#i know she gets it because she wrote him but SHE GETS IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[tonycries]

Sweetheart Online - G.S.

Synopsis. Isekai-ed into another world, or isekai-ed into your pants?! Gojo Satoru is in danger - in danger of losing his prized, otaku vírginíty, that is.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, otaku! Gojo, isekai, vírgínity loss (Gojo), chokíng, use of “ma’am”, PÚSSYDRÚNK GOJO, begging, nerdy babbling, Gojo wears glasses, cúmming dry, first times, oraI (f + m), face-sítting, cúmming early, spítting, creampíes, cúmplay, p talking, cúmming in his pants, he goes féral, otaku vocab, truck-kun, anime nosebIeeds, Gojo is a LOSER, and so down bad for you, pet names, swearíng.

Word count. 8.8k

A/N. IT’S HEREEEEE-

“Har har. hilarious, Suguru-”

“You know m’not joking, Satoru.” Geto’s taking an infuriatingly long slurp! of his ramen from the other end of the line, and Gojo’s known the man long enough to realize that he’s doing it solely to irritate him. That bastard. “You’re a loser.”

Ah, he’s never wanted to throttle him more. 

Because- listen, Gojo Satoru might be many things. 

He might be the proud president of the campus otaku club, rumored to have never even held hands with a woman his entire life. Complete defamation, of course, Gojo has held hands with his mother as a child. Though…she might be the only one. 

He might be the most annoying tenant at his cramped Tokyo apartment, every inch of it covered with enough of your pretty figurines that he’s taken to sleeping on the couch recently. But you deserved only the best!

And he might currently be the sketchiest man trudging down the streets of Shibuya at 3AM; with a brand-spanking new, life-sized body pillow of you tucked safely underneath one arm.

But that didn’t mean Gojo was a loser. Probably. 

So what if he got strange looks from every unfortunate normie soul he happened to pass? It was limited edition, and he waited eight hours in line for it!

After all, a man with such a prized possession could surely and undoubtedly never be a-

“-oi- oi!” Self-proclaimed best friend, and universally-proclaimed pain in Gojo’s ass grumbles into the phone. 

Snapping out of his reverie, Gojo’s registering that he’s already at that familiar flickering stoplight. Fingers curling even tighter in their tender hold around your form, he saunters down the barren crossing. 

He needed to get home - and he needed to get home fast! A man needs quality time with his wife, after all. 

“Don’t tell me you fainted from her ah- what was it- ‘sheer beauty and unparalleled sex appeal’ again?”

“That was one time and you know it.” He’s hissing into the speaker- honestly, Geto’s probably just cranky that he didn’t get his grubby hands on one of these before he did - Gojo’s seen the other man’s plushie collection of you no matter how much he tries to hide it. “This time, I only got weak in the knees.”

There’s a snickering drawl, “Oh yeah? What wondrous self-control, o’ maestro of virgins.”

And the title is so utterly ridiculous that Gojo finds himself stuttering into a shocked stop right in the middle of the gloomy asphalt. A laugh bubbling up in his throat before he remembers that that particularly sweet nickname was directed at him. 

“You’re a virgin too!”

Scoffing, “Yeah, but I don’t act like it. You, on the other hand, are famed for having your first kiss with the common room tv the moment you first saw that video game character. People were making bets on whether you were going to die a virgin, Satoru. Hell- I bet, too!”

Dammit, when you put it like that it makes Geto sound downright respectable. 

“Actually, she’s more than a video game character, Sugu—” Times like this, he’s letting his words simper out into a whine. Full and well knowing how much it’ll grate against Geto’s eardrums - hah, take that ramen ASMR! Smugly, Gojo pushes up his thickly-rimmed glasses, “She’s the revered princess of a distant land, first in line to rule over the throne with a gentle yet firm hand. Scouring the seas for the perfect consort that will-”

“Are you quoting her Wikipedia-”

“I wrote her Wikipedia.” Gojo huffs indignantly, as if anyone could ever assume anything less. “Because to me, she’s- she’s…”

And, truly, nothing he recited with MLA citations could ever describe you.

Because if there’s one thing that Geto was right about, it’s the fact that Gojo’s been completely and utterly head-over-heels for you ever since he first glimpsed an ad for Sweetheart Online - the hottest, filthiest romance game to hit the industry in the last few years. Maybe ever. 

With one love interest - as if he needed any other - you, and your hand in marriage that Gojo had fought rival after unworthy rival to win 143 times already.

He finds himself wracking his brain for any word in the existing lexicon to describe the perfection that is you. Though, it seems that he doesn’t have to think too hard at all. 

Because before he can even imagine letting the first few syllables formulate on his tongue, there’s a deafening-

HONK!

Gojo turns, only to see the glaringly white headlights of a truck hurtling towards him at full-speed. 

And the first thing he thinks is oh, it kind of looks like the spotlight that dazzles on you 1 minute and 24 seconds into the game’s Coronation Event. The second thing he thinks is…fuck.

.

.

.

“-highness—looks rabid!”

“—that’s rude, but…”

“-oh dear, put your sword down, Itadori.”

Gojo takes a few bleary seconds to pat himself mentally on the back for deducing that he’s died and made his way to heaven. Honestly, it doesn’t matter what Yaga says - he really is a genius sometimes.

What else could the delicate paintings of cupids and clouds on the staggeringly tall ceiling abovehead mean? He didn’t think that the heavens above had a fancy for Baroque - but who was he to judge? 

Certainly not when it seemed like he was sprawled out on a painfully decadent bed. Sifting among layers and layers of delicate silk that almost swallowed him whole - oh, it was fit enough for his figurine collection of you. 

A sharp crick shoots along Gojo’s neck when he turns his eyes towards what seemed like a towering window, wincing at the large glowing ball of light washing warmly over him. If he squinted his eyes it almost looked like…the sun?

Surely, he wasn’t a ghost then.

It hadn’t even been daybreak once that semi-truck had run him over, and even if he was to haunt anyone then it would be to bug Geto into plastering his collection of your posters all over his gravestone. 

And the final piece of celestial evidence being a soft, soothing tone ringing in his ears and already becoming his favorite new song. Coming from the mouth of an angel peering down at him who looked - lo and behold - like your very spitting image. 

“Oh…” It comes out in a hoarse, scratchy gasp. All the air knocking out of his poor lungs once you inch in mere centimeters closer to his glassy view. He can’t help but reach up a trembly hand, “You’re even more beautiful in 3D.”

SMACK!

Gojo flinches when his hand gets knocked away unceremoniously by someone else’s- there were other people here? “You dare attempt to touch the princess? After revealing yourself in her chambers? I should call the guards right now-”

Now, he didn’t know much about the afterlife, but he was sure that demons weren’t allowed in heaven.

“It’s quite alright, Nobara.” The angel speaks up, and oh, it’s not even his name being said but Gojo already feels his heart leap a little and suddenly wishes it was. “Judging by the state of his clothes it seems he’s not from these parts. Maybe he’s lost?”

Gentle hands are suddenly bestowed upon his to softly pull him up, and before he can open his mouth to undoubtedly blurt out something stupid, there’s a ringing PING!

Jumping just about a foot off the bed, he’s scrambling to stand as a strangely robotic voice speaks from somewhere overhead, “Milestone: Touch a Girl reached. System activation successful! Congratulations, user [Satorulovesprincess]. Welcome to Sweetheart Online.”

If the group in front of him heard anything, then they didn’t show a sign. 

Very much the opposite of a thoroughly panicked Gojo, flailing his head towards the source of the noise until his eyes meet a holographic screen hovering just a few inches over his head.

As if something pulled right out of one of Geto’s favorite trashy sci-fi films - fuck being in heaven, he was probably still on those Shibuya streets hallucinating and causing an incident.. 

Gojo treks down a hand to pinch his forearm, just a little harder than necessary when the voice booms once more-

“Quite ingenious, user [Satorulovesprincess]. However, we assure you that what you are seeing is real.” The screen displays those exact words in time. “You have initiated the execution of the system, and are now bound to Sweetheart Online.”

“System- Sweetheart Online-” Great, he’s going mad. Running his hands through tousled locks of cloudy white, “Don’t tell me…don’t tell me this is like one of those shitty isekai anime.”

Oh god it all made sense - the truck, the system, the truck. And Gojo’s watched much more than enough cliché isekai anime with the otaku club to realize. 

But…a truck? Seriously? That’s embarrassingly overused. 

It’s like a pit of ice forms at the bottom of his stomach. He bet that no one but him could see the glaring screen right now. A fact he was especially glad for once the following words roll out-

“Following your sudden and extremely inexperienced death, Mission: No-Longer-Virgin has already started.”

Whispering to himself, “So this is where virgins go after death. Some sort of purgatory perhaps in which the last wishes of the virgin are materialized- although that doesn’t explain the presence of- wait-”

“Good luck, user: [Satorulovesprincess]. May your virginity collapse, and your sex life prosper!”

If Gojo didn’t know any better, he’d have sworn that the disjointed voice sounded amused. 

But wait- no, it wanted Gojo to lose his virginity? His long-held, precious, maiden virginity? After twenty-something years, how crude that this ah- mission marrs his delicate body. Did the system think that he was some sort of harlot to-

“Are…are you okay, strange sir?”

Okay, maybe losing his virginity wasn’t all that bad.

Turning back around slowly, “I uh…”

And this wasn’t quite how Gojo imagined meeting you - glasses askew, hair rumpled, in the very same ratty hoodie and sweatpants he’d camped outside the anime store in - hell, he never thought he’d meet you in general. 

But then you smile, and Gojo falls onto his knees. Right then and there on the polished floor.

You were exactly as he’d seen on-screen. Brows quirking upwards just a slight cheeky degree the same way it did whenever his in-game avatar said something particularly smooth. Gorgeous. The silken skirts of your ball gown looking oh-so-soft to the touch but not as soft as you-

“Your highness, on top of being a madman, he drools at the sight of you!” A younger girl shrieks - Nobara Kugisaki, your trusty attendant, he remembers. Hastily wiping his lips, “Kindly consider having his skull impaled.”

There was nothing kindly about having his skull impaled, and Gojo’s already clutching his head when you chuckle. “Your name?”

Ah, he’s forgotten how to speak. Forgotten how to breathe. “G-Gojo Satoru- my princess- your highness.”

“Apologies, I’m not sure what foreign ambassador you are, but I do welcome you kindly to our kingdom.” You’re letting your eyes roam all over his still-kneeled body, and in them glittered something…dark. 

Sliding over your hand and oh! Gojo remembers this.

He’s drinking in that delicate floral scent of yours, dragging his plump mouth to meet the back of your hand in a lingering kiss. The very moment his lips touch you, Gojo feels lightheaded.

And only after pulling away does he realize exactly why-

“Ah! He’s bleeding!” The young man - your loyal knight, Itadori - yelps, and Gojo’s clapping over the warm wetness smearing over his lower face. A nosebleed? Really? Just from kissing your hand? God, Geto was right - he really is a loser. “Should I call the healers, your highness?”

“No we have him drawn and quartered for such an unseemly display-”

“Nobara, that’s quite alright.” You’re waving off, smooth marble floors resonating out sharp clacks! when you walk even closer. Close. Too close. Until you’re seated on the edge of the bed, “After all, it is my consort choosing ceremony. Isn’t that what you’re here for, Satoru?”

Gojo thinks he could faint at the way you say his name - and he almost does. 

Scrambling towards you, he’s fully kneeling at your feet now. You’re so beautiful - so real - that pearly beads of tears dot his fluttering lashes. “Y-yes, ma’am.”

He swears he hears you mumble cute under your breath. Now he could really faint–

“Oh? And I intend on fulfilling the wishes of my guest.” Speaking somewhere over his shoulder, “You two are dismissed. Lock the doors.”

Kugisaki is, unsurprisingly, the one to protest. “But- but, your highness he’s-” And, honestly, Gojo can recognize the raw expression of what the fuck in her voice. He doesn’t blame her one bit. Not when you tip his head up further to face yours and his nose twitches like he’s about to start nosebleeding all over again. “...pathetic.”

Ouch. Gojo was on the verge of spoiling the ending to her character’s backstory when you’re humming. “I like them pathetic, Nobara.” 

Did he mention you were an angel?

“So…” You’re luring him in, and just that heady lilt of your voice already makes his cottony grey sweatpants tight. Shit- wasn’t this the type of situation that he wrote secret fanfics about?

Barely hearing the creaky SLAM! of the double doors to your royal chamber. Clouded pants waft over your satisfied features, he’s peeking up at you over his large spectacles. Lolling closer and closer-

Mumbling, “Yes, my prin- oh!”

Gojo’s pouted strawberry-pink lips wobble cutely when the golden points of your heel dig into the fleshy mound of his thigh. Prominent Adam’s apple bobbing, “Y-your highness?”

“What’s this about a-” Watery eyes widening wordlessly when you’re sliding it all the way up, up, up along the shockingly curvaceous muscles to press right down on the straining inches of his fattened cock. Needy. Bulging. “-virginity loss mission-” Hard. “-Satoru?”

And Gojo doesn’t know what comes first - that sharp inhale at the realization, or him.

Fist flying up for him to sink his pretty pearly whites into when he’s biting back a whimper and cumming.

You could feel the way that Gojo’s sloppy mushroom tip was just bawling with every lazy grind up and down his sappy slit. 

Milking out the thick, goopy ribbons being sprinkled from his rounded mushroom tip. Volumes upon volumes. So much of it. That warm texture clinging against the flats of your shoe and puddling out mushy dark splotches into his sweatpants.

Shit. Shit shit shit - cumming just from that. All in front of the woman of his dreams. Part of him almost wants to apologize.

But the way your mouth curls into a sleazy grin makes Gojo’s heart race, every minute action only keeping his achy length even harder. 

He so can’t help himself from grabbing your calves to halt with a few twitchy fingers - only to be going against his own yearnings. Hips humping yours once like a fucking dog as his breath hitches, “You- you know?”

“Awww, of course I know, Toru. I can see the screen.” Fuck- he hopes you can’t feel the wet splat! of another buttery wad of cum being dolloped out generously from his depraved divot. Leaning in, “S’this the first time anyone else has ever made you cum?”

He knew you were teasing - he knew it. But that doesn’t stop Gojo from panting out a strained, “Yes.”

“Hmmm, well-” You’re tapping your chin in thought, despite already having made your decision. But it was just so fun to see this beautiful man shivering and pleading on his knees. “I don’t know where you transmigrated from but…I still am a benevolent ruler, after all.”

He gulps. Cupping one flushed side of his face, Gojo’s practically a steaming hot mess of putty in your hands. “And I can take care of that little virginity business for you.”

Croaking out, “P-please.”

“Hmmm, not good ‘nough.” You’re rovering down even further to press a slight smooch of pressure against his fatly filled-up balls. Thighs squeezing at just how big they were - breeder balls. “Is that how you speak to your princess?”

“No- no no no-” Gojo’s shaking his head so hard that it makes him a little dizzy, or maybe that was the way that you were fisting your determined digits into his faded hoodie. “Please…ma’am.”

“Much better.”

Before he can even blink, he’s being dragged upwards according to your every want and whim. Thrown onto the bouncy king-sized mattress with such strength- of course, he shouldn’t even be surprised. You are the future queen for a reason, after all. 

In fact, he’s never skipped a single cut scene that showed you training your battle skills-

“Now now, don’t tell me you’re tapping out already?” Your voice drifts its way into his melty mind, words so sugary sweet that he could almost taste them. “At least gimme a lil’ kiss now-”

And it’s more than anything he could’ve ever dreamed of.

Muffling back a muted yes, Gojo’s surging upwards to clash his lips into yours. And oh shit, just-now realizing that he’s lost his first ever kiss. 

Then his second. His third. His fourth.

It’s messy. It’s hot. 

Tugging you even closer with a forearm around your waist. Gojo’s sloppy tongue is licking its way past your ravenous entrance, fucked-out bubbles of spittle pop up at the edges of his pursed lips when you’re breaking away-

“N-nooo-” He’s letting off a shuddering whine, chasing after you with a sluttily half-parted maw. “Gimme- wanna ‘nother kiss, princess.”

So greedy. The fat curve of your thumb positions itself on Gojo’s prettily dimpled chin, prying open his dewy lips even further. “Open that mouth f’me, Toru?”

He’s doing exactly what you’re saying before he even realizes it. The glistening muscle of his tongue splayed-out perfectly on display for you - for you to spit out a heavy mass of saliva right onto his pinkish tastebuds. 

Gojo moans at the contact - and you can feel it before he does. The subtle jolt of his weepy cockhead, before your languidly gyrating kneecap is dampened with another wiry slather of cum. Warm and wet. 

“Cumming again?” You coo, eyes darting between the ever-growing pool of a frosted mess between his long legs, and his face. Gojo looked so pretty like this - glasses sliding down his button nose, eyes shuttering with each heaving pant - gasp. Face flushed and slicked with a slight shimmer of sweat, stray locks of white curtain and stick to his reddened forehead. He looked so pretty. “Just from that?”

He’s squirming his depraved hips to smudge a faint glaze of seed down your mounds of flesh, one palm dancing upwards to stop himself from having a nosebleed all over again. “C-can’t help it…The average time of ejaculation for a man is five to seven minutes based on psychological factors and age. And as a healthy young man just because I-”

You’re shutting him up with a kiss, and Gojo almost wonders why more people don’t do this time - that is, until he remembers they’re not you.

“Sounds pretty serious.” You’re nodding, a mask of teasing graveness taking over your face. Swiftly shuffling down the seemingly endless expanse of the bed. Doughy fingerpads delicately hooking onto the hem of his drenched pants, “Better get a taste before you run out, then.”

Gojo lets out such a breathy pant at the implication, “N-no it won’t, considering the volume of the seminal vesicle and- ah!”

Whatever drunken rambling of his is cut very, very short as soon as you tug down those useless sweatpants and let Gojo’s red, painfully angry cock smack! against his abdomen with a wet smear.

He was so…big.

Such girthy, solid inches upon inches that twitched needily right before your very eyes. A rummaging, left-leaning curve being nestled above two pretty pink balls. 

Your mouth waters once you’re curling your fingers dexterously around his plump circumference, making his cerise cockhead waterfall out in another lazy sheen of pre. It’s honestly a bit of a strain to even get your fingertips meeting each other properly with his incredible size, and that just makes you want him more.

Gojo’s knitting his ivory brows nervously, “S-s’it okay?”

It’s more than okay.

And you’re about to show him that.

Cerulean irises crossing together until they were all heart-eyed when a saturated coating of your saliva tops his bloated tip like a layer of icing. Before he feels himself fall in fucking love just at the gummy peck of your mouth onto the rotund ends of his length.

“W-woahhh—” He’s breathing out, eyes locked lecherously right with yours when the steaming hot cavern of your mouth sinks in more and more and more- “This- what- fuuuck-”

And then you’re huffing out a slight chuckle through your nose, hitting his drenched base and making him keen. Slender hips of his lurch the perfect angle off the luxurious bed to bump his mountainous head against the very back of your throat. 

Gasping - begging. 

“You’re seriously gonna…take me?” Prattling through clenched teeth as you grace him with a few more flooding masses of spit. It makes him feel so used. Feel so good. “Like you- you’re gonna put me in your mouth?”

“No.” You’re snickering at the utterly crestfallen look on his face, full mouth downturned, puffed-up tip tinting an even more blasphemous red as if to tempt you. Your fingers tangle with his to claw at the crown of your head, “You’re gonna put yourself in my mouth.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Shit-” Gojo whispers - more to himself than anything. “You can do this- can- can do this- just suck on m’cock-” Rubbing out a translucent lipstain all over your ajar maw before plugging his proud girth inside. “Please- wanna know what it feels…”

Gojo can’t remember what he was saying. What he was thinking. 

Because just a few vulgar sucks of your tenderized mouth around his inflated cock and he’s drunk. Fuck dying by a truck, he was about to die just by this. 

Head lolling all the way back against the poofy pillows, white-hot bliss flashing behind his eyes and- when had he even closed them?

“Wh-why does it feel so–” he’s clenching his jaw, dredging out every single ounce of will in his being to peer at the heavenly - hah- sight below. “-so- good- c-can it feel so good- hngh- please-”

Gojo’s drawing up the hem of his hoodie to cover that brightly blossoming blush. So adorable. He even tasted sweet, like the best of salted caramel that made you infinitely want more. 

Your salacious tongue is repeatedly wetting down his lightning bolted veins. Up and down up and down up and down to draw little hearts on those bumpy lines. 

His sobbing cockhead mushing back into the velveteen walls of your mouth, and Gojo could cum just from the voluptuous curve being outlined into your cheek. He’s finding it almost fucking impossible to grunt out over the raw squelches! emanating from where you were making out with his throbbing cock, “Must be illegal- that’s it! It f-feels so good this must be- ngh- outlawed.”

