#if this is not a way to tell him that he loves him i don't know

[dmitriene]

i couldn't wait for summer to post it

a small trip to the beach with simon riley, turning out to be his own personal show of you, tawny, brown eyes that hide beneath heavy eyelids don't leave your form even for a second, the way you look in that pretty, lovely bikini of yours, how the water glistens at your curves, at your sternum, dripping down the seam of your belly, letting the sun rays play with your skin teasingly.

unable to take his eyes off you, he swallows little drool that gathers behind his clenched teeth, fidgeting against the shuffling surface of the sunlounger with his muscular hips, swimming trunks lowered down and able to hide the view of his chubbing, dripping cock, but his pale skin still flushes deep, from the neck and down the exposed, scarred chest, enough to pass for sunburn.

simon waits patiently for you to enjoy the cool water and the bright, shining sun, watching how you smile giddily, run over to him to tell that the water is great, ask him to apply some sunscreen to your body, as his heavy palms sweep and massage over every dip and curve of your pretty body, and it's harder and harder to wait for where you'll be back to the rented beach house.

he strips you right from the doorway, pulling at the small knot of your bikini top to unravel it, let the wet fabric drop at the floor beneath your legs, as he palms needily at your round breasts, kneading, tugging at the supple flesh beneath to hear the heavy, hitched moans that escape your slack lips, before his hands hurriedly descend down your sides to hoist your body up, carrying you over to the bedroom.

you know how desperate simon is when his clothed, fully erect cock presses against the swell of your plump asscheeks, your body bent over the bed, smushed against the silken sheets, as simon's trembling fingers fiddle with the panties of your bikini, almost ripping the wet, skimpy fabric off with a whiny groan, catching a glimpse of your glistening, soaked pussy.

fingers pressing at the sharp curve of your spine, making you perch your ass, meeting the warm, stinging slaps of his heavy hips against your perky backside, weighing on you with his hefty body, with growly, ragged whines that rumble through his chest, sprawled against your back, while your slick heat sucks in every inch of his spasming, engorged cock, seizing tight.

clenching with little pulls, despite being stretched over to the very sting at each pound of his veiny cock along your rippling walls, soppy pussy growing even more warm and oozing wet, pulsing rapidly at each scrape of his fat tip against your spongy, sensitive spot, as you gasp and keen in the heavy palm that cups against the curve of your jaw, holding your face up when your eyes roll.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[aesthetically-dying101]

how would the reader finds out that they were a bet (jjk men) but not only were they a bet but their entire friend group (the rest of the jjk group) knew about it and kept it from the reader?

I've fallen for a lie.

A/N: (inspired by: No time to die, my friend plays it on repeat) so... don't hate me, but personally, i think angst is HILARIOUS. ALSO, this is pure pain and suffering. fluff if you squint. Also i went overboard, like completely, i wrote way too much, my fav one is sukuna's.

DISCLAMER: i got this request 6 or so days ago, i've been working on this ever since, i did not copy retiredteabag (who did this post), someone just requested it on both our accounts. I wrote way too much just to throw this out so like.. yeah, proof (just in case, i just don't wanna start drama), but thank you to the anon that requested this!!!

Contents: pain. grovelling pathetic men. reader standing on bussiness bc i dislike the weepy y/n. yearning but like heartache. (im sorry for the choso/gojo/geto fans, this sucks for yall) nanami is perfect as always bc he's him. mostly angst.. toxic relationships.

Characters: Nanami, Toji, Gojo, Geto, Sukuna, Choso, Shiu, Higuruma. (in that order)

Three years.

Three years of laughter, memories, promises, and whispered secrets. Three years of holding his hand through everything, supporting him when the world felt like it was crumbling, believing that what you two had was real.

And it was all a lie.

Your fingers trembled as you held the phone, the conversation with Haibara still ringing in your ears. Your heart pounded in your chest as each word replayed in your head like an unrelenting drumbeat.

“It was a dare. Nanami was dared to approach you that night at the bar. He didn’t even know who you were at first.”

It was a dare.

Your stomach churned, bile rising in your throat as a cold sweat broke out along your neck. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. You must’ve misunderstood. Haibara had to be joking. That’s the only explanation. But why would he joke about something like that?

The pounding of your heart filled your ears, drowning out the sound of everything else. Nanami. The man you had come to love more than anyone else. The man who had asked you to marry him last month—last month—was a part of some sick bet? A dare?

You grabbed the edge of the table for support, your breath coming in shallow gasps. Three years… Was it all just some game to him? Every soft touch, every shared meal, every late-night conversation? Was it all just some joke? A cruel one at that?

Your hands moved before your mind could catch up, yanking open the closet, throwing your clothes into a suitcase in a frenzy. The pain in your chest was so sharp, so visceral, it felt like a thousand knives stabbing into your soul. This was not happening. Not to you. Not after everything.

Your thoughts spiraled. No, no, no... How could he do this? How could he stand in front of you, gaze so soft, and tell you he loved you, that he wanted to build a life with you? He’d proposed. He’d promised. And now, it was all just a lie.

A dare.

The door clicked open, and the sound of his voice made your heart freeze in your chest.

“(Y/N)?” Nanami called, his tone light but confused, as if nothing was wrong.

You froze mid-packing, every muscle in your body locking in place. You could feel the heat of tears pooling in your eyes, but you couldn’t let them fall. Not now. Not when your entire life felt like it was collapsing around you.

You didn’t turn to face him. You couldn’t.

“(Y/N)... What’s going on? You’re packing—” His voice trailed off as he stepped closer, the sound of his shoes against the hardwood floor making the room feel smaller, more suffocating.

“Stop. Just stop,” you said, the words barely leaving your throat before they cracked.

You turned to face him, your hands shaking, the sight of him making you feel dizzy with anger and betrayal. His eyes widened at the sight of your suitcase, your movements hurried, frantic.

“(Y/N)... What’s wrong?” His voice was calm, too calm, like he was still in control. The nerve.

“Oh, what’s wrong?” you repeated, your voice rising as the weight of the truth came crashing down on you. “You don’t get to ask that. You don’t get to play the innocent card here. You lied to me, Nanami. For three years, you lied to me. And so did they.”

His expression faltered. It didn’t take much—just a flicker of realization in his eyes, but it was enough- and the worse part? You had called him Nanami. His expression was enough to make your chest tighten painfully.

“Y-You don’t understand…” Nanami started, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “Let me explain—”

“Explain?” you interrupted, your voice rising to a dangerous pitch. “You want to explain? There’s nothing to explain, Nanami. You were dared to talk to me. That’s it. That’s where it all started. Everything else, everything, was just... just what? Some twisted joke?” Your fists clenched at your sides, the raw anger and hurt making it hard to breathe.

His face shifted from confusion to guilt, then to desperation.

“I— Yes. It started as a dare, but everything after that was real. I never—”

“You never what?!” You couldn’t control your emotions any longer. “You never thought you’d fall for me? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

The coldness in your voice made his face fall. But he still pushed forward, trying to fix the mess he’d made.

“I swear to you, after that night—after we started talking—I fell for you. I fell hard, and I’ve never once regretted it. I love you. I’ve loved you from the very first time we met, even if it started as a dare, even if it was a stupid game, it was real for me. Everything I’ve said, everything I’ve done for you... It’s been real. I swear on everything, it’s been real.”

“Really?” The bitter laugh that left your lips was sharp, cruel. “You want me to believe that after all of this? After you had the gall to propose to me last month? You think that now is when I should trust you?”

You took a deep breath, each word cutting through the air like a blade. “I’m done. I’m done, Nanami. You don’t get to treat me like I’m a fool. You don’t get to lie to me for three years, and then think you can fix it by saying ‘I love you.’”

You turned away from him, your movements deliberate as you grabbed the engagement ring from your finger. The diamond caught the light, flashing like a cruel reminder of everything that had been taken from you.

You slammed the ring down onto the table, the harsh sound echoing through the apartment. Nanami froze, his eyes wide with shock and pain.

The sight of his face made the sting in your chest even worse.

“I’m not your fucking bet, Nanami. I’m not your fucking game.” Your voice broke, but you forced yourself to keep going. “I don’t need your lies. I don’t need you.”

You could feel his presence behind you, his breath heavy with emotion. “Please, my love, don’t leave like this. We can fix this. I swear to you—”

You turned toward him, your eyes burning with fury and sorrow. “Aren’t you supposed to be the mature one? The one who’s so responsible? The one who’s always so calm and collected?” You stepped toward him, your voice full of venom. “But you’re just a liar.”

You couldn’t stay here. You couldn’t breathe in this suffocating space any longer.

You shoved past him, your heart racing as you grabbed your things and headed toward the door. You slammed it shut behind you with finality, the sound ringing in your ears.

Nanami was left standing there, frozen in the silence of his own regret, the weight of your departure heavy in the air.

And as you walked away, your mind couldn’t shake the image of him, his broken face, his pain.

*-*

Three days. It had only been three days since everything fell apart. Three days since the man you thought you’d spend your life with turned out to be nothing more than a liar—well, not just a liar. A liar who dared to approach you. The realization felt like a poison that had seeped into your bones, one you couldn’t shake. You spent those three days in a fog of confusion, anger, and heartbreak.

You hadn’t gone back to your apartment; hell, you couldn’t. There was nothing left for you there. No trace of the life you thought you were building. So, you did the only thing you could think of: you went to your parents.

They’d been kind, as they always were, but their words didn’t reach you. They didn’t fix the deep, hollow ache in your chest. They didn’t make you forget the way Nanami had lied to you. The way he had made you believe that everything was real… until it wasn’t.

Your mom had tried to rationalize, telling you that maybe Nanami made a mistake, that people do things they regret, that maybe he’d never intended for it to go this far. Your father had simply kept quiet, unsure of what to say, but you could tell by the way he watched you that he was worried.

But none of their words made it past the wall you’d built around yourself. They weren’t wrong. They were just trying to comfort you. But how could you be comforted by someone who had deceived you? You’d given him everything, and now, what did you have left? A broken heart. A destroyed future.

Your mind spiraled as you sat on your bed, staring blankly at the wall. You were so angry, but most of all… you just missed him. You missed his voice, the way his hand felt in yours, the calm that came with being in his presence.

Why did he have to lie? Why did he have to make me believe it was real?

A soft knock on your door startled you. You didn’t move, didn’t respond. The door creaked open anyway, and your mother’s voice gently filled the silence.

“Honey, I know you're angry right now, but maybe it’s time to—”

You didn’t want to hear it. You didn’t want to hear anything about Nanami right now, especially not from her.

“Mom,” you said in a soft, tired voice, “please, just… just leave me alone. I don’t want to hear it.”

Your mother hesitated, as though weighing her words, but then she sighed. “I just… I want you to be happy again. I can’t see you like this.”

Before she could leave, she muttered something under her breath. It was so soft, almost like she was speaking to herself. “You were so happy with him, though. I could see it… We all could.”

You didn’t hear the door close.

You felt the sudden tension in the air before you even registered what was happening. Your heart skipped a beat when you heard footsteps coming toward the room. Your head snapped toward the doorway, and there, standing in the frame, was him.

Nanami.

Your breath caught in your throat. What the hell was he doing here?

Your mother gave you one last look, a silent apology in her eyes, before she turned and walked out of the room.

The door clicked shut behind her, and the silence that followed was suffocating. You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know if you even wanted to say anything to him. He didn’t deserve your words.

And then, in the stillness, you let out a frustrated screech. The emotion you’d been bottling up for days finally exploded. You stood, shoving the blanket off the bed, pacing the room. How dare he show up here? You were so fucking angry. You didn’t even care that he was standing there, looking like he was about to crumble to pieces himself.

“You don’t get to just show up here!” you snapped, your voice shaking. “You lied to me, Nanami! You fucking lied to me, and now you think you can just walk back in and pretend everything’s fine?”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. He just stood there, his eyes dark with pain, his fists clenched at his sides. And then, without a word, he walked over to you, and before you could protest, he shoved something into your lap.

You looked down.

A stack of printed screenshots. What the hell was this?

You picked them up hesitantly, your fingers trembling as you stared at the words on the page. You saw his name. Haibara’s. You saw group messages, text conversations, timestamps. You felt a sickening pang in your chest as the realization began to sink in.

These were from the night you first met.

These were from the weeks after that night.

“I… I don’t understand.” You glanced up at him, your voice shaking. “What is this? What the hell is this supposed to prove?”

He swallowed hard, clearly trying to gather his composure. “Look at the messages. Read them.”

You flipped through the pages. The first few were from that night. They were screenshots of Haibara daring him to approach you, followed by Nanami’s messages in the group chat—messages about how nervous he was, how much he wanted to make a good impression, how he thought he might’ve met the love of his life.

“Why didn’t you tell me this?” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. You felt like you were suffocating. Why didn’t he just tell me this?

His eyes softened, and he took a shaky breath. “I wanted to, but… I didn’t know how to. I didn’t know how to say it without you thinking it was all a lie. I was terrified you’d leave me. But I couldn’t stop falling for you, (Y/N). I swear to you, everything after that night… it was real. I never thought this would happen. I never thought I would fall in love with you, but I did.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you stared at the messages in disbelief. They were real. He hadn’t edited them. You looked up at him, the pain in your chest intensifying.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” you asked, voice breaking. “Why didn’t you just say something? I spent three years thinking it was all a lie. You could have told me.”

“I should have,” Nanami whispered. He took a step closer to you, his hands shaking. “I should have told you sooner. I was stupid. I was so scared that if you knew, you’d leave. But I… I love you. And I’ve loved you from the very start.”

You could feel the weight of his words, but your heart was still so raw, so broken. “This doesn’t just go away, Nanami. You can’t just… fix this.”

His face fell. “I know. I know I can’t. But I’m willing to do anything. I’ll go to marriage counseling. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right. Please, [Y/N]. Please.”

You shook your head, unable to stop the tears from falling. “I can��t just go back to being with you. It’s not that easy.”

He nodded, stepping closer to you. His voice was raw, almost pleading now. “I know. I’m not asking for that. I just need you to know that I’m sorry. And that I love you. And I’ll keep fighting for you… for us.”

The words you wanted to say caught in your throat. You couldn’t decide if you should scream at him or pull him close. You were so angry, but you were also so fucking heartbroken.

But maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the villain in this story. He was just a man who had made the most terrible mistake of his life. And you had been his greatest love all along.

Could you forgive him?

You didn’t know. But maybe… maybe there was a way.

It started like any other day, or at least it felt that way.

Megumi was at school, leaving you with the quiet hum of your and Toji's house. You cleaned, you cooked, you settled into the role you had grown to love. Step-mom. You could never have imagined you'd be so attached to that boy, but there you were. Caring for him, nurturing him like he was your own flesh and blood, even when it felt impossible.

The bond was real, undeniable.

And then… the phone call came. It was innocent at first—a quick check-in from Shiu. But it wasn’t the usual chat about Megumi’s progress at school or the latest movie you all wanted to see. It was different.

It was calculated.

The words hit you like a slap.

"It was a bet, Y/N. From the start. You were never meant to be anything more than that..."

You blinked. You heard him, but your mind couldn't fully grasp it. Your heart tried to deny it.

"A bet?" you whispered to yourself, voice quivering, feeling the blood drain from your face. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Toji and I, we made a bet. You were never meant to be the one. You were just… entertainment."

His words were sharp, laced with a smugness that made you sick. It felt like your entire world—no, your very identity—was just ripped from you in a moment of cruel reality.

You didn’t even hang up. You didn’t even need to. Your thoughts were spinning, dizzy with disbelief and betrayal. How could they? They—your friends, Toji’s closest allies—all knew. They knew, and not one of them bothered to tell you. Not one of them had the decency to warn you.

You weren’t even a person to them. You were a game, a pawn. A prize that Toji had to win.

Tears welled in your eyes. Your heart cracked open like a fragile shell. The life you thought you had built—Megumi, Toji, this family, this home—crumbled. You were just a tool, an object in their bet.

"No." The word broke through the veil of shock, raw and bitter. "No. I can’t—I can’t stay here. I need to leave."

You jumped up from the couch, grabbing your purse with trembling hands. It was like you were on autopilot, moving solely on the instinct to escape. The door. You just needed to get to the door. Leave. Go anywhere. But as you moved to turn the handle, it wouldn't budge.

You shook the knob harder, panic seizing your chest. It was locked. You turned to the windows, but they were all shut tight, reinforced. The walls felt like they were closing in on you.

"Toji," you whispered his name, the desperation in your voice clear.

The footsteps behind you weren’t subtle. You felt his presence before he spoke.

"Where do you think you’re going?" His voice was low, almost soothing, but you knew better. You knew the danger behind the calmness.

You spun around, anger bubbling up, fighting through the layers of hurt. "You locked the door?"

"Not just the door, sweetheart," he said, his smile sickeningly sweet, like it could erase everything he'd just shattered. "You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying right here. With me."

The tears you had been holding back finally fell, hot and painful. "You think I’ll just stay after this?"

Toji didn’t flinch. His eyes, dark and intense, never left you as he took a slow step forward.

"You’ve been good to Megumi," he said, his voice soft but laced with something darker. "You’ve been like a real mom to him. And now, you think you’ll just throw that away? Just like that?" He clicked his tongue, a disappointed shake of his head. "You’re too important to him."

The way he said it… It wasn’t a plea. It wasn’t even a question. It was a claim. A manipulation.

"What are you talking about?"

"You think Megumi won’t miss you?" Toji’s smile widened, and there was something almost predatory in his eyes. "You think he won’t notice? After everything you’ve done for him, after how you’ve helped him… You’re too good to leave."

His hands reached for you then, slow and deliberate, like he was reaching for something fragile, something precious. You backed away, but he was faster, gripping your arms and pulling you into his chest.

