself before walking towards Remus. You followed him inside, navigating through the sweaty bodies of teenagers dancing and drinking. He then went outside again, to a less crowded part of the backyard, far from the pool and the patio. There were a couple of trees and a kids’ trampoline. 

The music was muffled in that area of the backyard, an old summer hit was playing in the distance, you could faintly hear some people singing along inside, or maybe on the other side of the backyard. 

Remus was leaning on a tree lighting up a cigarette. You went up to him “hey” “hi” “Can I take a hit?” He passed the cigarette to you “what’s up” he shrugged, his eyes were red for the weed “fine I guess” you nodded slowly “how long have you been here?” “Not much, you?” “Yeah, me neither”.

You passed the cigarette back to him, searching for something to say “I saw you actually” he said while smoking, not looking at you “you did?” he nodded “yeah, you were with your ex” your heart fell to your stomach.

“I thought you hated him or something” he said “I do hate him” “yeah? You two seemed pretty close when I saw you” you sighed, you had the worst luck ever. “No, I was just trying to get him to leave me alone actually” Remus looked up at you “you were?”

You nodded “yeah, all of a sudden he’s clingy and he won’t let me live in peace apparently” Remus nodded slowly “so that’s why you were taking shots with him?” “Yeah, actually, so then he would leave me alone” Remus took another drag and shrugged.

“Yeah, okay, I kinda figured that it was something like that anyway” you smiled “you did huh?” “Actually yeah” he said taking the last drag of his cig “right” you couldn’t help but smile, amused by his interest in you. 

“Do you wanna get high or you’d prefer getting more shots of cheap alcohol?” you grinned from ear to ear “let’s get high” he smiled “that’s what I thought” he said before throwing away the cig and climbing the trampoline stairs.

“What are you doing?” “This is the best spot in this house, don’t you know?” Remus said taking off his sneakers and getting on the trampoline. You shook your head in amusement, climbing the stairs “you may want to take your shoes off” you smiled and started untying your boots.

You finally got on the trampoline. Remus was laying on his back, you did the same and laid down next to him. Your arms were slightly touching. You felt safe in there. The trampoline was surrounded by a net, making the sky the only visible thing from that angle.

Remus opened his pack of cigarettes and pulled a pre-rolled joint out. “When I rolled this I had you in mind” you couldn’t help but smile “you did?” “Yeah, I was actually hoping I would have a smoke with some cool girl tonight” you blushed violently. Your heart beating faster.

“It’s so cozy in here” you said, trying to change the subject. “Yeah, it’s the best place in this house, I told you” he responded lighting up the spliff. “How  did you know?” he shrugged “I spent here a lot of Friday nights” “you did?” “Yeah, I needed to get that bag you know” you laughed.

“So I’m interfering with the business or something?” Remus took a long drag “no, it’s fine, my boys got me” “oh, so they cover your shift at every party while you hit on girls?” You teased,  Remus laughed “I never hit on girls, especially at parties” “mhh, right” “I swear, I’m very business focused!”

“So I am interfering” he shrugged “yeah, I guess, but I can make an exception for you.” You smiled, your cheeks burning. Your legs were getting closer to his, your knees were touching. You could feel the excitement grow.

“So, how was this week?” He asked taking another drag “fine, kinda boring” “no shit, you hang out with lames” you smiled “come on, they’re not lames, they’re just…different from me” “yeah, right” he said passing the joint to you.

You already felt light-headed for the alcohol, was it a good idea to also smoke? “Are you okay?” “Yeah, it’s just-maybe I shouldn’t, I already drank a bit” “it’s fine if you don’t want to” you shrugged “but I also wanted to get high with you”

Remus grinned “wait, we can try a thing” he said sitting up “what?” “Sit in front of me” you did so, your eyes locked with his, they were half lidded, red, sleepy. They made him look hotter. “Come closer” your knees tangled together as you got closer. 

“Closer” he repeated, his tone was warm and low, you did as he said, you were know extremely close, you could feel his breath on your lips. He took the longest drag, inhaling deeply.

Then he grasped your chin and pressed your lips together. Your heart skipped a bit as you parted them further, and Remus exhaled the smoke into your mouth. You inhaled, the smoke swirled down your throat, making your head immediately lighter.

“How was it?” Remus spoke softly, your lips still grazing his. You smiled “I think I’ll need another couple of hits to get high” Remus snickered, taking another long drag. He repeated the process, your lips got wetter, your core warmer.

After some time the joint was practically finished, you were dazed and your brain felt fuzzy. Remus looked as high as you. You started making out, messily and sloppily, the smell of marijuana intoxicating you, Remus scent getting to your head.

He laid down, you got on top of him, your hipbones locked together. He looked up to you, smiling, his warm hands were caressing your naked thighs “aren’t you cold?” You shrugged “not really” he kissed you 

“I’m lucky then” he whispered on your lips “cause I love to grope these thighs” his hands brushed on your ass “and this ass” you felt the excitement pool in your panties, you rolled your hips into his

He sucked the soft skin of your neck, kissing the plum colored bruises that were already forming. “I wanted to kill him” he mumbled suddenly “who?” You asked breathing heavily, your lips on his neck, your hands in his ashy blond locks.

“That asshole” he responded, his hands caressing your hips “when I saw him touching your lips” you blushed “it wasn’t- he hushed you up with another kiss “I’m the only one who can touch you” he said against your parted lips. You could feel your core getting warmer.

You leaned down to kiss him again, he squirmed away “no, say it” you sighed “say what” “that I’m the only one who can touch you” he whispered, his breath on your neck, your heart beating faster.

“Say it, come on” he mumbled on your lips, his hips bucking to meet yours, his erection pressing to your heated core. You started grinding on his lap, pressing your lips to his again. He gripped your hips, making you unable to move, you whined.

“You have to say it” he said, his hands on your hips, fidgeting with the hem of your skirt. “I would pay to see his face, if he ever knew that this loser gets to be the only one who touches you” You whined again, trying to move your hips, searching desperately for some friction.