You’ve rendered him stupid. And he’s so hot and heavy in your mouth, it makes your core stir up to think that you’re the first.

Every choked-up plea only resonates off of the numerous corners of your bedroom even louder once your fingers latch onto the gluttonous curve of his fattened balls. Squeezing-

“S-so dirty- so dirty, princess…” And part of Gojo doesn’t know why he’s letting his traitorous hands wander onto the back of your scalp. Doesn’t know why he’s plunging just a few more inches past your prettily-pouted lips - you were his princess and he was…not treating you like royalty.

The Gojo in this game had always been so smooth. So suave. Taking his sweet, sweet time to hold your hand and talk to you about the politics of your kingdom.

Right now he was curving his thick thighs to flex around your shoulder and feeding you every saccharine inch you could possibly swallow up. “Can you- can you take more? Take this biiiig fuckin’ cock?”

You’re being choked in a locked hold by his powerful legs, and you’ve never been wetter. Practically puddling out a syrupy pond on the sheets underneath you.

Tugging out the thick nub of his thumb to smear those honeyed splatters of his precum at the corners of your mouth, you can only grin as you let your sentence translate into thrumming vibrations. “Mhmm— Settling into it s-so well, aren’t ya, Tooooru?”

“F-fuck!” Gojo’s blushing tip glides shyly down the tight back of your throat, rovering all along each n’ every millimeter of space inside you. It only made your head bob faster to imagine how he would feel down there- “Don’t talk- don’t talk. Please don’t talk s’gonna make me…”

But you.

Oh, Gojo Satoru has read your character profile over 2489 times by now.

He’s memorized every factoid and morsel of knowledge there is to know about you - so of course, he should’ve known. Should’ve realized that babbling away those words would only make your sultry motions increase.

“Cum f’me like a good boy.”

And he does. 

You can only watch in awe when a pearlescent globule of cum gumdrops from his weepy orifice, one. Two. Three. Until Gojo was just drenching the entirety of your mouth with thickly viscous coatings of seed, until you were just drooling with a wadded mess of spittle and seed.

Salty flavor dripping down your tongue and flooding out. So much of it. Too much, Gojo was spurting out the thickest ribbons of creamy white as if he’d never cum before - and doesn’t plan to stop any time soon. 

More, more, more like it was the sound of your voice making him shiver. Making him whine like a zillion volts of electricity was running down his greedy spine. 

The moment you pull away, hefty oodles of cum hit Gojo’s toned abs with a wet splat! And your dear subject is wrangling out his hands towards you like he never wanted to let go.

“No- no! Please- please come back-” Crinkling tears trek their way down his dewy face, sensory pads of his fingers reaching out for you desperately, only for you to part away. “N-need your pretty mouth on me.”

You’re raising a brow, thumbing over his still-crying divot, “But don’tcha want something…else, Satoru?”

“Something- else?” He’s rasping out haltingly, head thoroughly swimming with nothing but you. Your heart glows with pride at the way he can barely form coherent sentences, “What…oh.”

But Gojo gets the idea soon enough when you’re hastily shedding away your outer robes. He fumblingly tries to help, of course, but the simple idea of helping a woman undress is too much for him - and he’s banished to simply watching you, one hand held underneath his nose in case of another…incident. 

Gown and undergarments hitting the floor, your gorgeous legs come to hike up, up, up- driveling mouth falling slack the moment they’re ending up rested on either side of his intoxicated head.

“Oh.” He wheezes intelligently up at your glistening cunt.

“Nothing else ta say?” Your heady purrs only make him blush, nuzzling his feverishly burning cheek against the spattered sheen of slick at your inner thigh. He’s making such a mess on purpose. Making himself a mess. 

“Well-” Gojo bats his long lashes up at you dangerously, clear planes of his glasses digging into the handsome apples of his cheeks. But he didn’t mind. Couldn’t even feel anything but the sweltering heat of your arousal. “-jus’ that- I want you to spit in my mouth, princess.”

And the very moment that sugar-coated sap, Gojo moans.

Eyes flickering shut at the taste of himself - the taste of you. A candied little tinge that he oh-so-badly needs more of - and without even a second of hesitation, he’s stuffing himself right there between your pretty legs. 

It doesn’t matter the rhythm. It doesn’t matter the rhyme. 

And Gojo doesn’t even know any - the very moment your puffy lips are meeting his kiss-bitten ones in a French kiss, he already knows that your cute cunt has taken him hostage.

Jaw clenching as he tries to memorize all those fanfics he guiltily read night after night, Gojo’s bumping up his cloudily condensed glasses further up his nose when he leaves one kiss. Two. “Ohhhh, your pussy tastes s-sooo good.”

And they each get messier and messier after the other. 

Letting the heaping dollops of your juices flood onto his roughened tastebuds, he’s letting his long tongue peek apart your gluey pussylips. Sliding the very tip up and down and round n’ round your slicked entrance. 

“The- the oh!” Gojo flinches just as your body arches even deeper once he pokes his fat muscle past your tight ring. Leaving such a slew of wet slurps with every drag, he was dirty. “-according to what I’ve read, th-the clitoris is found at the top of the vulva. It should be located where the hah- labia-”

His words cut off with what you swear sounds like a strangled whimper when you harshly fist your digits into his silken-soft strands and push.

And you don’t notice it at the time, hell, even Gojo doesn’t notice with just how ruined he was right about now. 

But the sole moment you’re manhandling him to your will makes his flushed crownhead geyser out a torrential of cum. 

Fountaining out waves and waves of seed that paint his hefty base with a frosted ring. Such thickened volumes for the nth time tonight. Just from the roughened way that you were pushing him to make out with your pretty pussy.

He wanted to be used.

“Used, huh?” You’re letting out a murky pant of laughter- fuck, did he say that out loud? “Wanna be u-used, Satoru- wanna keep that big mouth of yours hngh- full?”

He’s nodding. Nodding and nodding and nodding with every sloppy gyration that you bestow all down his features. Huffing and puffing through every gasping breath he manages to shudder in, he’s shooting out a good mass of saliva. “Yes- ride me. Ride me. Fucking ride my face. A-always wanted you to ride me- hngh- please.” 

And how could you deny him when he’s all begging like that?

Gluey ropes of spit and slick lacquer Gojo’s chin like a smooth polish, and he’s sticking against you like he was just as clingy. Jaw grinding against your kinetically moving pussy, the pointed edge of his nose weaves from between your leaky slit and ends up pressing right onto your clit-

“O-oh!” Your head tumbles backwards with an ever-tightening grip onto his sweat-dampened locks. “Yeah- right there–”

“Here? Here?” He sounds like he couldn’t quite believe it. The ravenous edge of his thumb curling right up your soppy slit and pinning down your hooded clit. Hard. “The glans clitoris r-right here. And I found it- I found it.” Breathing out a long whistle that makes your heated skin bristle with goosebumps, “I always wondered what would h-happen if I…”

You barely even have the time to react before you’re staring at the glisten of Gojo’s sharp canines sneaking up to your sensitive nub and biting.

And he didn’t expect this.

He didn’t expect it to be better than the fanfiction-

Because your generous cunt just cascades in another jet of sappy juices, glazing Gojo’s features sexily all the way from his dimpled grin up to his glasses. 

They’re dripping wet, waterlogged with treacly film of slick that forces him to gawk up at you from below with such a loving gaze. Just the way he’s peering up at you is enough to make your breaths hitch.

“Gonna- gonna write about this, y’know? H-hope you know that this changed my hah- fuckin’ life, my princess…my girl.” Gojo drawls out lazily, movements as slow as if he was slipping through molasses when he sinks the rounded tips of his cushy fingers into your slick-flooded entrance. “Gonna h-have you for breakfast- for ah- lunch…aaaand for dinner.”

With a pitchy whine, you’re tightening your hold onto his thick locks and mushing his face so close. Close enough that you could already feel the mushy pout of his lips and that lazy chuckle.

Only then do you realize that he’s doing this on purpose. Mouthing off until you’re making both his chilling frames and his regal nose clash at the target of your clit with every repeated swivel, each glissading snog of his tongue making you throb. 

Everywhere. Anywhere. Everywhere and anywhere that he could reach.

“Such a dirty boy, huh?” You muse, swearing that that only makes him even sloppier. “S’that what you are? Ngh- bet you’ve never tasted a p-pussy before, huh?”

“N-nooo- haven’t. But are they all so…fucking delicious?” And he’s lapping up every sensual ounce, not letting even a tiny speckle go to waste. Because Gojo Satoru was kissing your pretty pussy like he could only dream of those long, lonely nights. 

You were a fucking dream - his dream.

The full force of his desperation hitting you when Gojo’s letting his drunken head loll ever-so-slightly backwards to take a good, long admiring look at your cunt. And you wonder if he could even see with his glasses all sodden and filthy like that. 

You wonder if he even realized when he’s leaving a lingering swat! of his plush fingertips right onto the bullseye of your pulsing button, and then another few at your fleshy channel. 

And it was so unfair how he was pummeling your poor gummy walls with swipe after swipe of his eager fingerpads working your glutinous walls open. Probing his neatly manicured fingers perfectly into your most tender spots. “Like that?”

“Sh-shiiit–” You’re mewling at the tautly coiling build-up at your cunt. Further and further. You felt like you were about to snap. “-is- is this my first time or yours, Toru–”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” And Gojo’s palming his engulfing hands over the jiggling mounds of your ass to drag you like some ragdoll even deeper onto his sloppy maw. You’re forced to slap your hand onto the royal headboard to get at least some semblance of balance. “Jus’ want you- need you.”

Gawping up at you - he looks just as fucked-out as you feel. Blushing oh-so-innocently with his lecherous mouth slithering to steal a loud mwah! planted onto your salivating pussy. And then a final, weighty wad of spit. “Need me to be yours.” 

With a final, trembling shove of Gojo’s pretty face pliantly against your hot core, you’re cumming. Riding out your peak with stuttering rotations all over his lolled-out, bumpy tastebuds.

“Fuh-fuck!” You didn’t even care if you were getting his glasses messy at this point - he’d already made enough of a mess out of you. Embarrassingly so. “S’s-so good. Hah- gotta put your mouth to work more o-often, Satoru.”

And you can’t stop the way that your jaw parts into a soft oh! every time he pinches your bulbous clit at the very tip of every single one of your peaks. Right on time. More on sheer animal instinct than anything because Gojo’s still reeling from the fact that he made you cum.

He made you cum.

He made you cum.

He made you cum.

Babbling away just as stupidly as he had mere moments before, your orgasm is…magical. None of these haughty princes or dukes could ever compare to this. “S-such a good ngh- boy f’me.”

That is, until you feel Gojo tenderly curl his fingers around one of your stray ones to form a fist. Nudging it against one of yours in a…fistbump? 

“You have…no…fucking idea.” He’s letting out a drenching ptwah! of spittle, all the masses and rivulets of your sickeningly sweet juices sliding all the way down his tongue and pooling at the back of his throat. Like he always wanted your taste there.

And you’re still feeling the twinging tremors down your spine, flurries of stars bursting behind your hooded lids when he lets his sinfully long tongue slather your fluttering cunt with another hot kiss. 

Nose crinkling at how you’re stagnating your vigorous cadence, he bats his lashes up at your shocked stare - and you already know what his sapphire gaze is begging for before he even asks.

“Toru-”

“More.” Gojo interrupts you - and he knows he’ll beat himself up for it later. Maybe he’ll even…make it up to you. But for now, the only thing replaying on his cottony mind was just how perfect you looked cumming all over his mouth - even the specially-paid NSFW scenes didn’t go into this much detail. 

He was in heaven. 

You feel the humid brush of his tongue between your saturated pussylips, pleading. Begging. “Wan’ more- wanna taste you more, princess- please-”

And Gojo looks so fucking heartbroken the very moment those lips part with such a wet slurp! A low whine curdling at the back of his throat, his glossy lips curve downwards into a jutted-out pout.

He’s chasing after your pussy with absolutely no shame, greedy fingertips digging into the curve of your ass while he nudges you closer and closer. Stealing tiny kittenish licks, stealing longing whiffs just to smell the scent of your pussy.

“No- no- want- please-” He’s rambling away, half-lidded eyes widening with alarm. Like you were taking away his favorite dessert right from under his nose, and Gojo was not having it. 

But you knew a thing or two about ruling. 

And it’s with such smug satisfaction that you get to push down a wolfish Gojo so hard he collides back onto the mattress and bounces. 

Giggling - giggling, “S’this mean I get to…fuck you now?”

Oh, it’s spoken like a mantra. A true confession that he never even imagined would come out from those lips of his. 

You’re nodding, “Mhm— m’thinking that good boys get to hah- fuck me.” 

He’s ogling you right now when you meander between his milky legs just as you did before. Except, this time, you’re stopping right at the defined v-line of his sculptured hips. Darting thumb rubbing back and forth over the pooling streaks of cum from just before. 

“Did you cum without me ngh- again, Toru?” You’re teasing, and he almost feels so pathetic the way his mouth latches onto the curve of your sheened digits and sucks. “That’s not what a good-”

“I am I am-” Gojo insists, brows furrowing. He’s so unsure what to do, so unsure what to even think other than looping his arms around your waist to tug, tug, tug you ever-closer. It’ll never be enough. “Promise I’ll be a- ngh-”

Shit.

Your fingers shackle a tight grip around his pale, prespired neck. He looks so gorgeous squirming underneath you like this - squirming for more, that is. 

“Then you better promise to fuck me really good, Satoru.” Your whispers come out in a honeyed tone that wafts against his reddening ears. Maybe because of that, maybe because of the way your nails claw marks, you feel his plumpened head twitch. “Really good.”

His head lolls all the way into your grasp, he was done. Murmuring, “I’ll be a really, really good boy- ma’am.”

That did it.

And before Gojo knows it, you’re letting his syrupy mushroom tip slip in a few thick inches with ease. Geysers of his pre trickling out from between the tight stretch of your gluey hole, sinking in more and more.

Gojo’s mouth opens with a slow leak of drool with just how warm you were hugging him from the inside. Your candied walls so fucking clingy that he finds himself choking out a huff, planting two steadying hands on either side of your waist and pushing-

“Oh fuck- oh fuck.” His eyes grow adorable wide, stare perched right down where he was disappearing in and out of you in mindless, rapid ruts just to bully himself inside. “Th-this feels nothing like my P-Pocketpussy3000-”

“Toru…” Your words come out in a growl, crescent nail leaving neat indentations on his column of skin. 

“J-just feels so much better, my girl.” Gojo insists, something swirling deeply in his eyes that makes your heartbeat irregular. “You’re so…so warm and- and wet. That stupid rubber could never compare to the adventitia and musclaris and- and I’m really fucking you.”

He is. 

He was, at least until only a few vulgarly deep strokes probing in about halfway down his swollen shaft makes Gojo bump his ridged slit against one of those spots. The globe of Gojo’s proud cockhead leaves a hefted thud! that thunders pure bliss into your fuzzy head and makes you clench.

And it makes him cum. Again.

Wet spurts of warm seed splashing into each n’ every inch inside of you and filling you all the way up to the brim. There’s so many of his copious ribbons sloshing around inside of you, and it doesn’t even make Gojo’s tempo slow down.

It doesn’t even make him falter. 

“Sh-shiiiit-” He’s hissing, lower lip worried and fussed between his teeth until you were sure he’d be drawing blood. “Cumming—!”

Dipping down a few fingers to part your soppy lips, Gojo’s thrusts get more relentless when he catches his eyes on the steady waterfall of cum and slick seeping into his hoodie. Fucking the webbed mess deeper - but it only wrings out more pearly wads streaming down. 

Gojo’s voice wrenches out from the very back of his throat in a stubborn mewl, just about five octaves higher than you’re used to. “I came…inside.”

The one n’ only warning you get before he hooks an arm around the small of your back and flips the two of you over. Easily. 

Back sinking into the velvety bed-covering, your spine arches in a geometrical semicircle off the mattress as Gojo takes the blasphemous opportunity to bottom out. His meaty tip finally meets the target of your spongy cervix, breeder balls clashing stickily into the split end of your folds with a hulking thwack!

And you’re almost wondering at just how it was possible that Gojo - nervous, bumbling Gojo Satoru who’d never even held hands with a woman before - had the willpower and strength to overpower a seasoned fighter like you.

But that’s when he tugs his utterly sullied hoodie off and you’re rendered thoughtless. Mouth watering at the toned ridges and curves that bulged all over his Herculean body.

Gojo wasn’t just toned - he was fucking jacked.

And all yours for the taking.

Just your greedy stare is enough to wash his cheekbones with a scorching blush, as if he wasn’t near-nine inches deep inside you already. You gasp when his tongue pokes out to catch a few dripping splat! splat! splats! of your slick still dripping from his glasses. “I-I read in a director’s cut that you like men with abs so I…” 

And before you can even respond, his hips do all the talking for you. Striking your own with a deafening pap! of skin-on-skin, broad pecs heaving with a sharp inhale as if he didn’t even realize what he was doing. Wasn’t in control. 

Two of his doughy palms veer underneath your now-jittery thighs and hoist them up effortlessly to dangle over his shoulders. 

Gojo’s letting off a low grunt when his curvaceous knees slide wider across the pricey bedsheets. All the while mumbling, “N’ just because m’a hah- virgin doesn’t mean I don’t know a thing or two. Like- I saw this thing ngh- o-online called a…” Bending you like a pliant lawnchair down, down, down- “-a mating press.”

Online? Mating press? You didn’t know what he was rambling on nonsensically about now, but maybe you could excuse that with the fact that he was stretching you out stupid. 

“What a pretty boy.” You’re managing out, fingers unsticking a few strands of pearly white plastering onto his forehead. “Now s-stop teasing and hngh- fuck me.”

Your words are jolting such a dark, primal part of his brain. Eyes hooded, teeth pulling back with a low whimper of ah! The bed sings out a protesting creak when Gojo’s hand comes slamming! down onto the poor frame. Spitting out, “I-I can’t stop…fuck- I can’t stop. Won’t-”

He’s pushing and pushing his ravenous hips in animalistic little humps, the cylindrical shape of his cock swabbing in sultry circles around your gooey insides. Already splitting you apart snugly to the brim, but still he’s drilling in for more.

“You hafta move, Satoru-” Even your most gentle tone is enough to make his strawberry divot sugarcoat you in a thickly viscous few spatters of pre.

And when he talks he sounds wild, “Do I- haaaah- do I really hafta move? Jus’ wanna lose my virginity like this. Wanna stay inside you forever and ever and ever.”

He was already pussydrunk.

And it’s so cute it makes your heart clench. All over six feet of him melting into you by now; head heatedly shoved against the crook of your neck, motions glissading a slip n’ slide of his sexily defined abs pinned to your front. Powerless. 

Gojo blinks up at you through thoroughly hazy eyes when you tilt his face back up to face yours, and the deep eye-contact makes him blush. 

“But I really, really wan’ you to hah- fuck me.” You pout, and you already know by the stutter in his labored breathing that you have him wrapped around your cute lil’ finger. Jostling your hips in a slight buck, “Look-she’s begging for ya already.”

Oh. 

“Is- is she really?” Gojo sighing out in surprise, eyes pondering down to where he was making your puffed-up pussy folds bulge. Slipping out a gasp before he’s clutching onto his nose to stop any more bleeding.

Your slobbering lips coated with a glimmer of his spit and cum, so very his that Gojo finds himself subconsciously nodding along to the sappy squelches bubbling from below. 

“Yes- yes you’re right–” Propelling a slow drag of his hips to sweep every hidden orifice of yours inside, “Oh! Ya got l-louder- so you agree-”

He’s hiking up your legs even further up his shoulders, interlocking them with one massively flexing bicep held behind his head. Eyes still locked below - only then do you realize that he’s not talking to you. 

And then again. And again. And again and again until Gojo was striking your poor cervix with repeated battering rams of his plump cock. Dense balls stinging against your ass with ringing thwacks. Spherical bruises of his circumference being indented over n’ over it’s like he doesn’t even realize. 

Didn’t even know he was doing anything other than wrenching out the most sinful noises from your goopy pussy. 

“Mhm- such a pretty ngh- pussy.” Spitting out the very word like it was embarrassing, two sizeable fingers latch around the plump peak of your clit. Transfixed. You wondered whether he even remembered his own name. “Such a pretty clit.”