"No. No," you said, your voice shaking with the weight of all the lies. "You’re a fucking monster."

"You don’t mean that," Toji cooed, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his breath hot against your skin. "I know you’re angry. I get it. I really do. But this? This isn’t something we can just walk away from. You’ve got a place here now. A real place, with me and Megumi."

You pushed against his chest, but his grip only tightened, unyielding. "You think you can just control me like this?"

"You were a bet," he whispered, his voice rough now, but his grip still unshaken. "But you’re more than that now. You’re mine. And you’re not going anywhere."

Your heart broke all over again as you realized the depth of his control over you, the twisted grip he had on your life. You didn’t know if you hated him more for what he had done, or for what he had become.

"Please," you choked out, voice breaking. "Please let me go. I can’t do this anymore."

But even as you begged, you knew it was useless. The door was locked, and your heart had been sealed shut behind it.

He pulled you closer, almost tender now, pressing his lips to your ear in a way that sent chills down your spine. "Don’t worry, baby." His words were dark, possessive. "You’ll understand. You’re gonna stay here. You’ll stay for me. For Megumi. And you’re gonna love it."

And as you stood there, helpless in his arms, the room spinning with the weight of everything you had lost, you knew one painful truth: you would never leave. Because Toji wouldn’t let you.

And that was worse than any bet.

The world felt softer when Gojo was around.

The way his laughter filled the room, buoyant and unapologetic, made the edges of your anxiety blur. You were tucked away in a corner booth at your favorite cafe, his long legs brushing yours under the table as he speared your last bite of cake with his fork. You swatted at him, mock-offended, but his grin was so wide, so annoyingly genuine, that you couldn’t help but laugh. Gojo had this way of making you feel like the center of his universe, and after four months, you were hopelessly, undeniably in love.

“I’m telling you,” he drawled, tilting his head back dramatically, “you’re the only person who doesn’t find my charm overwhelming.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your smile. “Oh, believe me, you’re overwhelming. Just not in the way you think.”

It was easy, being with him. Too easy. You excused yourself to the bathroom, still smiling, still warm, still thinking about the way his thumb had grazed yours when he handed your the cup of tea earlier. But when you returned, you froze just outside the booth.

“...I can’t believe she still hasn’t figured it out.”

“That’s the point of a bet, idiot,” another voice chimed in, one you recognized as Geto’s.

“Yeah, but four months? That’s dedication,” someone else snickered.

Your stomach dropped.

“It’s Gojo. He always has to win,” Geto said, and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “I mean, she’s cute, but still... a bet’s a bet.”

The air seemed to suck out of the room. Your hand tightened on the strap of your bag as your chest constricted, bile rising in your throat.

Bet? Bet?

Your feet felt like lead as you forced yourself forward. You didn’t look at any of them, didn’t dare meet Gojo’s eyes as you muttered something about not feeling well and left. He texted you an hour later, asking where you'd gone. You stared at his message for ten minutes before replying,

-“Period cramps. Really bad.”

His response came almost immediately: “You should’ve said something! Want me to come over?”

You stared at your phone, fingers trembling as you typed out, “No. I’m fine.”

Dry. Short. Controlled. Your heart wasn’t in it.

When you finally made it back to your apartment, you collapsed onto the couch and screamed into the cushions until your throat was raw. How could he? How could they? The whole group—your friends—had known and said nothing. Your tears burned, but fury burned hotter. Your mind replayed every moment, every kiss, every laugh. How much of it had been real?

The week that followed was suffocating. Gojo’s texts came in, as lively and obnoxious as always, but you gave him nothing in return.

-“Morning! Did you sleep okay?” -“Fine.” -“Want to grab dinner tonight? My treat 😉” -“Busy.”

He called once. You let it ring until it stopped.

At work, you barely acknowledged him. He’d saunter up to your desk, his usual grin plastered on his face, but your responses were curt, your eyes glued to your screen.

“Hey, you good? You’ve been acting weird.”

You looked up at him, expression blank. “I’m fine.”

It wasn’t fine. Nothing was fine.

The next group hangout was unbearable. They were all there, laughing and joking like nothing had happened. Like they hadn’t all played you for a fool. You were quiet, cold, your presence an icicle in their usual warmth.

“Hey, let’s grab a drink,” Gojo said, nudging your arm.

You stared at him, your jaw tight, before jerking your head toward a quiet corner. “We need to talk.”

He blinked but followed you, his usual confidence faltering under your glare. “What’s—”

“I’m done,” you said, loud enough that the others turned to look-god you wanted to humiliate him. “I don’t have time for your bullshit, Gojo. Your childish, manipulative, disgusting behavior.”

His eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb. The bet.” Your voice cracked on the word, but you pressed on, relentless. “Four months of my life, and it was a goddamn bet? Was it worth it, Satoru? Did you win?”

The color drained from his face. “Wait—how—”

“And you,” you snapped, turning to the rest of them. “All of you knew, didn’t you? You’re all assholes. Every single one of you. I trusted you, and you laughed behind my back.”

“Wait, it wasn’t—” Geto started, you cut him off with a glare that could shatter glass.

“I’m done,” you repeated, voice trembling with rage. “Have a nice life.”

You didn’t wait for a response, didn’t look back as you stormed out. Your chest felt like it was caving in, but for the first time in days, you could breathe.

Blocking them was the first thing she did when she got home. Every single one of them. Instagram, Twitter, Facebook (who even uses that anymore??), WhatsApp, even Spotify—gone. You didn’t want any trace of them in your life. No drunken messages. No half-assed apologies. No reminders of what you'd lost, what they’d taken from you.

Your phone buzzed relentlessly for the first few hours. Calls, texts, notifications from burner accounts, and even an email with the subject line, "Please, just talk to me." You deleted it without opening it. You didn’t owe him—any of them—anything.

The silence that followed was both a relief and a weight. Days stretched into a week, then two, and while you were still raw, still angry, you were learning how to exist in the emptiness they left behind.

Gojo, on the other hand, was unraveling.

At first, he was sure it was a misunderstanding. You'd cool off, he thought. You'd always had a fiery temper, but you weren't cruel. You wouldn’t just cut him off.

Except you did.

When he showed up at your apartment with a bouquet of sunflowers—the kind you loved—you didn’t answer the door. He stood there for half an hour, knocking and calling your name until a neighbor threatened to call the cops. He left the flowers on your doorstep, only to find them in the trash the next day, petals wilting, stems bent.

His texts became desperate.

"I messed up. Please, just let me explain." "I know you're mad, but I swear, it wasn’t like that." "I… I miss you. Can we just talk? Please?"

You read them all. Deleted every single one without replying.

At work, he tried to corner you in the break room, but you turned on your heel and walked out without a word. During a meeting, he sat across from you, staring holes into you as if his gaze alone could break your silence. But you didn’t look at him once.

One evening, he left a note on your desk: "Meet me on the rooftop after work. I just want to talk." You crumpled it into a ball and tossed it in the trash right in front of him.

The rest of their friend group tried to intervene. Geto texted you a half-hearted, "I know we messed up. Can we talk? I’ll explain." You blocked him immediately.

Shoko showed up at her apartment unannounced, knocking softly and saying through the door, “Hey, I just want to say I’m sorry. We didn’t mean for it to go this far—”

“Go away.” Your voice was cold, flat. You didn’t wait to hear Shoko’s reply before turning up your music to drown her out.

Gojo hit his breaking point one night when he sent her a long, rambling voice note. His voice was rough, almost frantic.

“I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean for it to turn out like this. The bet—it wasn’t supposed to mean anything! I wasn’t supposed to… to feel this way about you. But I do. God, I do. And now I’ve ruined it. I ruined us. I know I can’t fix it, but please, just… just tell me how to make it right. I’ll do anything.”

You listened to it exactly once. Not to feel anything, but to make sure you weren't imagining the crack in his voice, the sound of him breaking- you almost thought about answering. Maybe there was a valid excuse- no.

It should’ve satisfied you. It didn’t. You deleted it.

Weeks turned into months, and Gojo still couldn’t let go. He went through every stage of grief, cycling between anger, guilt, and desperation. He replayed every moment they’d shared, trying to pinpoint where he’d gone wrong, where he could’ve fixed it before it fell apart.

But you had moved on—or at least, you made it look like you had. Your Instagram was private now, your profile picture replaced with something generic. Your Spotify playlists—once filled with songs you'd joked were about him—were gone. You were a ghost, haunting him in your absence.

And of course, at their next group hangout, you weren't there.

“She’s done with us,” Shoko said quietly, picking at the label on her beer.

Gojo didn’t respond. He was staring at his phone, scrolling through their old messages, reading your words over and over again like they were the only pieces of you he had left.

“I don’t have time for your bullshit.” “I trusted you.” “Have a nice life.”

He wasn’t sure which hurt more: the words you'd said or the ones you never would again.

You were not built for betrayal.

Not this kind, anyway.

The world felt as if it had been turned upside down. Each breath dragged its weight through your ribs, and your skin burned with the realization, a gnawing, buzzing kind of agony that spread like wildfire.

Suguru had been laughing.

Laughing.

“Come on, don’t look so upset,” he’d said the day before, his honeyed voice sweet with mockery. “You’ve been fun. More fun than I thought you’d be.”

The room had frozen. Everyone had frozen. Satoru, with his cocky grin faltering but still plastered in place. Shoko, lips pressed so tightly they’d gone pale. Even Nanami had avoided your eyes. They all knew.

The truth clawed its way into your mind, carving a jagged wound: you were a bet. An experiment. Entertainment. The words replayed themselves in your head over and over, drilling into the cracks of your soul. More fun than I thought you’d be.

And Suguru had led the charge. The man whose quiet kindness, whose quiet smiles, you’d clung to like a lifeline. Who’d called you “special” in the dim quiet of late-night conversations. Who’d made you feel seen.

It was nothing. You were nothing.

*-*

That night, you hadn’t cried. Tears would’ve been too easy, too human. Instead, you’d locked yourself in your dorm, let the cold silence settle into your bones, and stared at the ceiling until the walls blurred into one endless void.

What had been the point? Of everything? Every joke, every shared drink, every time Suguru had rested his chin on his hand and watched you with that glimmer of something in his dark eyes—what had it all been for?

The cruelest part wasn’t even the lie. It was the tiny seed of hope buried deep in your chest, stubbornly whispering: he didn’t mean it. Not entirely. Maybe they made him do it.

You hated that hope.

Hated it almost as much as you hated Suguru himself.

You couldn’t face them the next day. You hadn’t slept. You barely remembered dragging yourself to a bar off-campus, ordering drink after drink until everything blurred.

You hadn’t even noticed the curse until it was too late.

It was stupid, really. They taught you this in your first year: never wander drunk. Never let your guard down, no matter where you were. But you’d been so hollow, so angry. Maybe some part of you had wanted to stumble onto something. Wanted it to hurt.

The curse had been waiting, a writhing, monstrous thing. You were too slow, too uncoordinated to summon even the faintest spark of your cursed energy.

Its claws ripped through your chest. Its teeth found your neck. And all you could think about, in those last agonizing seconds, was Suguru. His face when he’d laughed. The way his eyes had gleamed with amusement.

You didn’t scream.

*-*

They found your body the next morning.

Shoko identified it first. She didn’t speak, didn’t flinch, just stared at the mangled ruin of what you’d been. Suguru didn’t understand at first—didn’t want to understand.

“Who is it?” His voice was calm, sharp. Detached.

When Shoko turned to him, her expression empty, he knew.

His body moved on its own, shoulders tense, hands trembling. He fell to his knees beside you, eyes wide and unseeing as they traced the jagged edges of torn flesh and drying blood.

It didn’t feel real. You were so…still. So quiet.

Suguru thought about the night before, about your face when he’d laughed, the hurt in your eyes that he’d ignored. A hand pressed against his chest, his cursed energy stuttering with each ragged breath.

“You’re lying,” he whispered. “It’s not her.”

No one answered.

*-*

The funeral was quiet.

Closed casket. Your body too mangled to be seen.

Suguru didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. He didn’t do anything, really, except sit and stare at the ground, arms folded tight over his chest as if trying to hold himself together.

Satoru tried to talk to him afterward, but Suguru didn’t hear him. Didn’t hear anything beyond the blood pounding in his ears. You were gone. Gone.

He remembered your laugh. Your voice, soft but steady. The way you’d touched his arm when you thought he wasn’t listening.

The grief hit him in waves. Slow at first, then all at once, crashing over him in an endless tide.

And when it was too much—when the weight of it crushed the air from his lungs—something inside him snapped.

The laughter from that night wouldn’t stop echoing in his head. His laughter.

You’d deserved better than this.

Better than him.

Better than all of them.

That was the day Suguru Geto stopped being human.

The regret ate him alive, twisted and burned inside him until all that was left was rage. At the world. At himself. At everything.

He’d find a way to fix it. To burn it all down and rebuild something where people like you wouldn’t exist just to be broken.

But no matter what he built, he knew one thing:

Your laughter would never fill the silence again.

The room was alive with celebration—the sweet burn of sake, raucous laughter of Sukuna’s inner circle, the murmurs of passing servants. You stepped in, the familiar ache in your chest softened by the sight of him. Sukuna, draped in the loose elegance of his kimono, surrounded by his boisterous companions. His crimson eyes caught yours briefly, and his grin sharpened—wolfish, commanding.

He had always been a man of many faces: a conqueror, a husband, a god in flesh. And yet, for all his unyielding power, you believed there was a version of him that had chosen you. The one who watched you in the quiet mornings with a gaze softer than his cruel reputation allowed. The one who, when alone with you, could almost seem human.

You believed in that man.

Until tonight.

“I’m surprised she hasn’t figured it out yet,” one of the men drawled, drunk on his own amusement.

“Patience,” another snickered. “It’s more fun this way.”

Laughter rippled through the group, but the words fell like stone in your chest.

Figured it out?

The haze of the room blurred. Your hand trembled as you gripped the edge of the screen door. Sukuna’s voice cut through the noise, the resonance of it always unmistakable.

“She’s sharp, though. Too sharp to not catch on soon. You’ve already cost me enough sake with your doubts, Ryota.”

Another bout of laughter.

The world stilled. Your heart was a drumbeat, steady but deafening. Each word he spoke was a dagger slicing through the fabric of your reality.

A bet.

Your knees threatened to buckle as the pieces began falling into place, sharp and unforgiving. The glances exchanged when you entered a room. The veiled smirks. The lingering silence whenever you asked too many questions.

They all knew.

Every. Single. One.

You stepped forward, the warmth of the room no longer reaching you. “What is this?”

The laughter stopped abruptly. Heads turned in your direction. Sukuna, ever the commanding presence, leaned back lazily against the wall, his lips curving into something dangerously close to a smirk.

“Ah, my little wife,” he said, voice like honey over steel. “What brings you here?”

You ignored the question. Your voice was a whisper, sharp as a blade. “What bet?”

The silence was suffocating. Even the drunken fools who moments ago were basking in their audacity now had the decency to look away.

“Tell me,” you demanded, stepping closer, your voice breaking on the edges.

Sukuna tilted his head, as if considering you, weighing whether you deserved the truth.

When he spoke, it was almost casual. “A simple wager, nothing more. They doubted I could make you mine.” His eyes gleamed with something you couldn’t name—amusement? Pride? Indifference? “I proved them wrong.”

The room swayed. You thought you might vomit.

“All of you…” You turned, your gaze sweeping over the room, locking on each face. The betrayal carved deeper with every averted glance. “You all knew.”

No one spoke.

Your breath hitched as you turned back to Sukuna. “You let me believe this was real,” you whispered, the words trembling as they left your lips.

He rose slowly, deliberately, towering over you as he always did. “Careful, wife,” he said, his tone low, a warning wrapped in silk. “You are in my favor now, but that can change.”

The anger burned bright, but something colder seeped in beneath it. A numbness, hollow and vast.

You stepped back, shoulders straightening, the fire in your eyes extinguished. “Of course, my lord,” you said, bowing your head. “My apologies for the outburst.”

He blinked, caught off guard by the shift. “What—”

You didn’t wait for him to finish. With the grace and composure befitting a lady of your station, you turned and walked away.

*-*

The days that followed were excruciating in their monotony. You became a ghost of yourself—a woman of duty, of decorum, of practiced neutrality.

Sukuna, in all his arrogance, thought little of it at first. He smirked when you would rise from a conversation and leave the room upon his arrival. He found amusement in the way your laughter would fall silent the moment his shadow crossed the threshold.

But over time, the smirk faded.

He began to notice the absence of something he hadn’t realized he craved. The warmth of your smile, the brightness in your eyes when you looked at him—it was gone. Replaced by a cold civility that made his jaw tighten and his fists clench.

Servants whispered of the change. You, who had once breathed life into the grand halls of his estate, now walked its corridors like a specter. Even when he tried to corner you, to draw out the spark that had once burned so fiercely, you evaded him with polite indifference.

“Stop,” he growled one evening, grabbing your wrist as you turned to leave the dining room.

You froze, the contact sending a shiver up your spine. Slowly, you turned to face him, your expression unreadable.

“Yes, my lord?”

The words, spoken so softly, so devoid of the fire he had come to expect, made his chest tighten.

“Enough of this,” he snapped, his grip tightening. “Speak your mind.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “There is nothing to say, my lord. I am your wife. I will fulfill my duties as such. Beyond that…” You gently pulled your wrist from his grasp. “There is nothing more.”

It was a lie, of course.

There was anger, still, buried deep within the hollowed-out space where your love for him had once lived. There was pain, sharp and unyielding. There was betrayal, an ache so profound you feared it would consume you if you let it.

But you would not give him the satisfaction of seeing any of it.

And so, you walked away, leaving Sukuna in the silence of his own making.

The house grew colder with every passing day. And though he would never admit it, not even to himself, Sukuna found that he missed the warmth.