“That his touch disgust you” he continued, his lips grazing the skin of your neck “and mine makes you melt” he said, his fingers slid down your skirt, grazing your clothed core, the soft fabric of your panties was completely soaked, you whimpered.

“If he knew, that I can make you so soaked for me, just by kissing you” he whispered, your thighs squirmed slightly “say it, come on” you smiled  “I’ll say it, but then I’ll be the one who gets to touch you” you said, your hand palmed his erection teasingly.

Remus swallowed, his breath was slightly shaking “alright, say it” you smiled, leaning down on his face, your mouth close to his ear. “You’re the only one who can touch me” you whispered softly, Remus inhaled deeply, closing his eyes.

You sat up. Your core was now on his lap. You palmed his bulge, reaching to unbuckle the belt with your hand. Remus whined “wait” you looked at him “Nobody ever…” you smiled “touched you? Yeah, nobody touched me either before you” he frowned in confusion “but with- “I only ever touched him, I wasn’t ready for him to…” Remus gaze softened, he bit his lip.

You unbuttoned his pants, teasing him, palming at his dick from his boxers. He whined. You smiled, and kissed him again. You started making out. Your tongues swirling together, your hand massaging his clothed length, the boxers were sticky with precum.

He bucked his hips, you smiled on his lips. You pulled his boxers down, his dick sprung out. It was big, swollen, the tip was already leaking pre cum. You spread it on the head, Remus let out a loud whine, you smiled “shhh” you pressed your lips to his, your hand started going up and down his length slowly.

Remus whimpered, you picked up the pace, your core was growing impossibly warmer and wetter, humping remus' lap. You rolled your hips on him while pumping your hand up and down his length.

You started sucking Remus' neck, while he moaned softly with pleasure. “Oh my god” he whispered, his voice was shaky. His eyes were closed shut, he whined. You started going faster, as you could feel yourself getting more and more aroused too.

Remus opened his eyes, looking at you rolling your hips, a moan escaping your lips, he grinned, his shaky fingers reached to your panties, pulling them to the side to maximize the friction on the rough fabric of his unbottoned jeans. You started moving faster, your hand pumping his length viciously. 

Remus moaned “wait, I’m gonna cum” he whined, you rolled your hips on him, feeling yourself getting closer too “Jesus- fuck! I’m gonna cum!” You smiled, as you felt yourself reach the climax “you can cum, come on, cum for me” he grabbed your waist, his fingers were pressing on your soft skin.

He pulled yourself down, his lips pressing with yours, your tongues swirling together. “Fuck!” He whined, his hips bucked into yours. You felt your orgasm wash over you, and as you moaned on his lips you felt Remus body contract under yours in pleasure.

You sat up again, your legs shaky as you were still coming down from your high, you pumped two more times before Remus came with a loud whine, hot strings of warm cum leaking from his tip, covering your fingers.

You brought your hand to your mouth, licking your sticky fingers clean, Remus watched you with lust-filled eyes and burning cheeks, biting his lip hard “fuck” he whispered. You helped him tuck his dick in his boxers again, and then you kissed him softly.

You got off his lap and laid down next to him again. Laying on your side, you watched his side profile, his chest going up and down fast, he was breathing heavily, still shaken by the orgasm. You could feel some rap music playing in the background, some boys were drunkly screaming the lyrics. 

You sat up “we should go, my friends are probably looking for me” he snickered “are you gonna tell them that you did a handjob to the stoned loser they don’t like on the trampoline outside?” You smiled “come on, let’s go, you have a business to go back to” he laughed “right”

[sour-leminies]

My little Fairy

Pairing: Hook x Fairy F!Reader

Summary: Coming to Merlin Acadamy you grew very close to the pirate with a hook. Everyone had declared you Hook's pirate Fairy. Truth be told, most people couldn't believe how loyal and caring you were to the pirate. So, when you finally snap, for the first time in a long time James didn't have you by his side, and all he knew was he wanted you back. Now.

Warnings: None I can think of, but let me know otherwise.

Taglist: @astrynyx @snixx2088 @4ng3l-ch1ld @herondale-lightworm Just ask to be tagged!

Navigation — other works!

I watched as Bridget and her friends all danced around the court yard - singing and dancing. It was sickening, they were so sweet and yet I couldn't help the part of me that yearned for that kind of friendship.

My only friend was Captain Hook, and if given the chance I'm positive he would have ditched me long ago if not for my help with things. Whenever he wasn't prepared for a test, I'd skip my own class to be in my smaller form tucked away in his shirt - telling him the answers. Or whoever he wanted me to spy on one of his victims he terrorized, I'd do so. Or when he wanted pixie dust, etc. The point was, I'd give my soul for Captain James Hook, and I don't even think he sees me as a friend.

Snapping out of my haze I landed on James's shoulder, whispering in his ear - telling him how Bridget was in the courtyard being all happy. A message he hurried to tell Uliana, before he made his way to the spot. I was still on his shoulder as he entered the courtyard with a dramatic flair.

I remained on his shoulder as he sang and danced, until Uliana turned into a flamingo. Something I couldn't help but smile at. Part of me was jealous of Uliana, and her relationship with James. It looked more intimate than his with Maleficent.

I pulled James through a different door, Maleficent following after us - and we cut the girls off. I now rested on Maleficent Horns. I let out a gasp, that came out like a jingle.

The Vk's all retreated once Uliana ran away - screaming and soaking wet. At least she was no longer a flamingo.

Once everyone cooled down, I was now in my human form laying on my bed, dressed in a nice pretty black dress. My makeup and hair had been done and all I had to do was wait for Hook to get here so we could go to that birthday dinner he promised me.

"Still no Hook?" Maleficent - who was also my roommate asked me. "No, you would think he'd show by now. I mean he's twenty minutes late." I praised the lord that my voice didn't come out as jingles when in my human form. Annoyingly so, only other Faires and James could understand me when I was in my smaller size.

"I hate to say this," my roommate spoke as she sat onto my bed with me. "But maybe he forgot."