“Fuck!” You’re halfway through sobbing when he sends shockwaves of pleasure all across your body. And even more so when one tilted drive of all his inches leaves a skidding skim down the area of your g-spot. “There- right there, Satoru-”

He’s gaping up at you as if suddenly snapped out of a hypnotic trance, only to fall into an all-new one. Disbelieving mouth parted slightly, he breathes, “I’m…fucking you. I’m actually- ohhh fuck m’fucking you- like really, truly. This isn’t a dream.” Like he just realized - and he just did. “M’giving you my cock- making you t-take alllll of it-”

Never in his life did he think anything could ever feel this good. He was never going back. He would never be the same. 

Your drooling pussy was molding around him so nicely, taking onto the very shape of his long shaft. Massaging every inflamed vein poking against your splashed walls, so warm with the leftover puddles of his own sticky cum.

 He’s worshipping you, tilting his head to place a heady trailway of wet kisses down each of your ankles. “M’yours so m’-” Then your calves, your tits, your collarbones, everywhere and anywhere-

“-m’gonna make feel h-hah good.” His nose scrunches with focus, a few fat ends of Gojo’s fingers come down from pinning your ankles to splay out on your tummy. All bloated with his thick outline that even through his fogged-up glasses, he swears he could see a bulge. “Need to find it- need to.”

Pound after pound being placed desperately onto everywhere he could reach inside of you. You can feel the baking hot swash of his sap coating you in a second skin. Each dab of his ballooned crownhead leaves behind a marking bead of buttery pre. 

And maybe it was the way you’re feeling the slow trickle of all his sappy torrentials inside you, but you’re gurgling out a little, “What- what are you-”

“The g-spot.” Gojo answers your messy blithers of syllables with a tender rub onto your clit. Though, he wasn’t too far behind himself, if the way his digits trembled told you anything. “It’s s-supposed to be somewhere in the hah- anterior vaginal wall, between your pretty hole and the urethra. Often said to be stimulated about a few inches ngh- up-” 

But this time, you’re the one cutting him off. With a rapid, deprived rut that bustles his left-leaning curve to head in a jackhammer precisely towards your bulging g-spot. 

And then you see white. 

Perhaps from the sheer shock of him leaving a good French kiss that tenderizes your sweetest hidden coves, perhaps from the way that the both of you are cumming. 

“Shit- shiiiit-” You’re perking your ass to smack against his in lewd little paps, half-formulated moans flooding your mouth with each delicious thrust being planted right onto that spot. Gojo’s fucking you through each of your edges, over and over until you feel yourself crashing back-to-back into not one, not two, but three orgasms. “Really did fuck me- hngh- ah-”

Before you even realize, you’re throwing your arms around Gojo’s rippling shoulder muscles to claw a few artistic lines of red. And he loves it- fuck, it makes him cum even harder. 

“S-spit in my mouth, ma’am.”

And when you do, he latches onto yours with a messy, messy open-mouthed makeout. Groaning around his second-favorite activity of sucking your cute tongue - his most favorite activity being fucking this depraved cunt of yours. 

Cumming and cumming until he physically can’t. Steady rivers of seed logging up whatever remnant space inside your snug cunt before he sputters out sheer nothingness. 

A shiver wracks through Gojo’s body with the way he was cumming dry. And once he spies down a few whipped globs of it spilling out to form a velvety ring around his base, he’s plugging your leaky entrance with a few free fingers.

Lapping up that trickling excess with a slow suck peering right into your eyes before he seals you with his jostling digits back up again.

“Love it- love it love it love it-” He’s letting loose with each spasm of parching cum overspilling your flooded insides, those ribbony meshes swirl all around his pumping cock and trickle down in a creamy stream. Coating his twitchy balls no matter how much he tries to make you milk up every ounce, so much of it. Hot. “Love it- love being your good boy- I love you.”

Gojo’s heart races when you only plant a cute peck onto his sheened glasses, and then another onto his mouth. Resting your sweaty head against his very own, “How would ya like to be my own royal consort, Toru?”

Ah, it was virtually a proposal. To stay by your side forever and ever and ever - the only thing he’s ever wanted, really.

And Gojo’s about to kiss your awaiting lips senseless as an answer- that is, he was about to before both your ears chime with an undeniable PING!

Before an agitating, gratingly familiar voice rings across your heady atmosphere, “Congratulations user: [Satorulovesprincess] on completing Mission: No-Longer-Virgin!” You’re wincing at the sterile glow of that screen once more. “Please await the new updates to the program Sweetheart Online.”

And you both barely even have time to register those words before there’s a thunderous creak! from the empty space of your royal bed.

Except…the bed wasn’t so empty anymore. 

Right with your heated proximity was a man - a beautiful man. All long legs, and inky hair that ran down to his slender waist, twinkling amethyst eyes rounded in the exact same shock that shone in Gojo’s right about now. 

“Suguru?”

“Satoru!” Before he’s tilting his head towards you, and perhaps most glaringly, the way that Gojo was still scouring deeply inside you. A delicate blush tints his - Suguru’s - high cheekbones, voice cracking embarrassingly at the end. “P-princess.”

And something about his tone made your cunt quiver - just in time for Geto to shuffle the tightening crotch of his pants. Something that Gojo noticed, if the way he was crushing you to his body even tighter said anything.

“Let me guess-” Gojo tilts his head, a sleazily drunken smirk curving the edges of his ruddied lips. “-the truck got you haaaah- don’ squeeze me like that, my girl– too?”

“It- it was ramen poisoning actually…” Geto’s deep baritone trails off, struggling to rip his eyes away from you as the screen flickers once more. 

“Sweetheart Online updates completed! Commencing Love Rival (Three’s Company) arc. User: [Sugulovesprincess] joined.”

A/N. MAN I love loserboy Gojo hehehe- hope you have a lovely week <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

[ylangelegy]

like a python 🧊 jihoon x reader.

jihoon doesn’t know how many years of pining he has left in him.

★ rockstar!jihoon x reader. ★ word count: 2.5k ★ genre/warnings: alternate universe: non-idol. jihoon-centric, childhood friends, yearning... so much yearning, young k makes a cameo, jihoon is a bit lame (affectionately), cussing/swearing. mentions of alcohol, food. ★ footnotes: got7 dropped winter heptagon and it's all i can think about. wrote this in one sitting as a show of gratitude to @chugging-antiseptic-dye for introducing me to these boys. haven't done a song fic in a hot minute, but for lee jihoon and got7? anything. shoutout to igot7_MarKP on twitter for the english translation of the lyrics.

🎧 now playing: python by got7 — i know i'm an icon, watch me with the lights on; but she got a hold on me like a python.

▸ MUSIC IS HOW I'VE BEEN VENTING NOW... OVERSEAS, I'M SELLING OUT.

It’s pretty surreal to Jihoon, being in a room with some of the biggest names in rock.

In the past hour alone, he’s met Alex Turner, Dave Grohl, and— holy shit, is that Hayley Williams? Jihoon is getting dizzy, and it’s not only because of all the secondhand smoke he’s inhaled since he got to the Rolling Stones afterparty. 

The best of the best. That’s what the invitation had boasted. It was the scene’s most coveted event, and Jihoon somehow made it to the guest list. 

Unbidden, your voice nags from somewhere in the back of his mind. You’re the best, Jihoon-ah. 

He shakes his head, like he’s physically trying to get away from the thought of you. This had been happening a lot more as of late. Fleeting moments wherein he’d imagine how you would react, what you’d say. 

But Jihoon always catches himself. He snaps himself out of it and goes back to recording, goes back to performing. 

God, he needs to get it together. He’s starting to regret saying ‘no’ to the cigarette Ely Buendia was offering him earlier. 

(In Jihoon’s defense, he didn’t smoke often. He didn’t want to fuck up his vocal chords. He had a one-cigarette-a-year rule, and he wasn’t about to use it now. It was only January; who knew what else the year would throw him?) 

Jihoon is contemplating some other vice— maybe he can go grab another beer— when he feels a tap on his shoulder. At the sight of who came up to him, Jihoon immediately folds into a bow. 

“There’s no need for that,” Younghyun says, equal parts amused and embarrassed. “We’re all the same here, yeah?” 

Jihoon pulls himself to his full height. “Not… really,” he says lamely, and then he immediately launches into mumbled apologies when he realizes how he might have sounded. 

It wasn’t that Jihoon thought he was better than his peers. Hell, he knew that he was the least important person in the room. That’s what he meant; they were not all the same, because Jihoon still had a long ways to go. 

Especially when compared to rock icon Young K, who is— gracefully— taking Jihoon’s awkwardness in stride. 

“You’re holding up a lot better than me,” Younghyun muses. “At my first afterparty, I threw up on Rupam Islam.” 

“No.” 

“Yes, unfortunately. He was very nice about it, though.” 

Jihoon lets out a stutter of a laugh. He’s never been a fan of small talk, but he clings to it now like a lifeline. “Does it get easier?” he asks. 

Younghyun’s eyebrows raise. “Throwing up on rockstars?” 

“No, no–”

“I was kidding,” Younghyun says in between chuckles. His expression is a little more pensive when he goes on, “I can’t say for sure that it gets easier, but you learn to deal with it.” 

You learn to deal with it. Jihoon can almost laugh at just how accurate that is. It seems applicable to every aspect of his life— including missing you. 

Jihoon winces. Younghyun notices. 

The older man doesn’t comment on it, probably thinks it’s something else entirely. Younghyun doesn’t flinch away, either, when Jihoon nervously says, “Can I ask you another question?” 

“Ask away,” says Younghyun. “I’ve got nothing better to do.” 

What is Jihoon doing? He doesn’t know either, but it’s either this or fight off the urge to run through a pack of Marlboros. “How do you cope,” he starts slowly, “with… feelings?” 

A beat. Crap. Jihoon realizes he definitely could have phrased that better, because Younghyun is now looking at him with an expression of mild confusion. 

Jihoon backtracks. “You— we— go through a lot in this field of work. Like, a lot. And you— fuck, fine, I’m— grateful for it, really, I swear. But there’s just… so much other things, too, aside from the gratitude. How do you cope with those?”

Jihoon knows he probably looks and sounds like a trainwreck in his bid to be deliberately vague. By some miracle, Younghyun at least seems to understand what Jihoon is trying to say.

Younghyun’s lip quirks to one side as he thinks of his response. The silence stretches uncomfortably long, but then he gives an answer that’s the last thing Jihoon could have expected. 

“I write,” Younghyun says. 

Jihoon blinks once. Then twice. 

“You write,” he repeats, and the former nods. 

“It’s all in my discography. The anger, the heartbreak, the love.” Younghyun raises his shoulders in a shrug. “I’ve written nearly 200 songs, and all of them are just— that. Questions. Answers to questions. Feelings and stories.” 

It’s so simple, so obvious. It’s like a glaring traffic sign, like something that every musician should know and do.

Put it in a song. Perform it for thousands and leave the muse none the wiser. Profit. Lather, rinse, repeat. 

Jihoon had done it a fair amount of times, but never had he considered putting you to pen and paper. The prospect of it makes something in his chest thrum. 

“I—” He clears his throat. “I think I have to go, sunbaenim. It was nice seeing you.” 

A hint of humor glints in Younghyun’s eye, like he’s somewhat aware of the fact he’s witnessing something unravel. “‘Younghyun’ is fine,” he chirps. “And it was nice seeing you, too, Jihoon. Take care of yourself.” 

The words— take care of yourself— are supposed to be a platitude. To Jihoon, it feels like a tall ask. 

▸ I'M TOURING THE WORLD BUT I'M MISSING THE ONE WHO HELD IT DOWN.

Jihoon is exhausted. 

As much as he wants to say that he’s never been this tired in his life, it’d probably be a lie. He’d make the claim, hit the road, then end up crashing out saying the same damn thing. He’s seen this film before; he knows how it ends. 

He falls back on his hotel bed after his shower. A low groan escapes him, and he sends up a silent prayer to all the higher powers there are. Thank you for sheets with a 300-500 thread count. Thank you for air-conditioning. Thank you for warm showers and Listerine. 

Despite his fatigue, Jihoon can’t just go to sleep. Post-show adrenaline always took a couple of hours to wear off.

He briefly contemplates his options. Write a lyric or two? Watch a shitty Netflix movie? Stare out the hotel window until his eyes can’t stay open anymore? 

None of the above, it seems, as he reaches for his phone. 

Jihoon has never been active on SNS; he just couldn’t bring himself to care about things like TikTok trends or Twitter ‘beef’. It’s a constant thorn in his PR team’s side. There is one thing that he bothers to check, though, and God forbid he deny himself the simple pleasure of some good ol’ fashioned pining. 

He’s been on your Instagram page enough times that it’s the first thing that shows when he goes to the search bar. It’s the only thing that shows, really, which gives some pretty good sense of where his head is at. 

Your profile loads. There’s no new post, no recent story. Jihoon is both disappointed and relieved.

No news is good news, he thinks to himself as he leisurely scrolls through the photos he’s already seen a dozen times before. You, feeding sidewalk cats. You, sipping tea at a cafe. You, in all the places that were once Jihoon’s, too. The beaches, the hiking trails, the restaurant in your shared neighborhood. 

Jihoon opens that particular post. Even though he’s watched your life in squares for the better half of the past three years, this is the one photo that always has him feeling a pang of… something. 

Because Jihoon can imagine it— being at that restaurant with you. The two of you had discovered it together, had pooled your measly school allowances to afford the bokguk and ganjang gejang. 

He imagines being there with this older version of you, being the one snapping the picture that’d find a spot on your feed. He can see it so clearly in his mind’s eye that if he really, really tries, it begins to look more like a memory than a daydream.

But he’s not in Busan, not even in Korea. He’s in the United States instead, where he has ten stops before heading to Canada and Europe. 

Sold-out stadiums. Thousands upon thousands of adoring fans. 

All the food that he could possibly want, and yet it’s pufferfish soup and soy sauce crabs that he’s looking for. 

Every person that he could possibly have, and yet. And yet. 

Jihoon huffs out a frustrated exhale. He’s tired, which he swears makes him delusional. 

He casts his phone aside, blissfully ignorant to the way his finger double taps his screen as he does. 

Halfway across the world, your phone pings

woozi_universefactory ✓ liked your post. 

▸ I'VE BEEN RUNNING BACKWARDS, RUNNING BACKWARDS LIKE A MARATHON.

The push notification glaring up at Jihoon looks a lot like a bomb that’s about to explode.

Jihoon feels like it’s a bomb, because he refuses to believe that after over a year of absolutely nothing, you’ve messaged first. You’ve messaged first. 

He double, triple checks his calendar. It’s neither of your birthdays. It’s not a holiday, either. Is it Chuseok? No— that doesn’t make sense. 

“For fuck’s sake,” he chides himself under his breath. It’s a text. Nothing more, nothing less.

Jihoon opens the notification. 

And then his heart just. 

Stops. 

You’d sent two messages— the first, being the post that had him spiraling last night. It’s the proceeding message that has Jihoon hoping the ground will swallow him whole. 

Stalking me, Jihoon-ah? 

Holy shit.

Jihoon types out at least three different messages, from Are you a fly on my wall to Is there a new Instagram feature I don’t know about to What happened to “hello, how are you”? 

In the end, he only sends back a single question mark. When he opens the offending post, he immediately sees his transgression. 

Jihoon hadn’t liked the photo before last night. He didn’t like much posts to begin with. How— When— 

His phone pings. He’s never been so thankful that he mostly opts to get room service for breakfast, because the squeak that he lets out is definitely not very rockstar-like. Jihoon fumbles, and he ends up opening your DM before he can psych himself up for it. 

LOL. Playing dumb doesn’t suit you, you say. 

Damn you and your ability to render him speechless. Jihoon wonders if he can get away with not responding, with getting back to you a couple of days later and blaming his work. 

Except. 

Jihoon’s fingers slowly move across his screen. 

It was a good post, he says. 

It was a post from a year ago, you answer. 

So? He throws in an emoji of a man shrugging for good measure. Jihoon never uses emojis, but he can make some exceptions. 

Your respond, So, stalking. You were stalking me. 

Jihoon knows he’s digging a hole for himself, knows he’s going to stay up several nights thinking of just how stupid he is. If he were a stronger man, he’d pull the plug on this conversation and that’d be it. You wouldn’t bug him. He would maybe write a song about this moment. The world would go on. 

But he can hear you. 

In the messages, in the words on his screen. He can hear your voice, the way you’d smile or laugh or tease. How you’d say his name in that sing-song tone he once pretended to hate. 

He hears you in your messages, and he’ll live with the secondhand shame if it means that he gets to keep on listening. 

Not stalking, he shoots back. Just checking in. 

Ah, you say. Because you missed me?~

Despite himself, he scoffs. You’ve always been so shameless. It didn’t matter to you that he was WOOZI the rockstar; to you, he would always be Jihoon who lived three houses down. 

As if, he says to your teasing.

You don’t respond anymore. You don’t even read the message, because Jihoon doesn’t see the little ‘Seen’ under his last message.

He waits for it for a minute. Then five minutes. Then seven minutes. He stops checking at the thirteen-minute mark, because he likes to believe he’s no longer a high schooler with a raging crush on the girl next door. 

He’s a grown man. He’s WOOZI, for Christ’s sake. 

He can’t keep coming back to you.

▸ I GAVE YOU MY TIME WHEN I DIDN'T HAVE MUCH; ALL OF MY FEELINGS, SWEPT UNDER THE RUG.

Except he does. 

WOOZI may not want to. WOOZI may be the bassist writing songs about the past in hopes of leaving things in the past, but Jihoon is a different story. 

Jihoon texts you the moment he lands in Gimhae International Airport. Jihoon stands outside your front door— definitely jetlagged, probably in need of a shower— with his luggage in one hand and his phone in the other. 

Jihoon acts like it’s the world’s biggest inconvenience when he tells you, “Come on, then.” 

The two of you get the crabs and soup. He refuses to talk about his time away; he contents himself with listening, like he always does, and you fill the silence with babble. Your desk job, your parents’ nagging, your hobbies and side hustles. 

“Probably not as interesting as your life,” you joke after a particularly long-winded anecdote about a delivery rider who got your address wrong. 

Jihoon neither confirms nor denies the statement. He only raises one eyebrow and gives you a wordless gesture with his hand. Go on anyway, he’s saying, and you take the cue. 

The meal ends. Jihoon invites you for coffee. Then ice cream. Then a walk. 

“This is very suspicious.” 

Jihoon can’t help it; a snort of laughter escapes him at your words. “Can’t a guy take a friend out to lunch?” he asks humorlessly. 

“And dinner,” you note. 

“And dinner, yes.” 

“And dessert.” 

“And dessert.” 

The two of you are taking the long way home. There’s something to be said about how Jihoon drags his feet, about how you walk like you’re not on borrowed time. Even your conversation moves like you’re beating around the bush.

There is an elephant in the room and Jihoon is done pretending that it’s not there. That it hasn’t been there since the day you two met in primary school, since the first time he held your hand as a teenager, since he became a musician and every song he performed became about you.

Jihoon doesn’t know how many years of pining he has left in him. 

“Are you dying?” 

Your blasé question draws a bark of laughter from him. “Jesus, no,” he says. “Do I have to be dying to want to see you?” 

You don’t answer right away. Jihoon once again has that feeling that he’s said something wrong, something loaded, but you save him from overthinking when you respond with, “You wanted to see me?” 

There it is. That teasing tone, that hint of a smile. 

You bump your shoulder against his. “You missed me, Jihoon-ah. Admit it.” 

And Jihoon is done, Jihoon is tired, Jihoon is still yours after all this time.

“Yeah,” he finally, finally says. “I missed you.” 

[igotanidea]

Bound by business: Jason Todd x reader

Summary: Jason x information dealer reader. He only came for the info, but one thing led to another, a bit of whiskey and some teasing and - .... And she's a self made gotham.boss bitch falling for no one...

Warnings: SMUT MDNI!, dirty talk, p in v, teasing, angst

A/N : Been a while since I wrote smut and a story this long. Let me down gently. XD

***

It was dark and the rain was heavy, doing nothing to hide Jason’s irritation as he speeded on his motorcycle to the bad side of Gotham if there was any good side of Gotham in the first place.

Once having reached his destination, he took his helmet off letting rain wet his ruffled hair and started banging on the door.

His contact in the criminal world had been hard lately and he had no idea why, but the reasons behind the sudden change in the attitude were far from his interest.

HE and Y/N had a long history, went way back to the times when he was Robin and she was a good girl, both memories seeming like a fucking grotesque now.

“Y/N! Open the fuck up!”

“The hell Jason?!”

The door opened but she made no move to invite him inside despite the downpour on the outside. Instead she settled on watching him shake the water off like a dog, deriving some sadistic pleasure from the fact he could barely see with his hair stuck to his forehead and falling into his eyes.  

“The gun shipment. Tonight. I need details. Time, place, figures involved.

“Well hello to you too, Jason. I’ve been fine thanks for asking.” She scoffed and then smirked.