*-*

The nights at Sukuna’s estate were long, oppressive, and heavy with silence. It gnawed at him like a dull blade, chipping away at his carefully crafted veneer of control.

He had thought the hunts would help. The thrill of the chase, the satisfying crunch of bone beneath his blade.

But the emptiness followed him, relentless and mocking.

Her absence haunted him. Not in the physical sense—she was still here, still his wife, still dutiful in the way she moved through the estate. But she had become untouchable, locked away behind that maddening neutrality. No matter how he raged, no matter how he tried to provoke her, she gave him nothing.

Sukuna was many things—a tyrant, a god, a king—but patient was not one of them.

So, when the sun dipped low and the moon bathed his estate in its cold light, Sukuna had finally had enough.

*-*

You were in your chambers, the night air cool against your skin as you slipped your arms out of the sleeves of your kimono. The day had been uneventful, like all the others since that night. You had perfected the art of existing without feeling, moving through life as if the pieces of your shattered heart hadn’t left jagged edges that threatened to cut you open from the inside.

You were pulling the fabric down from your shoulders when the door slammed open, the force rattling the delicate wooden frame.

You gasped, clutching your half-discarded kimono to your chest as Sukuna stormed in, his crimson eyes blazing with fury.

“What are you doing?” you hissed, your voice trembling as you scrambled to cover yourself.

He didn’t answer. In an instant, he was on you, his four arms grabbing hold of your shoulders, your waist, your wrists. His grip wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t cruel either. It was desperate.

You froze, your mind racing. Was this it? Had your quiet defiance finally pushed him too far?

“Are you going to kill me?” you asked, your voice steadier than you felt.

He barked out a laugh, sharp and humorless. “Kill you? Don’t tempt me, woman.” He shook you, his claws biting lightly into your skin. “What do you want from me? Tell me how to fix this!”

You blinked, caught off guard by the raw frustration in his voice. “Fix… this?”

“Yes!” he snarled, his face inches from yours. “I’ll kill them, every last one of those idiots if that’s what you want. I’ll burn this entire estate to the ground if it will bring you back. Just tell me what the hell you want!”

Your chest tightened, a whirlwind of emotions surging through you. Anger, disbelief, a flicker of something you refused to name.

“You think you can just—” your voice cracked, and you shook your head, trying to find the words. “Do you even understand what you’ve done? You made me a game, Sukuna. A bet. Do you know what that feels like? To be nothing more than a joke to the man who swore to protect me?”

His grip faltered for a moment, his gaze searching yours. “You were never a joke,” he said, his voice low, almost quiet.

You laughed bitterly, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “Don’t lie to me. Not again.”

“I’m not lying,” he snapped, his frustration boiling over. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine. I don’t care how it started. I don’t care about those fools and their bets. I care about you.”

The words were a punch to the gut. You wanted to believe him, wanted so desperately to cling to the possibility that this wasn’t all a lie. But the wound was still fresh, and your pride was a shield you weren’t ready to lower.

“If I find out you’ve lied to me again,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute, “I’ll go where you can’t follow. You know where I mean.”

His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “Don’t.”

“I mean it,” you said, meeting his gaze with a fire you thought you’d lost. “I’ll end this. I’ll end me.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of your words hanging between you like a blade.

Then, suddenly, he kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. It was rough and demanding, filled with the fury and desperation that had been building between you for weeks. You resisted at first, your hands pushing against his chest, but the dam inside you broke. Your fingers curled into his robes, pulling him closer as you poured every ounce of your anger, your heartbreak, your longing into that kiss.

It was messy and heated, a clash of tongues and teeth and raw emotion. When he pulled back, his forehead pressed against yours, his breathing ragged, you could see the unspoken apology in his eyes.

“Never again,” you whispered, your voice shaky but firm. “I mean it, Sukuna.”

“Never,” he promised, his hands gripping you like you might vanish if he let go.

The tension between you snapped like a bowstring, giving way to something primal and all-consuming. He lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the futon in the corner of the room. The anger and betrayal still simmered beneath the surface, but for now, it was drowned out by the sheer intensity of your connection.

*-*

Later, as you lay tangled in the sheets, your head resting against his chest, you broke the silence.

“I want them all dead,” you said softly.

He didn’t hesitate. “Done.”

You tilted your head to look at him, a faint smirk tugging at your lips. “You’ll regret this, you know. I’ll never let you live it down.”

His lips curved into a smirk of his own, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

And though the wounds between you were far from healed, for the first time in weeks, the room didn’t feel so cold.

It hits like a slap, sudden and cold, pulling the breath right from your lungs.

Choso is staring at you, his eyes wide with that hollow, pitiful look you once thought was endearing. His voice is shaky as he tries to say something, anything, but you can barely hear it over the roar in your ears, the rush of blood pounding in your head. The betrayal tastes bitter in your mouth—sharp, metallic, and sour.

“Y/N, listen to me. It was just—” he starts, but you cut him off, your voice trembling but loud, louder than you ever thought it could be.

“Don’t you dare,” you hiss, taking a step back from him. Every inch of space between you and him feels like a mile, a chasm too deep to ever cross. “Don’t you dare tell me it was just some stupid bet.”

Choso's eyes flicker with confusion, the subtle tremor in his hands betraying the calm he tries to project. “It’s not— it wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

You take a slow, trembling breath, staring at him, trying to ground yourself in the mess of emotions that are tearing you apart. Your mind is a whirlwind, flashes of memories twisting like knives in your chest. The late-night talks, the stolen kisses, the way he’d smile when he thought you weren’t looking. It was all so real, so pure.

But it wasn’t.

Your throat feels tight, your hands trembling at your sides as you finally piece it together. You’d been a bet. A joke, a wager. A way to pass the time. And worse? Everyone you called your friends—everyone you thought you knew, all those warm, intimate moments you shared—knew about it. Knew, and never once told you.

It’s impossible to swallow, the truth. How could they? How could he?

The pieces fall into place with a sickening clarity, sharp shards of realization that lodge deep in your chest. The subtle tension in the air every time you were around them. The way they’d glance at each other when you walked into the room, their smiles too tight. Too practiced.

Your stomach churns, bile rising as your thoughts spiral, the images of them—the rest of the group, the ones you thought had your back—flash before you. Megumi’s quiet looks, Nobara’s silence, Yuji’s forced cheer—they all knew. They all stood by, playing their parts. Feeding you the lies, watching as you fell deeper and deeper into Choso’s world.

Choso. His name tastes like poison now. How could you have been so stupid? So blind?

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, but his apology feels like acid against your skin. His hands are outstretched, as if he could reach you, as if he could fix what’s broken. But he can’t. He never could.

“You’re sorry?” The laughter bubbles up in your throat, but it’s not joyful, not even bitter—it’s hollow. Empty. “You’re sorry? Do you even understand what you did, Choso? Do you understand what you all did?”

His lips quiver as he tries to get the words out. “I never wanted it to go this far—”

“Then why didn’t you stop it?” Your voice cracks, and it’s like a scream trying to claw its way free. “Why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

Choso’s face contorts, a flash of panic in his eyes as he steps closer to you. “I… I didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want you to hate me.”

“I hate you now.” You can’t even hear your own words, the weight of them crashing down on you, but it feels so good to say. So cathartic. The relief is sharp and cold as it spreads through you.

“But I love you,” he pleads, his voice breaking. There’s desperation in his eyes now, a frantic need, like he’s begging for you to just… fix it. But there’s no fixing this. Not anymore.

You shake your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “Don’t tell me that. Don’t you dare tell me you love me when you treated me like a fucking game. How could I ever trust you again?”

Choso’s face twists, the desperation morphing into something darker, almost wounded. “You don’t mean that. Please, Y/N, please don’t leave me. I’ll do anything—just—just don’t walk away.”

But you can’t stop walking. You turn, slowly, not sparing him another glance. Not sparing anyone another glance.

Because they all knew. Every last one of them.

And they didn’t care enough to stop it.

Your footsteps echo in the hollow silence, the air thick with the weight of everything that’s broken, everything that’s ruined. Your chest is tight, the ache in your heart gnawing at you like a thousand tiny daggers. You can’t breathe. You can’t think. You can’t feel.

You don’t know how you get home, don’t know how you fall into bed, curling in on yourself, as if the space could swallow you whole and take away all the hurt.

But it doesn’t. The hurt is there, with you, like a ghost haunting your every waking thought.

They all knew.

And it doesn’t matter that they’re sorry now. It doesn’t matter that Choso is sitting in front of your door, his voice trembling through the wood as he calls your name, begging you to open up.

He’s sorry. They’re all sorry.

But it’s too late. Because in the end, you were never the one. You were never anything more than the punchline to a joke you didn’t even know you were part of.

And no amount of sorrys can take that away.

A Bet. A Dare. A Life.

The room is suffocating. You can feel the heat in your chest, in your stomach—rising, boiling. It burns you like the sharpest ache, and you can’t stop the way your breath hitches every time you inhale. This is wrong. Everything is wrong.

You should have never trusted them. Never trusted him.

It started as a harmless fling. That’s what you thought, at least. But when you looked at him, when he looked at you with that grin—so open, so honest—you could’ve sworn that maybe, just maybe, it was something more. He wasn’t like the others. He wasn’t like the rest of them, the men who flitted through your life with no real intention of staying, their interests as fickle as the seasons.

But Shiu Kong was different. He was soft in his brutal honesty. He was clever, kind in his own way—he made you feel special. That’s what you thought. That’s what you told yourself, over and over again.

And now... now you were nothing more than a joke.

The words come crashing down on you, hitting like a slap to the face. "It was a bet. A dare. You were a dare." Shiu’s voice, like poison, laced with something deeper, something far more disturbing than you ever imagined.

You couldn’t have heard that right. You must be misunderstanding. His eyes, dark and unreadable, bore into yours like they always had. But there was something more behind them now. Something that wasn't there before.

“A dare?” you whisper, too stunned to make it louder, though every cell in your body screams for you to scream. To shout. You force your hand to your mouth, to keep it together, to not let it slip.

“Yeah,” he responds with that same nonchalance, the way he always spoke to you—like it was just another casual thing. “Me and the guys? We... we made a bet. Whoever could get you to fall for them, win the challenge.” His gaze flickers to the side, like he’s waiting for something, some kind of reaction.

And that’s when it hits you. Every damn thing that ever felt real, every moment you shared with him, every laugh, every quiet, stolen glance, was just... staged. It wasn’t real.

He was playing you.

Your body goes cold, a chill taking over your skin. You look around the room, your pulse quickening, and there they are—the others. The rest of the group. They’re watching. Watching you. Watching him. Like it’s all some cruel game, and you’re the only one who didn’t get the memo.

How long? How long did they know? How long had they watched you stumble, watched you let yourself believe in a lie, and said nothing?

You hate them. You fucking hate them.

"Is this... is this what you wanted?" You can feel the venom in your voice, feel the anger pouring out of you like a slow burn. "You all knew, didn’t you? You knew and said nothing. You watched me fall for him, for you, and said nothing. You watched me trust you—trust all of you—and did nothing."

A heavy silence falls. Not a single one of them meets your gaze.

Shiu’s fingers twitch at his side, like he wants to say something, but he’s scared to move. You know him. You know him well enough to see that hesitation. But it doesn’t matter. You don’t care.

"You," you sneer at him, your hands shaking now, trembling with a fury that makes it hard to stay upright. "You were the one I trusted the most. You were supposed to be different."

You feel a lump in your throat, that sickening ache of betrayal tightening like a noose. “You used me.” The words feel like knives. “You all used me.”

His eyes darken even further, but he doesn’t speak. Not even when you let the words break out, shattering the calm, composed mask you’d tried to wear for so long.

“What is it?” You laugh, bitterly. “What’s so special about me, huh? Was I just a joke to you?” Your voice cracks, but you can’t stop it. You don’t want to stop. “Was this all just a fucking joke?!”

“Y/N,” Shiu finally speaks, and his voice cracks too. You can hear the guilt in it, but it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough.

“Don’t you dare try to make this sound like it’s anything other than what it is. You used me. You all used me. All for a damn bet.” The words taste like acid on your tongue. “You made me feel like... like I mattered. You made me feel like you cared. And for what? So you could laugh at me behind my back?"

You can’t breathe. Can’t think. The room spins.

But the most painful thing? The one thing that breaks you all over again, deeper than the betrayal, deeper than the lies, is the way Shiu won’t let you leave.

You know what he’s doing before he even takes a step forward. He’s blocking the door. Like a lion protecting its kill, but you’re not his prey.

You back away, your breath quickening. “Let me out.”

“No,” he says, his voice so quiet now, so broken that it almost makes you want to tear your ears off. “I won’t let you go.”

You stare at him, the desperation in his eyes more than you can bear. “What did you think would happen, Shiu? You think I’m just going to let you walk away with this? You think you can keep me here? Like I’m some... some thing you can possess? You’re out of your mind.”

He steps closer, and you want to push him away, scream, break down, but you won’t. Not now. Not ever.

But he’s already reached for you. His fingers brush your arm, and you shudder, your body recoiling from the contact.

“I didn’t want it to go like this.” His voice cracks again, quieter. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Y/N.”

“You already did.” Your chest tightens, the words coming out as a whisper, as soft and broken as you feel. “You already did.”

You should walk away. You should turn around, tear through the door, never look back. But your feet won’t move. Not now. Not anymore. Because somehow, you’re still here.

You feel the weight of it. Every word. Every lie. It settles on your chest like an unbearable pressure, and you wonder—if you had known, would you have walked away? Would you have let them all slip through your fingers before they did this to you?

You don’t know.

But you do know one thing for sure.

You are done.

It wasn’t just that Hiruguma had lied to you.

It wasn’t just that you had been deceived, manipulated, and toyed with for weeks. It was the realization that every single person you trusted—your friends, the people you leaned on, the ones you thought had your back—had known about it. They all knew about the bet.

The words echoed in your mind, ringing like a bell of betrayal.

“I was dared to date you.”

You stared at him, still trying to process what he had just confessed. Hiruguma stood there in front of you, hands clenched by his sides, gaze trained downward, avoiding yours. There was no defensiveness, no pride in his eyes—just guilt, guilt that sank deep into the pit of his stomach.

There was nothing in his face but honesty, and yet that was the one thing that made you feel even more sick.

"You’re telling me," you whispered, a venomous laugh escaping from your throat, "that you were a bet? That everything we’ve done... that everything I’ve felt... was just some joke to you?"

Hiruguma swallowed hard, his throat constricting at your words. His voice was soft but steady when he answered. "I was dared. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you. I didn’t think I would. But… I did. It became real."

You could hear the sincerity in his voice, but it made your skin crawl. It felt like nails on a chalkboard.

A part of you, somewhere deep inside, wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe that maybe this wasn’t all just some sick joke. That maybe he hadn’t done it because of the dare. That maybe, somehow, this could still work. But the other part of you, the part that still couldn’t breathe properly, the part that felt like you were drowning in an ocean of betrayal, knew better.

You’ve been played.

You clutched the hem of your shirt, fighting the tears that had already started to well up in your eyes. You had to hold it together—just a little longer. You didn’t want him to see how much he’d hurt you. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how deep the knife had cut. But as the anger and betrayal boiled up inside you, the words started pouring out before you could stop them.

“Are you kidding me? And what about them?” You gestured violently toward the group of friends that had always been around you—Yuji, Megumi, Nobara. You couldn’t even look at them now. “They all knew, didn’t they?”

Hiruguma’s silence said everything. He didn’t need to speak; his lowered eyes were enough to confirm what you already knew. The rest of the group had kept it from you. They all knew. They all watched. They all let you fall for this, and they did nothing.

They’re complicit.

They lied to you, too.

"Why?!" Your voice cracked. "Why would they do this? Why would you do this to me?"

You could feel the tears beginning to fall despite your best efforts to hold them back. But no matter how hard you tried, they came, and soon enough you couldn’t breathe properly. It was the worst feeling in the world—the overwhelming sensation of being so utterly deceived that you couldn’t even trust your own mind anymore.

Hiruguma stepped closer, but you backed away instinctively, your chest tightening. “I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted to make you feel this way,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I’ve always wanted you. I wanted to be with you... not because of a dare, but because I—"

“Shut up!" You snapped, your voice harsh, sharp. "Don’t you dare make this about you now. Don’t you dare."

His shoulders slumped, and his face contorted with remorse. He looked like he was physically crumbling, but it did nothing for you. All you could feel was the weight of the betrayal, pushing you deeper into the ground with every breath.

You squeezed your eyes shut, holding back the floodgates. You couldn’t look at him. Not now. Not when everything about him felt like a lie. Your thoughts were a mess—a tornado of anger, hurt, confusion, and disbelief. It felt like everything you had been living was ripped away in a single moment.

"You should’ve just left," you muttered bitterly, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. "You should’ve told me the truth from the start. Then maybe I wouldn’t have—" You paused, your voice breaking before you could say it. "Maybe I wouldn’t have fallen for you."

Hiruguma looked stricken, his face pale. He stepped forward again, but you didn’t budge. You weren’t sure if you wanted him to be closer or farther away. His presence was a paradox now—both a comfort and a source of pain.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything," he whispered. "But I swear, this... the bet—it doesn’t matter anymore. I want you. I love you. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I did, and I’m sorry for that. I’ll do anything... anything to make it right.”

You could feel him watching you, could feel his eyes on you like a weight that wouldn’t lift. But you couldn’t face him—not now. Not when everything you thought you knew had been shattered. Your thoughts screamed for clarity, but all you could do was stand there, numb, overwhelmed by the quiet ache in your chest. The emptiness where love once lived.

“You can’t just take back what you did,” you finally whispered, the words coming out hoarse. “You can’t just undo all the lies. All the people who knew—who watched me fall and did nothing.”