I quickly shook my head. No way - he promised me. He had promised. He wouldn't forget me.

Slowly the hours ticked by and by the time it struck eight, two hours after the time we agreed on, Maleficent forced me up, and her hand Hades took me to dinner.

I wanted to cry, but how could I? Just because I love him, doesn't mean he loves me. At that very moment I accept that cold hard truth.

So as Maleficent rubbed my arm, and Hades even pat my head - I had decided that I would stop trying with Hook, it'll never happen anyways.

—

Over the next few days you ignored Hook. You hadn't made the first move to talk to him, and it seemed he had nothing he wanted you to do for him.

When the third day of you ignoring him he grew antsy. He didn't know what the sudden change in you was, but for some very odd reason - he didn't like it.

He walked out of detention - Something he had gotten when he was caught breaking in Merlin's office. His very first thought was that you weren't there. Typically, when he'd get detention - if you didn't sit in there with him in his jacket, then you'd always greet him with a hug once he walked out the doors.

"Yo, Mali." He called out to the mistress of evil. "You heading to your room?"

The dark fairy nodded her head silently, and James took that as an invitation to walk her to her room. Even though he would never admit it, the real reason was so he could check on his little fairy. The one he was now growing worried about.

—

You jumped at the sound of the door opening. Looking up from the books you were reading on your bed, you were surprised to see Maleficent, but also James.

"Hook." You spoke, but kept your voice neutral.

The man couldn't help but flinch at the name you used. You never called him that, you always either used Captain or James. Now he knew somethings wrong.

"We need to talk." Came his short reply, but you weren't dumb, you could see the slow anger bubbling up in his eyes.

You slowly got off your bed, and walked out into the hallway with him. "What's the problem?" You were honestly he hadn't already listed things he wanted done, but you were sure he'd start soon.

"The problem? You tell me. You suddenly ignore me, I haven't seen you in three days - but I know good and well Hades has. So you fucking tell me the problem." His voice was slowly growing louder and louder.

"Hey calm down." You tried to keep your guy's voice quiet - but that only set him off more.

"Calm down?! How can I be calm when you vanished. You were gone." Suddenly both of you stopped. You both could hear the hurt, the insecurity, but most importantly the fear laced in his tone. His chest breathed up and down heavily as he realized just how much he bloody missed you.

"Listen, Hook." "James."

He took a step closer to you, slightly pushing you into the wall as he pushed into you, leaning down to breath you in.

Fuck he felt like an addict who needed a hit, and finally scratched that itch under their skin.

"You call me James." His breath fanned over your face, as he slightly leaned up to get a look at your face.

Part of you loved this, as you placed your hands onto his chest, the open part of his shirt so you both could feel the skin to skin contact.

For James it was like your touch awakened something in him. Something that called for your name. Something in him burned for you.

He leaned down, his breath fanning over your lips. Making you close your eyes in anticipation. Hook didn't was a single second. He dropped his hook from his hand, and placed it onto your cheek, while his other hand grabbed a hold of the back of your neck.

You in this moment couldn't deny you loved this - the feel of his lips on yours, the feel of his wanting you. But it was too late.

He had made it clear that you weren't a priority. And even though bread crumbs of his affection felt like a feast - it wasn't enough. You hand to stand up, You deserve better. Something that Captain hook couldn't give you.

You built your strength and pushed him away. "No."

Hook looked at you confused, did you not just feel what happened between the two of you? Because he was more than happy to give a repeat.

"I deserve better than you." You pushed him again, finally letting the tears out. Letting the tears out of a woman who wanted nothing more than the man she was crying over. "I deserve so much more than what you give me." Which was nothing. You pushed him again and this time he grabbed both your hand and pulled you into him, letting you hit him over and over until you were drained - but never letting go of you.

"You done?" You glared up and him through your pretty wet eyelashes. "Good. Now listen. You will have no one other than me. There will be no other man, woman, I don't give a fuck. Your my little fairy." You went to shake you head. No - maybe once you were his but not anymore.

"You don't even make a priority - how can you say that?" Your voice was horse from the mini break down you had while punching him.

"You are my priority." How could you say you weren't? Even when he though nothing of you, from the first moment he met you he had put you as a priority on his list.

"Ask me about how I spent my birthday three days ago." Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.

You could see the panic cross his face. The regret and self loathing as well. And maybe once upon a time that would be enough, but not anymore.

You pulled yourself away from him and hurried into your room, locking the door.

He banged a couple time before he spoke through the wood.

"I'm sorry, fuck I'm sorry. Sorry can't even explain, let me make it up to you." When he got no response from he, he continued on. "I am sorry about this but we will move past it. Just remember you may think you are free of me, but your are not. I will haunt you, beg for your forgiveness. You want better - I'll be better."

You silently cried while Hook poured everything he had from his heart into his next words.

"I'll be so much fucking better for you, my little fairy. So better."

—

The rest of the entire week, Hook would try his best; he'd bring flowers to you in the morning, he'd always walk you to class - despite how much you told him to leave you alone.

James knew he screwed up, and he hated himself for it. He didn't know what he had and he took it for granted.

He would scowl at Hades and Maleficent when you all were hanging out at the black lagoon.

Just because you and hook were on shaky ground didn't mean you were no less a Vk. Something that the crew grew to respect about you.

Every time you walked past him - not giving him a glance, he felt his chest tighten. He miss how you would cling to him. How you would rest on your shoulder when you felt over stimulated. The way you would accidently spray him with pixie dust, causing him to float.

He missed teaching you sword fighting, and all the basics. He missed you.

"Y/N!" He called out to you, desprate to get your attention. For the first time, since that kiss you didn't glare at him - nor push him away.

Instead it was worse. He felt his stomach grow cold at the neutral and emotionless look in your eyes. At least when you hated him you still cared. Now he didn't know. Your walls were up so high - it's shadow could darken a valley.

"Yes Hook?" He closed his eyes, shaking off the feeling he had.

"First, it's James. Second, will you go to dinner with me." You opened your mouth to disagree but he covered it before you could make a sound.