“I don’t have time for this shit-“

“Right, right, of course. I probably should thank you for not putting a gun to my head right away, right?”

“That is to be rectified at any moment now.” He reached towards his holster.

“Don’t be stupid, Jason. You know you only get this far with things because of me. You don’t want to lose an ally, do you?”

“You’re just an information dealer. Plenty of those in Gotham.”

“Mhm. Sure. And how many of them are as skilled as I am?”

He scoffed, pushing right past her, casually shrugging off his jacket and tossing it on the couch.

“Yeah by all means, ruin my furniture. Drink?” she asked, heading towards the cabinet

“Whiskey. Neat.”

“Wow, someone finally developed some standards. What gives?”

Jason scoffed again.

“Standards, my ass. It’s at your expense so why would I hold back?”

“I might hold you accountable to that in the future. Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

The glasses clinked and for a moment they both sipped their drinks in silence which gave Jason a second to actually look at her. She was a badass, that was what he knew. But every time he came around to her place, which was not really happening that often, she was almost innocent. Ironically. No make up, comfy clothes, just hoodie and yoga pants. He had seen women try harder to look I-woke-up-like-this.

Y/N was just being comfortable. 

“What’s with the look Jace?” she smirked from under the rim of her glass, her eyes piercing into him.

“I’m just thinking.”

“About?”

“About why you are suddenly not giving me shit.”

“It’s been a long day if you must know. Long and hard day. My shit giving attitude and my humor might be a little off. ”

“Huh!” he huffed dismissively “hard day? You want to hear about a hard day? The one involving guns and fights? And being stabbed with a knife? Twice?“

“We all have our own definition of a hard day, you fool. You deal with bullets, I deal with people.”

“So you’re basically saying that people are worse than guns? Seriously? Damn, girl you got some audacity there.” He half-laughed, taking another sip of the whiskey and swirling the beverage “so, spill. Which one of your usual charming assholes got under your skin?”

“Luckily someone I do not have any respect for.”

“You have respect for no one, sunshine. But please, do tell. Did you kick him in the groin or punched him in the face?”

“Something like that.” She smirked, clearly so full of herself.

“Please tell me you at least broke his nose.”

“I did no permanent damage, that's all I can say.”

“Meaning you did something painful, but not crippling.” He nodded. He was actually learning to use the same method. Putting a gun to people's heads and shooting them dead was not very useful while searching for info. But then again, he had Y/N for that latter purpose. “Black eye? Twisted arm?”

“I thought you came here about the gun shipment info?” she finally sat on the couch and turned to face him with a hint of tease in her eyes.

“I did. But should it stop me from having a little polite conversation with my favorite partner in crime?” Jason leaned back on the coach with a sly smile

“Mh! I call bullshit.”

“How’s your hand doing?”

The question took her by surprise. Right, the hand, of course he knew about it. She got injured during one of her quests last week and has been dealing with the consequences ever since.

“I’m handling.”

“Uh!” Jason raised his hand stopping her in the middle of the sentence “Let me translate: it hurts like hell but you won’t admit it.” Y/N would never confront her pain – neither physical nor emotional. And yes, he was doing the same but it was easier to notice it in someone else than in himself. “So, given the state of that limb you must have got to that asshole pretty hard. Good job, I’ll give you that. It’s not every day I get to hear about your violent tendencies….” He chuckled and sipped the last of his drink, putting the glass back on the table, his eyes fixed on hers with a mischief in them.

“Oh you know damn well about my violent tendencies…”

“Damn right I do. And don’t I just love every fucking one of them…” his voice dropped an octave as he leaned forward, never dropping the gaze.  “Nothing sexier than a woman who can handle herself…”

“Oh yeah?” she allowed him the sudden closeness, clearly enjoying the blooming game “never took you for a guy who loved being manhandled..”

“Oh I am not. But I’m a sucker for watching someone deserving of it experiencing that treatment.” Jason's gaze moved down her body appreciatively, lingering on the swell of her breast under the hoodie and the curve of her hips accentuated by that stupid leggings. He knew she had curves under all those clothes. “It’s a fucking turn on.” He added in a husky tone. 

“Is it now…?” she hummed moving a little closer on the couch, her own drink landing on the table as well as she placed palms on his thighs, using it to lean even more forwards, leaving less than an inch between their faces.

“Fuck yeah it is…” his breath caught in his throat a little at the unexpected but not unwelcomed touch. “Seeing you lay someone down with those gorgeous hands of yours….” He licked his lips.

“Mhm… keep talking…” Y/N switched positions, now sitting on his lap, straddling him, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck and he instinctively grabbed onto her hips.  Gods, he was a man and suddenly realized how long it’s been since he had a one night stand, too busy with work.

But this?

This was getting dangerous and deep down he knew that once started, wouldn’t end up easily.

This was not going to be just scratching an itch like it usually was. This would hurt a lot and mixing business with pleasure was never a good idea.

But he couldn’t stop, the primal part of his brain already awakened by the closeness of her body, her almost gentle caresses and the soft, sweet yet seductive tone he had never heard before but she had mastered to perfection.

“I said…” she leaned to his ear “keep talking…”

“Fucks…” he groaned staring at her with undisguised lust “the though of you getting dirty… rough….”

“Uh-huh…” she hummed and started grinding on him. Slowly, almost torturously, causing Jason to take a sharp inhale of breath, but quickly composing himself.

“You always fight like that, princess?” his hands wandered from her hips to her ass, squeezing the ample flesh, pulling her closer to the bulge in his pants.

“Only for the special ones.”

 “Special ones, huh?” he held her hips tighter guiding her movements “Like when you want to prove a point? Or-“

“Or. Definitely or.”

She threw her head back, exposing her neck, giving him not-so-subtle hints.

“Or when you want to send a message?” he willingly moved his lips down her skin, sucking on the pulse points, earning a little, delicious moan and hand tangling in his hair. “A message that you’re taken?”

“Am I taken? Can’t remember…” she pulled back, taking off her hoodie and discarding her bra.

“Fuck yeah, you’re taken.” His lips moved lower, kissing her collarbone and cleavage.

“Good to know…” she made a quick movement to pull and toss his shirt somewhere in the room intensifying her movements on his ever growing tent “I think the gun shipment changed the location…”

“You fucking tease.” Jason hissed, changing the positions so she was trapped beneath his body. “Eight inches. Semi-automatic. Brand new and ready for action.”

“Well don’t I love being at a gunpoint…” her hand found a way to his groin, starting to palm the bulge, enjoying the way she seemed to still be in control, even with him on top.

“Oh yeah? A gun to your head?” he groaned, barely controlling himself.

“Maybe not to my head…”

Y/N wriggled on the bed, rolling on her belly for a moment to reach for the condom in the nightstand and that moment was enough for Jason to get hypnotized by that bounding piece of ass.

“I really hope the biggest size will fit you—”

“Fuck, I’ll stuff you so full you won’t walk for a week.”

He pushed her legs open with his knee, doing a quick job of rolling the latex on his length, teasing her clit with a few featherlight touches, loving how she seemed to beg for more with every squirm and entered her in one deep thrust.

“Big enough for you?” he bit her earlobe licking the shell right after, his voice low.  

“I – mmm… shit…”

“Have you ever had this big?” The thrusts were long and hard and deliciously painful at first before turning into a series of perfectly aimed and ideally paced movements that made her gasp from pleasure. “Answer the question, princess.”

“I – ah! Ah, shit!” nails of the right hand dug into the mattress hard enough to make holes, the other hand reaching for the pillow, quickly pressing it between her head and the headboard to prevent the potential concussion. He was not a semi-automatic gun machine. More like a rifle, never shooting blanks. Thank fucks, she was prepared in many ways and started taking pills a few weeks prior. Not that it was her plan or anything. 

“What was that?” he rocked faster and harder, pulling all the way back only to slam right back inside. “Too much for you, slut?”

“Make me come! Make me fucking come to give me incentive to answer that stupid question!”

“Seems to me like I’m fucking your brains out. Is that right, pretty? Am I fucking you stupid?”

“Fuck!”

“Yeah… you’re so fucked, baby.” He was now hitting her cervix with such a speed and strength as if his life was depending on it. “Fucked by no. One. Else. But. The. Red. Hood.“ Each word was punctuated by a deep movement and if someone asked she would swear it was reaching her stomach. Or maybe she just ate something bad.

“It’s an – ohhh! – oh shit!” she gasped, unable to finish the sentence for a moment. “It’s an honor for you to have me like this….” There was no way she was going to let him win and really fuck her stupid.

“Oh I know… But no one else is big and strong enough for you” he circled her clit, bending head to suck her nipple, leaving a wet trail from one breast to another “now, come for me… come baby…”

She bit her lips so hard that a blood appeared on the bottom one, quickly licking it off, turning Jason wild. He was a sucker for blood. Not only the shooting kind, clearly.

“Yeah…. Yeah…oh! Oh!”

She could feel his pace faltering a little as he was so close to his own climax.

And used it against him, hitting right into the momentum, somehow managing to end up on top of him again, hands on his chest, breasts bouncing, ass slapping on his cock as she rocked up and down, still in control.

“Fuck! Y/n!”

“Yeah, yeah that’s right, moan my name as you come Jason Todd. Red Hood. Whatever. Scream my name.”

“You- where did you learn how to take cock like that—”

“You wouldn’t like the answer. Now come on!” It was immensely hard to keep herself from diving into the sea of release but she knew how to get what she wanted. Years of effing experience in this fucked up place.  

His hands were on her ass, squeezing mercilessly, almost to the point of pain as he finally reached the stars.

Only then she allowed herself to let go as well. Winning, yet again, falling on top of him like a marathon runner who scored a gold medal even if there were truly no losers in this game of love. At least not in terms of the body.

“Damn… you’re heavy…” he hissed, wrapping arms around her, trapping her on top of him, nuzzling nose into her hair. She was right with him, next to him, so warm and soft and tender, making him feel so good, so nice, so liberated.

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy my fat ass bouncing on you.”

“Too tired to even try to pretend.” He whispered, trying to kiss her softly, but much to his surprise, she rolled off him, swiftly avoiding his grip, grabbed the hoodie from the floor and stood up fixing her hair, letting it fall down her back like a h/c waterfall.

“Well this was nice.” Her tone was flat, unamused and the warmth in his chest turned into icy cold right away.

“Wait… what? But-“

“I’m gonna go piss now. Can’t risk any STIs. Those hurt like hell, not to mention it’s kind of embarrassing explaining to my Ob-gyn why I wasn’t careful again. I swear one more time and she’ll drop me as a patient.”

Was this a joke to her!?

“But-“ he stuttered looking at her with wide eyes. This was not what he expected at all and there were like a million questions in his head.  “Y/n-“

“I’ll be right back, but hey – hygiene right? You should get yourself cleaned too” she grabbed the towel from the rack and threw it on him, effectively flattening his still semi-hard cock and his appetite and energy for another round.

“But –“

“This is serious shit Jason! Gotta stay healthy if we’re to repeat it.”

She winked suggestively, rushing to the bathroom, leaving a little crack in the door, so he could faintly hear her peeing.

What was wrong with this girl!?

This must have been just some stupid nightmare, a product of his tired, messed up, beaten brain--

“So. You wanted to talk about something?” she was back about a minute later. “hey, you still didn’t clean up?”

“Are you always like this?”

“Like what?” she touched her right buttock and hissed at the contact with a scratch his hands left on the skin.

“This no-nonsense attitude!”

“What else do you want me to do?” she tilted her head, looking at him quizzically

 “Oh I don’t know!” he finally lost his patience, feeling too vulnerable and too emotional for his own liking, feeling the compelling need to cover himself. Both physically and emotionally. “Normally people like to – oh, I don’t know – talk after sex? Maybe cuddle a little? But you’re just like oh, hey, it was a nice fuck, thanks for letting me use you, dressing and washing up like a freaking germophobe!” he got tangled in his pants, hardly preventing himself from tripping which would be even more condescending.

“Jason-“

“I’m being serious here Y/N!”

‘You called me slut.” She deadpanned, raising an eyebrow.

‘I called you – ok, fine! Fine I called you slut. Is that why you’re suddenly icing me out?”

“No.”

“No!? That’s it? That’s all you got? I can’t fucking believe it!” he punched the wall leaving a little dent, but the broken pride clearly did not affect Y/N.

“Could you please calm down and stop depriving me of my deposit on this place? I’d appreciate it.”

“You’re fucking unbelievable!”

“I don’t understand why you’re being so emotional about it Jason.” It might have been a mirage but from Jason’s perspective it looked like Y/N literally rolled her eyes!

“We had sex!”

“Yes? and?” She hesitated giving him a chance to explain further but he was just standing there with eyes wide and mouth open. “Oh come on, this was just an itch, right? We’re bound by business, not pleasure. You don’t mix two explosives like us. It’s just unwise. We’re both adults, sex is not always about deeper feelings-”

She was still talking but he could hardly hear anything with the way blood was humming in his ears, successfully blocking any other bullshit coming out of her mouth (thankfully for Jason though).

Bound by business.

Mixing explosives.

Unwise.

Unwise!

Fucking unwise!?

“Jason?” she smiled softly, as if nothing happened, bending down and searching his eyes. “That gun shipment of yours? It happens in an hour at the docks and everything is orchestrated by Black Mask. I would take some backup if I were you, it might get ugly.”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

Without any further words he walked outside, feeling defeated like never before and the nail to the coffin was the sound of the door being locked right after him.

He should have known better that a girl who climbed this high in the criminal underworld would be fucked up in some way.

But how can one prepare for the reality of the broken heart?

Back up his ass. He was about to turn his newly found pain into rage and kill each and every one of Sionis’ men himself.

The moon was about to turn bloody that night….

And the worst part?

She was still his information dealer. The best in Gotham, regardless of what he might have said before.

And he was still going to work with her.

Do you know that warning : don’t drink and drive or better : don’t drink and text?

Yep.

Another one should be the warning of developing feelings for your literal partner in crime. 

@lettucel0ver @oohyasumi @apple---cider---vinegar

[reidswrld]

me & you together song.

❛ i’ve been in love with her for ages, and i can’t seem to get it right. ❜

spencer reid x reader.

summary: you’ve always assumed spencer reid’s love language was acts of service. flowers left at your desk. notes written only to you. every tuesday, he gave you your favorite bagel from downtown. you knew he was like this with the rest of the team, too. you didn’t sweat it. you were focused on your job, and your job only. but when multiple instances occur over the course of a case, it’s hard to ignore both of your feelings for each other.

tags: grumpy fem!character x sunshine!spencer reid, friends to lovers, everyone knows but them, the bau literally bets when they’ll get together, no use of y/n, afab character, found family if you squint hard enough, spencer’s obsessed with her but won’t admit it to the public (the public is morgan), based on me & you together song by the 1975 btw, i wrote this while eating a doritos loco taco

word count: 2k

notes: i asked my best friends to give me a character and a trope. happy first post!

When you first landed the job as an agent at the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI, you first told yourself not to get too attached. This was a job, after all. A career. A high risk one, that could end in fatalities and wounds that might never heal, cuts that will always bleed for the rest of eternity. Once you made it clear to yourself that you were to be civil with your coworkers —close enough to be friendly, but not enough to go out for drinks on Saturday nights— and most important of all, do your job, and do it damn well, you poured yourself a glass of wine and watched the rest of the season of the sitcom you’ve been meaning to finish.

However, with all of the ups and downs your job gave you, it could not have allowed for you to expect the boisterous chaos that were your coworkers. They welcomed you in not only with open arms, but open minds. They respected your boundaries, your ideas, everything about you. Your attempt at remaining just civil became useless after months, but looking back, how could you have tried any longer? Penelope gave you a big kiss on the cheek every week, exclaiming that she loved your outfits and needed to go shopping with you right that minute. Morgan ruffled your hair whenever he brought you coffee (despite your incessant dismay that now you needed to brush it again). Hotch, though not a fan of public displays, would murmur a reassuring, you’re doing well every time he returned a file back to you. And then there was Reid.

Spencer Reid.

Well, what was there to say about him?

Over time, you’ve assumed that his love language must be acts of service. He brought you a bagel every week, sometimes more, from your favorite bagel shop downtown. Every Tuesday, a poppy seed bagel with extra plain cream cheese, extra toasted, cut in half so you could eat the middle dollop of cream cheese first. He made you mugs of tea whenever it grew past five pm because you told him that you had trouble falling asleep once months ago. Sometimes, small bouquets of wild grown flowers were left on your desk. At first, you thought it was Penelope being extra kind to you, or even Morgan playing a small joke on you. Both denied, but still giggled as you walked away. Whatever that meant. Behind your back, they secretly slipped each other five dollar bills.

You were sure he did the same for the rest of his coworkers, too. You’ve seen him refill coffee pots whenever Emily mentioned starting a new brew, and work extra hard on his reports in his free time to make sure Hotch or JJ didn’t stay too late. You were on the same page, anyway. Friends. Civil. It didn’t matter.

You huffed as you walked into the BAU, which was deemed more of a half jog, half marathon sprint. You hadn’t bothered to check the weather before leaving, and on the walk from the subway station to the office, it had started downpouring. The sudden drops of cold from the sky had caused you to drop your half empty cup of coffee, and you had forgotten to grab the breakfast you made yourself the night before in the fridge. Not even Harry Styles’ album blaring in your ears could have stopped you from turning the morning around. You grumbled simple good morning’s to everyone as you shook off your coat. Expecting to see your desk surrounded with papers that you were too tired to file in their intended drawers yesterday, you instead found a clean one; the papers were stashed in their designated places (in alphabetical order), the pens were compiled in the pouch you bought at Daiso years ago and cherished, even the trash under your desk was taken out. The only thing left to be seen on the wooden desk was a small brown bag that smelled of heaven and happiness and a folded piece of paper. You reached inside to find your usual poppy seed bagel the same as it always was. To make your Tuesday better. For you, always, the note read. You didn’t need to decipher whose scribbles those belonged to. You forgot it was Tuesday.

“Where’s my bagel, lover boy?” Morgan’s voice boomed as the man sat on top of your desk, snatching the bag with a grin. Spencer only swiftly passed by the desk with ease, choosing to make eye contact with the carpet.

“Good morning, Dr. Reid. Happy Tuesday.” Spencer’s eyes divert to yours quickly. He only nods, responding with the same greeting. Happy Tuesday, honey.

Morgan’s laugh carried throughout the room, swinging his legs as he spoke. “You two make me sick, that’s for sure. Can I have some of your bagel?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You furrowed your brow in annoyance, which only made Morgan smile widely.

“Do you need to get your glasses checked again? You know, there’s an optometrist across the street—”

As you started to speak, Hotch walked from his office, announcing a new case and to meet in the room immediately. You got up swiftly, grabbing your bagel from Morgan’s hands with a muttered asshole falling from your lips. It only made Morgan cackle loudly. You remind yourself to write a psych evaluation on Morgan after the case is over with.

On the first day of the case, you realized it was going to be a more difficult one than usual. You didn’t panic. You never do. The second day, you worked harder than ever only to see little to no result. You continued not to sleep. It was like clockwork. Work, coffee, repeat. After three days, the case was far from settled. In fact, it seemed to only be getting worse with no ending in sight. Everyone was continuing to work in hopes that they would be home for the weekend. The fourth day, though, seemed to be the worst. The killer was getting more spontaneous with their kills, and the team seemed to keep showing up minutes after the kill had occurred. You were running on little to no sleep and were getting more frustrated with each move the killer made in silence. Near the end of the day, as you stared aimlessly at the wall in front of you, hoping it would make some sort of answer appear in front of your eyes, Hotch put a hand on your shoulder, You jumped slightly, trance be gone, when he told you to get back to the hotel immediately.

Immediately, you persisted. “I’m fine. I’ve almost got something. I’m sure of something.”

“I’m not asking you.”

“Hotch—”

“I’m ordering you, not only as your boss, but mostly as your friend. Your dark circles are getting concerning.” You tried to budge once more, but as Hotch gave one of his stern glares, you knew you were done with work for the day. “I’ll get someone to drive you back. Wait here.”

Within seconds, Spencer appeared, replacing the previous figure of Hotch. Gently tapping your shoulder, he signaled for you to get up. With a flick of a wrist and a soft grin, he spun around a set of keys around his fingers. “Hotch is letting me drive.”

You smiled. “Don’t want Morgan to ‘vibe it?’”

“His definition of ‘vibing it’ is just turning on the sirens when he doesn’t want to stop at a red light.” You walked side by side to the car. Your shoulders brushed ever so slightly due to Spencer’s hands in his pockets, but you didn’t mind. You welcomed the warmth.

“Your definition is turning the volume up to 13 and calling it loud.”