His eyes went wide, and he immediately looked to the others, your friends, who had been standing off to the side, lingering like ghosts in the background. “I know,” he said, voice low and broken. “I know they were wrong, too. They should have told you. I should’ve told you.”

You wiped your face again, taking a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "I need time. I need space," you said, a trembling note in your voice. You were shaking all over, your emotions a storm you couldn’t control.

But deep down, as much as it hurt, as much as you hated everything that had happened, there was a part of you—small, fragile—that couldn’t completely let go. Not yet. Not when everything had been so real between you. Not when the love you felt for him had meant something, had been real for you.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asked, voice so quiet you almost missed it.

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you closed your eyes, taking in a shaky breath.

“No,” you said after a long pause, finally looking up at him with wet eyes. “I don’t want you to leave. But we... we have to start over. From scratch. Like we’ve never met before. If we’re going to do this, it has to be all the way. No lies. No more games.”

His expression softened, and there was something in his eyes—something you hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t relief, not exactly. But it was an acknowledgment. A silent promise.

"I swear. No more games," he said, his voice steady and firm. "I’ll do whatever it takes. No more bets. Just us."

And with that, the first fragile seed of hope began to take root inside you, despite everything. You weren’t sure how long it would take for things to heal, or even if they would—but for the first time in what felt like forever, you believed that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for something real to begin.

A/N: this was wayyyyy too long, anyways yuhhh, i loved writing this! Thank you to the lovely anon who requested, i mean it, thank you to every anon who's sent me requests, y'all are too cute

Masterlist.

:)

[genderqueerdykes]

just kind of throwing this at your wall, sorry in advance. saw the post about "kill all men" and got really upset

im a trans guy. my boyfriend is cis, and im the first guy hes dated before. (sees me fully as whatever i want to be, does not care about my gender expression and loves me for me. great guy). he doesnt have many friends from being asocial as a teenager, so most of his friends are my trans friends!

of course. like every trans group seems to fall prey to, theres always the "all [CIS] men are bad" conversation that comes up somehow. and i never really thought much of it, because in my head itd be "ah yeah all men Except My Boyfriend"

but he and i were talking after some drinks, and he made a point that really struck me. about how he doesn't like being The Exception to the point, that he's still a man and has no interest in being anything But a man. so when people say stuff like that, he gets uncomfortable; not because He IS The Problem (like everyone who gives the "if youre saying not all men, youre the men" argument) but because it makes him feel ostracized from everyone. and idk, it really struck me.

we say stuff like that way too often in an attempt to exclude certain groups of people; and i feel like we end up excluding people close to us by proxy.

thanks for listening

i really appreciate you for taking the time to send this. i've been meaning to talk about this and have been forgetting. the following is of course not directed at you, anon, it is directed at people who behave like this

you're not feminist, progressive, cool, pro-queer rights or funny for saying "kill all men". you are exposing that you are a violent and dangerous person for believing that people should be profiled and literally killed for their gender or PERCEIVED gender.

this doesn't make people like you more. it outs you as a danger. how do we know you won't turn that hatred toward women whenever you feel like changing the goalposts? i can't trust someone like that to not turn that hatred toward other genders, either. YOU are the dangerous person you are profiling men as. you can't use men as a scapegoat for everything. sometimes YOU are the violent person who needs help.

your boyfriend shouldn't have to feel like that. like people have never really cared about gay men but people just straight up gave up all pretenses that they do and i hate it. cis men are not inherently evil. cis men can still be queer. cis men can still be good people. your boyfriend shouldn't have to feel isolated because he's cis. that's profiling. he belongs. why do people assume that everyone with a partner who is a man hates them? not everyone is choosing to be in a relationship with someone they hate. i understand that some people will date someone no matter who just to have a partner so they're not lonely, but not everyone does this. some people genuinely love their boyfriends

i'm sorry you both have dealt with this. i hope things can improve because men don't deserve to feel like this. this is why toxic masculinity exists in the first place. we have to stop reinforcing that men are evil monsters. they won't stop believing that if we keep telling them that forever. stay safe. your boyfriend is not a bad person & deserves to have a wonderful life.

[ch0llies]

EARNED IT | MATTHEW STURNIOLO. PT.5

pt.1 - pt.2 - pt.3 - pt.4

brothersbestfriend!matt x innocent!reader

You're an 18-year-old high school senior, the innocent little sister of Matt's best friend. Which means off-limits in every way. But 22-year-old college hockey player, Matt can't ignore the way you cling to him, asking dangerous questions with trusting eyes. You don't understand the fire you're playing with- but Matt does. And he's burning to teach you what happens when you get too close.

story warnings: smut, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap) p in v, virginity loss, squirting, creampie, multiple rounds, multiple orgasms, corruption kink (if u squint), brothers best friend, getting caught, pet names (sweetheart, angel, my love), age gap (four years), etc. all characters are of age. If any of these topics upset you...don't read!

word count: 6k

ib: @ariestrxsh’s young god

“You’ve earned it now for sure, sweetheart. You ready?”

His words send a sharp thrill down your spine, heat pooling low in your stomach at the sheer possession in his tone. His fingers curl under your chin, tilting your face up further, forcing you to hold his gaze. His blue eyes are still dark, still hazy, but there’s something new simmering beneath the surface now- something wicked, something insatiable.

“Did you like that, angel?” His voice is rough, still laced with the remnants of his pleasure, but now there’s an edge to it- low and dangerous, laced with the promise of something more.

You don’t answer, but the way your breath hitches, the way your thighs press together instinctively, tells him everything he needs to know.

A slow smirk tugs at his lips as his grip shifts, fingers ghosting along your jaw before trailing lower, his knuckles grazing the rapid pulse at your throat. His touch is featherlight, teasing, as if testing just how much you can take.

“You’ve were so good for me,” he murmurs, his thumb swiping across your lower lip, pressing just enough to part your lips slightly. “I think it’s time I take care of you again, yeah?”

The anticipation coils tight in your stomach as he leans forward, his breath hot against your skin. His free hand slides down, fingertips skimming your arm before tracing over your waist, your hips, until he’s gripping you firmly, pulling you closer.

“You want that, don’t you, sweetheart?” he purrs, his lips brushing just below your ear, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine.

Your body betrays you before you can even answer- your fingers gripping onto his thighs, your breath coming out in a shaky exhale.

Matt chuckles, low and knowing, the sound vibrating against your skin.

“That’s what I thought.”

His hands tighten, his grip firm and unyielding as he pulls you onto his lap in one swift motion, your knees bracketing his hips, your hands landing against his chest. His skin is still warm, his dick hard beneath your slick heat.

The way his gaze drags over you- slow, possessive, like he’s already imagining all the ways he’s about to ruin you makes your stomach flip.

His hands slide down, gripping your hips, holding you there like he’s savoring the moment, like he’s memorizing the way you feel against him.

“You’re shaking,” he notes, voice dark with amusement. “What’s the matter, angel? Too much?”

You shake your head, but he tuts, tilting his head.

“No? Then why don’t you show me just how much you can take?”

The challenge hangs between you, thick with heat, and before you can second-guess yourself, your fingers dig into his shoulders, and you move- shifting against him, running your slick folds him. You don’t know why you’re doing it, but for whatever reason you had the painful urge to create friction between you and him.

Matt’s breath hisses through his teeth, his grip on your hips tightening like a warning.

“Careful, sweetheart, ” he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, rough with restraint. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”

You don’t understand what he’s saying and your mind is too polluted with the feeling of him hard and warm against you so you shift again, just slightly, and that’s all it takes. Matt’s patience snaps.

A low growl rumbles from his chest, and before you can react, his hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he moves.

Your gasp barely has time to escape before you’re in the air, weightless for a moment as he lifts you with ease. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, legs dangling around his waist as he carries you, his grip firm and unyielding, his movements purposeful.

Your heart pounds, breath catching in your throat as he strides across your room.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” Matt murmurs against your ear, his voice deep and wrecked, laced with something raw, something possessive.

Your body shivers in response, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him, your nerves warring with your excitement.

You feel your cool silk sheets against your back as he lays you down, his weight following immediately after, pressing you into the mattress.

His hands roam, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the feeling of you beneath him. His blue eyes are dark, hooded, filled with something almost reverent as he takes you in- every curve, every inch of skin exposed to him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing a slow, teasing path down your side, his touch featherlight, making you shiver.

His lips find yours- soft at first, coaxing, but quickly turning hungry, desperate. He kisses you like he’s been starving, like he can’t get enough, his hands never still, never stopping.

“You sure about this?” he rasps against your lips, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot, uneven.

The concern in his voice tugs at something deep in your chest, and it only makes you fall harder.

You nod, biting your lip, eyes wide and full of trust as you whisper, “I want this. I want you.”

Matt groans, his hand slipping beneath your thigh, dragging it higher around his waist as his lips move to your neck, leaving a trail of slow, open-mouthed kisses.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs, his voice rough with restraint, his self-control hanging by a thread.

But he won’t rush. Not with you. Not when he finally has you where he’s always wanted you- completely his.

And tonight that’s exactly what you’ll be.

Matt exhales sharply, his forehead pressing against yours for just a second as he gathers himself, as if grounding himself in this moment. His fingers trail lightly along your side, tracing the delicate curve of your waist, his touch so careful- like he’s handling something precious.

Because to him, you are.

“You’re nervous,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, lower, laced with something almost tender. His fingertips ghost over your arm, your shoulder, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “It’s okay, my love. You don’t have to pretend you’re not.”

Your breath hitches, and you nod, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt as you try to steady yourself. He’s right- you are nervous. Your heart is racing, your stomach tight with anticipation, with the weight of everything this moment means. But you trust him.

“I just… I don’t know what to do,” you whisper softly, your voice a squeak. Your cheeks heat at the confession even though he already knows. It’s still embarrassing to you how inexperienced you sound, how vulnerable.

Matt groans, his hands flexing against your hips. “Fuck,” he breathes, shaking his head slightly, like he’s trying to rein himself in. “You have no idea how much that turns me on, do you?”

Your lips part, confused, and his gaze darkens, his fingers tilting your chin up.

“You’re so innocent,” he murmurs, almost to himself, like he can’t believe it, like it’s something he’s savoring. “So sweet. So fucking pure.”

His thumb brushes against your lower lip, dragging it down slightly, and his eyes flicker up to meet yours. “And you’re giving yourself to me,” he says, voice thick, reverent. “Letting me be your first.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the weight of his words, at the intensity in his gaze, like he’s memorizing every second of this, like this means just as much to him as it does to you.

“I want it to be you,” you whisper, your fingers curling around his wrist, holding onto him, grounding yourself in him. “I trust you, Matt.”

He groans again, low and wrecked, his restraint visibly unraveling at the edges. “Jesus Christ, sweetheart,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, your jaw. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

His lips trail lower, slow and deliberate, down your throat, to the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. He takes his time, pressing soft, lingering kisses to every inch of exposed skin, his hands never rushing, never demanding.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he reassures you, his voice gentle but firm. “Just let me take care of you. Let me show you how good I can make you feel.”

His fingers slide down your sides, mapping out your body with reverence, learning you, memorizing you. He’s slow, patient, making sure you feel everything, making sure you have time to adjust, to breathe.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your collarbone. “So perfect.”

Matt hovers over you, his weight supported on his forearms as he strokes your cheek with the back of his fingers, his touch impossibly gentle. His blue eyes search yours, dark but soft, so full of something deep and unspoken.

“You’re absolutely sure?” His voice is rough, barely above a whisper, but beneath it is a layer of concern, of restraint.

You nod, swallowing hard, your fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt. “Yes,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly. “I want you.”

Matt exhales slowly, his jaw clenching like he’s trying to keep himself in check. “Okay, angel,” he murmurs, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead. “I’ve got you.”

His hand traces down your sides again, warm and steady, grounding you as he uses his other hand to position himself, swiping the head of his cock through your slick folds a few times, collecting your arousal that’s dripping onto your thighs.

You both moan at the contact, your eyes glued to his cock, his eyes glued to you. Every movement is unhurried and deliberate- like he’s savoring every second, like he’s making sure you’re ready.

But when he finally starts to push in, your breath catches- your entire body tensing at the unfamiliar stretch, the slow, burning pressure.

Matt freezes immediately, his grip on your waist tightening as his forehead drops against yours. “Shit,” he breathes, voice tight. “You’re so -fuck- so tight, angel.”

A small whimper escapes you, your nails digging into his shoulders. It’s more than you expected- it aches, a deep, overwhelming pressure that steals the breath from your lungs.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “Matt-” Your voice wobbles and comes out small and uncertain. You knew he looked big, but you didn’t know it would feel this big.

His head snaps up, and the second he sees your expression, his entire demeanor shifts. His hands cup your face instantly, his thumbs wiping at the wetness gathering beneath your lashes.

“Hey, hey- sweetheart, it’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, soothing. “I’ve got you. We don’t have to do this, okay? Just say the word, and we stop.”

You shake your head quickly, your fingers tightening around his biceps. “No- I want to,” you insist, though your voice is barely a whisper. “It just… it just hurts a little.”

Matt swallows hard, his restraint written all over his face, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t push any further. Instead, he leans down, pressing a slow, tender kiss to your lips.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” he breathes against your mouth. “So good for me.”

His hands stroke your sides, slow and reassuring, easing the tension in your body. He kisses you again. Kisses your lips, your jaw, your neck- each one gentle, patient, as he gives you time to adjust.

“Just breathe for me,” he murmurs, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. “Relax, my love. Let me in.”

You take a shaky breath, trying to will your body to unclench, and slowly, bit by bit, the burn starts to fade. It’s still overwhelming, still a stretch, but the pain begins to dull, replaced by something warmer, something deeper.

Matt watches your face carefully, his fingers brushing soothing circles into your skin. “Better?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

You nod hesitantly. “Yeah… better.”

He exhales in relief, pressing another soft kiss to your lips before he moves, just a little, just enough to make you gasp.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs against your skin. “You’re taking me so well.”

You feel so impossibly full- stretched beyond anything you ever thought possible. It’s overwhelming, an ache that borders on too much, like your body is being split apart, struggling to take all of him.

A fresh wave of tears prick at your eyes, your breath coming in shaky, uneven gasps as you shift slightly, trying to adjust.

“Are you… are you all the way in?” you whisper, your voice small.

You prop yourself up on trembling elbows, forcing yourself to look down and the second your gaze lands between your bodies, your stomach drops.

He’s not even halfway there.

Your eyes widen, lips parting in silent disbelief, and when you snap your head up to meet his gaze, Matt is already watching you.

His blue eyes are dark, searching, laced with nothing but pure lust, his jaw tight as he takes in your expression.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low, strained, like he’s barely holding on.

You swallow thickly, your fingers clutching onto his arms, your entire body trembling beneath him.

“I…” You trail off, unable to form words, the realization hitting you like a freight train as you lay back down.

Matt exhales sharply, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath hot and uneven.

“We’ll go slow,” he murmurs. His hands stroke over your thighs, your waist, smoothing over your skin in silent reassurance. “I’ve got you. I promise.”

His lips brush against yours, soft and patient, as he whispers against your mouth. “Just breathe for me.”

And as he finally, finally sinks in all the way, filling you completely, his hands never stop touching you, never stop soothing you.

Matt stills the moment he’s fully inside you, his breath ragged, his arms nearly trembling as he holds himself still. His forehead presses against yours, and for a long moment, the only sound in the room is the shared rhythm of your breathing, the quiet hum of your bodies pressed so intimately together.

“Fuck,” he rasps, his voice barely above a whisper. “You feel so good, angel- so warm, so tight.”

You whimper softly, still adjusting to the overwhelming fullness, the deep stretch that leaves you breathless. Your body is still tense, still unsure, but Matt doesn’t move, doesn’t rush, doesn’t do anything except hold you close, his lips brushing against your cheek, your jaw, the tip of your nose.

“You okay?” he murmurs, his fingers tracing slow, comforting circles against your hip.

You nod hesitantly, your hands clutching at his shoulders, your fingers digging into the firm muscle beneath your touch. “It’s… a lot,” you admit, your voice small, shaky.

Matt exhales sharply, his grip tightening like he’s barely holding himself together. “I know, my love,” he soothes, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. “I know. Just breathe for me, yeah? Let your body relax.”

His hands continue moving- gliding up and down your sides, ghosting over your stomach, slipping beneath your thighs to pull you just a little closer. He kisses you again, deep and slow, his tongue tracing along your lower lip, distracting you, coaxing you into letting go of the last bit of tension.

And when you finally, finally exhale, your muscles softening beneath him, Matt groans, his jaw clenching.

“That’s it,” he breathes. “That’s my good girl.”

He pulls out just an inch before easing back in, slow and careful, watching your face the entire time. You gasp, nails digging into his back, overwhelmed by the sensation, the way he fills you so completely, like he was made to fit against you, inside you.

Matt’s breathing is ragged now, his control visibly fraying, but he keeps his pace slow, keeps his movements gentle as he only pushes about and inch out and back into you. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he murmurs, kissing along your jaw. “Taking me so well- being so good for me.”

Your body starts to adjust, the discomfort slowly fading, replaced by something warmer, something that makes your toes curl and your breath stutter. A soft moan escapes you, and Matt groans in response, his fingers tightening against your hips.

“That’s it,” he encourages, his voice rough, strained. “Feels better, doesn’t it?”

You nod breathlessly, your hands sliding up his arms, over his shoulders, clinging to him as the warmth between your legs grows, the pleasure building in slow, tantalizing waves.

“Please,” you whisper, not even sure what you’re begging for, only knowing that you don’t want him to stop, don’t want this moment to end.

Matt groans like the sound of your voice is his undoing. “Fuck,” he breathes, his movements still slow but deeper now, more deliberate. “You’re gonna drive me insane.”