"Don't say no." He could hear his heart pounding in his head. "Just come. Meet me at Dip and Go dinner tonight at eight."

He dropped his hand from your mouth, and he found his courage to speak his next words.

"If you don't come I'll leave you alone." He would not, but he needed to know that deep down he still had a chance. And if he didn't have one then he would spend the rest of his life fighting for one.

He walked away, nervous for the reality check that he would soon face tonight.

—

The clock on your dorm wall ticked, and ticked. Each second growing closer to eight. The diner was an hour away and if you were to make it in time you should be leaving now.

But you just couldn't. You were too afraid. You weren't a fool, you could tell James was sorry, and regretful, but you didn't know if you could trust him.

He had unknowingly held your heart - and then crushed it. What would he do if he had known how much you cared for him? Would he treat you different?

"You should go." You looked over to the dark fairy, you had thought she was out with Hades.

"I'm scared." You had once thought James was your only friend, but Maleficent and even her boyfriend proved me wrong. "That's what makes it worth it."

She walked over to your bed, sitting down beside me before she carried on. "If you even have a chance for love then it's worth it to fight. And if you decide that he's not worth it, then at the very least you owe it to yourself to find closure." Maybe she was right.

—

Hook glanced at the clock on the wall of the diner, it said eight forty, and he knew that she wasn't going to show. He blew his shot. He wanted to throw the glass Infront of him, the one where he poured rum into it.

He had decided to dress nicely, wore his best clothing, even left his hook at home. He wanted to look his best for you - to show you he could be a good guy for you.

He had already paid for his drink, so he left a twenty bill on the table and walked out. He would wait longer, but he could tell the employees had wanted him out.

He felt like he couldn't breathe as he walked down the path, he wanted to take you on. The trees lit up with beautiful fireflies at night, and it was a view he wanted to share with you.

His vision blurred, and his chest breathed up and down, as his heart ached, pounded. He had no problems with ripping his heart out for you, but fuck, all he needed was you. He felt like a fool - not because you didn't show, but because he was too self-absorbed and if he had opened his eyes from the beginning thing would be different.

He was a villain, and villains don't get happy endings. He knew that he could never have you, simply because you were his happy ending.

He stopped walking, as he tried to calm his heart with his shaking hands. Was he having a panic attack?

"James!" He heard your voice scream out his name, as you started to run to him. Fuck, he didn't care if he was dying as he ran to you with all the speed he could muster.

Once you were at arm's length you jumped into him, and he wrapped his arms around you as tight as he could. Loving the smell that invaded his senses with open arms.

You were late, he didn't know why, nor did he care. You were here with him. That single thought caused him to break. He couldn't hold onto his sobs anymore.

He thought he lost you because of himself. He thought he would spend his entire life alone - longing for the feel of you. He thought that truly lost you. Every part of him rejected that. He couldn't live with that.

He felt his knees start to weaken as he fell to the ground, you still in his arms and he clanged to you crying. You felt your heart break once again - and all you wanted was for your pirate to feel better. You kiss the top of his head, rubbing his back as he let all his fears out, all his emotions.

"I... I love you so so so much." He heaved out, his breath making him repeat. "And I'm... I'm sorry." He was and even you knew that. You were tired as well.

You pulled his face away from your neck, and for a moment he fought you - thinking you were once again going to push him away. You rubbed you thumb across his cheek as you looked into his beautiful eyes. His brown eyes were bloodshot red from the crying, and his eyeliner had started to smidge. His eyelashes soaking together, his lips trembling as he tried to get himself together.

"I forgive you." You whispered out, before pushing your lips against his soft, and wet ones. It was a small, and short kiss, but it was full of the love you had for him. The love he felt like he no longer deserved.

"I'm sorry." His voice came out like a while as more tears dropped from his eyes.

"I forgive you." You whispered once again, and this time he initiated the kiss. Soft, craving, and you could feel his sorrow. Despite the fact he was kissing you, you could still feel him begging for forgiveness.

"I love you." You told him, and while that's all he wanted to hear. He no longer felt like that was the case. How could you love him when he hated everything about himself? How could you forgive him, when he's still kicking his own ass.

"I love you two, my little fairy." Fuck his voice broke again as he rested his forehead against yours. You also couldn't help but cry as well.

—

James kept his promise. He did become better for you, and only you. He was still a villain, but he was a gentleman to you. He kissed you every time he saw you, gave you flowers every month when your old ones would die.

He did everything he could to become a good enough person for you, and while daily you'd reassure him how happy you are - he couldn't get your heartbroken face out of his mind.

He'd have nightmares of you leaving him all alone. You loved him, and he didn't feel worthy of it, but he'd be damned of someone else had it. He was still a villain.

The first moment where he finally felt okay to breath was when you told him the future you wanted with him. You had wanted a future with him. Him.

You wanted three kids, three girls, and you would love to watch him become a father as you all lived on his ship.

When you were all banished to the Isle of the lost, he hated himself for getting you stuck there, but you'd remind him you'd rather be with him then in some land without him.

When you first got pregnant, he couldn't help but be so joyous of the boy in your stomach. He never told you he wanted a son, but you knew so you also felt happy.

You had named him Harry, after James repeatedly told you he couldn't think of one. The second born was a girl, and you demanded he named her. So, he stole your idea and named her Harriet. Then on the final and last born, you told him he couldn't name your baby girl after he just stole Harry's name and gave it to his sister.

You, James, Harry, Harriet, and CJ lived on hook's ship. And despite the living conditions, you loved your family no less.

—

A/N: Hiii, if you see this and sent me an Elsa reader x Hook request I promise I am working on that!!

[moonstruckdraws]

Poseidon

There you are, coward.

ver. 2

ver. 1

I don't know what's more terrifying: me making designs within the next 24 hours of the last one (technically) three times now, or the fact I'm getting motivation to draw guys (tbf it is mainly for interactions between the gods & art of couples but still).