“I would like to be able to hear when I’m old, thank you very much. Any decibel over eighty and poof. Hearing. Out the window.”

“I really don’t think playing Queen at any volume above 13 will kill you, Spence.”

“You never know, honey.” Spencer opened the door for you, ushering you in before closing the door and getting in on the driver’s side. He pulled a cassette tape from his bag and pushed it in the radio; it started to softly play Queen while Spencer messed with the volume, setting it at 13 before driving away. It made a soft smile appear on your lips as your head leaned against the cool glass. Between the constant, soothing movement of the car or the way Spencer’s lips mouthed the lyrics of Good Old Fashioned Boy, it was hard to tell when the lines blurred and sleep drifted you away. The only thing you recognized before falling asleep were the unmistakable words that left Spencer’s mouth.

“Good night, honey. Love you.”

You woke up with a start the next morning. You had no idea how you got back into your hotel room, or how you were wearing your favorite sports shirt that you find comfort in sleeping in all of these years, though your mind directed each question back to the same person, of course. Your mind wandered to the night before; it was the most relaxed you had been all week, even if it was just the simple act of driving with Spencer. You had done it before in past cases —even driven him back to his hotel at times— but this time felt different. Maybe it was the words that left his mouth.

“Oh, good. You’re awake.” Spencer suddenly walked in, holding bags in his arms. He set them down on the table, pulling out various assortments of breakfast foods and handing them to you. “No bagel shops around here, but I did find some good pancakes if you want to eat now.”

“Spence.” You suddenly sat up straight, as if a revelation hit you.

“What? No pancakes? It came with hashbrowns, too.”

“Spencer.” You emphasized, getting him to look at you.

“Yeah?”

“Why do you do all of this for me?”

“What?” His head cocked to the side, not understanding.

“Why do you… I mean… you go out of your way to do things for me. Unnecessary things. I need to know why.”

“Unnecessary…?”

“You… you leave me flowers that are like, hand picked from a garden or the forest, or something not from the city. You clean my desk for me when I’ve left it too messy. You make me my favorite tea when I’m at the office too late. You write me notes that are alluding but you won’t say what. I mean, Spence, you get me my favorite bagel every Tuesday. Why?”

His face suddenly turned serious as he sat next to you on the bed. “You want to know why?” He repeated.

“I know you do these things for the rest of our team, but I just, I just don’t get it.”

“Because I’m in love with you.” Spencer stared at you. “I’ve been in love with you. I think I’ll always be at least a little in love with you, if I’m being honest. I thought you’d catch on by now.”

“…What?”

“Yeah, honey. I thought I was pretty obvious.”

“So you meant what you said last night, then?” You said softly.

“I didn’t mean for you to hear that. Really. I would’ve said it better if I had known you were awake.”

“But I did.” Your face grew closer to his. “And I’m not upset about it. Because I’m in love with you, too.”

Just as your lips began to brush, Spencer began to smile. “You know what day it is, honey? It’s our day.”

You smiled, too. “Happy Tuesday.”

You both tried to be subtle about it for the rest of the case. Weeks had passed by without the team knowing, but one slip up of a kiss on the cheek from Spencer on a Tuesday morning had led to an entire office full of chaos (and a meeting on workplace romance and consent from Hotch). You two didn’t mind, though. It was bound to happen. Until Penelope turned to Morgan and yelled at him to cough up the fifty dollars he owed her, of course.

Happy Tuesday.

[fangbanger3000]

we need to talk about The Silence and The Song

as per my last post, i have received a lot of encouragement to go public with this, and the more disappointed people i have in my dms, the angrier i get. so i will.

the silence and the song is an ancient arlathan au DA fic on ao3 by luxannaslut, and it is partly, if not entirely, written by an ai. i have no wish to be involved in any kind of fandom drama or witch hunting or bullying, but as a writer myself there are few things that piss me off more than watching people steal the work of others because they can't be fucked to write. it's disrespectful to your fellow writers, it's disrespectful to your readers, and it's disrespectful to the authors of the works the ai is stealing from.

ai is a plague that has no business being in creative spaces and you must do better.

the writing pattern

there was something very odd and monotone about the sentence structure of tsats that i couldn't quite place, so i fed chatgpt a prompt along the lines of "two people in a fantasy novel hate each other, but they secretly desire one another, and they kiss", and the screenshots above are the results. the third one is an excerpt from chapter 40 of tsats. the writing pattern is identical and it doesn't seem like the "writer" has even bothered to pretend they wrote it. if you're going to use ai, at least be sneaky about it. you know, paraphrase a little.

nonsense descriptions

"her nimble fingers worked with quiet precision" (ct. 1), "his grip firm but tender" (ct. 33), "her gown pooling around her like embers" (ct. 1).

fingers don't make sound, so what does quiet precision mean? as opposed to what? her joints cracking with every movement? how is a grip firm but tender? what does that mean? since when do embers pool?

the entire fic is littered with these adjectives that contradict each other or just straight up do not make sense, because all an ai does is generate descriptive language with no understanding of what the words it's spitting out actually mean. i could spend hours picking out examples from the seven billion pages worth of text, but i quite frankly have better things to do and would simply challenge you to try getting through a chapter or two without noticing the pattern.

repetition at structure-level

all the scenes in this fic are described in pretty much the same way. they open with purple prose vomit of the surroundings; solas is standing somewhere looking "unreadable as ever"; ellana's fiery golden molten fire copper ember ginger red hair is flowing this and that way; there's some dialogue with whoever is present and it leaves ellana feeling different variations of "something she couldn't name". this is, once again, a blatantly obvious sign of ai. below is the result of me feeding chatgpt the line "write me a scene from a fantasy novel where a woman with red hair is sitting on the ground in a magical garden at night", and side by side with that is the opening scene of the fic. make your own judgement.

repetition at word-level

this one speaks for itself. we fucking get it. her dress is orange, her hair is red, mythal's presence is heavy in the room, solas looks unreadable, compassion is sitting on her head like a crown, solas' ears are betraying him and ellana's move with every thought she thinks. we get it. the issue here is that an ai remembers the info you feed it, but not necessarily the info it shits out. if it's being told to write scene after scene of an elven woman with a gown that looks like fire doing xyz, it's going to do so with no regard for how many times the reader has already been informed of these details.

lastly: the breakneck speed

359,6k words in four weeks by a person who allegedly is employed and married and hasn't pre-written anything? no. any writer will tell you that this simply isn't possible. it absolutely infuriates me to see how much praise this "writer" gets for posting up to three full chapters in a day without anyone calling bullshit. i am pulling out my hair, you guys.

why i'm not going to live and let live this one

perhaps i would be less angry if the fic was some silly bullshit court intrigue Y/A stuff, but this is a text that handles very heavy and triggering topics such as SA, coercion, domestic abuse, and other things of the same vein. to sit back and put your feet up while having a robot write these extremely sensitive and very real human experiences with words it has stolen from texts written by actual persons is fucking heinous. the "writer" should be deeply ashamed of themselves and i'm sick and tired of watching people eat up their bs.

and on that note: the amount of people in my dm's telling me that they feel stupid and naive for not clocking this has infuriated me more than anything else. you're not foolish for this. being fed ai-generated bullshit is not what is supposed to happen on any creative platform and much less a fandom-centred one, so of course no one approaches a fic through that lens. fandom and fic writing is supposed to be about passion and the only person in this situation who needs to do better and change their behaviour is luxannaslut. polluting our creative spaces, wasting the time of your readers, and minimising the effort of actual writers who are working hard to provide content for us all to share and enjoy is vile and so, so lazy. i beg of you: do better.

[frankendykes-monster]

Six people have burned themselves at Virginia’s infamous supermax Red Onion State Prison since the start of the year, the state’s Department of Corrections confirmed in an email to The Appeal. A Virginia Department of Corrections (VADOC) spokesperson said the men used “improvised devices that were created by tampering with electrical outlets.” Four incidents occurred on or after September 1. The agency said it tracks incidents of self-harm but does not make reports on those incidents publicly available. “To be clear, these inmates did not set themselves on fire or self-immolate,” she wrote. “They were treated for electrical burns at the Department’s secure medical facility at the VCU Medical Center and cleared to return to the facility. All six inmates have been referred to mental health staff for treatment.” For more than two decades, civil rights attorneys, human rights advocates, and prisoners have documented the horrific conditions at Red Onion, which sits in rural Western Virginia near the Kentucky border. According to a 2018 lawsuit, one man allegedly hallucinated and spoke with his dead parents while kept in solitary for more than 12 years. In another case, a man isolated for over 600 days started to speak in numbers, lost more than 30 pounds, and signed his name with a series of random letters. The DOC settled both lawsuits. In October, incarcerated journalist Kevin “Rashid” Johnson broke the self-harm story for Prison Radio, reporting that men had burned themselves in a “desperate attempt” to be transferred outside of the prison. The news outlet posted an audio recording by Ekong Eshiet, one of the men who allegedly burned himself. Eshiet said staff discriminate against him because of “my race, my last name, or my religion.” “I don’t mind setting myself on fire again,” Eshiet said on the recording. “This time, I would set my whole body on fire before I have to stay up here and do the rest of my time up here.”

Last year, six prisoners at Red Onion State Prison, a supermax facility on the state’s rural west side, intentionally burned themselves, prompting scrutiny of the prison from lawmakers and the public. But rather than address the conditions that may have led to such desperate measures, emails obtained by The Appeal show that corrections staff discussed how best to punish those who’d self-immolated. In the documents, which were obtained through a public records request and partially redacted, staff members discussed how to deter further incidents of self-harm. Suggestions included charging prisoners thousands of dollars for medical care and criminally prosecuting them. “I believe on Monday, we pull policy and start charging the inmates thousands of dollars for the hospital and medical treatment,” Red Onion’s chief of security wrote in September. “Once we iron through this, we can send the word through the inmate population that they’re going to be changed [sic] thousands for their medical due to intentional manipulation. Just my thoughts on how to prevent this kind of behavior.” One of the recipients, Assistant Warden Dwayne Turner, voiced his approval. “Yeah, sounds good,” he wrote. “But, the first thing we need to figure out is why? Do they think they will get transferred? If so, we need to make sure they don’t…. obviously they think they can gain something from doing that. We need to make sure they know they won’t gain anything….but making them pay money is good too[.]” The minimum wage for incarcerated workers in Virginia starts at $0.27 an hour. Local media outlet VPM News reported that Turner was promoted to assistant warden after he was accused of choking a restrained prisoner. Turner did not respond to The Appeal’s request for comment.

[alessiathepirate]

Squid Game

THE SEARCH: Hwang Jun-ho x fem!reader

Summary: The search for Gi-hun takes its toll on her. Luckily, someone's there to help.

Notes: English isn't my first language. I apologize for any mistakes I may have made while I wrote this short story.

Warnings: swearing, mentioned death and guns, mentioned and/or referenced trauma and PTSD

●●●

She was dreaming again - that was the reason why she tried to avoid sleep ever since Gi-hun went missing.

--because she was always dreaming about him: him dying, him being alone, him being scared after all that trauma... And her dreams always pointed out her self-blaming - she wasn't supposed to leave him alone, she should be there with him...

Her dreams were troubled once again - with nightmares. She was dreaming about Gi-hun and the marble game, which he failed so he could save another player's life...

That was another reason why she was scared for Gi-hun: because she knew his own life wasn't important to him anymore. She knew it, because she felt the same way.

She woke up to someone shaking her awake. She felt hands grabbing her shoulders, she heard a voice calling out for her - yet she couldn't identify the person; not immediatelly anyway.

Tears were running down her face, blinding her; she could barely breathe; and she could still hear gunshots even though she was no longer asleep.

"Y/N..." she heard her name once more, this time clearer. "You're alright. It was just a dream. Y/N, can you hear me?"

She was shaking - God, she was shaking so badly she barely knew where she was or who she was.

Still, one of those hands gently touched her face, turning her head so her eyes could meet someone else's.

Her lips started to tremble.

"You're okay now. You're awake."

Her fingers wrapped themselves around the hand on her face.

"Jun-ho?"

Reality suddenly hit her and she could feel shame climb up her throat.

She stared into his eyes as he nodded, his lips curled upwards into a faint smile. She swallowed hard as she let go of his hand. Her fingers were still trembling, but she put her hands down and pushed herself upwards into a sitting position. Her blanket fell onto her lap.

"What time is it?" she asked quietly as she raked her fingers through her hair.

"It's almost midnight." Jun-ho said as he grabbed a water bottle from the small desk in the corner of the cabin; he gave it to her, then joined her on the floor.

As she drank she slowly looked around.

They were alone, although she could hear the henchmen, Woo-seok and Captain Park talk outside.

They were probably fishing, she thought. They needed something to do and the Captain needed a distraction after she almost punched him. He would've deserved it though, since he didn't want to look for the damn island late at night. He really should've said a thank you to Jun-ho, because he was the only reason why he didn't get a black eye.

As she put the bottle aside she noted a map and a marker on the desk, under the light of a flashlight. Jun-ho must've been working on finding the island and Gi-hun, when he noticed her trembling in the corner. She was really thankful for his help: for waking her up and for the search.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" she asked as she pointed at the map. "I could've helped."

"Because Woo-seok said you are barely sleeping." Jun-ho looked at her from the corner of his eyes. "And I agree with him."

She didn't want to meet his gaze.

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not." he argued and he sounded like a parent who's about to scold a child. "You barely eat, you barely sleep... I know you want to find Gi-hun more than anything, but you need your strength for it."

Her fingertips started to play with the edges of the blanket. She didn't say anything - she didn't know what to say.

Jun-ho was right, of course he was; but it was impossible to eat and sleep peacefully when guilt and fear was killing her from inside.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"About what?" she asked.

"You know what."

She knew - of course she did.

The nightmare was still being replayed in her head, again and again. She could see Gi-hun losing all ten of the marbles, she could hear the gunshots...

One of her hands shakily reached up to wipe away the tears.

When she took too long to answer, Jun-ho turned to look at her, and seeing her crying again made him regret his question.

"I'm sorry... we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." his hand landed on her thigh and before he could pull it away, her hand was on his.

She look up at him, her eyes glassy and her lips once again trembling.

"I dreamt that he died." she said after she swallowed. "That's all I can think about - what if he's dead? He's playing those stupid games again and I'm not there..." her voice sounded angry as she spat those last few words. "I'm not there with him and we promised, we promised that we'd never leave each other..." she took a deep breath. "Gi-hun saved my fucking life more times than I can count. And now I failed him... I'm failing him every single moment when I'm not with him." the tears were burning her cheeks as they ran down her face and landed on the blanket. "Why can't it be me who's in there..."

She was full on crying by then, her body was shaking.

It was a pain so deep and unbearable... And nothing could help. Her heart ached, her whole being felt numb and heavy.

She just wanted it to end - all of it.

Jun-ho let go of her thigh and put both of his hands on her cheeks, his thumbs wiping away the tears. He made her look him in the eyes.

"Don't say that..." he put some locks of hair behind her ears and then went back to wiping away the tears - since they just didn't want to stop falling. "It's not your fault. None of it. You had no way of knowing what would happen at that party."

Gi-hun didn't let her go in with him. He wanted her to stay in the car with Jun-ho. He wanted her out of danger's way.

She should've fought harder.

"And you didn't fail him..."

"Yes, I did!" she shouted. "I fucking did..."

Jun-ho held onto her tightly, not letting her wiggle away until he was sure she's fine.

"You played Russian roulette for him!" he argued.

She just blinked in surprise.

That was how she met him again - Jun-ho. He wanted to arrest her after she won the game of Russian roulette against the Salesman. And later, when Gi-hun arrived he almost shot Jun-ho for keeping her in cuffs.

"You played Russian roulette, so that guy - that Salesman - wouldn't go after him." Jun-ho repeated. "You didn't fail him. And he knows that. He almost shot me for you."

She continued to cry quietly and he let her. He let her cry it out as he pulled her close, so she could hide her face in the crook of his neck.

She wrapped her arms around him, letting the blanket fall between them, since she finally had someone to talk to, to be honest with. Someone who understood the concept of loss and uncertainity.

"Thank you..." she whispered as she felt his fingers massage her scalp.

"It's nothing." he said. "And I promise you that we'll find him. Okay?" he felt her nod so he continued: "But I need you to get some sleep for that."

"I'll try." she mumbled.

They changed positions. Jun-ho leaned against the wooden wall of the cabin, while she rested her head on his shoulder. Their knees were touching, and she was sure it had been a while since she felt this kind of comfort.

Right then, she needed him.

Her crying slowly died down and she felt like she could both breathe and think again.

"Jun-ho?"

"What's wrong?" she found the panic in his voice adorable - and it felt great to know that someone cared.

"Nothing's wrong, I just... never really apologized for handcuffing you to the bathtub."

She felt his chest rise as he began to laugh, and the sudden change of mood in the cabin felt nice.

"I handcuffed you first. You have nothing to apologize for."

She felt a small smile tugging at her lips.

"I also apologize for accusing you of being one of Them; and for trying to shoot you." she said as she remembered him sitting in the bathtub as she pointed his own gun at him.

Jun-ho chuckled. "I kind of did those first too."

She couldn't help herself - a small, barely there chuckle left her mouth too.

"Well then... thank you, for being here."

Jun-ho didn't answer for a while and she felt ashamed for being so outspoken. Yet a few seconds later he kissed her forehead and she felt a rush of sudden heat run through her whole body.

"Of course, I'll always be here - if you need anything..."

Jun-ho continued to stroke her head; gentle touches caressing her scalp, her neck and then later on: her back. Slowly but surely her eyelids became heavier and heavier - until she fell into a dreamless, peaceful sleep.

Tomorrow she'd wake up with her head on Jun-ho's chest - and somehow her blanket would be over them, keeping them warm.

Tomorrow she'd wake up with a slight feeling of shame, yet she'd have a new reason to keep on going for.

Tomorrow Woo-seok would give her an all-smile thumbs up.

Tomorrow she'd continue the search with a new amount of hope, knowing she has someone who'll help her every step of the way...

[notenoughdragons]

okay so i actually wrote something for this bc the idea possessed me, please enjoy everyone :3

--------

The ruin’s… well, ruined. Half a cave, perhaps an underground temple, but the walls on the surface are mostly rubble. Still, beside the entrance looms a statue of a wolf, overgrown with moss and lichens and ivy, yet otherwise whole.

Solas sucks in a quiet breath. Saar gives him a look.

“You all right?” she asks quietly. Felassan is already climbing onto the statue’s back, egged on by Sera.

“I—yes. Of course.”

Saar watches him a moment longer, then pats his back. “All right. Tell me if that changes, will you?”

“Saar!” Sera yells. “Look! Does Fenny wanna play fetch?”

She’s holding up a big stick, pretending to throw it for the statue. Saar snorts out a giggle. Felassan, meanwhile, stands on the statue’s back and is resting his elbows on the wolf’s head, watching all of them.

“What is this, the tenth statue like this?” Saar muses as she approaches. “Someone either really wanted to make sure the Dread Wolf stays out, or they actually liked him.” She reaches out to pet the wolf’s snout. Felassan’s eyes follow the motion like wisp lights.

“There are stories of Fen’Harel where he—” he begins.

“Legends born from nothing but superstition, I'd wager,” Solas interrupts flatly from behind Saar.

Saar keeps her hand on the stone. Lets her magic seep through her skin. And from deep within the carved rock, a whisper responds…

“This isn’t superstition,” she says. “I think—someone tried to protect this place? There are, were wards woven into this. But they set them into a statue of Fen’Harel, like he’s… I don’t know, the guardian of this place?”

Felassan rests his cheek on one hand, eyes still lilac-bright. His gaze drifts somewhere past Saar.

“I wonder what he’d think of that,” he says. “Of you, calling him a guardian, I mean.”

“Well, I know what Keeper Deshanna would call me for it, and it’s a reckless fool.” Saar chuckles. “But she called me that for plenty of other reasons too.” Absently, she pats the wolf’s flank as she goes past it to the entrance of the underground area. “Let’s see what he’s protecting, huh?”

“Thank Andraste’s knickers and tits and ass,” Sera groans. “I thought you were gonna have another hour-long yapping about old elf shit.”

Saar grins. “Oh, I can do both, trust me.”

Halfway down the stairs, she turns around to see where in the blights Solas and Felassan have gotten to because neither of them made so much as a peep. They’re still standing before the entrance, staring at each other. Felassan’s leaning against the wolf statue’s chest, arms crossed, radiating belligerence. Solas’ knuckles are pale where they wrap around his staff, his spine a stiff line. Saar half expects them to start screaming at each other and is about to haul them down the stairs…

“Oi! You two’re gonna get grown over if you keep loiterin’ like that!”

Like a spell releasing, they relax, and turn to follow.