He presses his forehead against yours, his breath hot against your lips, his body moving against yours in a rhythm that feels like a confession, like worship. Every roll of his hips is measured, controlled, like he’s savoring you, like he wants this to last forever.

“You’re mine now,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth, his voice thick with possession. “You know that, right?”

You shiver beneath him, nodding without hesitation. “Yes,” you whisper.

His lips curl into a smirk against your skin, and his fingers lace with yours, pinning your hands above your head.

“Good girl.”

And then he moves, slow and deep and perfect, and you finally, finally surrender completely.

Matt’s slow, controlled thrusts start to falter, his breathing growing heavier, more uneven. He’s been holding back, reining himself in, treating you like something fragile, something delicate. But the second you moan his name, the second your nails scrape down his back, something snaps inside him.

“Fuck-” he groans, his grip on your hips tightening. “You’re so fucking tight, baby. So perfect for me. I can’t hold back anymore. Tell me if you need me to stop, yeah?”

His pace picks up immediately, his movements more desperate, more intense. The deep, steady thrusts give way to something rougher, something needier, like he can’t get enough of you, like he needs to feel every inch of you wrapped around him.

“You wanted this, didn’t you?” he growls against your ear, his voice dark, strained with pleasure. “Wanted me to ruin you?”

You whimper beneath him, barely able to form words, your body overwhelmed by the way he’s taking you now, by the way he’s making you feel.

He smirks against your neck, biting down just enough to make you gasp. “Look at you,” he murmurs, his lips tracing down your jaw. “Taking me so fucking well. Such a good girl for me.”

His words send a fresh wave of heat through you, your body arching against him, craving more. He notices, of course he notices, and groans, one hand slipping between your bodies, fingers finding the most sensitive part of you.

“Fuck- listen to you,” he breathes, his fingers working you in slow, devastating circles. “So fucking needy for me. You like this, don’t you? Like being my good girl?”

You nod frantically, barely able to think straight, the pleasure building so fast it leaves you dizzy.

Matt chuckles, dark and satisfied, his other hand gripping your thigh, pulling your leg over his shoulder to take him even deeper.

“That’s it, baby,” he groans, his pace relentless now, his hips slamming into yours with every thrust. “God, you feel so fucking good. So perfect. All mine.”

You’re close- you can feel it, the pleasure coiling tight, ready to snap. Your hands grip his shoulders, your body trembling beneath him, and he notices that too.

“You gonna cum for me, sweetheart?” he murmurs against your lips. “Gonna let me feel you fall apart on me?”

You nod, whimpering his name, and that’s all he needs.

His fingers move faster, his thrusts growing rougher, deeper, hitting that spot that makes you cry out, your entire body tightening around him.

“Come on,” he groans, his voice wrecked. “Be the good girl you know you are and cum for me.”

Everything shatters.

Pleasure crashes over you, white-hot and overwhelming, your entire body trembling as you fall apart beneath him.

Matt groans, feeling your body tense and shudder around him as your climax washes over you. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps, and he watches you unravel beneath him with a look of pure possession.

“That’s it, baby,” he breathes, his fingers still working you through your high, dragging out every last pulse of pleasure. “So fucking beautiful when you cum around me.”

But he isn’t done. Not even close.

His hips never stop moving, never stop thrusting deep into you, and the overstimulation has you whimpering, your body twitching as he keeps pushing you past your limit.

“Too much?” he teases, smirking against your neck as he rolls his hips just right, making your back arch off the bed. “You can take it, sweetheart. Just let me make you feel good.”

You whimper, overwhelmed, but the heat in your stomach is already building again, the sensitivity morphing into another wave of unbearable pleasure.

“You wanted me to make you feel good, didn’t you?” Matt growls, his hands gripping your thighs, spreading you open wider as he pounds into you with deep, bruising thrusts. “Wanted me to use this perfect untouched little body until you crumble?”

You can’t even answer, your words turning into breathless moans, and Matt groans, his pace rough and unrelenting.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he growls, his head falling against your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. “So tight, so fucking perfect- God, I’m not gonna stop. Not until I’ve had my fill of you.”

He moves your other leg over his shoulder, sinking even deeper, and you cry out, your whole body jolting from the intensity of it.

“That’s it,” he praises, his hands roaming over your body, gripping your waist, your thighs, your breasts. “Let me hear you, sweetheart. Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

You’re already close again- your body hasn’t had time to recover, the pleasure slamming into you with relentless force.

“You gonna cum for me again?” Matt grits out, his voice wrecked, strained. “Come on, baby, give me another- wanna feel you squeeze me again.”

His fingers press harder, rubbing tight, devastating circles against your swollen clit, matching the deep, punishing rhythm of his hips. The pressure is unbearable, the heat coiling so tightly in your stomach that you can barely breathe.

“Matt-” you gasp, your entire body locking up, your back arching as white-hot pleasure rips through you.

But this time it’s different.

Your orgasm hits you like a fucking tidal wave, crashing into you with so much force that your vision blurs, your breath catches, your legs shake uncontrollably over his shoulders. A sharp, helpless cry rips from your throat as your body clenches so hard around him that he groans, his rhythm faltering.

A sudden rush of liquid spills between you, soaking the sheets, drenching his stomach, your thighs, everything.

For a split second, your mind goes blank.

Your body shudders violently, your chest heaving, your limbs weak, your head spinning.

Matt stills.

You’re panting, shaking, blinking up at him in shock, completely dazed, barely able to comprehend what just happened.

Matt exhales sharply, his jaw tightening, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulls back slightly, looking down at the mess between you.

His lips part, his eyes darkening, and then he lets out a low, guttural groan.

“Holy fuck.”

Your face burns, your stomach twisting in embarrassment. You have no idea what just happened.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, mortified, trying to close your legs, trying to hide, but Matt’s hands clamp down on your thighs, spreading you open again.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growls, his voice low, feral, dripping with pure, unfiltered desire. His thumb swipes through the wetness, his breath shaky, his body tense.

“You just fucking squirted all over me,” he mutters, almost like he can’t believe it, like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

You let out a small, humiliated whimper, covering your face with your hands, but Matt just chuckles darkly, shaking his head.

“Sweetheart,” he purrs, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head, caging you in. “You think I’d be anything other than completely fucking obsessed with this?”

Your eyes widen as he grinds against you again, still hard, still throbbing inside you.

“You’re gonna do that again,” he murmurs, his tongue flicking against your pulse, his hips pulling back only to slam into you again.

“And this time, I want you to scream my name when you do it.”

Matt doesn’t give you a second to recover- doesn’t give you time to process what just happened.

Before you can catch your breath, before you can even close your legs, he’s already moving again, thrusting deep into you, stretching you all over again, his hands gripping your hips like he never wants to let go.

“Oh my god- Matt-” you gasp, your voice wrecked, shaking, your entire body still tingling from the last orgasm.

But Matt- Matt is relentless.

“That’s right, sweetheart, say my fuckin name,” he growls, snapping his hips forward, his pace turning brutal, needy, unforgiving. “You’re gonna give me another one. I know you can.”

His fingers slip between your bodies, rubbing tight, torturous circles over your clit again, zeroing in on your most sensitive spot.

You whimper, thrash, tremble, the pleasure too much, too overwhelming, too intense.

“Matt- I-” you choke out, your legs twitching, your thighs trying to squeeze together, but he doesn’t let you.

“Shh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice rough, desperate, obsessed. “Let it happen. Let me see you cum all over me like that again.”

His pace grows punishing, his fingers unrelenting, and you can feel it building again.

The heat, the pressure, the sharp coil of pleasure tightening in your stomach so fast it nearly blinds you.

You try to fight it- try to pull away, the overstimulation too much, too intense.

But Matt doesn’t let you.

“Don’t you fucking run from it,” he growls, pinning you down, holding you still, his breath hot against your ear. “Be a good girl and fucking take it.”

That’s all it takes.

Your body seizes, your back arching off the bed, and then-

A sharp, helpless scream rips from your throat as another rush of liquid spills from you, gushing between your legs, soaking the sheets, drenching him all over again.

“Holy fuck-” Matt groans, his jaw clenching, his hips faltering as he watches it happen, as he feels it happen.

Your entire body shakes, your vision going white, your mind blanking completely as wave after wave of pleasure crashes into you.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he growls, his voice strained, wrecked, completely gone as he pounds into you one last time.

“Fuck- Y/N-”

.A deep, wrecked groan tears from his throat as he buries himself inside you, his entire body shuddering as he spills into you, his fingers gripping you like he never wants to let go.

For a moment, the room is silent except for the sound of your heavy breathing, the warm press of your bodies still tangled together as he pulls out.

Matt collapses against you, his lips brushing over your damp skin as he exhales shakily. “Fuck,” he mutters, still catching his breath. “You’re… unreal.”

You hum softly, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back, your body still trembling from the aftershocks. But just when you think you’re done, Matt’s lips curl into a smirk against your skin.

“You didn’t think we were finished, did you?” he murmurs, his hands already sliding down your body, already spreading your legs apart again.

Your breath hitches. “Matt-”

But he’s already kissing down your body, already pressing his fingers against your still-sensitive core.

“You can give me one more,” he coaxes, his voice smooth, confident. “And then another. And then another.”

His blue eyes flicker up to yours, dark and filled with something insatiable.

“You’re mine for the night, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your inner thigh. “And I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”

Within seconds he’s moving again, his hands pulling the teeshirt over his head and throwing it across the room, hands gripping your thighs and spreading you open beneath him. His blue eyes are dark, wild, still hungry as he drags his fingers down your oversensitive core, teasing, testing.

“You can give me more, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low, coaxing. “I know you can.”

Your body jolts as his fingers slip between your folds, his touch slow but deliberate, rubbing slow, lazy circles against your already throbbing clit. A cry escapes your lips, your body twitching from the complete and utter overstimulation, but he just smirks, watching you squirm beneath him.

“Too much?” he teases, tilting his head as he leans down, kissing the corner of your mouth. “That’s what you said last time, too- and look at you now.”

His fingers push inside you, and you gasp, your nails digging into his arms as he starts pumping them at a devastating pace, curling them just right. His thumb continues rubbing tight circles against your clit, and the pleasure slams into you again, sharp and overwhelming.

“Matt- ” you cry out, but your words dissolve into breathless moans as he keeps working you, his lips trailing down your neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin.

“Shh, my love,” he soothes, his other hand gripping your thigh, keeping you spread open for him. “Just let me make you feel good again.”

His fingers work you faster, deeper, and you’re already spiraling, already teetering on the edge again, your body writhing beneath him. He watches your face, his lips curling into a smirk as he sees the way your eyes squeeze shut, the way your mouth parts in desperate pleasure.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. “Cum for me again, sweetheart. Let me feel you fall apart.”

It crashes over you so fast you barely have time to prepare- your 5th orgasm of the night tearing through you, your entire body seizing up as you cry out his name, your hands clutching onto him like he’s the only thing grounding you.

Matt groans, feeling the way you clench around his fingers, the way your body trembles from the sheer force of it. He keeps his movements steady, dragging out your pleasure until you’re twitching from the overstimulation, whimpering against his shoulder.

“God damn,” he breathes, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your jaw. “So fucking good for me. So fucking perfect.”

But he’s not done. Before you can even process what’s happening, he’s gripping your hips and flipping you over onto your stomach, pulling you up onto your hands and knees. Your breath catches, your body still trembling, but Matt’s hands are firm, steady, guiding you exactly where he wants you.

“You can give me one more,” he murmurs, his hands smoothing over your hips before gripping them tight. “Just one more, baby.”

He pushes inside you in one slow, deep thrust, and the stretch makes you gasp, your fingers gripping the sheets as he fills you up completely.

“Fuck,” Matt groans, his hands tightening on your waist. “You’re still so fucking tight. How are you still this tight?”

He pulls out almost completely before slamming back in, and you let out a strangled moan, your back arching as he sets a brutal, relentless pace.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” he growls, his fingers digging into your hips as he fucks you harder and unbelievably faster and deeper, like he’s finally letting himself go. “So fucking perfect for me.”

His hands slide up your back, one gripping the back of your neck, the other slipping between your legs, rubbing rough, desperate circles against your puffy and abused clit. Your body jolts at the contact, pleasure coiling tight in your stomach again, and Matt groans at the way you squeeze around him.

“That’s it, baby,” he breathes, his thrusts turning erratic, desperate. “One more. Come with me this time.”

You’re so close, the pleasure slamming into you so hard it leaves you breathless. Matt’s grip tightens, his movements growing frantic, and his voice is wrecked as he whispers,

“You’re mine, baby. All fucking mine.”

The possessiveness in his voice, the way he’s taking you, claiming you—it sends lightning through your veins, the coil in your stomach tightening dangerously fast.

“Matty- ” you choke out, your nails digging into his back, your body clenching around him, and he feels it, notices it, because his thrusts somehow become even harder, faster and deeper.

“That’s it, sweetheart, don’t hold back,” he groans, his thumb slipping between you, pressing even rougher circles against your swollen clit. “You’re gonna come for me again. I can feel it.”

His free hand grips your thigh, spreading you even wider for him, letting him sink in even deeper, hitting that spot that has you seeing stars.

It’s too much.

Your whole body locks up, your mouth falling open as a strangled, wrecked cry rips from your throat. Your orgasm slams into you, wave after violent wave, and you can’t stop it-

The release pours out of you, drenching the sheets, soaking him, the mess between you completely obscene.

Matt loses it.

“Holy fucking shit-” he groans loudly, his hips slamming into you one last time, his entire body tensing hard as he buries himself deep inside you.

His release spills into you again, hot and endless, mixing with yours, his grip on you tightening, his body shuddering from the sheer force of it.

Matt finally pulls out, groaning softly as he watches his release spill out of you, dripping onto the already ruined sheets beneath you. He lets out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he murmurs, brushing a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, looking down at the complete mess you both made. “We absolutely destroyed these sheets.”

You let out a whimper, covering your face with your hands, still dazed, still trembling from everything that just happened.

Matt grins, pressing a soft, teasing kiss against your temple before rolling off the bed.

“Stay there,” he murmurs, pulling the soaking wet sheets off the mattress in one swift motion. The fabric lands on the floor with a heavy thud, and he’s already reaching for fresh ones, moving quickly, effortlessly, like he’s done this before.

Your face burns at the thought.

Matt glances over his shoulder at you, smirking, noticing your expression.

“Don’t go getting all shy on me now, baby,” he teases, snapping the new sheet over the mattress, smoothing it out with practiced ease. “Not after you just squirted all over me, what? Three times?”

You groan, burying your face in a pillow as he lets out a low, satisfied laugh.

“Adorable,” he muses, tossing the ruined sheets into the corner before climbing back into bed beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms.

“All set, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your hair, grinning as he wraps himself around you again. “Now get over here and let me hold you.”

And even as exhaustion starts to take over, his grip never loosens- his body never stops pressing against yours, holding you close like he never wants to let go.

Matt groans softly, still catching his breath, his arms wrapped securely around you. His body is warm, his skin slick with sweat, but neither of you move for a long moment, both too blissed out, too exhausted.

You’re still blushing furiously, the aftermath of everything settling in.

But there’s one thing you can’t quite wrap your head around.

You shift slightly, looking up at him with wide, confused eyes, your fingers playing with the hem of the blanket.

“Matt…” you murmur, your voice small.

He hums in response, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your hip.

You hesitate before finally asking, genuine confusion in your tone,

“…What happened to me… when I… you know?”

Matt stills.

His lips twitch, and he lifts his head slightly, brows raising as he looks at you, almost like he didn’t hear you right.

“You mean… when you came?” he asks carefully, watching your expression.

You chew on your lip, your cheeks burning, your body curling in on itself slightly.

“I- I don’t know,” you mumble, feeling incredibly shy. “I just… it felt really good but then- then it was like…a lot.”

Matt’s eyes darken, his grip tightening slightly on your hip as he exhales through his nose, clearly holding back a smirk.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, amusement lacing his voice. “You really don’t know?”

You shake your head quickly, suddenly mortified.

Matt grins, propping himself up on his elbow, gazing down at you like he’s completely enamored.

“Baby,” he murmurs, brushing your hair back, his thumb stroking your cheek. “You squirted. Like I said”

You blink.

Your brows furrow, and you shift under the blanket, pulling it closer around you, feeling smaller, embarrassed.

“I- what?”

Matt chuckles, clearly loving this.

“You know…” he smirks, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “When a girl gets so worked up, so completely lost in pleasure that she-”

He gestures vaguely to the soaked sheets on the floor.

You follow his gaze- and suddenly, realization dawns.

Your eyes widen, your face going completely red, and you whip your head back to him, absolutely mortified.

“MATT!” you squeak, hiding your face in your hands.

He laughs, genuinely laughs, shaking his head as he pulls your hands away, his grip gentle but firm.

“Hey, hey,” he soothes, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Don’t get all embarrassed. That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

You groan, your cheeks burning, trying to turn away from him, but he won’t let you.

“Sweetheart,” he purrs, tilting your chin up so you have to look at him.

His blue eyes are dark, filled with something warm, something possessive.

“You have no idea how much that turned me on,” he murmurs. “How fucking good you looked when you let go like that.”

Your stomach flutters violently, and you bury your face in his chest, whining softly.

Matt just laughs again, wrapping his arms tighter around you, completely obsessed with your innocence, your sweetness.

Then he shifts.

You blink up at him, bleary-eyed, as he carefully untangles himself from you and swings his legs over the side of the bed.

“Where are you going?” you murmur sleepily, frowning as you reach for him.

Matt chuckles, shaking his head as he stands. “Relax, sweetheart. I just need to clean you up.”

That wakes you up a little more.

You sit up, your brow furrowing in confusion. “You need to… what?”

Matt glances at you over his shoulder, smirking. “Clean you up,” he repeats simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He grabs a clean rag from the dresser and disappears into the bathroom.