I forgot to explain why Hephaestus doesn't have anything sentient/second set of eyes like the rest (excluding Aphrodite) of the gods so far. In reality, it's cause I had no ideas, whatsoever. But my headcanon idea is that because he was thrown out of Olympus and raised outside of it, he didn't get a sentient thing. I don't have it all thought out, but I want all the Olympians to have semi-sentient things on their person (with some outside exceptions like Antheia, but she is a Kharities so-). Idk, I'll figure it out. Or not.

Anyway:

Fun fact, this man had his board made ages ago (along with Aphrodite, Ares, & Amphitrite) back in November. Unlike those guys though, he stayed a blank canvas when I tried to draw him cause I could not for the life of me decide how to draw him. But now I did. Feels bittersweet.

I also do not have a lot for Poseidon. I feel like he's one of the gods you can predict how he looks like so easily and be similar to other people's versions like by 60%-80%, no shade of course. He's got the water hair & beard & gills, and only then do things get different between others' interpretations, depending on how monstrous/human/how many fishing nets can I put on this man they want to make it.

Apparently his sacred plant is wild celery, but I just couldn't find a place for it. Could make it another tattoo. Yeah, he has those because I couldn't think of any cool jewelry to give him. Good luck, me, in trying to draw it repeatedly (I'm already sick of it, but I like it). The shell on his right shoulder tattoo is to be a connection to Amphitrite, as one of her animals are shellfish, because I wanted to add a part of her to him. Another reference to Amphitrite are the tear shaped clips he has on his person that are on her design (that I need to update a little).

His tattoos also have dolphins on them of course. And the tied fabric of his cloth is supposed to be similar to dolphin fins (moreso the Hippocampus, but either work). He has a lot of waves on his design, of course, and swirls that are totally not annoying to draw. I also gave him a hook necklace for fun, no other reason. Because why would I...

Last thing is his hair. When looking at the 3/4th's view of him, you can see he does have more hair. It just isn't drawn- but it goes back into two braids. The braids are held together by his little crown and a clip in the shape of a horse. I plan for the horse to be his sentient thing, but we'll see..

[golbrocklovely]

only a dream // sam and colby

A/N: i haven't written a fic since october of 2024..... so i might be just a twinge rusty lol but hopefully you enjoy this one. at least i'm coming back to you with some smut. also fun fact, this actually came to me in a dream, and i just had to write it bc it was too good. lmk what you think and hope you enjoy ;)

prompt: you, sam, and colby decide to investigate an old haunted hotel, famous for its fourth floor incubus. you were nervous to sleep over, but knowing sam and colby would be with you made you feel safe. or at least, that's what you thought. || sam and colby x fem!reader

trigger warning: SMUT (but no actual sex), thigh riding, cursing, no solby, talks of demons/incubus so be weary of that if that isn't your thing, haunted location, mentions of: baby, good girl, sexual language, little bit of angst, not a happy ending (but not a bad ending either??)

word count: 3785

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I cannot believe you guys persuaded me to sleep here tonight." I grumbled, throwing my bag down on the bed.

Sam laughed, "Well, at least you don't have the room Colby's staying in. The Haunted Prostitute's room."

"Hey now," Colby interjected, scrunching his face. "Her name is Lady Mandy and she was really cool when we did the Este's Method in her room."

I smirked, side-eyeing Sam, "He's just upset she asked for $20 from him but only $10 from you to stay the night."

Sam deadpanned. "That's because she knows he's easy."

"Or that you're not a good lay." Colby quipped.

Sam looked at him smugly. "I've never had any complaints."

"Can you two stop bickering and tell me what's up with this room..." I glanced around it quickly, "Other than it being old and a bit dusty?"

"This whole floor is known for having a sexual demon on it, an incubus possibly, that likes touching female guests. This room has had multiple female guests say they’ve been touched or scratched." Sam stated.

I sighed, "Awesome. Love that for me."

"Well, we have been on this floor all night, and nothing has happened to you physically. The only thing was those words said to you during the Este’s Method." Sam mentioned.

I shrugged, "Yeah, other than feeling like I had eyes on me. And nothing was said to me in the last EVP session we did either. But still... I don't like being on this floor by myself."

Colby gathered his bag, chiming in. "We are both gonna be upstairs. Just one to two flights away. If you get scared, I'm in room 505 and he's in room 610. You have our spare keys, right?"

I confirmed, "Yep. And you have mine?"

They both nodded. Sam continued, "Okay, let's head up. And remember to set up the time lapse camera once you're in for the night."

I gave a thumbs up lazily. "Gotcha."

Sam and Colby waved goodbye, Colby being the last to leave. "Hey, are you sure you don't mind being here by yourself? If you can't do it, we'll understand."

"No. I'll be okay. But if not, you'll be seeing me." I remarked, only semi-jokingly.

He inhaled. "Okay. I will probably be up for a while, so let me know if you need anything."

"I will. Thanks, Colby." I half-heartedly smiled.

He grinned, his dimples appearing, "Don't mention it."

He closed the door softly. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my beating heart.

I wasn't sure if it was beating because of the anxiety of sleeping in a possibly haunted room or the fact that Colby smiled at me like that.

It was a weird feeling, having a crush on both your friends. I had known them for years, seen them go through deep relationships and random hook ups. And now was the first time we were all single together.

There was never a time that my feelings for them weren’t here; always just under the surface. I pushed them to the side often because I would rather keep our friendship, that I held so close to my heart, alive and well than fuck it up with a relationship. My past dating history showed I wasn't ready for a new one, so pining for them from afar was my only choice. The safest choice.

But this also meant that because I liked them so much, I would do almost anything for them. Including going to haunted locations that I should not be in whatsoever.

I exhaled dramatically, flopping down onto the bed.

All things considered, this room wasn't the worst. Neither was this hotel for that matter.

I had seen the places Sam and Colby had gone to over the years. And there were much scarier places than this. The lore for this hotel was intriguing; especially this apparent incubus that the owner raved about, but nothing ever showed it besides a few choice words during the Estes Method. The lack of activity in this place is why the boys thought about doing time lapse cameras in our rooms to see if anything is captured while we slept. A cool idea, but not one I was looking forward to.