That’s gonna explode at some point, Saar is pretty sure. But for now, they’ve got a ruin to explore.

Solas had to kill Felassan because Felassan would have heard that a man named Solas joined the Inquisition and signed up immediately just to follow the Inquisitor around and be like “you know this reminds me of a Dalish legend about Fen’Harel stop me if you’ve heard this one before have I told you about the time Andruil almost tricked him into being her lover for a year” while Solas sweats bullets in the background knowing he can’t interrupt or stop him without looking suspicious as hell

[novascharms]

teach please me — tutor!reader x soccer player!rafe

reader's life is meticulously planned, from high school to becoming president of the country—she knows exactly where she's headed and every step to get there. but her airtight plan hits a snag when the principal ropes her into tutoring rafe cameron, the school’s star soccer player, who’s failing algebra and at risk of being benched next season. the team needs him on the field, and reader needs the principal’s glowing recommendation to secure her spot at her dream school. balancing her ambitious goals with rafe’s chaotic charm might just throw her perfectly crafted plan off track.

word count — 2.3 chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap. masterlist

eight sunday, february 2nd

you've gotten the question 'how do you do it?' a couple of times in your life. you've always been the kind to never stop running, never stop moving, never stop working, just never stop. never even take a break, really. any 'free' time was an opportunity to do something useful or productive.

you're pretty sure you never really 'cracked the code'. the code was kind of built inside of you, weirdly embedded in your brain. you've always been disciplined, you've always known that small, deliberate actions over time were the only way to stay consistent. it does help that you've always had this purpose or reason to do it.

you knew what you wanted, who you wanted to be.

you knew that commiting, sticking to the plan was the only way to get there.

in order to stick to a plan, there had to be a plan.

it makes sense that you wrote out an entire two page document, detailed and in depth with graphs, sources and pictures explaining your complete approach to getting over rafe and putting some much needed space between you two.

you're picking your nails, a habit you'd abandoned years ago after a rather brutal pull that ended with you in tears while your dad disinfected your bleeding thumb.

now here you were again, staring at the dining room table you'd temporarily transformed into a desk for rafe's tutoring session. step one of your plan was distance, of course. you had to block him away emotionally and him wandering around in your room, letting his smell linger, leaving his clothes or his stuff sitting there for days, lying in your bed. it was too close. too personal.

your room was a sanctuary, it was essentially your place of work and your home all at the same time. it had to feel serene and cleansed from distractions like feelings for boys.

the table was set up the same way your desk was: his notebook, pencil and calculator neatly placed on the table. you even placed a bottle of water right there so he didn't need to go wandering into your kitchen for anything. there was no need for him to walk around your house.

you would sit diagonal to him, working on the valentine's day cards which you were super behind on because you spent multiple days being too upset to even look at a heart-shaped-anything.

your dad was also sitting in the living room working on his laptop which somehow made it feel even more impersonal. it was perfect.

the doorbell rang and you froze for a moment. "are you gonna open that..or should i?" your dad called from the living room and you jumped into action. "uh! no, it's rafe. i'm going, sorry." you're rushing to the door and take a deep breath. "just be casual, be normal." you whisper to yourself before opening the door.

don't even think about how good he looks or smells or just how good it feels to even be in his viscinity. don't. don't. don't. shut up. don't.

"hey." he says as you move to the side to let him in. "hi. was the..drive good? any traffic?" what kind of a stupid question was that? this town had less than 50 000 people. there was never that much traffic.

he seems to be confused by the question as well, "no, no..traffic. it's sunday.."

"that is.. good. really good." you stand there with your hands behind your back as he takes his shoes off and when he walks over to you, in front of the stairs, he gives you a look and raises his brows. "are we gonna go up?" he slowly asks and you press your lips together and shake your head. "so, actually. i had this really fun idea that we could just..stay down here." you gesture to the dining room down the hall.

he looks at where you're gesturing before he looks at you again. "you want to stay down here?" he questioned, eyes boring into yours. "mm, i would like to stay down here..it's..i—it doesn't really matter where we sit, right?"

he blinks at you, lips parted. "right," he says softly and you nod and repeat after him before turning and heading into the dining room. he followed and his eyes immediately went to the table set up before glancing at your dad. "hey, y/d/n." he says and your dad greets him back, this big smile on his face that kind of makes you want to shove him. this boy broke his little girl's heart and he was just smiling at him? okay, sure, he doesn't know that it even happened but he should just sense those things. is that too much to ask?

you don't waste any time. the minute rafe sits down, you're getting into the lesson. "alright, last lesson we covered how to solve systems of equations by graphing, substitution and elimination. do you feel like there's one or multiple methods that you struggled with the most when you were doing the exercises?"

he looks at you, seemingly lost for a moment. "before we start, can we just—"

you tense. "maybe during the break. so, any issues?" it seems like he sees the momentary panic in your face because his eyes soften before he nods and exhales, "i..i guess with the graphing, i struggled with the overlapping lines and the parallel ones and for substitution, isolating variables and variables in general is still a shaky one."

you nod and stand right next to him, reading his notes carefully. "you're not gonna sit?" he looks at you. you don't look at him. "i'm okay, so, for the overlapping lines and parallel, what you need to remember is overlapping lines represent infinitely many solutions and parallel lines is the concept of no solution or an inconsistent system. it's kind of confusing but once you can set those apart and remember what they mean, it gets easier." you flip his page then, "and for the variables, i can see that you forgot to solve for the second variable a couple of times. remember that after finding one variable, you have to plug it back in to find the other."

"wait, but i thought when i did this, i was solving for the second variable…?" rafe points at his page, eyebrows furrowed as his pencil drags under a line of equations. "because i brought this one over."

you lean closer, bending over his notebook to see what he’s pointing at. "no," you say, tilting your head toward him. "i explained this last time, but you were too busy trying to braid my hair instead of listening, remember?"

he cracks a lopsided smile, the kind that always threatens to make your knees weak. "just trying to grow my skillset," he murmurs, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

you roll your eyes but can’t help the smirk tugging at your lips. "anyway," you say, nudging his pencil aside gently, "what you’re actually doing here is moving the term over to isolate one variable first. see? once that’s done, then you substitute it into the second equation to find the other variable."

you wait for his usual reaction, the quiet "ohhh" that always follows whenever he finally pieces something together. but the silence stretches, and when nothing comes, you turn to him. "you get… it?" the words falter on your lips as your gaze meets his, and the rest of the room seems to fall away.

he’s already staring at you, his eyes steady and unrelenting. they’re warm, piercing, and hold a depth you can’t even begin to describe. you don’t even have time to process how close you are, how his breath brushes faintly against your cheek, or how the faint furrow of his brow softens as he takes you in.

you feel caught, anchored by something invisible yet impossibly strong. your heart hammers so loud in your chest you’re sure he can hear it. the air around you thickens, heavy with unspoken words and unacknowledged tension. it’s as if the world has narrowed to just the two of you, and nothing could pull you out of this moment.

remember the plan. remember the plan. you try to tell yourself but then his eyes flicker down for the briefest second, not enough to seem deliberate, but enough to send your pulse skyrocketing. when they meet yours again, it feels like he’s trying to tell you something without saying a word. it’s overwhelming, consuming, and utterly impossible to look away.

your breath catches, the intensity growing unbearable. you’re drowning in the weight of it—this connection, this magnetism that shouldn’t feel as monumental as it does. and just when you think you might give in, might let yourself fall into whatever this moment is, you tear yourself away.

your eyes drop to the notebook in front of you, your hands fumbling to straighten the page unnecessarily. "so, um… yeah, just try the new exercises i made and i'm here if you need help," you say, your voice a pitch higher than usual, and you can feel your face burning. you bee-line for the kitchen before you actually make the situation worse.

you paced in the kitchen for a couple of minutes before casually walking back into the dining room. you slid into your seat and could feel rafe's eyes on you but you refused to look up. you willed yourself to focus on the notes and hundreds of pink and red enveloppes in front of you.

the entire session went the same way. you worked on your envelopes, and rafe worked on his exercises. you answered his questions when needed, but you never moved from your spot.

near the end of the lesson, your dad's voice carried from the doorway, casual and warm. "rafe, are you eating dinner with us?" it had become a bit of a routine—your sessions almost always wrapped up around dinner time. but tonight, you’d planned for this.

"no, not today," you answered for him.

your dad hesitated, clearly surprised to hear your voice instead of rafe's. his confusion deepened when he glanced at you, taking in your stern expression. after a moment, he nodded sharply, muttering, "got it," before disappearing down the hall toward the kitchen.

"what was that?"

"what was what?"

rafe stood, pushing his chair back with a scrape. for a moment, you thought he might just leave, but instead, he stopped at the doorway, turning back to you. his eyes pinned you in place. "come here," he said firmly, his voice low but unyielding.

you blinked at the demand, your body rooted to the spot. "what—"

his jaw tightened. without repeating himself, he walked straight to you, his movements deliberate, his frustration radiating off him like heat. you thought he’d just grab your wrist and tug you to your feet, but instead, he did something much more dramatic.

"rafe, what are you—"

before you could finish, he bent down, his arms looping around your waist as he hauled you over his shoulder with ease.

"rafe!" you yelped, your voice higher than you’d like as you squirmed against him. "what the hell are you doing?"

he didn’t answer. didn’t even flinch. he just turned and started walking, his steps firm and purposeful as he carried you up the stairs like you weighed nothing. you slapped his back and demanded to be put down, but it was like talking to a brick wall.

he set you down, right on the edge of your bed. you jumped to your feet immediately, but he was already there, standing in front of you, so close you could feel his breath. the proximity was overwhelming, so you sat back down again, instinctively creating space.

"rafe—"

"no. i’ll do the talking now." his tone left no room for argument. he pulled your chair from your desk, dragging it a little too roughly across the floor before sitting down, facing you. you felt the weight of his gaze, the intensity of his stare, and for a split second, you felt small—like a kid about to get scolded by the principal.

"i don’t know what happened last week. i don’t know why you won’t talk to me. i can’t help but assume that you either aren’t ready to talk or just don’t want to talk to me, but i can figure out that i’ve done something to upset you. i can’t force you to open up, but if you don’t… i won’t know what the hell i’m doing. i’ll apologize, because, honestly, i just want this," he waved a hand toward you, your whole being, "to stop."

he leaned forward, his voice steady, firm. "you’re ignoring me at school, you barely answer my texts, and we won’t even talk about how you yelled at me on wednesday because clearly, you don’t want to talk about that either. i’ll never bring any of it up again, if that’s what you need from me. but now? you’re shutting me out completely. we can’t even sit in your room? i can’t stay for dinner, you won’t sit next to me—what the hell is this all supposed to mean?"

his gaze was unwavering. "i want to fix it. i want to make things right. but if you won’t let me, if you refuse to even try, you can’t act like i’m the enemy. you can’t be pissed at me, not tell me why, and then shut me out and act like i'm somehow misunderstanding the situation. that’s not how this works."

his voice was tight, but there was no shouting. just a clear, deliberate force.

"okay." you nod after a moment. "okay?" he repeats and you nod after him. "you're right. i'm not being fair, it's just..i d-don't really—i w-want to—"

he stops you the moment you start to struggle, "don't. don't force yourself to tell me anything if you don't want to. i just don't want to lose this. " he says and your mind immediately flashes to him with adriana before you can even delusionalise yourself into thinking he meant that in a romantic way.

"i know..and our friendship is important to me too. i just.." you start slowly and he's looking at you with these, big, kind, hopeful eyes. "i am a very type-a person—"

"you don't say."

you glare at him, "—and i work well with planning, order, organization. i don't like mess. i don't like things that don't go my way. now, please, do not take this the bad way because i promise, i don't want you gone, you aren't a burden," you beg quietly and he nods reluctantly, "but..this..situation we've found ourselves in has significantly.." you pause and search for the right word, "upset my balance and i think that the bonfire was a bit much. that is all. i j-just..got my period that day and i've been doing all this stuff that i usually don't do like not following my schedule by the letter so i needed to let it all sink in a bit and i process things in a very specific way which makes me lose sight of other people's feelings sometimes but i'll try to stop. i promise." you say and rafe raises his brows, "yeah?" he asks and you nod, faint smile on your lips when he grins because it's impossible to not smile with a grin as contagious as his.

safe to say you didn't stick to the plan.

chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap. taglist — @rafeysworldim19 @my-name-is-baby @pogueprincesa let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist & interact with post to remain tagged <3

[jivvie]

SO YEAH I LIKE MOONCOVEY

but what I really liked abt this season was that min ho still cares for kitty. yes, she rejected him on the plane and he probably spent winter break wondering why he confessed on the damn plane RIGHT AFTER DAE AND KITTY BROKE UP- but when kitty ends up talking to him, he understands the situation they both are in and they continue being friends with a side of teasing.

and yeah we didn’t get a lot of mooncovey screen time cus of stella and also they aren’t roommates anymore BUT WHEN THEY DO YOU CAN SEE HOW MUCH MIN HO CARES FOR KITTY

when kitty exposes stella to min ho and he believes she’s jealous, at the party, Min Ho listens to Q and asks Kitty for a dance. He pushes away the thought of Kitty being jealous and instead asks her as a friend. The first thing he says when Stella is threatening him is “if you dare touch kitty” (or smth like that). HE REALLY CARES FOR HER SO MUCH.

I saw @listentomerant’s post about xo kitty and they talked about how kitty falls in love through strong emotional bonds. I LOVE THIS POST SO MUCH ITS SO GOOD. Thats why Min ho being there for when Kitty needs someone or legit anyone makes this all the more worth it. He knows she’ll never think of him as more and he moves past that to become a better friend.

I’m glad that Kitty rejected him because this season gives more into their relationship. It isn’t just min ho having a “sex” dream about kitty and focusing on her more. We get to see kitty’s side (even if it was kind of short). We see her understand how reliable Min ho is even though she rejected him. He really does become the bigger person and although it might just be denial, this really shows how much better min ho is as a partner.

even with stella, min ho is just a good partner. stella wants to sing for the show, and because he sees how she stood up to his dad and how much she cares for him, he decides to ask. He was still rocky with his dad but because stella was a good person to him, he felt the need to give back to her.

If they had kitty accept min ho’s confession, it would really fall flat. Kitty just “fell out of love” with Yuri and broke up with Dae, and getting into a new relationship would honestly destroy their chemistry. Having a whole season to actually develop this relationship is more worth it instead.

sorry I went too into this. I know people are really upset about kittyuri and how they wrote yuri this season, but I really think that in the context of this season, min ho feels more reliable. I would love to see the writers next season pit yuri and min ho against each other (which would be super funny; imagine fighting against your older sister/younger brother to become the canon relationship) as it’d be very interesting, but I think we can tell mooncovey is most likely endgame.

[winchestersisterimaginessss]

Request: hiii! i was wondering if you’d do a fic where sister gets taken by vamps and the brothers have to save her? and like the vamps had been feeding on her so she’s really weak but the places she’s been bitten would bother sam and dean cause of how close the vamps would have to be. just like the thoughts of someone putting their mouths on her makes them (especially dean) just livid. thanks for all the good work, i love your writings!!! xx

A/N: Thank you so much!!! This was such a GOOD request UGH and it was so fun to write. I hope I wrote it the way you were hoping! If not, send in another request. As always requests are open!! Please send whatever I love getting requests and seeing all the different ideas!! I have else nothing to do, but write so you’d be doing me a favor HAHAHA!

Sam and Dean Winchester x Sister!Reader

The night had a chill to it that seemed to sink into Dean’s bones. The kind of chill that made him feel like the world was off-kilter, like everything was about to fall apart. The Impala’s headlights cut through the darkness as they sped down the back roads, the tires humming against the asphalt. His grip on the steering wheel was iron-clad, his knuckles pale and bloodless, the tension in his shoulders coiled tight like a spring ready to snap.

Beside him, Sam sat silent, his face hard and unreadable. His jaw clenched so tightly that the muscle twitched in time with his breath. His fingers gripped his shotgun in his lap, tapping a rhythm that only they could understand.

She was missing.

Y/N.

Dean couldn’t think about it too much—couldn’t let himself go down that path. He had to focus. Focus on the road ahead, focus on the hunt. Vampires.

"Do you think they…" Sam started, voice low, laced with unease. He didn’t finish the thought, but Dean knew what he meant.

“Yeah. They’re feeding on her," Dean bit out, his voice tight with barely contained fury. "That’s what they do."

Sam didn’t respond at first and Dean could feel the weight of his gaze on him, his brother thinking, feeling everything he was. They both knew what it meant.

“Dean…” Sam’s voice was low, almost like he was afraid to break the fragile silence that was now upon them. But it wasn’t the silence that bothered him; it was the cold, sickening reality of what their sister could be going through.

“We’ll find her, Sam,” Dean muttered, his voice hoarse from holding everything back. Too much anger, too much fear, everything pressing down on him like a weight he couldn’t bear. He couldn’t say more. The thought of Y/N—his sister—being in the hands of vampires, being dragged into the dark, fed on like some helpless animal, made his stomach turn. He didn’t want to think about it.

But he couldn’t stop himself. He had to think about it, because if he didn’t, it would tear him apart.

Sam glanced at Dean, his face pale in the dim light. “I know we will. But…” He trailed off, not needing to finish. He didn’t have to. The terror in his eyes said everything. What had the vampires done to her? What was left of her?

Dean’s grip tightened on the wheel. “We’re getting her back Sam even if it’s the last thing I’ll ever do.”

The abandoned warehouse was silent as the brothers approached. They could feel it before they saw it—the lingering stench of death, of blood soaked into the ground, making the air thick and suffocating. Dean’s heart hammered against his chest. He couldn’t think about what he would do to the monsters inside. He couldn’t think about the ways they would make them pay.

All he could think about was Y/N.

“Stay alert,” Sam muttered, his eyes scanning the surroundings, his hand resting on the gun at his side. Dean didn’t reply. His boots made a soft thud against the gravel, each step closer to the building feeling like it might break him.

When they entered, the darkness almost seemed alive, wrapping itself around them. The scent of old blood mixed with the coppery tang of fresh wounds, and Dean’s stomach twisted in on itself.

They moved in silence, their bodies trained to work as one, as brothers who knew exactly where the other was going before even a word was spoken. But this time… this time felt different. It felt too quiet. Too empty.

It wasn’t until they reached the back corner of the warehouse that they saw her.

Y/N.

She was slumped against a steel column, her body limp and lifeless, her skin pale and bloodied. Her clothes were torn, and her hair clung to her face in matted, sticky strands. Dean’s breath caught in his throat. For a moment, it felt like his entire body stopped functioning. She was so small, so fragile-looking—like she could break beyond repair.

“Y/N!” His voice cracked, but there was no hesitation. He rushed forward, his knees hitting the cold concrete as he dropped to her side. She was barely breathing, her body cold to the touch, and the stench of blood was overwhelming.

Sam’s eyes flickered over her body, his face twisting in pain as he crouched beside Dean. “What the hell did they do to her?”

But Dean didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He just touched her face, his hand trembling as he brushed a few strands of hair away from her forehead. Her skin was too cold, and her pulse was faint.

She blinked, eyes fluttering open just enough to meet his gaze. There was no smile—there was no joy. Only exhaustion and the hollow echo of a person who had been drained to the point of breaking.

“Dean…” she whimpered, her voice barely audible, like it took all her strength just to speak. Her lips trembled, a faint, bloodstained line on the corner of her mouth.

“Y/N, hey, I’ve got you,” Dean muttered, his voice thick with panic. His hands hovered over her body, as if he didn’t know where to touch, how to make her feel safe again. The thought of the vampires’ mouths on her, of their fangs sinking into her tender skin, tore through him with the force of a storm. It made him sick to his stomach, made him feel like everything inside him was collapsing in on itself.

Sam’s voice was low but forceful. “We need to get her out of here, Dean. Now.”

Dean nodded, his arms sliding beneath her, lifting her as gently as he could, but she was so light in his arms it felt like she might break. Her head lolled against his chest, her breath shallow, and he couldn’t stop the way his heart clenched painfully in his chest. This was their fault. They should’ve been there sooner. They should’ve known.

“Y/N, come on. Stay with us. You’re gonna be okay. We’re getting you out of here,” Sam said, his voice rough, though he was trying so hard to keep it together for her.

But Y/N was barely responding now, her eyelids fluttering shut as if the weight of everything was finally catching up to her.

Then Dean saw it—the marks. The wounds that had been left on her by the vampires. The deep, jagged bites. His throat closed up. Sam was there, looking just as sickened. His face was pale as he inspected the wounds, his eyes shifting between them and their sister’s pale, unconscious face. His eyes burned with rage as he thought about how vulnerable she had been, how helpless. The very idea of someone—anyone—touching her in such a way made him want to burn the world down.