You sit there, stunned, your legs still weak and trembling as you try to process the situation. He’s… he’s going to clean you up?

You don’t have time to overthink it before Matt is back, damp rag in hand, his expression calm and casual- like he hasn’t just spent the past however long wrecking you completely.

But then he kneels back onto the bed, his large hands gripping your thighs, and you suddenly feel very small, very exposed.

“Matt-” you start, but he just smirks, shaking his head as he spreads your legs apart again.

“Sweetheart,” he tuts, his voice low, teasing. “I just made you cum like six times. You can’t be all shy and shit now.”

Your entire face burns, your thighs instinctively trying to press back together, but Matt just grips them firmly, keeping you open for him.

“Matthew!” you squeak, but then you see it.

Your gaze drops, and your breath catches as you notice the mess between your legs- his cum, mixed with yours, spilling out of you, slick and warm against your thighs.

“Oh my God,” you gasp, absolutely mortified.

Matt chuckles, his eyes darkening as he watches your reaction. “It’s normal, angel,” he reassures you, his thumb stroking your inner thigh.

You look back up at him, eyes wide. “You’re not… grossed out?”

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “No, sweetheart. If anything…” He leans in slightly, his gaze flickering downward, his jaw clenching. “I’m almost getting hard again just looking at it.”

Your face somehow turns even redder.

“Oh my gosh,” you whimper, covering your face with your hands as you flop back against the pillows, absolutely overwhelmed.

Matt just chuckles again, his smirk unmistakably smug as he brings the warm rag between your legs and starting to clean you up, his touch gentle, careful.

But even as he moves with patience, his eyes flicker up to meet yours, and the way he looks at you makes you wonder just how much rest you’re actually going to get tonight.

After he finishes cleaning you up, Matt tosses the rag aside and looks down at you, his blue eyes softer now, filled with something warm, something that makes your stomach flutter. He brushes a hand over your thigh, his fingers tracing gentle, soothing circles.

“You sore?” he asks, his voice low, genuinely concerned.

You shift slightly, feeling the lingering ache between your legs, and nod. “Yeah… it hurts down here.”

Matt exhales, running a hand through his hair before he moves, standing just long enough to walk around the bed before slipping under the covers on the other side. He pats the mattress beside him.

“Come here,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now, inviting.

You hesitate only for a second before scooting over, letting him pull you into his arms. His warmth surrounds you instantly, his body solid and comforting, his scent still intoxicating- like musk and something undeniably him.

His chin rests lightly atop your head, and he sighs, his hands lazily tracing up and down your back, grounding you both in the quiet afterglow.

“How was it?” he asks after a moment, his voice rumbling against your skin. “Your first time?”

You let out a soft giggle, nuzzling closer against his chest. “It was really good,” you admit, your voice muffled against his skin. “But… I don’t really know what it’s supposed to feel like.”

Matt chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, if you came six times, I’d say it was pretty damn good, sweetheart.”

“Is that normal?” Your cheeks flush, and you bite your lip, hiding your face against him.

He laughs again, clearly amused. “No. Not usually. But that’s a good thing,”

“Matt?” you ask, your voice quieter now.

“Mm?”

You shift, rolling over so you can face him. He tilts his head slightly, his brows raising at your expression.

“How many people have you done it with?” you ask, your gaze flickering downward, suddenly shy.

Matt blinks, visibly caught off guard. His mouth opens, then closes, and for the first time since the night started, he looks almost… awkward.

“Uh…” He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Why?”

You shrug, still not looking at him, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “I don’t know,” you mumble, your voice suddenly small. “I was just… wondering.”

Matt watches you for a long moment, and then realization dawns. His lips twitch slightly, and he tilts his head, trying to catch your gaze.

“Are you jealous?” he asks, his voice laced with amusement.

You immediately look down, avoiding his eyes entirely, and he exhales sharply, his smirk growing.

“Oh, you are,” he murmurs, his fingers tilting your chin up so you have no choice but to meet his gaze. His eyes flicker with something playful, something teasing. “That’s adorable.”

You groan, covering your face with your hands, but Matt just chuckles, prying them away and pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs against your skin, “I don’t care about anyone before you. The only person I’m thinking about right now- the only person I want- is you.”

Your stomach flips at his words, and you finally look up at him, your lips parting slightly. His expression softens, and his thumb strokes over your cheek, his gaze filled with something deeper, something more sincere.

“Okay?” he murmurs.

You nod, swallowing thickly. “Okay.”

Matt grins, clearly satisfied, and pulls you back against his chest, his arms tightening around you.

“Good,” he says, pressing another kiss to the top of your head. “Because I plan on keeping you all to myself.”

Matt tilts your chin up again, his blue eyes flickering between yours, his gaze deep, searching. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, his breath warm as he leans in.

And then he kisses you.

It’s not like before- not rushed or desperate. This kiss is slow, deep, intimate. His lips move against yours with a tenderness that makes your stomach flip, makes your body melt into his touch. His hands cradle your face like you’re something precious, his fingers tracing soft patterns along your jaw, down your neck.

You sigh into his mouth, your arms looping around his shoulders, pulling him closer. The heat between you starts to build again, your bodies pressing together under the covers, the slow drag of his lips against yours turning into something more heated, more urgent.

Matt groans softly, tilting your head back further as his tongue brushes against yours, deepening the kiss. His hands wander lower, slipping beneath the blanket, gripping your waist as he shifts, rolling you onto your back.

He hovers over you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his lips trailing down your jaw, his breath warm against your skin.

“God,” he murmurs, his voice husky, wrecked, “I can’t get enough of you.”

He starts to crawl over you, his knee parting your thighs, his hands framing your face as his lips find yours again, this time more desperate, more claiming-

BANG.

The bedroom door swings open so suddenly it slams against the wall.

“Hey, Y/N, I was a fucking hour into the drive when I realized I forgot my wallet, do you know where I-”

Silence.

Absolute, deafening silence.

You freeze. Matt freezes.

Your brother stands in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, taking in the scene in front of him:

Matt completely naked and hovering over you, your legs tangled together under the covers, both of you breathless, flushed, naked, and clearly caught in the middle of something.

Your brother’s face twists in absolute horror, his expression shifting from shock to pure rage in a matter of seconds. His jaw clenches, his fists tighten, and then-

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” he bellows, his voice shaking the walls.

The room goes still.

Your stomach drops.

Matt’s chest rises and falls slowly, his body tense, frozen, unreadable.

Your eyes snap to his, wide, panicked, pleading.

Matt just meets your gaze, steady and sure, his blue eyes flickering with something unreadable.

Neither of you move.

Neither of you speak.

There’s not much you could say anyways.

What is there to do when you’re caught with one man who was off limits?

MASTERLIST

a/n: and with that, the earned it series has come to an end 🫡 thank you for all the love on this series. YOU ARE ALL INCREDIBLE!! you literally give me motivation to write. so thank you. i know i left on another cliffhanger…. sorry not sorry. the original draft of this chapter was actually like 8k words and included what happened after the brother walked in but i decided that I kinda wanna leave it up to the readers mind. yall get to decide what happens after this! (maybe I’ll put out an epilogue or smth idk) BUT THANK YOU AGAIN SO MUCH!!! SO MUCH LOVE!!!

-c🧡

for @mattsobvimyfav as always, i love you. thank you for being you. you are my sunshine.

tags: @ilovejohnnieguilbertsblog @mattsturnii @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @watercolorskyy @strangecatpeach @katie1002 @1ovesiick @slut4christopherr @mattgirl4eva @mayalovesturn @chriss-slutt @sturniolohohoho @courta13 @izzylovesmatt @matthewsturnsgf @aaa-mi @bigbeefybitch @hopelesslydevotedsstuff @wastelandzella @yourmother29 @whore4-chrissturniolo @idefinitelyhateu @madisonnxtdoor22 @user1smvtysturniolo @briisturniolo @sturniololuvz @hesvoid34 @butterflytsblog @mommymomm @mattsbunnyxx @blushsturns @i8kth @annalisesturnioloxo @kenziesturniolo54 @ribread03 @sturnl0ve @grace-sturniolo12 @sophsturns @mattsturnfx @lilyloveschris @milo-the-dog @riggysworld @scrumptiouskoalabasement @tenaciousearthquakeperson @sturnlovematt22 @seros-girl @sofsturnz689 @sturniololuvz @eeyoresturnz

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

So excited for your requests to be open! I know you'll feed us well with your content, whether it's full fics, hc, imagines, blurbs, or even just yapping

"I want to be good. I want to be good for you, but I just don't know how"

A little angsty number with AK!Jason por favor 🙏🏽

Hurt/Comfort, my beloved (And anything with AK!Jason Todd is my kryptonite fr) ~1.4K words

The Arkham Knight can only be described as dangerous. He's a lethal, brutal example of a man with nothing to lose. He's a trained, efficient machine with one mission– one purpose. His sights are set and focused solely on his revenge, on owning Gotham.

So you don't exactly know where you fit in. You. His– his something. Partner isn't quite the right word, but you don't know what else to call him. He crawls into your bed at the oddest hours of the morning, sits across from you at inconsistent, sporadic meals, drops lavish presents on your laps like a cat bringing home dead or dying prey.

He's tangled himself into the very fabric of your life, and for better or worse, you can't imagine your world without him. At some point between him moving your belongings to his apartment (though you would argue the loft apartment above the warehouse filled with tanks and drones is hardly a home) and the first time The Arkham Knight (not Jason) kissed you, he became a permanent fixture in your days and weeks.

You think you might love him. You do love him, actually. Even if you can't bear to say the words out loud– to threaten the tentative peace of a relationship that is and isn't something more– you love him. No matter if what he does– what he's doing– is right or wrong, your very soul craves to be at his side. It doesn't even matter what 'being at his side' looks like anymore.

Jason could never visit you while the sun shines, he could disappear for months on end, he could ask you to throw away your morals and dreams just to be with him. And you would. In some ways, you already have.

But he did fail. He didn't kill Batman. Gotham is still standing. And all that's left of The Arkham Knight is kneeling in front of you, fingers curled into the hem of your shirt like he can't bring himself to touch you– but can't bear to let you go.

You just never imagined he would feel anything like that towards you– at least not anything more than what he already gives you. (That alone feels like a gift, when a man so scarred trusts you enough to close his eyes and relax into your shoulder, when he lets you trace the lines of his face without flinching)

So you don't know what to do when that lethal, terror-inspiring man you've come to know better than anyone else fails. It's something that was never in either of your plans, something you couldn't have begun to suspect, even in your more cynical moments. 

He's crying– sobbing– broken gasps escaping from his throat like he forgot how to breathe. His eyes are manic, darting over your face like there might be something there to save him. And you want to, of course you want to, but you're in your own state of shock.

You don't know how to treat this version of Jason. You're used to The Arkham Knight– him, you know how to cater to, what to say, what to do, when to touch him. But this Jason looks broken, shattered into pieces, so different from the harsh, biting person you know so well. (The one you fell in love with all over again)

"Please," he chokes out– he begs, begs like he expects it to save him, like he has no other choice than to throw himself at your mercy. 

Your silence, your lack of motion, must go on for too long. You can tell he takes it as a sign that you're planning something, that some form of goodbye is forming on your tongue.

You can tell he's thinking the worst in this moment, you can see it in the way his face flickers with anguish, the way his hands grasp and tug desperately at your clothes like it might change your mind.

It makes you want to vomit, that whatever happened between him and Bruce drove him to this state. He truly believes he has to beg to get you to listen, that he has to plead and crawl and offer whatever he thinks you need to hear to get you to stay. 

"Please," he starts again, his ragged breathing making his words garbled and raspy, "I can't– I don't know what to do. I lost and– I– I'm so sorry."

"I'm sorry. I want to be good," He stumbles out into your shirt, pressing kisses over your stomach as if it might please you– earn your favor, "I want to be good for you, but I just don't know how. I'll be good. I'll– I swear, I'll–"

Your throat tightens as he sinks into himself, mumbling your name like a hallowed prayer. He buries his face in your stomach, hiding from the weight of your gaze. You know you need to react, offer him what he needs, but you don't know what it is anymore.

You don't know what comfort you could give, not when he's so unrecognizably erratic, so lost in his own failures and torments. You don't know this Jason, and it scares a small part of you to admit that.

You can't take another moment of it– all of it. You want to run, gather your thoughts and feelings, and break down because he's crying, and you didn't know he still could. But running would break him, tear him down further than he's already fallen. 

So, you do what you've been wanting to since he crawled into your window with a broken helmet and chest empty of the emblem he remade himself in. 

He freezes, sobs stalling his chest, and you have to believe that this is enough, that you can pour everything you can't say into the way you cup his face to wipe his tears, the way you kiss him like your life depends on it. 

You carefully untangle his fingers from your shirt, and he looks up at you, face streaked with tears that don't seem to end, and you sink to the floor to be level with him.

You don't know if what you do next is the right answer, but when you don't have the words to explain how he fills the emptiness in your chest, how your days begin and end with the thought of him, you hope kissing him is enough until you do. 

But he doesn't react, doesn't move under your touch, and you wonder if you've got it wrong. You pull away to ask, to offer apologies of your own, but he's never been very good at letting you get far from him. The Arkham Knight– Jason crashes into you like he'll never get another chance to kiss you.

You need it to be enough. You need him to know that you love him and winning or losing, Arkham Knight or not, you have never stopped loving Jason Todd.

There's no escaping it, no burying it down or leaving it behind. Whatever form it takes, whatever form he takes, you can't fight the feeling that swells in your chest every time his eyes meet yours, every time the ghost of a smile paints his face.

Fingers curled around the back of your neck, nails nearly digging into your skin with a force that sends you both tumbling to the ground. But he never stops kissing you, and you never stop pulling him closer, as if it could save you both. 

His hands do the same, crushing you to him with the thought that it'll get you to stay.

You think it might just fix something, because he's mumbling thank yous against your mouth like you've dragged him out of hell. And maybe you have.

It's a thought too heavy when you can taste his tears on your tongue, when all you can offer him in the moment are harsh, unyielding kisses and hands that grab desperately at his back, hoping it will keep him with you.

You still don't know how to treat this version of Jason, what the right way to comfort him is. But he kisses the curve of your jaw the same way, hovers over your pulse for nearly a beat too long when he drags his mouth down your throat like he always does, and you decide you want to learn.

You don't know if The Arkham Knight is gone, and you're still not quite sure where you fit with him, but Jason's eyes still flash in the same delighted way when your nails scratch a little too roughly at the back of his skull, and you think you know enough.

[idannao]

Hey, I love the message, but something in the panel is distracting me. Why does Damian call his paternal grandfather by his legal name? It just occurred to me that I think in the universe, Bruce and everyone else always call them Thomas and Martha. It's just sad because we the reader, (or at least most if us I think), see this as Damian not just reaching for a noble cause outside of violence while understanding the consequences of his vigilante actions, but also connecting with a grandfather he will never know. I think it's telling though that he's been raised in a way that ultimately dehumanizes his grandparents. They're not his relatives. They're just symbols and motivations that have been propped up for so long that they've become abstract concepts to everyone.

To bring it back to OP. I think the real conflict here is that Damian does really want to see a life outside of being Robin, and Bruce can't handle that because it means someone is able to escape the trauma that he's still holding onto that keeps him Batman. The sad thing is historical this is when Bruce fires Robin and says they don't deserve the title for lack of conviction or some other excuse, and that has a 50% fatality rate by my count.

nobody will ever speak ill of my son ever again he volunteers at the HOSPITAL bless him

also one step closer to dr damian wayne bc i think there’s beautiful writing in ra’s going from a doctor to an assassin raising his grandchild to be an assassin but damian wants to be a healer 😔

put that boy in med school

[purinfelix]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ park sunghoon bf headcanons

a/n: maybe im just typical sunghoon bias but y'all cannot tell me he wouldn't be the most perfect bf ..... ANYWAYS i could probably do a pt2 of this just bc i have sooo many thoughts abt this man - or if u want hcs for any other members lmk too!

✦ such a responsible boy, like obviously he has all his own habits but he feels the need to keep them up especially around you

✦ for the first few months of your relationship he wouldn't kiss you first thing in the morning since he insisted his breath stank and would go to brush his teeth (though he grows too weak to your pleading, and gives in easily)

✦ it's this habit of taking care of himself that extends to you, he feels a sense of responsibility for your health and wellbeing

✦ "don't use your phone in the dark, it's not good for your eyes" - "make your bed first thing in the morning, it'll get messy otherwise" - "make sure to drink more water today, it's hot out,"

✦ they might sound like petty scolds or nagging to most but really they're just his way of making sure you're okay and showing that he cares about you, right down to the little things

✦ on that note, the type of boyfriend who is willing to go with you everywhere even if he's just trailing behind you - if it's to the supermarket or even around the block for your morning walk he's keen to come with

✦ a little clingy like that, though has enough self-awareness not to bother you, but he just wants to be around you lots !!

✦ i can definitely see him being an "acts of service" guy like he definitely does things for you without asking, and without even saying anything - like if he sees you struggling he'll help you silently, only turning to smile with satisfaction once he sees the grateful expression on your face

✦ admittedly at first he does do it a little bit so that he can show off in front of you - "they'll think i'm so tall and strong if i help them reach this shelf" is probably his thought process

✦ in that way he's really observant and attentive! like you might not think that he listens to all your rants or when you mention little things but he really takes it all in, also just the best listener ever

✦ tiny little things about your habits, foods you like or dislike or even your preferences when it comes to like what side of the bed to sleep on he learns and they become like second nature to him

✦ but if you ever point out how close he pays attention to you or any of the things he does for you he'll brush it off coolly with some excuse - "i'm only giving you the bigger piece because i'm not that hungry okay?" - even though you know far better

✦ this is because, despite how cool he might seem on the surface, he's not the most forward type, and things like pda or straightforward confessions make him flustered !!!