If anything shows up on that camera in the morning, I'm going to drop dead. Or at least shit my pants.

I pulled out my pjs from my suitcase, along with my carrying case of bathroom essentials. I trudged into the bathroom, flipped on the dull fluorescent light, and began to get ready for bed.

It was nerve wracking knowing that we were the only ones in the hotel, minus a stray two or three other guests all the way down on the first floor. The owners of this small hotel gave us an all-access pass during their off season to come in and investigate, which led to us having the whole place basically to ourselves. That was great in a way because it meant no one was going to interrupt our investigation.

But being in a hotel and not seeing anyone around felt like a liminal space. It also didn't help that the rooms we were staying in clearly hadn't had guests in them for months. The owners saved them just for us.

I finished brushing my teeth and washing my face, quickly changing into my clothes for bed; a big shirt and comfy sleep shorts. The room wasn't too cold or hot, thank God, so sleeping in these would be just fine.

I laid in bed for a while, scrolling through every app on my phone. I was nervous to sleep, unsure of what was to happen during the night. I prayed that nothing would, even if that meant Sam and Colby's video would be boring for fans.

Once I could feel sleep creeping up on me, I got out of bed begrudgingly and set up the time lapse camera. I crawled into bed, turned out the light, and stared at the ceiling. In the corner of the room, I could see the tiny red light of the camera, letting me know it was filming me. I turned over onto my side, closed my eyes, and somehow dozed off.

Because of how silent my room was, the littlest bit of noise was going to wake me. However, I didn't imagine I would hear my door opening and closing.

I popped my eyes open, my heart thrumming nervously. My body was cold with fear as I laid frozen.

"Y/N... you awake?" I heard a voice whisper.

I peaked out of the corner of my eye. Two figures stood at the end of my bed. I reached for the light next to me, flicking it on.

It was Sam and Colby, staring at me with semi-worried and tired expressions. I exhaled deeply, shaking my head.

"Holy shit guys. You almost gave me a heart attack!" I whisper-yelled.

"Sorry. We didn't mean to scare you. But... we gotta sleep in here tonight." Sam blurted out, coming around to one side of my bed.

"What why?" I mumbled, putting my head back down on the pillow, annoyed.

"There was some freaky stuff happening in both our rooms. Neither one of us can sleep, so we figured that we would just sleep in here with you." He explained, getting into bed behind me.

"Are the both of you sharing this bed with me?" I questioned sleepily.

"Yeah, if you don't mind." Colby replied, getting in on the other side of me; the boys sandwiching me in.

I yawned, "Whatever. You're lucky it's a king size bed."

Colby turned out the light, placing his head down on the pillow. "Night." He whispered. Sam followed suit, mumbling a 'goodnight'.

I hummed, falling asleep immediately.

I wasn't sure how long I slept, but I felt comfortable and safe squished between Sam and Colby. No dreams came, but when I stirred awake, I didn't feel all that rested. My body was warm, heat radiating from my cheeks and face.

I felt a light fan of air hit my face, a body very close to mine. A leg was tangled in between my own, a knee brushing my lower thigh. Behind me, another body was pressed against me, our backs touching.

"Y/N..." A voice murmured lowly.

I squinted one eye open, my vision adjusting to the darkness of the room; the only light coming from the moon peeking through the curtains. My eyes fluttered, and once they opened fully, I was face-to-face with Colby.

"Colby?" I said groggily. 

"Were you having a nightmare? You were making some... weird noises in your sleep." He asked.

I muttered, "No. Wasn't really dreaming."

He shook his head, moving on, "Even though we didn't get that much evidence, this place does feel odd."

I agreed, "Yeah."

His eyes softened. "How does this room make you feel?"

"Um..." I cleared my throat, waking up a bit more. "Not as bad as the other rooms, I guess."

"That's good. You know, you had me worried there. After the Estes Method." He admitted, moving an inch closer.

I furrowed my brow, "Really? Why?"

"When you and Sam were talking about the words that were coming through, that lined up with sex demon... you looked really scared." Colby informed, his eyes meeting mine.

I was surprised, "I did? Hmm... I mean, it was creepy to hear my own name come through."

"What were the words that concerned you again?" He queried. 

As I went to say them, Sam turned over in his sleep, his arm draping over my hip lazily. He exhaled deeply, a light snore leaving his lips. "It was my name, 'desire', 'tonight', and 'pleasure'."

"That's right. That is creepy." Colby frowned.

I snickered, "Right? No thanks."

He smirked, "Well you don't have to worry. Me and Sam are here to protect you."

I bit my lip, my eyes fluttering at his words. "That's sweet of you to say." 

"We always want to make you happy, just like you make us." He responded, his tone sincere.

"You do. You both mean so much to me. Our friendship is everything to me." I answered candidly.

Colby grew quiet for a moment, the air suddenly feeling thick. I was growing dreary again, the silence lulling me back to sleep.

"Is that why you pretend to not have feelings for us?"

My breath hitched in my throat, my heart skipping a beat. I popped my eyes open, gazing directly into Colby's.

"W-What?" I stammered.

"You like me, and Sam... Don't you?" He raised an eyebrow, leaning towards me.

I shifted under his stare, my body growing hot instantly. My throat felt dry, mouth unable to form words.

Colby continued, "It's okay. You don't have to say anything. We already both know."

My face dropped as I studied his own. He was so calm about this, meanwhile my heart was about ready to burst through my chest. I swallowed hard, exhaling and ignoring Colby’s gaze. “How long have you known… that I-I’ve liked… you?”

"A while. Sam pointed it out to me once and then it just became noticeable. You’re not as slick as you think." He laughed quietly.

My mind was reeling, unable to process everything at once. I became acutely aware of everything around me. Sam was almost draped over me, Colby’s leg was pressed in between my own. I could feel their breaths hitting me simultaneously. My heart banged against my ribs, pulsing in my ears.

"Don’t be so nervous, Y/N," Sam murmured suddenly, his voice low and husky from sleep. "It’s okay if you like us."