The first mark was just beneath her ear, a perfect circle of puncture wounds that had broken her skin. It was raw, and the blood had dried in an ugly, dark stain against her skin. But what sent the blood rushing to Dean’s head was the thought of how close the vampire had been. He’d been right there, so close, his mouth brushing against her delicate skin. Dean could feel his insides twist. No one—not even the monsters they hunted—should have been able to get that close in that kind of way.

His eyes traveled lower, unwillingly, desperately, but they were drawn to the next wound: a bite mark on chest, that should have never been exposed in the first place. It wasn’t just the placement that sickened him; it was the idea of how intimate it had to be. How vulnerable she must have been, letting those monsters so close. Too close.

But what made Dean’s breath hitch was what came next. His eyes landed on her inner thighs. The tender skin there had been marred by deep, cruel bite marks. Multiple puncture wounds, side by side, right at the softest, and vulnerable parts of her body. He didn’t know why that broke him, but it did. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. The rage surged through him like a tidal wave, but it was suffocated by something deeper—something more violent and sickening. The thought of those vampires, of whoever had been so close to her, touching her like that—it filled him with a kind of fury that almost made him sick.

Sam’s hand gripped his shoulder, pulling him back from the edge of madness. Dean’s head snapped up to meet his eyes, and for a split second, he saw it—the same sick horror mirrored in his brother’s gaze. They both knew. They knew exactly what had happened. And the idea of it—the intimacy of it—twisted their stomachs into knots. The two brothers shared a look—one filled with shared understanding, shared rage. No one had the right to touch her like that. No one.

“Dean… we need to go,” Sam said, his voice low, desperate, but firm. He had to get his brother to focus. They had to get out of here.

Dean nodded, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “We’re getting you out of here, Y/N. You’re gonna be okay. We’re not gonna let anyone hurt you again.”

As they carried her out of the warehouse, Dean could barely keep it together. His gaze was locked on Y/N the entire time, watching the slight rise and fall of her chest, the way her face was pinched with pain even in unconsciousness. Every minute that passed, every footstep, felt like an eternity. It wasn’t until they were in the car, driving—no, racing—toward the safety of the bunker that Dean finally allowed himself to speak again.

“God, I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice barely above a rasp. His words felt inadequate, too small for the enormity of what had happened. What they’d let happen.

Sam’s voice was strained, but there was a quiet strength in it. “She’s gonna be okay, Dean. She’s gonna be alright.”

Dean didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His eyes stayed fixed on the road ahead, but in the back of his mind, all he could hear were the sounds of her pain, her fear, the whole way to the bunker.

The Impala screeched to a halt, the tires barely making contact with the gravel as Dean cut the engine. His heart was still hammering in his chest, but it felt like a distant echo in comparison to the devastation gnawing at him. Every part of him screamed to stay in the car, to never face the reality of what had happened to Y/N.

But she was still so fragile. So damn broken.

Sam moved quickly, sliding out of the passenger side and opening the back door to Y/N. He grabbed her gently, careful not to jostle her too much, his hands trembling as he lifted her into his arms. She was so light, too light, and every movement seemed to remind him of how close they’d come to losing her.

Inside the bunker, the cold, familiar stone walls that had once provided them with comfort now felt oppressive, suffocating. They had saved her, yes, but the fear that clung to her body was still raw. The thought of them—those monsters—doing this to her was enough to make his insides churn.

Dean led the way, opening the heavy steel door to the main room, and they crossed quickly to the table in the center of the room. Sam gently lowered her onto it, his hands shaking as he set her down. He lingered for just a moment, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his eyes clouded with unshed tears and anger.

Y/N’s body was too still. Too pale. It was like she was half gone. Like she was fading.

“Dean,” Sam said softly, his voice breaking the haze of horror in Dean’s mind. Dean turned to see his brother standing by her side, pulling out the med kit with practiced efficiency, though his hands were anything but steady.

Sam’s gaze flickered to the marks on Y/N’s skin, the ones that had haunted both of them from the moment they saw them. His lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tight. “We need to clean her up. She’s... she’s lost a lot of blood.”

Dean nodded, swallowing hard. He could hardly breathe, the thought of what had happened to her clogging his throat. His eyes stayed locked on her face, watching the rise and fall of her chest, counting the seconds like they were a countdown to something inevitable. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, but the seconds dragged on, each one heavier than the last.

Sam worked quickly, but there was a tremor in his hands as he unwrapped Y/N’s shirt, revealing the bite marks that marred her skin. Dean couldn’t stop looking at them, even as every part of him wanted to turn away. They were everywhere—on her neck, her collarbone, and her inner thighs. They were deep, the kind of marks that only came from prolonged feeding, and every single one made his blood boil.

But Sam was already focused on cleaning up the wounds. He was gentle, methodical, but there was an underlying tension in his movements, as if he too was trying not to rip through the restraint he was clinging to.

“Y/N, it’s okay. You’re safe. We’re here,” Sam murmured, his voice low and soothing. His hands were shaking as he wiped away the dried blood from her body, but he spoke to her like she could hear him, like she might respond.

Dean stayed silent, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. He couldn’t look away from her—not when she was like this, not when she needed them so badly. But he couldn’t feel anything. His chest was hollow, filled with too much rage and too much fear. He couldn’t even make his voice work.

And then, suddenly, a small movement—a soft groan from Y/N.

Dean’s heart lurched. He stepped forward, leaning over the table, his breath shaky. “Y/N? Hey, look at me. It’s Dean. You’re safe. You’re in the bunker, okay?”

Her eyes fluttered open, the faintest hint of recognition crossing her face. But it didn’t last long. She winced, her eyes darting around, panic creeping into her features as she tried to sit up. “No… no, please... let me go...” Her voice was weak, barely above a whisper, but the fear in it was palpable. She trembled, her body curling in on itself as if she could physically shield herself from something only she could see.

“Hey, hey,” Sam said gently, but there was a hard edge to his voice as he placed a hand on her shoulder, urging her back down. “It’s okay. It’s Sam. You’re safe. We’re not letting anyone hurt you.”

Y/N’s breathing was fast, shallow, her chest rising and falling with quick, panicked breaths. Her gaze flitted between Sam and Dean, confusion and terror in her eyes. She struggled weakly against Sam’s grip, but it was more out of instinct than any real strength.

Dean’s throat tightened, and he quickly crouched down beside her, taking her hand. His voice was raw, nearly breaking. “It’s okay, Y/N. We’re here. You’re not alone. Please—just breathe, okay? You’re safe now.”

Her eyes searched his face like she was looking for a lifeline, but then her gaze shifted downward, to the bloodstained marks on her skin. Her breath hitched in her throat, and she recoiled, her eyes filling with panic. She tried to curl in on herself, her voice trembling. “No... no, please... stop... don’t let them…”

“Y/N, they’re not here,” Sam said, his voice gentle but insistent. “We’re gonna clean you up. You’re safe. You’re gonna be okay. I need you to trust me, sweetheart.”

But Y/N shook her head, her eyes wide, filled with that deep, frantic panic that only someone who had been through hell could know. Her mouth opened, a strangled sob escaping as her hands clawed at the table beneath her, her body jerking with another memory.

Sam’s voice softened again, despite his own panic. “I know, Y/N. I know... but please, you have to trust me. You have to trust us.”

Dean stayed quiet, his hand hovering near hers, but he didn’t reach for her—not yet. Not until she was ready.

Her eyes flickered to his, and this time, they held something different—something less frantic, but still so broken.

“I’m here,” Dean whispered, his voice thick with emotion, unable to stop the ache in his chest. “We’re here. You’re not alone. You’re safe.”

Sam’s hands were working carefully, cleaning the wounds along her neck, his movements gentle but precise. “You’re in the bunker,” Sam continued, his voice firm but soothing. “We’ve got you. You’re safe here.” Her body began to relax as she came to her senses, but Dean had to ask. He had to know.

“Y/N... what happened? What did they do to you?”

She flinched, her eyes darting to him like a cornered animal. “I... I... I couldn’t...” Her voice broke, and she gasped for breath, her chest heaving. She looked lost—broken in a way Dean couldn’t put into words. His heart broke. He didn’t want to push her, but the need to understand what had happened to her was suffocating. He needed to know.

Her eyes filled with tears as she stared up at him, unable to meet his gaze. She trembled as if the very thought of it was too much for her to bear. She whispered in a barely audible voice, “They... they kept coming... kept feeding... kept—” She stopped herself, squeezing her eyes shut as though she could block out the images that haunted her.

Dean's gut twisted. He couldn’t even imagine what she’d been through. What she was reliving right now. “And then they…” Y/N shuddered violently, her body jerking in pain, and her eyes squeezed shut as if even remembering it was unbearable.

Sam paused in his movements, his hands hovering over her skin, but Dean could see the anguish in his eyes.

“They—” Y/N paused, her voice so small now it was barely a whisper. “They... took turns. They… they…” Her voice broke, and she couldn’t finish. She didn’t need to.

Dean’s stomach dropped. The weight of it, of her words, felt like a punch to the gut. He couldn’t think about it. He couldn’t. The idea of what they had done to her—using her like that—was enough to send him into a spiral of rage so consuming it threatened to swallow him whole.

Sam’s voice was soft, but urgent. “Y/N, you’re safe now. They’re gone. We’re here. We’re gonna take care of you. You don’t need to worry about them anymore.”

Sam’s hands moved once again, pressing a clean cloth gently to one of the marks on Y/N’s neck, wiping away the blood as she flinched. He spoke softly as he worked, his voice like a balm on her broken spirit, even if it didn’t heal the damage that had already been done. “You’re safe, Y/N. We’re gonna make sure no one ever touches you again.”

Slowly, painfully, they would help her get through this. She was still fragile, still scarred, but for the first time in what felt like forever, she wasn’t fighting them.

[avonne-writes]

Gale doesn’t have enough milk for the baby because of what he went through in the stalag. They need to switch to formula, which exacerbates Gale's postpartum depression.// I would love to hear more on this point, Gale is already not connecting to the baby..and then this is taken from him too, all of his feelings of failure… does he ever lash out at Bucky? Especially because of the baby’s easy bond with him? Or does he just draw into himself. How does Bucky cope with gales depression? I imagine that he would be frustrated because he doesn’t really understand it and because he can’t fix it for Gale.

Re: this post

Yes, Gale sinks into a deep depression. It’s a steady low mood and listlessness like in the stalag, interspersed with brief bursts of explosive anger when he, indeed, lashes out at Bucky. This usually happens when Bucky tries to encourage him but says the wrong thing like "come on, just rock her like this, if I can do it you can too." Bucky doesn’t mean anything bad by it. Gale used to respond well to this kind of support, but not this time.

Bucky doesn’t understand the situation in the slightest. This is a canon era au so he doesn’t have any concept of postpartum depression, he always thought a baby would make everyone happy like magic. It sure feels like that to him. His daughter feels like the lifeline, the joy pulling him out of the lingering waves of trauma. He expects this effect to be tenfold in Gale, so it leaves him confused that it doesn't go like that. He thinks it's his fault but doesn’t know what to do because Gale doesn’t communicate openly with him.

They're not having sex either because of the traumatic birth that Gale hasn't coped with at all. Another failure in Gale's opinion.

When his milk starts drying up and he has to admit to himself that it's not enough, it’s Gale's last straw. Mechanically, he goes to buy formula (enduring the perceived shame of having to do it), makes sure his girl has everything she needs. Then writes Bucky a letter saying he’s no use to him and their baby like this, and that the best thing he can offer is leaving and going back to work to at least be able to send money. He curls up on top of their bed and waits for Bucky to read the letter and make his choice. He spends this time wallowing in his sadness, thinking about his childhood and how he was "a lost cause from the start". That his only worth is his work output.

Bucky comes home and finds the letter by their sleeping daughter's crib - Gale knew that Bucky would head there first thing. The things Gale wrote scare Bucky - he rushes to their bedroom and he’s relieved that Gale's still there and physically okay. He tries to talk to Gale but Gale isn’t very responsive, and then the baby starts crying. Bucky ends up calling his mother - and that's how they finally get some help that actually improves their situation. She has enough experience to understand Gale.

[flowery-mess]

in vino veritas

Pairing: frat boy Noah x female reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! / slight smut / drinking alcohol / let me know if anything else should be taged

Words: 2k

frat boy Noah masterlist

„So you can chose from this list of presentation topics or you can think of your own, but you need to discuss it with me in that case. Everything clear? Any questions?” your professor then ended the lesson and you turned to face Molly and Clara.

“How are we gonna do this? There’s three of us.” Clara said, pointing between the three of you. You were just assigned new team project, team meaning two people.

“Ella can be with Noah, they can work on their project after their sex sessions.” Molly said, teasing you with playful smirk.

“Molly, fuck off.” you said with nice smile, showing her your middle finger.

“That’s not a bad idea actually.” Clara nodded along as the two of them looked like they just found cure for deadly disease.

“He has his buddies in this class, he’s not interested in doing school project with me.”

“One, two, three, four aaand five! Perfect!” Molly scanned the area where Noah and his friends sat, pretty happy with the number of them.

“Just text him, or one of us will end up with Anna again.”

“And you don’t want that for any of us!”

Anna was your classmate, short girl with long hair. Clara was paired up with her for another project and she said she’s rather have a bath full of spider than work with Anna again. She didn’t give you details, only that her dorm smells like sweat and that she told Clara she doesn’t take shower more than twice a week to save the planet.

“You’re the worst friends ever.” you ironically said when you pulled your phone out of your bag to text Noah.

“Any chance your friends ditched you for the project like mine?” you hit send and then turned your body so you could see Noah reach for his phone.

He read your text and chuckled before answering you.

“No, but I could ditch them for you.”

Before you could write your response he sent another message.

“Unless you want Trevor to be your partner.”

You looked up to see Noah looking back at you, his face without any emotion so you didn’t know if that Trevor message was just a joke or if he was serious.

“I don’t want Trevor to be my partner.” you sent your reply and before you could see his reaction, you turned back around to face your friends who were patiently waiting for your answer.

“Okay I’ll do it with Noah, but next time one of you will make the sacrifice.”

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

“Do you like any topic from the list?” Noah started the conversation when you two found a free table at the coffee shop in the campus.

“I haven’t read them all yet, do you like any of them?”

“I don’t really care about the topic, you can choose.”

“You sound like a perfect partner, let me see.” you opened the document with different topics and Noah sipped on his coffee. “Workplace diversity, Urbanization and its social impacts, Religion in moder communities, everything’s boring.”

You scrolled some more before something finally caught your eye. “This! Sociology of first impressions: expressions through appearance.” you pointed your finger in the middle of your screen where topic was written.

“Why this one?” Noah asked.

“Because I hate when people judge others based on their looks. I might get angry while doing this project.” you warned Noah, but that only got a chuckle out of him.

“Okay, sign us up for that one.” so you did write Noah Sebastian and Ella Thompson next to that topic so no one could steal it from you.

“Let’s make an outline and we can start on our own parts separately.”

You wrote down ideas and topics you wanted to talk about and when you finished your coffees you were pretty satisfied with the work you’ve done so far.

“How about we work on in at my place on Saturday?” Noah proposed when started packing your things.

“Oh, okay.” you said, surprised by his question. First, it meant that he planned on taking you back to his place on Friday and second, he wanted you to stay and not leave in the morning. But it was because of the project, you reminded yourself.

“Okay. Bye Ella.” he gave you quick salute and left the coffee shop.

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

Sitting on Noah’s couch on Saturday with schoolwork in front of you felt weird. Unnatural.

“So the introduction is done, we can change it as we go on with the rest. I was thinking we could do interview for the practical part of the project?” you looked up from your notes only to find Noah sitting on the floor with his head on the couch and eyes closed. “Noah!” you groaned and threw your pencil at him.

“What? I want to sleep.”

“This was your idea.” you reminded him.

He opened one eye to give the annoyed look, but he knew you were right. He was also a good student and wanted the project to be good, but he was also tired from the party last night and then your bedroom fun that lasted until 3AM.

“Okay. What did you say about the practical part?” he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and sat straight. Sleepy Noah kinda looked cute, but you were sure he was gonna change into angry Noah after you’re gonna propose your ides to him.

“I was thinking about an interview with someone extraordinary.”

“Like?”

“Like, well, you.”

His eyebrows shot up at your proposition “Me? You think I’m extraordinary?”

You couldn’t name the look in his eyes, but it almost looked like it made him sad and surprised at the same time.

“I mean yeah, look at you. You’re what this project is about. Don’t tell me no one ever judged you based on your tattoos.”

He was quiet, confirming what you just said out loud. It was true, he was familiar with the judgement from others based solely on the tattoos that were covering most of his body.

“I don’t think that’s allowed when I’m working on the project.” His answer was short and firm.

He knew that if he’d agreed you’d ask questions like why he got this and that tattoo, the meaning behind them or at what age he started with them. And he didn’t want you to know that, his covered body meant all the obstacles he had to overcome and he didn’t like talking about his past. But you didn’t know that, so before you could shut your mouth the question slipped out.

“Why do you have desolate on your stomach Noah?”

“Stop asking questions Ella, I told you no.”

“It can be anonymous, no one has to know it’s about you.”

“I said no.”

“It can be just few questions, like 5 to 10?” you just couldn’t help yourself and stop your mouth.

“Leave.”

“What?” you looked at Noah, confused by his sudden reaction.

“I don’t feel like working on the project anymore. We can have coffee on Monday and continue.”

He looked hurt, and suddenly you felt guilty.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

But he didn’t answer, instead he started packing your things to show you he was serious about wanting you leave.

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

You didn’t talk about his tattoos on Monday, you talked about the theoretical part of the project. Noah was giving you the cold shoulder, not talking more than he had to.

You couldn’t stop thinking about his reaction to your question about the desolate tattoo. You always wondered what his tattoos mean when you saw him naked, but you never asked. Or you just didn’t have a good excuse to do so.

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

The next Friday you were both more drunk that usual, blaming the beer pong competition for it. When you made it to Noah’s place and you started taking each other’s clothes off, your drunk mind couldn’t help itself.

You slid your hands down Noah’s naked chest and stopped at the desolate tattoo.

“What does it mean Noah?” you asked him in a whisper, your mouth on his.

“What?”

“Desolate. Why do you have it on your body?”

“Because I’m desolate.” he confessed, the lust from his eyes fading away.

“That’s not a nice thing to say about yourself.”

“It’s the truth tho.” he dipped his head in the crook of your neck and started kissing your sensitive skin.

And you pieced all the things you knew about Noah together. He was living alone, in this big ass apartment, he never mentioned visiting his family for the holidays or someone’s birthday. He doesn’t have any pictures of him and his family around the place and his mom never called him at 6 in the morning like yours did.

“What about your family?” he stopped his movements and you felt his muscles tense under your touch.

He pushed himself off of you and sat on his bed, his tatted back facing you. You heard him sigh and push his hair out of his face.

“Why do you care about my family?” he asked just above a whisper.

“I don’t know. You never talked about any family members, you live here alone and you just told me you are a desolate.”

“We said just sex, no feelings. I think that includes this too.”

“Well I’m too drunk so I probably won’t remember shit in the morning.” you lied. And you felt guilty about, but you wanted to get to know him better and the alcohol just gave you courage to continue.

The alcohol probably made him more emotional too, because he believed that you won’t remember what he said to you that night, but how could you.

“I don’t have any family. Parents left me with my grandparents when I was a kid. Haven’t seen my mom since then and I only see my father if he needs money from me. My grandparents died when I was 15 and since then it was just me. I was left with their house and money. I worked through high school so I could afford good college. Sold the house when I was 19 and bought this place. But I got no one Ella, I am desolate. Always have been.” his head was hanging low, his breath became uneven and he closed his eyes to picture his three year old self asking his grandmother when will mom come pick him up.

“Noah,” you didn’t know what to say to his story, you were feeling sorry for him, but you were sure that wasn’t something he wanted to hear. “You made something from yourself, your grandparents would be proud.”

When he didn’t answer you shifted on your knees and pressed yourself at his back.

Noah fell asleep in your arms that night and your view on him changed. He was the great example for your project, how the outside of someone doesn’t reflect his inside.

But in the morning you pretended like you didn’t remember anything he told you and couldn’t figure if he really did not remember sharing his secrets with you, or if he actually didn’t remember.

You finished the project and got almost full score from your professor.

Things between you and Noah stayed the same, neither of you going back to that night or hiss desolate tattoo.

But every time you got the chance, you made sure kiss those letter on his body to silently tell him he’s not a desolate.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Tag list: @lacy1986 @chey-h

Click here to get on my tag list

This story is a work of fiction, with the plot and characters entirely made up. The appearance and name of the main male character are inspired by Noah Sebastian Davis, but the storyline bears no connection to the real person. Please do not steal or repost this work on other platforms without permission.