✦ like the few times he's grabbed your hand in public when you're walking together he physically cannot look at you while he does because he knows how red his face will get - but you can still notice the tips of his pale ears blushing pink

✦ whenever you're alone though he will go to absolutely any lengths to get you back for it and has a special talent of knowing just where to kiss you or what to whisper in your ear to get to you

✦ sometimes he tries reciting old cheesy romantic lines but he gets too shy or embarrassed to finish them

✦ like if you watch a romcom with him he'll be all sulky talking about how unrealistic it is and how corny the dialogue is, but give it a couple days and you'll notice him trying to act smooth like the main man

✦ also the kind of boyfriend who finds joy in teasing you lightly

✦ always saying things like "what would you do without me?" or "aren't you so lucky to have such a good boyfriend?" jokingly whenever he helps you out

✦ but if you were to ever try to get him back by saying something like "oh but you're so in love with me aren't you?" he'll just respond back slyly with "and what if i am?" or something and watch with a smirk as you take in his suddenly shameless words

✦ he's said it himself but he's really protective and possessive type (thinking about his reaction to the viral perilla leaf debate)

✦ though he's careful never to blame you for anything - because he isn't insecure about your relationship or how you feel, he's more worried about others having their eye on you

✦ really patient - definitely the kind of boyfriend who lets you do whatever you want like squish his face or bite his arm without even acknowledging it

✦ though he also definitely tests your patience once he gets comfortable enough and once he knows he can be weird around you - like he really is the loudest introvert if you give him the opportunity !!

[thalwri]

LACED WITH HONEY

synopsis: zayne has been so stressed lately, you just had to step in and soothe his tension. and what better way for you to do that than in his workplace?

warnings: smut, semi-public sex, oral (f! receiving), masturbation, panty fucking, multiple orgasms, overstimulation

wc: 1,5k

MINORS DON'T INTERACT

you just loved to visit zayne at the hospital. you enjoyed annoying him while he was doing his reports and dragging him out to nearby cafes so he could get a drink and a snack so that he wouldn’t drive himself mad from all the work.

it was one of those times when you as the hunter took care of your primary physician. 

what you didn’t expect was that you’d be bent over his desk getting ploughed like it was your birthday. hell, it might just be.

his glasses were atop your head, your top was abandoned on the couch across his office, and your pretty tits were just about to slip out of the enclosure of your lacy bra– a deliberate choice of wear.

your white, lace panties were pushed to the side to give his handsomely heavy cock full access to your weeping pussy. you had just been craving him so much that you finished your missions in record time just to see him. just to devour him.

you had given yourself the pleasure of deepthroating him while he was on a call with his superior earlier, making him writhe and pant and whimper while you were having the best meal of the day, slurping and drinking up the slobbering wetness your skilful tongue and his precum produced. 

it was just too good. so much so that zayne swiftly dropped the call just to fuck your pretty mouth and give you his undivided attention. you deserved all his energy, all his time. 

and this wasn’t the first time you’d given him a surprise visit or had a brief moment with you at work. just last week he plopped you on his face to relieve his stress before his big eight-hour surgery, saying a taste of you would soothe his nerves for days. and that it did. in fact, he just had to thank you by treating you to a good few orgasms later that night.

“the door is open, you need to be quiet–“

“your entire department is stocked up with surgeries,” you moaned without restraint, intuitively glancing at the door adjacent to the desk even though you knew nobody was nearby. “i checked.”

his hands slowly gripped your ass, pushing the hem of your skirt up your waist to have more of your soft skin to grip before he rammed his cock right into you. his leaky cockhead bruised your cervix multiple times, stringing out a ramble of profane praises.

if it wasn’t for him holding your hands behind you, you would have been leaving scratches all over the glass pane of his desk.

“mm– doctor zayne,” you crooned, still managing to somehow tease him by wiggling your plump ass whenever his hips drew back before pounding into yours. “don’t you– oh fuck! d-don’t you feel better?”

“rejuvenated, my love,” he groaned, watching the ricochet of your ass move like rippling water. your joint loud moans and cries and the wet claps from your ministrations filled the silence of his office, heating up a lewd air in the otherwise cold and calm room.

you looked so divine in any position you were in, to see your face contort in absolute pleasure just from his touch… he felt so much pride. 

he was all yours. yours to love, yours to fight alongside, yours to be treated by, and yours to please. 

your moans sounded like music to him; a luxury he was always so grateful to have. telling him how his cock felt so deep inside you from behind and begging him for more.

zayne pulled out of you, leaving a gush of your wetness to ooze out, and gently tugged you upright to kiss you from behind. your tongues lashed and swirled in hunger and desire. your body swiftly turned to face him and you pushed him onto the chair.

eyes dilated and excited, zayne watched you shimmy your lacy panties off. a string of your erotic nectar stuck between your pussy and your panties until it broke of with an almost inaudible snap! you settled on his desk, pulling him closer to you by tugging his chair. 

the white lace dangled on your finger like a pendulum, hypnotising zayne into a lustful gaze with his irises following each move. the sight of him so disarrayed, shirt ruffled and unbuttoned far enough to show his sweat-glistened chest, and his pink lips parted and red from your bites– it just made you even wetter.

“you said you miss me right?” you wrapped your cum-slick panties around his cock, reddened and leaking. “show me.”

so demanding. zayne almost came from your tone alone. he knew exactly what you wanted him to do, and he was not afraid to say he was happy you were thinking the same thing.

he leaned forward, groaning as he slowly stroked his cock, and swiped a long wet lick up your pussy and drew your clit into a gentle suckle. your taste buzzed on his tongue urging him to torture you until he could get you loud enough for the entire surgical department to hear.

with his hands attached to his raging length and his mouth occupied with your decadent cunny, he was so hard and desperate to cum that it hurt. the scarring all over his hands and the roughness of your panties only tormented him more with mind shattering friction they produced.

his moans gargled in a lewd mixture of your creaminess, helping to mute some of the noise that would have added on to your cute whines.

“more!” your back arched like a cat’s, eyes crossing like you were about to squirt all over him before getting horny instantly just to do it again. with his expertise knowledge of the human body, he was bound to find every single spot of yours that would leave you curling and screaming.

whether it was greed or his mind wandering more to his throbbing cock, zayne couldn’t help himself. he just had to let his hands viciously work his cock at least until he knew you’d both cum at the same time. the way it would be so erotic would drive him to lock the door to his office so that he could keep it going until sunrise the next day.

he drank your praises up like he hadn’t consumed water in weeks, and that only fuelled him to pump at his cock more and more, drenching your soaked underwear with his precum so that you’d feel him when he’d eventually put it back on you.

the thought of him cumming into your panties and then again in your warm, tight cunny had his head spinning so much that he almost forgot that he was eating you out.

“come on, doctor,” you breathlessly sighed, tugging his hair to force his beautiful hazel eyes upon your lust drunk gaze. “you have to know how to do two things at once.”

“mmm, yes ma’am.” gods, you were so damn sexy.

something about jerking off with your naughty panties while slurping up your juices in his office… it was just so dirty and yet felt so good. the risk of anyone bursting in to find him in the most compromising position– he could just get off from that alone.

your hands tugged at his hair as you reached your edge and with one more cruel (and loving) suckle with his teeth lightly grazing your clit, your eyes rolled back forcing you into your climax. a hoarse scream left your lips, louder than all your beautiful moans combined.

zayne slurped up all your creamy goodness, bringing himself into a shudder as his cum spurted out of his swollen, red tip, leaking out of the loose confines of your slutty underwear and landing all over the place. in his greed for more, he kept his mouth latched onto your clit and sucked on despite your fruitless attempts to pull him away.

“z-zayne, wait–“ you whimpered. the electric stings of your climax slowly turned into a familiar overstimulated pleasure that left your legs trembling. “it’s– zayne– too much!”

all he could do was hum into your leaking pussy while his tongue drilled and curved inside you to explore your walls and feel you clench and squeeze him as much as you could. his cockhead was still leaking hot globs of cum as his hands expertly rubbed the lace over and around his sensitive tip, massaging and torturing himself for the thrill of pleasure.

it wasn’t long before he brought you both to another orgasm, this time making even more of a mess than the last time. his pants were covered in cum dripping to the floor, your faces were flushed and burning from the sheer arousal hanging in the air. and yet he didn’t want to stop. he couldn’t.

he just loved hearing your pretty noises.

loved making you feel so good.

and he changed his mind. he was going to keep your cumstained panties. as a memento for whenever he thought of you at work, of course.

a/n: first time writing zayne, hope you enjoy!

[svetamillss]

omg I love your writing, can you do one with squid game characters seeing the several bruises on your body that you have been trying to hide pls?

Headcanons: their reaction to your bruises🩵

Featuring: Cho Hyun Ju x Reader(f), Thanos (Su Bong) x Reader(f), Se Mi x Reader(f)

Summary: you studied at the university. And often faced bullying. Many guys humiliated and beat you, which caused you to have bruises that you tried to hide.

A/N: Thank you very much for such a charming order! I hope you liked what I wrote!

🩵🩵🩵

Cho Hyun Ju

You didn't want to tell your girlfriend anything about it, because she had her own problems because of the transition to a girl. That's why you tried to hide all your bruises.

But you couldn't do it forever. After all, you sleep in ordinary pajamas, which opens your skin of your feet and hands well.

And because of this, the following situation occurred.

Ju was already lying in bed when you quickly came running and covered almost with a blanket, it worried her.

- Did something happen, baby? Why did you hide from me? - she asked, looking only at your head, which was looking out of the blanket.

- I'm just cold, don't worry.

- Hmm..but now the weather is hot..and you often started wearing warm clothes. Maybe you're sick??? Then don't cover yourself up so much!! - the girl said excitedly, removing the blanket from you, you tried to stop her, but nothing came out, she defeated you.

Pulling off the blanket, Hyun Ju noticed a lot of bruises on her arms and legs, her face turned pale sharply.

- Baby... Why do you have so many bruises??? - you had no choice but to confess everything.

After your story about being beaten at the university, Hyun Ju got very angry, preparing to deal with your abusers at such a late time, but you barely stopped her.

- No one will dare to touch my baby with a finger. Tomorrow I will go to your university and deal with everything. And I don't care if they look at me askause, I won't let them touch you.

Your favorite girl will definitely deal with your abusers, that there will be no wet place left from them.

Thanos (Su Bong)

In your opinion, the guy was not the one who would worry about the problems of others, even if something happened to loved ones.

That's why you decided not to tell him anything, but just put on clothes with long sleeves so that nothing could be seen.

But you didn't take into account the fact that Su Bong is quite observant and quickly notices changes, especially if they concern you.

You were going to go to the movies. You put on a long-sleeved sweater again, not paying attention to the fact that it was quite hot outside.

- Are you a fool? - he asked rudely, entering the room, seeing how you were dressed.

- What are you talking about?

- Have you seen the weather outside? Why the fuck are you dressed like in winter? Go change your clothes! - he was worried about you, although he showed it in a different way, you decided to take a chance and admit what was going on.

- I can't dress openly yet.

- Why else is that?

And you told him everything, from the beginning to the very end. His face changed with each new word, from neutral to more evil.

- WHAT THE FUCK?! WHY THE FUCK WERE YOU SILENT?! - he shouted, but you understood that he was not shouting at you, but because of the whole situation.

- I thought you wouldn't be interested..

- Fuck! You're completely crazy! How could you think that?! It makes me very angry! That's it! Tomorrow I will go and kill everyone who touched you. I'll do everything so well that they won't suit you anymore. If, of course, they stay alive.

You couldn't refuse him. Although, even if you refused, he would still do his own thing. After all, he loves you very much.

Se Mi

The girl worked very hard, so you didn't want to burden her with your problems.

But Se Mi was very attentive and therefore immediately noticed that you began to wear baggy clothes, although you usually wore more open clothes.

- Honey, have you decided to change your image? - she asked, laughing a little, when she saw you in a huge sweater.

- I just decided to experiment.

- When you lie, your ears turn red. - she said, after which you immediately covered your ears with your hands, realizing that she caught you.

The girl came close to you and said in a stern tone:

- Undress. I have to see what you're hiding from me. - you blushed from her words,but obeyed and showed all your bruises.

The girl gently stroked the places of your bruises, silent for a long time.

- Se Mi?

- Who did it? - you explained everything to her, she was angry, but tried not to show it to you.

- Don't hide it from me anymore. Tomorrow I'll deal with everything and everything will be fine.

Se Mi never throws words to the wind, she will help you cope with everything. She won't care that she's a girl and go deal with the guys, your safety is the main thing for her.

🩵🩵🩵

[hot-lesbian-knight]

Man where to start.

The locked tomb series by Tamsyn Muir occupies a very special place in my heart and it certainly changed me, I'm much more comfortable being my beautiful butch self now than to Gideon Nav and Pyrrha Dve, and they generally rewired my brain a bunch both in a 'I am not the same' way and a it has made me better at reading and analysis way.

Changed my life but I don't know if I would consider it a classic, maybe once it's finished.

The Song of the Lioness series by Tamora Pierce was hugely influential to me and I would not be as obsessed with knights nearly as much as I am without having grown up reading about the lady knight, Sir Alanna of Trebond.

Significantly changed my life and is unquestionably a classic.

Technically it was written by a man and a woman together but This is How You Lose the Time War fully rewired my nervous system, tore my heart out, crushed it into a fine pink mist and then inhaled it. Some of the most beautiful prose I've ever read telling a heartachingly bittersweet love story. I recommend it to literally everyone I meet.

Changed my life and it should absolutely be a classic.

A Closed and Common Orbit by Becky Chambers has a phenomenal vibe and Sidra's experience with her body is such a viscerally familiar one as a trans person that I struggled to put into words. It's also just a vibrant world and a really positive and sweet story without veering so far into Saccharine territory.

Didn't necessarily change me but should definitely be a classic.

And finally, the complete works of Lois McMaster Bujold.

God how do I even start to talk about Bujold. She's so incredibly talented and her worlds and characters manage to step off the page to feel so real and alive in a way I have rarely experienced, most stories I am always vaguely aware that the characters are fictional tools of the author to move the story forward but Bujold is able to make me forget about that and just believe that they are living and breathing people living in complex and chaotic worlds much like real life. Her grip of pacing always sucks me in and pulls me along at just the right speed. She has become easily one of my favorite authors over the last few years.

Her book Paladin of Souls, which is an incredible name, takes place in her fantasy setting The World of the Five Gods which has a really fascinating world I just wanna dig into and explore, and the book itself is an amazing story about aging, life, and how you can and must take control of your own life or others will do it for you. It's genuinely such an excellent book and I highly recommend both it and Curse of Challion which takes place three years before Paladin of Souls.

That said the piece of Bujold's work that has had the greatest impact on me as a person is absolutely The Vorkosigan Saga. Its a Speculative Sci-fi setting where most of the books follow Miles Vorkosigan, a a member of the nobility on Barrayar. Miles is this manic little git who would be absolutely insufferable as a protagonist in the hands of any other writer yet managed to be incredibly charming and likable thanks to Bujolds mastery of the craft. Miles is physically disabled, having suffered birth defects that left him incredibly short, with brittle bones. However he's incredibly smart and insightful and is very very good at maintaining forward momentum where he just kinda keeps running as the narrative of each adventure builds up like a snowball rolling down hill with miles sprinting as fast as he can to keep up and avoid being crushed. He's such a fun and interesting character to watch grow up across the books(we see him go from a 17 year old wannabe military man desperate to make his father proud with a chip on his shoulder so big it could sink the titanic to a well rounded matured father himself over the series).

While the whole Vorkosigan Saga is excellent and has some amazing Spec-Fic concepts build explores(I could write a 100k word essay on the Uterine Replicators and the way they serve as a metaphor for bodily autonomy) the moment that has impacted me most from her work is one of the later books, Memory.

When I say that Memory completely changed my outlook on and approach to life I mean it. There's a passage from it that is forever burned into my mind because of how succinctly it distills a fundamental truth, delivered to Miles the protagonist when he is feeling utterly lost and adrift due to his life collapsing spectacularly:

“You go on. You just go on. There’s nothing more to it, and there’s no trick to make it easier. You just go on.”

“What do you find on the other side? When you go on?”

She shrugged. “Your life again. What else?”

“Is that a promise?”

She picked up a pebble, fingered it, and tossed it into the water. The moon-lines bloomed and danced. “It’s an inevitability. No trick. No choice. You just go on.”

The idea of "You just go on" has changed my outlook on life, much like Waymond in Everything Everywhere All At Once choosing joy and kindness, and I am a far better person for that change.

Also Cryoburn, what is likely the second to last book in the Vorkosigan Saga since bujold has said she doesn't feel like returning to the world, made me fully dissociate for a day and then finally call my dad to tell him I loved him through sobs. It's an average Miles Vorkosigan adventure through 99% of the book, but with the weight of the whole series behind it the ending very neatly hollows you out and leaves you an empty husk with just the last three words and a 500 word epilogue.

Anyway. All that to say, you should read some of Bujolds work. Changed me Profoundly and I believe it is a travesty and tragedy that she is not held in the same regard as authors like Pratchett and Le Guin

What's a book written by a woman that changed your life or that you consider a classic? Any genre, any language.

[jsmainblog]

taking it slow - spencer reid ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

spencer reid x inexperienced!reader (established relationship)

requests are always open <3

❤️‍🔥smut

a/n: this is the first time i've ever written a smut like full oneshot which i wrote awhile ago so if this sucks im really sorry squad

warnings: 18+, fingering, mentions of sex

In the midst of your lovers absence (surprise! surprise! he has another case across the other side of the country!!!) you decided that you were going to have sex with him. The thought of it initially was shocking to you even. This abrupt decision was spurred on after chatting to your friend who was throughly shocked that Spencer hasn't gone past heavy makeout sessions with you and a little over the clothes groping (is this because he's a man or is this because you guys have been dating to the point where you guys having sex is assumed? you couldn't determine). So you decided you were going to get it over and done with. After all you were a virgin in every sense of the word even if you despise the concept of it. So flash forward a couple of days you lay in bed on your nightly phone call with Spencer.