I shuttered, "B-but our friendship-"

"Can still exist. Even if you like us." He commented, cutting me off.

"Especially if... we like you too." Colby added.

My eyes flickered to Colby’s face, widening. His expression was almost unreadable. But his words sounded simple, like what he said was fact.

"W-what?" I stuttered, my breath shallow.

"Is it weird if I say I thought you looked beautiful during the investigation? When we were reading the history of this place to the camera, and you were just watching us, it was so hard to keep my eyes off of you." Colby changed the subject, confessing and scooting closer to me in bed, our noses almost touching.

Sam hummed, his voice raising the hairs on my neck. "I liked the way you felt in my arms when you jumped into them when the R.E.M pod went off. I always wanted to protect you."

Colby agreed, "Sometimes we argue with each other when the other gets to touch you too much."

My eyes fluttered, my chest heaving with ragged breaths. “Are you guys joking right now?”

"We would never joke about this. You mean so much to us, Y/N." Sam spoke, quietly but firm.

"Can I kiss you?" Colby asked, pulling my attention back to him. 

"Yes." I replied, shocked by my own voice. The desperation, the breathy word sounding foreign to my own ears. 

Colby smiled, leaning in and kissing me tenderly. It was gentle, but I could feel his passion being held back by him. I breathed in the kiss, a whimper falling from my lips.

Sam’s hand snaked around me, up my chest and cupped my throat. He held me, pulling me away from Colby. “My turn, please.”

My head turned with Sam’s help, our lips locking instantly. He pressed his body closer to mine, his hips pushing against my ass as his tongue teased my mouth.

Colby’s leg moved up, separating my legs apart more, pressing into my core. My wet panties rubbed against my aching center, suddenly making me aware how turned on I had become by their words.

I gasped, ripping my mouth away from Sam. "W-what are you doing?"

"Just trying to make you feel good. Do you want me to stop? Whatever you want, I’ll do." Colby’s eyes narrowed, darkening with lust.

Sam’s mouth connected with my earlobe, nibbling softly. "Tell him what you want."

"Should we do this?" I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to reset my brain. It was hard to think with both of them so close to me. "If we cross this boundary, we can’t go back."

"If it’s what you want, then let’s do it. We just want to make you feel good, baby. Please let us." Colby pleaded lowly, his lips brushing against mine.

"Please, Y/N. We want it just as much as you do. Can you feel that?" Sam whispered, his crotch grinding against my ass lazily. I felt his growing hardness press into me, my mouth falling open in a silent gasp. Colby cupped my wrist, dragging my hand down his abs, stopping just above his bulge. I could feel it, clothed and erect, brushing up against my fingers.

Colby began to pull his leg away, his hold on my hand loosening. I gripped his forearm, shuddering a breath. "Don’t stop."

Colby smirked, a seductive laugh came from Sam. "Good girl."

He nudged his leg back up, his lower thigh pushing against my aching middle. I whined, feeling my body grind down against his thigh.

Sam's voice came out in a husky purr, "That's it baby, ride his thigh. Get yourself nice and wet for us."

"She's already wet. I can feel her through her shorts. She soaked through." Colby chuckled darkly.

"Really, Y/N? We barely did anything to you, and you're already this wet." Sam's lips tickled my ear as he whispered, "You're so desperate, huh?"

I nodded mindlessly, bucking my hips slowly on Colby's thigh. I couldn't believe this was happening. And I couldn't stop myself from enjoying the sensations.

Colby leaned forward, kissing me again. As he did, Sam's mouth found my neck, sucking and biting the sensitive areas. Hands found my breasts, making me moan into the kiss. Colby's tongue snaked in, my body growing hotter by the second.

"Fuck! Keep grinding against me, baby. That feels so good." Sam grunted, his clothed cock pressed firmly against my ass as I moved back and forth on Colby's thigh.

"Touch me, Y/N. Give me some relief, please sweetheart." Colby huffed, grabbing my hand and lowering it to his erection. I cupped him softly, rubbing my hand in circular motions. He sighed, his lips finding mine again.

I melted into the kiss, letting my body go on autopilot. I could feel myself getting closer to an orgasm, each thrust against Colby's thigh causing the pleasure to grow and grow.

Colby let out a guttural breath, pushing his dick harder into my hand. "We should have done this sooner. I can't believe we waited until now."

"I wanted you both for so long." I confessed, whimpering mindlessly.

"And now you can have us. Whenever you want." Sam hissed, his voice dripping with need.

I gasped, my hips bucking faster. I could feel a light layer of sweat form on my skin, my clothes sticking to me.

"You close, Y/N? Are you gonna come for us?" Colby's eyes locked with mine intensely.

I nodded, unable to form words, not trusting my voice.

"We barely touched you and you're gonna come. Imagine how good it will feel when we're inside you..." Sam smirked against my skin, breathing heavy.

I swallowed hard, "F-Fuck, I'm so close."

"Grind harder, baby. Ride my thigh like it's my dick." Colby demanded, his tone depraved.

I whined, panting as I sped up my hips. I gripped onto Sam's arm and Colby's shirt with my hands, needing to steady myself. I locked eyes with Colby, struggling to keep from rolling mine in pleasure.

"That's it, Y/N. Be a good girl for us." Sam leaned in, his lips pressed against my ear, "Come."

Colby narrowed his eyes lustfully, "Do it, baby. Come now."

Ecstasy exploded throughout my body, my orgasm hitting me deeply. I writhed in pleasure, bucking my hips with abandonment. I squeezed my eyes shut, silent cries falling from my mouth. My grip on the boys loosened as the pleasure slowed down. I mewled in a low tone, my body becoming heavy with sleep. My breathing steadied, the afterglow of my orgasm coursing through my body and lulling me unconscious.

When I woke, it was bright outside, the light cascading through the blinds and shining in my room. I was alone, my bed looking almost undisturbed.

I took in my surroundings, confused. A wave of sadness hit me for a moment. Did both of them really leave me in the middle of night? After everything we did last night, I hoped they would have stayed so we could talk.