[mynameismckenziemae]

Hi McKenzie!

I just wanted to say I’ve been following your blog for a while, and I absolutely love the way you write and characterize Bradley Bradshaw. There’s this one post you made a while back about him being touch-starved in relationships that I keep going back to because it was so beautifully written and just felt right for his character.

It got me thinking about something I’d love your take on! I imagine Bradley might have memories of his mom singing or dancing in the kitchen when he was a kid—maybe it was part of their morning routine while she made him pancakes or something like that.

What if, after he’s been with you for a little while and starts staying over at your place, he wakes up one morning and finds you in the kitchen, dancing and singing along to a song while making breakfast? It brings him back to those memories of his mom and makes him fall for you even more because he realizes you’re starting to feel like "home" for him.

I feel like it would be such a soft, intimate moment, and I’d love to know your thoughts on it!

Thank you 🥹 there’s just something about being told something you wrote is beautiful.

The toasty warmth of Bradley’s body and his soft snores in your ear that pull you from your slumber.

His brow furrows but he doesn’t stir as you slip out his hold and there’s no resisting the urge to kiss it before heading to the kitchen to make breakfast.

‘80s Hits’ plays softly on your phone as you pull out the ingredients for pancakes, singing along as you go.

When I see you smile

I can face the world

You don’t hear him get up and the feel of his big, warm hands coming around your waist makes you jump.

“Oh God, you scared me,” you laugh, face heating, “please don’t tell me you heard my singing.”

“My mom…” he rests his chin on your shoulder, voice thick with emotion, “my mom used to sing that song all the time.”

It makes something pinch in your chest.

“I’m sorry Roo,” you whisper, turning your head to kiss the scars along his jaw.

“No, don’t be,” he murmurs, eyes shiny with unshed tears. “just reminded me of her. She would’ve loved you.”

That makes your eyes fill, but his the words he says next for the first time have them spilling over.

“I love you.”

[bitchesuntitled]

Costco

Marcus Acacius x F!Reader wc: 2,421

Summary: Imagine if you will that you work at Costco, there's some weird stuff in the jalapeno poppers and some time travel happens. Warnings/Tags: MDNI 18+ content(GO ON GIT), Sex pollen-ish(?), Unprotected PinV(be smarter than this), jalapeno poppers, costco, inappropriate use of a storage room, explicit language, time travel shenanigans, oral sex, think that's it if I missed anything let me know! A/N: I wrote this for a discord server fic exchange and it is for the wonderful @beefrobeefcal who I also tricked into helping me edit it because she is the sweetest! She's already seen it, I'm just now getting around to posting it. Thank you much to @jay-zzle for the amazing moodboard and helping me brainstorm on this story, without you this would not be a thing <3

Masterlist||AO3

divider by @saradika-graphics

“New! Bacon-wrapped stuffed jalapeños!” The front of the box states. What should be delicious looks more like if someone picked up a dog turd and wrapped bacon around it, trying to pass it off as something edible. John, your boss, was making you pass out the free samples of these supposed stuffed jalapeños.

Surely they aren’t that bad , you think, stomach rumbling, reminding yourself you had skipped lunch today. Glancing around to make sure no customers were about before grabbing one of the samples and popping it into your mouth.

“Oh god,” you mumble past a mouthful of cream cheese, bacon, and jalapeño in disgust. They look and taste like shit. You suppose you can’t expect much from prepackaged frozen food though. The bitter sour taste still on your tongue as you grab your water bottle off the table, chugging some of it to try and rid your mouth of the gross flavor. 

Reaching for the box to check the expiration date on these things, they’ve got to be expired with that sort of flavor. The ground begins to shake violently, toppling the box onto the floor. Your head snaps up to look around. What the fuck was that?

—

All Marcus could remember was running on the battlefield before slamming into this mysterious shelf housing weird colorful goods. A woman in strange clothing gasped, grasping the child next to her, also wearing strange clothes, before quickly scurrying away. Where are their tunics? The footwear they wore looked suffocating compared to his thin leather sandals. He looked around, trying to determine where he was.

Everything in this place was so damn bright and colorful. Not that Rome didn’t have its fair share of colorful beauty, but these appeared ten times brighter than Marcus has ever seen, such as the weird candles above his head that appear to possess the sun’s power with their bright intensity. He starts walking along the smooth stone passage, hoping to find someone he can speak with to figure out where he is and hopefully get some answers on how to get back to Rome.

He spots a beautiful woman in a blue apron standing behind a table. A kind smile graces her face as people walk past her. He thinks she must be selling goods at her table and decides to approach her for help. This must be a sign from the gods. This woman with her sweet smile and beauty beyond anything he could ever imagine, surely she’d be able to help him in his time of need.

—

After eating the supposed stuffed jalapeño, you weren’t feeling the best but you knew the last thing John would do is let you leave. Business as usual, doling out polite smiles as customers pass you by, glancing at the free samples and shaking their heads. No one wanted to try these monstrosities and you didn’t blame them.

“Oh, great,” you huff, rolling your eyes, spotting a man dressed in full Roman garb walking around aimlessly, “Must be some sort of convention in town again.” The man approaches you cautiously.

“Good afternoon,” you say with an upbeat, chipper tone, “Would you like to try some brand new stuffed jalapeño poppers that just came in?” you ask, gesturing to the stuffed peppers before you. “Despite how they look, they are indeed pretty tasty,” you say, giving the man a saccharine smile.

“What?” The man murmurs, glancing at the samples sitting on the table.

“They are a new product we just got in,” you explain, tilting your head to study him. The man continues to stare down at the table; he appears somewhat frazzled, like a small child who has lost his mother in the store. “Have you ever been to a Costco, sir?

“A Cos- what?” The man repeats, brown eyes narrowing as he stares at you. A fire in your veins lit up from his dark eyes peering at you, goosebumps rushing across your skin from his heavy glare.

“Costco,” you gulp, your tongue feeling like sandpaper against the roof of your mouth. You gesture your arms around. “The store we’re in? Listen, you okay, man?” you ask, grabbing your water bottle again.

“Never been here,” he murmurs, gripping the table between you, taking deep steadying breaths.

“It’s all good! I can understand the panic,” you chuckle nervously, taking a swig of your water bottle. The cool water gives your throat a short sense of relief as it travels down your esophagus. “This place is kind of overwhelming your first time. But we like to give customers samples of food so they can try it before they buy it?”

“Is this the local market for your region?” He asks, peering up at you. 

“Market? Region?” You ask, rolling your eyes, “Dude, I get you might be in character or whatever,” your eyes trailing up and down along his form, butterflies flitting about in your stomach as you really take notice of him. His skirt showing off his bare muscular legs, his strong torso filling out the chest plate of the armor he wore, his biceps straining against the fabric of his tunic, “But let’s keep it to today's times, please.” You grab one of the jalapeño poppers and shove it towards him. “Eat it.”

He takes it from you gingerly, fingers brushing against one another and a tingly sensation shoots straight through you to your core, thighs clenching together as you feel a rush of arousal seeping into your underwear. The man looks at you and then at the food.

“Just take a bite of it.” You laugh nervously, “Not like it’s poison or something.”

His eyes narrow at you with the mention of poison and he continues to stare at it.

“Look, I’ll even eat one too, so you know it’s not poisonous,” you murmur, picking up one of the jalapeños and taking a good-sized bite to prove your point. “Mmmm,” you let out an exaggerated hum around a mouthful of the disgusting appetizer. The man slowly brings the pepper to his lips before biting into it, grimacing at the foul taste in his mouth, but continues to swallow before grabbing another to devour. “Hey man, you’re only supposed to take one.” you caution, watching him eat the second sample before he grabs your water bottle, attempting to open it. “Woah now, hold on just a minute there.”

“Water!” he gasps, shaking your water bottle, his big hand gripping the flesh of his throat. “I need water.”

Your eyes widen, nodding dumbly as you open the water bottle for him and hand it over. He snatches it from your hands, suckling down the liquid in heavy gulps, watching as his throat bobs up and down as he swallows. It feels like someone has turned up the heat, your breath coming faster as you watch him. This should not turn you on as much as it is. This man is simply drinking water to quench his thirst.

“W-what’s your name?” you ask, the ache between your thighs growing in intensity the longer you stare, watching as he places the water bottle back on the table with a loud – thunk – he stares at you, his pupils overshadowing the deep brown of his irises.

“Marcus,” he growls. Your cunt flutters around nothing, hearing the baritone of his voice. “And yours?” you let out a small squeak, giving him your name. You can feel the sweat dripping down the column of your spine as you stand there staring at one another. You watch a bead of sweat slide down from his temple, trailing to the side of his neck. It makes your insides scream, wanting to leap across the table and lick it off his skin. You can’t take it anymore.

“Follow me,” you whisper, a small whimper escaping your lips, reaching across the table, gripping his wrist firmly, and pulling him to follow you to the back of the food section. The storage room for the freezers should be a good spot. No one likes going in there because of how cold it is but the frigid temperature doesn’t even register with the way your body feels like it’s on fire.

You grip Marcus’ wrist harder, pulling him in and shutting the door behind you, turning to face him. A puff of air escapes your lips as you breathe out, approaching him slowly, watching his dark eyes drink you in. He grabs your waist, pulling you flush against him, his mouth descending onto your own with a grunt as his tongue flicks against your bottom lip. You gasp, creating enough space between your lips for Marcus to plunge his tongue into your mouth, tongues rolling against one another, fighting for dominance. He grunts, pushing you against the wall, trailing his lips across the column of your throat.

“Marcus,” you pant, breath hitching at the simple touch of his lips against your neck. He groans as your fingers tug his dark curls, “More, Marcus. Please,” you beg, shoving his hand below your apron, letting him feel the heat of your pussy through the jeans that cover your legs. His hand comes to the waistband of your jeans, trying to tug them off before you help him unbutton them and slide them down your legs, kicking off your shoes in the process. Goosebumps ripple down your legs as Marcus’ strong calloused hands caress your skin, inching their way back towards your thighs.

“Beautiful,” Marcus hums, grabbing one leg and placing it on his shoulder, “Such a sight to behold,” he murmurs, kissing the soft skin of your inner thigh.

“Marcus,” you gasp, your hand reaching down to grasp his hair and pushing his face where you want it most. He lets out a deep chuckle, nosing the fabric that covers your mound.

“You smell delicious, sweet girl,” He grins, taking a deep breath in against your pussy. His fingers toy with the elastic of your underwear, hooking them in and pulling your underwear to the side as his tongue makes contact with your center. Already feeling the coil in your belly tightening at the first contact of his tongue. You let out a ragged moan as his tongue swirls against your bundle of nerves.

“Fuck, Marcus,” you whine, and he grunts against your pussy as you tug on his hair. The vibrations against your clit causing the coil to snap inside you. Your back bows as waves of pleasure wash over you. “ Fuckfuckfuckfuck ,” you cry out, smothering Marcus’ face with your juices.

Marcus stands, his lips and chin glistening from your arousal as he looks down at you, “My turn,” he grunts, gripping your waist quickly and pushing you to the nearest flat surface. His hand comes to the back of your neck, gently nudging you down against the pallet of fish sticks. You want to laugh at how ridiculous this all is, but a moan comes out instead, feeling his thick fingers push inside you. The frills of his skirt hit the back of your thighs, and your pussy clenches around his fingers, turning your upper half to try and get a look at him. His fingers leave the warmth of your sex, one hand still gently on the back of your neck while the other reaches under his skirt and tunic, pushing the fabric aside for his length to bob freely, shuffling closer to you.

“Oh gods, I need to feel your warmth around me,” He growls, looking up at the wrecked expression on your face, “This is okay, yes?” he asks, rubbing his tip between your folds. “Please tell me it’s okay,” he grunts, notching the head of his cock at your entrance.

“Fuck yes,” you cry out, the fire in your veins burning brighter from his touch, “Please,” you whisper, your legs trembling with effort to stay upright. Marcus snaps his hips forward, plunging his length into your heat. Your walls create space for him as his thick cock kisses your womb. Your hands scramble, attempting to find something to hold onto. Marcus’ arms reach past your shoulders, caging you beneath him as he grips your hands and shushes you.

“It’s all right, sweet girl,” he coos. “You’ll be fine,” he continues, pulling back a few inches before snapping back into your warmth with hunger. “Remember, it's my turn now.” He taunts, feeling your walls already beginning to flutter around him.

“Oh god,” you whimper, writhing as his length saws in and out of you with fervor.

“Oh gods, look at you,” Marcus grunts, grinding his cock into you harder, “Taking me so well,” he groans, squeezing your hands tighter as his hips continue to move against you. His chest comes flush against your back, “Are you going to come for me, sweet girl?” he breathes against your neck. You let out a pitiful moan and nod. “I can feel how much you’re enjoying this,” he comments with a grin, moving one of his hands down to your center, feeling his length punch into you over and over again.

“Fuck !” You scream out when Marcus pinches your clit, your walls clenching tightly around his cock as your orgasm takes over. It feels like a ball of energy has erupted within your body and zips down all your limbs, ears ringing as you faintly hear Marcus grunting and growling behind you. 

“Oh gods,” he shouts behind you, thrusting into you half a dozen more times before painting your walls with his warm spend, collapsing on top of you. “I have never felt like that,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder.

“Me neither,” you hum, feeling your body floating back to earth.

—

You pull your pants on clumsily as you hear your boss calling your name through the faint buzzing in your ears. 

“The hell are you woman?” Pushing through the freezer storage doors, John shouts, “Why are you back here?”

“I- we- I- well,” you start, smoothing your shirt down before slipping your apron back on.

“Save it,” John huffs, glaring between you and Marcus. “Get him outta this room,” he says, pointing at Marcus, “and start pulling those jalapeño poppers off the shelves. The FDA called every grocery store in the country and issued a mass recall. Apparently, they’re having some weird effect on people,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Sure thing, John,” you huff, walking with Marcus towards the door, giving John a pat on the shoulder, “But I gotta go to the health section first and see if we have any plan B in stock.”

[dgttwisted]

Together

n2 squad aka Leona x Vil x Jamil idea inspired by @mellosdrawings

this drabble is crossing cannons aka not cannon cannon aka (don't think to hard on it i wrote this because i had a cute thought an wanted to wright it)

-

according to the schedule is which dorm takes care of Lilith an Grim which week. as per usual when Vil gets Lilith for a week he spoils the crap out of her. This week will be no exception however he had something a little different planned.

-the night before the new week-

"as you know this week our dorm will be in charge of Lilith's care"

"i know?"

"lucky you"

"well i wanted to do something special we have discussed having kids in the future an i thought all of us could try helping Lilith this week together as a unit"

"sure I'm in as far as kids go Lilith is no where near as hyperactive as Cheka is"

"hate to rain on your parade but that might not work well"

"why not?"

Jamil dramatically points at himself

"oh yea she's scared stiff of you"

"how could i forget she cried her eyes out when you ran into her at night during your stay at the dorm for practice"

"didn't you save her though? during the whole Styx rescue?"

"she was asleep the whole time i doubt she knows what happened unless someone told her I'm pretty sure she has no idea that, that occurred"

"worry not I'll butter her up so when you make your appearance she won't be as scared"

"we'll figure it out sense Vil is dead set on this being a team effort an all" Leona said in a rather dry sarcastic tone which earned him a pillow to the face from Vil.

--the beginning of said week--

Vil had only knocked on the door once before hearing the shuffling as the door swung open Lilith jumped into Vil's arms "VIL!!!!!!"

"my little star!" Vil scoops her up an swings her around

Leona had the biggest smirk on his face he just knows Vil spoils the crap out of her to get that reaction our of her.

"hi Leona...are you sleeping over to?"

"heh yea something like that"

"your not allowed to steal our bed like you did last time jerk!" the shrill voice of grim caused them both to look down at the displeased fur ball. "i'll set you on fire if you do"

"i'd like to see you try-"

"so Lilith not that i need it but i will be getting a little extra help this week watching over you"

"i don't see Rook an Epel"

"that's because its not them this time its Leona an someone else who is very special to me they will be coming over later"

"ok you're here so i know i'll have fun" Vil giving her little kisses on the cheek for that one, Lilith is Vil's trial daughter would have loved to adopt her but was informed it was out of the question.

while Leona an Vil where playing with Lilith they had Jamil sneak into the kitchen the plan is to hopefully bribe Lilith with food to forget her trauma....

Lilith was holding a little tea party she tied ribbons in Leona's hair who just let it happen because Lilith seemed to be having a good time.

"a splendid party like always Lilith!" whenever Lilith is happy she glows so it makes it very easy to tell if she is lying about liking something but she gets rather embarrassed when you point that out.

Jamil had a trey of sweets he only took two steps into the room when Lilith lifted up her head saw him an screamed. 'about what i expected' Jamil thought to himself right before a plastic cup smacked him in the face curtsy of a scared Lilith.

Vil scooped her up trying to calm her down but she was wailing "NO NO GET AWAY!!! MONSTER!!!!"

monster probably hurt him the worse but considering how he treated her while be Over blotted he expected that reaction. he placed the trey on the floor an left the room.

it took Vil quite some time before Lilith calmed down an when she did Leona scooped her up an fed her some sweets gave Vil the look of 'i got this one you get him' an Vil left to check on Jamil

"i apologize i knew she was scared of you but i didn't think it was still that bad"

"you have nothing to be sorry about....this is my own fault"

"i know you didn't mean to-"

"take it out on her? yea well when i over blotted i did! i swatted the rest away an tormented a toddler...."

"but you also saved her even if she doesn't know that you did"

"she won't ever know an that's fine...I'm normally better with kids you know? if we did this whole practice thing with any other kid i could have shown off how capable i am an-" Vil kissed Jamil on his cheek

"i know how capable you are"

--

Leona swaying Lilith about trying to get her in a sleepy mood but she seems to shaken up to sleep. "hay squirt want to hear a bedtime story?" Lilith nodded

"k..." shit guess he actually has to now "long ago...actually it wasn't that long ago probably a week ago a big bad guy with blue flames for hair kidnapped a princess an challenged 5 hero's to stop his evil plan an save the princess they had to split up in order to have a chance of beating him leaving many trials an tests along the way on of those hero's was yours truly an the other was Jamil" hearing his name even during the story made Lilith tremble a little but leona swung her around a bit before nuzzling her face making her giggle "how can a monster be a hero you might be asking yourself? monsters can learn to grow from there mistakes i to had moments of being a monster but i grew out of it" for the most part.

"anyway all the hero's including the monster agreed that we had to save the princess as well as stop him he made it real tough you know every time we made a big attack he kept holding the princess just out of reach so we couldn't save her but i guess it takes a monster to know a monster because the monster saved the princess dove over an grabbed her from the clutches of the bad guy"

"Jamil really do that?"

"yup saw him do it with my own eyes"

"...." she was still fuming "listen kid you don't gotta forgive him for what he did don't blame you if you don't, but i promise you he regrets hurting you an he is trying i promise"

"can i get a different bed time story?"

"nope, you're stuck with the one i gave you"

"Vil would have told me another one"

"I'm not Vil"

Lilith stuck her tunge out him an Leona repeated the motion back at her. "good night little herbivore" he tucks Lilith in an she is sound asleep in minutes.

next morning Jamil making breakfast in the kitchen his plan was just to make food an leave before Lilith woke up. he stopped when he heard a ruffling "grim is that you? you have to wait until Lilith gets her share before you eat it all-" he turned an froze when he saw Lilith peeking from behind the wall just staring at him. he turned away from her so she wouldn't have to look at his face.

he heard tiny foot steps he could tell she was standing right behind him. "thank you" his head went up but he didn't turn around he wasn't expecting that.

"thank you for saving me....Leona told me you saved me from a monster..." she then kicks the back of his leg "i still don't like you though" an she ran away to go get dressed into not P jays

Jamil left standing in the kitchen alone with his thoughts till Vil an Leona came by. "you didn't have to do that"

"what tell her the truth? well i did hopefully she'll throw less stuff at you now-" Jamil rested his head on Leona's shoulder in a very subtle way of saying thank you which Jamil was to shy to say. Leona an Vil hugged him close let him know he wasn't alone an they would figure this all out together.

"hay can i eat food now or do i have to wait till your done hugging an shit" that earned Grim a smack from Vil "you better not say such vile things around Lilith"

"ow! i'd never after all im her role model"

"yikes maybe we should have Lilith move dorms so she has better role models"

"I'm all for that, i say Pomefiore she would have much better role models including Vil"

grim blew out flames "NO SHE'S NOT GOING ANYWHERE"

"aw you do care about her"

"duh! She's my henchmen!"

the three of them laughed as they helped get Lilith an Grim ready for class today.