My eyes widened as the camera came into view. Fuck! I forgot that was on last night. I stumbled out of bed, walking over to it awkwardly. I turned it off, saving the footage to the camera's storage. I waited for it to load back up so I could watch. I wasn't sure how much it would have caught last night, silently hoping the footage was suspiciously gone.

I began watching the footage, speeding through it as quickly as I could. I waited for Sam and Colby to appear, wondering what time they left too. I slowed the film down, my eyes taking in the events that unfolded. The door to my bedroom never opened, but I sat up in bed, turning the light on. I could see myself talking to something, flopping back down asleep. The light turned off on its own, no one getting into bed beside me. In horror I watched as my body twisted in pleasure, mimicking the movements I was making against Sam and Colby last night.

Or... what I thought was Sam and Colby.

That was all a dream. They never came into my room. They never confessed to knowing about my feelings or having feelings for me. They were never here!

The incubus...

I chucked the camera on the bed, a chill running up my spine. I raced over to my phone, texting Sam and Colby to come to my room ASAP.

They arrived a couple minutes later, confused as to my panic. I showed them the footage, watching them stare at the small screen in bewilderment.

"What were you dreaming about? Your body is moving... an awful lot in the video." Colby asked, looking up at me from the camera.

I blush, not sure what to say. Thank God there is no audio on the time lapse cameras. "Um... let's just say it was a NSFW type of dream."

"Oh...." He paused, then cocked his head, "Wait. Do you think it was...?"

"The incubus?" I suggested. Their eyes shifted away from me as I nodded, "...Yeah. At least, it’s  possibility."

Sam gaped down at the camera, "Wow, that's crazy! This footage is unbelievable."

Colby snickered, trying to lighten the mood. "Who did you have sex with in your dream?"

My eyes ignored their gaze, "Uh... no one in particular. Or I-uh, couldn't place the face."

"Even weirder. I'm gonna take this back to my room and save it onto my laptop. I do not want this footage to get corrupted or accidentally deleted." Sam responded, leaving my room quickly with the camera in hand.

Colby stood in my room, studying me as I sat awkwardly on the bed. I bit my lip, doing my best to not meet his stare.

He stepped towards me, "Are you okay? I can't imagine what's going through your head."

I exhaled tiredly, "I've been better. I just can't believe that dream last night wasn't real. It just felt so..."

"Real?" He replied, biting back a cheeky smile.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that." I jokingly glared, rolling my eyes at him. But then I sighed, my shoulders slumping. "I should have known better though."

"About what?" He questioned.

"That something like that wouldn't happen." I whispered, unable to hide the disappointment in my voice.

He furrowed his brow, "Something like what? A man having sex with you?"

"The person... people, in question. They wouldn't have sex with me." I commented, standing up.

"Oh? There were multiple? Kinky." He remarked sarcastically.

I continued, "I confessed something to them, and they confessed back. I should have known that would never happen."

"Hey, you never know." Colby cupped my arm gently, "You are an amazing person, and anyone would be lucky to be with you, Y/N. Don't sell yourself short."

"Thank you. I appreciate that." I hugged him tightly, pulling him as close as I could.

"That's what friends are for." He stated, rubbing my back sweetly.

I tried not to wince at his words, nodding my head. "Yep... friends."

[rainyatrium]

MOTH AND LOPER!! YEAH!!! ft. @heavenhearst under the goggles... The mindspike articulates and is motorized... it gave up the goat literally as soon as the cosplay contest ended, lol Did not get to finish the lenticular film glasses in time, but such is life!!!! We got 4th place honorable mention in the group costume contest so i am pretty happy :) further thoughts and WAY more images below!

loper thoughts we know from the game that Loper is in some kind of hazard gear, so i gave them the jumpsuit (in the tradition of ellen ripley, real astronauts, and ghostbusters) as opposed to a labcoat or anything like that. we took in the waist to make it fit better. i think with the mindspike on, it made the resemblance even stronger.... these ghostbusters did not quite get why i was so amused at taking a photo with them, but i think this is a pretty good image nonetheless.

observin' makes me feel good! and speaking of the mindspike: this is my first time working on anything to this level-- I am not a robotics person! hell of a learning experience & i already have plans for version 2. mindsci i am not but i think i did pretty ok... the spike has two controllers: a modified slotcar controller & a separate knob that sits in one of the pockets (controls left/right axis). the other knob is pretty discreet and allows for puppeting the spike without a bright yellow Device in my hands. the RCA jacks on the back hooked up to Moth's laptop, so for photos it looks like they are hooked up to the spike and taking readings.

the claw was made nearly 1:1 to the game model to save on time and weight. con crunch wahoo! some extras: i put together fake 'e-paper' displays for our ids. if you have seen my prior posts, these will look familiar! i had a blast designing a seal for the FBX and a layout for these ids. i wanted to give them a better finish (hide the obvious 3d printing), but.. time crunch.. oops... the Moth id also has a little incandescent bulb in it, though I have no photos of it active. for my gloves, i intended to use gloves for high-voltage electrical work, but i was allergic to the latex, so i grabbed some dishwashing gloves off amazon and glued the label to them, hehe.

shoutout to the tf2 medic who was wearing the same pair of gloves! moth thoughts for moth, we had the benefit of the wonderful official cosplay by Shaman-- which you can see all over corru.store! (thank you shaman for the pointers!!!) Heaven thought it would be fun to take him in a more "I'M IN!" direction, so our Moth has painted nails and fingerless gloves and a great big coat over his button-down and slacks. complimented with some pins from hot topic and i think he assembled a pretty comprehensive vibe! i made the goggles out of some blue LEDs, rice paper, and a pair of costume goggles off Amazon. they are entirely opaque. moth is just such a gamer he knows exactly where everything is anyway.

you can also see the FBX patch that is present on both our Loper and Moth!

everything else wtf you read this far? cool! i don't really have anything else to add... but maybe you will see Loper at Supercon Miami in 2025.... only time will tell.....