"So is there anything else you wanna tell me about?" he inquires

"Yes" you declared

"Really now?"

"Yes really Spencer. I've decided that when you get back I'm going to have sex with you."

"Woah there sweetheart. Lets slow down a little okay? So over my 2 week absence you have came to this little revelation of yours?" he says sounding shocked and amused.

"Yes."

"Why? I mean like yeah I kinda understand that people do feel a need to have sex to be closer with one another even if its just us wanting to go through the actions of reproducing without consequences. But are you sure you want to do that its a little sudden don't you think?" he explains gently

"I do want to do it" you say insistently. His constant questioning is making you feel a little annoyed because you do want to do it with him. Why wouldn't you? But it also tugged at the strings in your brain that maybe Spencer wasn't attracted to you in that way and maybe thats why he's never brought it up before.

"We can do it if you really want. But why don't we work are way up to it, huh angel? I just want you to get comfortable before tossing you into the deep end. I don't want you to back out during the middle of it."

"Okay" you murmur. "What time do you land tomorrow?"

"Uhhhh..Should be around 10:30am. Anyways I imagine its getting pretty late for you so you should sleep. I love you y/n, I'll see you tomorrow, sweet dreams my love."

"I love you too Spence goodnight." You say into the phone before hanging up. So now you have a plan. A daunting one, but yet a plan none the less.

The next day transpired pretty normally. Spencer getting home from his case, having a power nap whilst you went about your life leading to a makeout session.

Spencer kissed you like a man starved, tongue tracing your mouth like he was committing it to memory which he most indefinitely was. If one day he showed up with a 3D model of the inside of your mouth you wouldn't be surprised in the slightest. You could feel your body temperature rising and a familiar throb from between your thighs. Spencer's hands rested on your hips rubbing them gently. When he pulled away a confused look crossed your face.

"Is there something wrong?" you stutter earning you a breathless laugh from him.

"No nothings wrong your just really pretty thats all, and I also wanted to ask if your okay with me touching you?" he confesses

"Um..Yeah more than okay..Uh" you breathe

"Don't be nervous baby just lift your hips for me yeah?" he says a bit amused starting to unbutton your jeans. It hits you suddenly. You're actually doing this ur breathing picks up but ur not scared actually ur excited very excited. Spencer practically mashes his mouth to yours as the jeans came off and were thrown somewhere across the room. He uses his thigh to nudge your legs apart.

"Mmmm i think pretty is an understatement when it comes to you angel" he jokes which illicts a shy laugh from you. He uses his thumb brushing over your clit. Your heavy breathing turns into whines and eventually little moans as you feel a warm slippery sensation forming.

"There we go, good girl" he mumbles "Well I think theres no use of these panties anymore they are throughly soaked. Lets get these off you yeah?" he questions before tugging at your panties. Your doing this with Spencer Reid. The Spencer Reid you thought as shy and timid when you first met him and now well he's doing this. You can't help but to look up at him adoringly. Before you know it the rubbing sensation continues only you can feel it a little more this time and now a new feeling of a weird stretch? You sit up a bit where you find Spencer's hand joining the junction of your thighs looking up at you with a sweet grin. From what you have heard from your girlfriends guy's liked to take pleasure from you to give to themselves not giving it to you, and you certainly haven't known someone who described someone looking at them so lovingly the first time they did it together. This reiterates the fact that 'woah Spencer really loves you.' which is confirmed by the building pleasure as another finger slips inside.

"You're doing so well baby, you're being so good." he breathes as his eyes flick from his hand to your face. "You doing okay there?"

"Uh huh very well" you moan

"Yeah I can see that"

After a while of his fingers pumping rhythmically the spring in your stomach snaps and you go weirdly squirmy as you feel a warm feeling trickle through your veins. Best feeling ever. Spencers fingers slip out as he wipes it on his leg and lays next to you softly kissing all over your face.

"You okay?" he questions his fingers tracing your arms gently.

"I love you" you say hoarsely which illicit a soft laugh from him.

"Yeah baby I can tell"

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

a/n: again guys im sorry if this was bad i myself was cringing a little writing this 😭

[captain-huggy-bear]

Jack is one that if you aren’t paying attention to him because you’re cooking or reading. He will literally pout

Oh, yeah, big time! Like you're just making your breakfast, trying to fry an egg and he's sat there pouting because you won't cuddle or kiss him because you're dealing with hot oil, Jack! I'd love to do more of these short drabbles/prompts, especially any like dialogue prompts where people send me a single sentence/word/piece of dialogue and who they want it with like '"You're pretty..." with Luke' type vibes. Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :) Writing Masterlist

"Baby..."

"Mmm...." You don't look up from the frying pan, too focused on the egg you're frying for your avocado toast sandwich, trying your best to avoid spitting oil as you cook and trying to get the perfect consistency for your yoke. (Failing miserably because who said you were a great cook?)

"Baby..." He's pouting now, not that you can see it because you're refusing to look at him and this is a fucking crime. He's just sat here and you're so close but you won't even look at him. His bottom lip juts out away from his top, eyes turning sad and pitiful like a puppy. Not that you notice, which makes his pout deeper.

"Yeah?" Still you don't look at Jack, your egg is nearly cooked and you move away to get your toast as it pops out of the toaster, slathering guacamole across both sides and bits of avocado, drizzling sriracha mayo over top.

Jack makes an executive decision, if you won't look at him then he'll just have to make you take notice of him. He picks the exact wrong moment to get up and slide his arms around your waist. The moment when you're transferring your egg to your sandwich and you nearly, nearly drop a boiling hot fried egg on your foot as a result.

"Jack!" You're quick to save the egg, getting it onto your toasted bread before putting the pan and spatula down. Jack's nuzzling into your neck, still pouting because you're more focused on your food than on him and it's not fair, he's been away for a week on a roadie and he's missed you. Didn't you miss him?

"You're ignoring me..."

"Jack, I'm not ignoring you but I need to eat my breakfast, you know how crazy my blood sugar gets..." You try to reason with him, putting the top bread on your sandwich and cutting it in half. He's latched onto you like a limpet on a rock, pressing little kisses to your neck, nose nuzzling against your skin in a way that is far too ticklish.

"You won't even look at me, do you not love me anymore?"

You can't help but laugh at him, turning in his arms and wrapping your own around his neck. Jack's pouting down at you, but there's a little twinkle in his baby blues that tells you he's messing about and just being silly.

"Of course, I love you, Jackie."

"But not as much as your stupid food." His pout manages to become deeper as he glares over your shoulder at your breakfast.

"I love you more. I promise. C'mere..." You cup his cheeks and smile at the way he melts into your palms, practically nuzzling into your hands as his pout melts away. You drag his face closer, pressing one, two, three kisses to his lips before attempting to pull away from him. You should have known that wasn't going to happen.

"Nooo...." He doesn't let you, hands sliding into your back pockets, cupping your arse and pulling you as close as possible. Jack's busy pressing kisses now to your cheeks and nose and you can't help but giggle, a laugh that puts his pout at rest and makes him smirk because he did that. He made you laugh. You're paying attention to him.

"Jack...I need to eat..." You say it between giggles, face scrunching as he kisses across it, finding any and every spot imaginable.

"But I wanna be close to you, baby..."

"Then I'll eat and sit on your lap, is that enough of a compromise?" You try your best to get him to release you, he takes a moment to think, pretending that the decision is a hard one.

"Okay, but I want kisses after."

"Deal."

[miriammctroi]

Fic Scrap: Pregnant Regulus

Personally, I like the idea of trans Regulus agreeing to become pregnant, because this man will not let anything stop him from having James Potter's Baby.

Pregnant Regulus is doing well. His husband is very loving and gentle and indulges all his moods. His friends and brother are supportive. Everything is well.

Except that the family tapestry in 12 Grimmauld Place begins to change, announcing a new Black child.

Walburga is elated, of course. Even if its a Potter, at this point a pureblood heir is a pureblood heir.

She tries to weasel her way back into Regulus’s life with "motherly advise" and presents for the baby.

And Regulus, while weary, can't help but want to believe she has changed. He spent the majority of his life trying to please her and maker her love him. So, he doesn't immediately shut her down. He doesn't tell James about it, either. He'd only worry.

But of course Walburga has not changed whatsoever. As soon as she felt having an ounce of control over him again, she deadnames him, praises him for "coming to his senses" and "fulfilling his duties as a wife and daughter."

Regulus is a strong man, but his parents have always been his weakness. He wasn't like Sirius, who was happy to rebel and cut them out.

Regulus is riddled with anxiety & new dysphoria about the pregnancy, the baby, his husband finding out about all of this.

One afternoon, his mother has, again, forced her way into his home and sat in his living room sneering at the tea, making remarks about the decor and James and how Regulus needed to make sure he lost the baby fat as soon as possible after the birth because men "don't like fat women."

She's in the middle of such a tirade, when Regulus hears the floo and suddenly, James stands in the room. He takes one look at his pale, upset husband and all hell breaks loose.

How dare this woman enter his home? How dare this woman upset his husband? How dare this woman talk to him like this? She didn't have a daughter and she had no claim to their child!

He throws her out of the house - and she can be glad it was through the front door, not a second-story window - and then goes to comfort his husband.

Regulus is crying and apologising for being so stupid as to fall for her, and for not telling him about it.

James just pulls him into his arms, kisses him with all the gentleness of the world and assures him he doesn't have to apologise. It's not his fault for wanting to believe his mother could have a bit of humanity left in her.

He gives him tea and takes him to bed. He needs to rest after weeks of this torment.

Then he writes to Sirius to stay at their place for the rest of the pregnancy and curse Walburga on sight, if necessary.

[pastelneonraven]

Thank for this. I'm really struggling with the recent passing of one of my cats. He passed very suddenly and we don't have much explanation as to what happened to him. In the days since his passing I've struggled to not blame myself. I've struggled feeling so helpless and unable lto do more for him. I'm trying to find ways to grieve him in ways that honor the short life he had. He was so small for the amount of love he was capable of giving. To know him was to truly understand complete and unconditional love. I miss him miss him so much and I've just been repeatedly telling myself that he know how much he was loved. That even though he passed, he's still with us. Thank you for giving me other ways to see him in this world. Thank you for reminding me that things cannot be destroyed. My love for him, his love for me, and everything else that made him who he was still exist in this world in some form or another. I truly cannot thank you enough for reminding me of that.

You're art is beautiful and powerful. Thank you so so much.

Lyra, my beloved cat of 13 years, passed away this year on Father's Day. She's been by my side through very difficult times and was my little rock of steady and unrelenting love. I struggled a lot drawing this, and struggled a lot posting it, but I know I would've wanted to read a comic like this that validated my grief for her when I lost her.

Wherever you are, Lyra my little summer star, I love you always! Thank you for being the best thing in my life.

[leonastarry]

{ 11 } A Love Lost In Time. ✧. ┊    s.jinwoo x lover!reader

Sung Jinwoo had spent his entire life pursuing power. It was his sole goal, his sole obsession—the need to become stronger, to survive, to protect. He had fought, bled, and sacrificed everything in pursuit of power. He had abandoned his old self, his fears, his weaknesses… and, apparently, even you.

And he didn't even realize it.

At first, you told yourself he was just busy.

Sung Jinwoo had always been diligent—pushing his limits, taking on jobs no sane hunter would accept, constantly risking his life. You understood that. You admired that about him.

So when he immediately stopped responding to your messages, you didn't think much of it.

When your call went to voicemail, you reassured yourself that he was probably training.

When nights spent talking until sunrise are reduced to short, distracting texts—"I'll call you back later," "Sorry, something came up"—you tell yourself to be patient.

But then later never come.

And there's always something more important.

At some point, the missed calls stop being accidental. At some point, the silence becomes intentional.

You're not sure exactly when you started feeling like a ghost—hovering over the edge of his life, present but invisible, waiting for a door that will never open again.

Then one day, you muster up the courage to confront him.

You find him where he used to wait for you after work. Except this time, he's not waiting. He just walked past, his mind elsewhere, his steps quick and purposeful—like he had somewhere much more important to be.

"Jinwoo."

He barely responded.

You swallowed, stepping in front of him. "Darling, can we talk?"

For a moment, just a moment, his eyes flickered over you. And in that moment, you searched for something—acknowledgement, warmth, hesitation.

But all you saw was exhaustion. Detachment. Like you were just another person, just another part of the world he no longer had time for.

"…I have things to do," he muttered. And then—he walked past you.

No goodbye. No promise to talk later.

Just silence.

And that's when you understood.

Sung Jinwoo hasn't broken up with you yet.

He just… forgot about you.

And somehow, that hurts even more.

It feels like you don't matter that much anymore.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Until now.

Until time turned back, and your voice—soft, familiar, aching, nostalgic—called his name.

"Jinwoo!"

His breath caught. Something inside him stirred, an unshakable feeling of déjà vu. But it wasn't until he turned around and saw you standing there, smiling naturally that his entire body stiffened. Memories flooded back to him all at once—memories he didn't even know he'd buried.

You were there.

You were always there.

Memories of late-night conversations under the streetlights, of your hand slipping into his without hesitation, of whispers of reassurance when the world felt too cruel. He remembered how you used to tease him when he was just an E-rank Hunter, how you were his safe place when everything seemed impossible. He remembered the warmth of your laughter, the way you always seemed to believe in him, even when he didn't believe in himself.

And then—he remembered that he had lost you.

Not because you died. Not because of some tragic accident.

But because he had forgotten you.

Because in his madness of leveling up, in his single-minded pursuit of power, he had pushed aside everything that wasn't related to survival. He had stopped answering your calls. Stopped meeting you at the coffee shop you both frequented. Stopped thinking about you.

You tried—he could remember it now, like a ghostly echo. The unread messages. The unanswered calls. The last time he saw you in the old timeline, you had reached out to him, asking if everything was okay.

And he had just walked away.

He left you, not with words, not with outright rejection, but with silence.

His stomach twisted. His throat tightened. But then, there you were, looking at him with clear, unburdened eyes, completely unaware of the weight on his chest.

Because in this timeline, you don't remember any of it.

You don't remember how he slowly drifted away, how his obsession with power erased you from his life. You don't remember how you were everything to him—before he threw it all away without a second thought.

And that's the cruelest part.

He had committed some crime that you didn't remember at all.

"Jinwoo?" you asked again, tilting your head, the way you always did when he was silent for too long. "What's wrong? You're staring."

His lips parted but no words came out.

What was he supposed to say? That he had forgotten you? That he had been so focused on power that he had let go of the only person who had always been there for him? That he had left you, and only now, standing here in a time where he still had a second chance, did he realize how unforgivably selfish he had been?

He clenched his fists.

NO.

No, he would not miss this chance.

He would not let himself forget again.

This time, he would win your love.

This time, he would never let you go again.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Sung Jinwoo has been acting strange lately.

You can't pinpoint exactly when it started, but suddenly one day he's been looking at you differently. There's something heavy in his eyes whenever he looks at you, something raw and unspoken.

Guilt.

You don't understand it.

You didn't do anything wrong. He didn't do anything wrong.

But every time you smile at him, his fingers twitch as if he wants to reach out to you but can't. Every time you laugh, his jaw clenches as if it hurts him to hear it. And every time you look into his eyes, you feel the weight of something you shouldn't be carrying—something he refuses to say.

It's frustrating.

Why? Why does he look at you like that?

"Jinwoo," you call, your voice soft but steady. He stiffened, as if expecting you to ask the very question he feared.

But you didn't.

Instead, you smiled, soft and warm, reaching out to take his hand. His fingers tensed under your touch, but he didn't pull away.

"I don't know what you're feeling guilty about," you admitted, watching his throat rise and fall, his expression darkening. "I don't know what you think you did. But I do know one thing."

You squeezed his hand gently, reassuringly.

"I will always forgive you, Jinwoo."

His breathing quickened. His eyes widened with an almost desperate look.

No hesitation. No questions asked. You would forgive him—no matter what.

Because that was how much you loved him.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Bonus:

Jinwoo still stared at you, his expression a jumble of emotions—guilt, relief, and something that looked like self-loathing. He squeezed your hand, and he opened his mouth, probably to say something dramatic and self-sacrificing.

But before he could, you grinned. "So… does that mean I can take your credit card?"

Jinwoo choked. "Huh?"

"You know, since you're so guilty and all," you continued, completely serious. "I feel like retail therapy might actually help me cope with whatever terrible things you think you did."

He blinked. Once. Twice.

Then, for the first time in days, you saw something other than guilt on his face—helplessness and indulgence. "…It doesn't work like that."

"That's exactly how it works," you retorted, poking his chest. "Forgiveness isn't cheap, darling. Pay up."

Jinwoo sighed wearily, rubbing his temples. "I think I like it better when you don’t know how to take advantage of me."

You smiled brightly. "Oh, but you still love me, right?"

He glanced at you, guilt temporarily replaced by fondness. His lips twitched.

"Yeah," he admitted. "I still love you."

"Great!" You patted his arm. "Now, about that credit card—"

"Yeah, you can have it. Just don't make me broke"

"Deal."

@in-dire-need-for-help I'm done !! 🎉

Feeling like I'm full of energy today .

I've written 30 short fics of Jinwoo x reader! So proud of me 😎

Anyways, thanks for 160+ followers, I love you guys 💗💗

[luminni]

Crawling back to John after your "one night stand" but he was just as obsessed as you were. Pt.1 Pt.2

You regretted it from the moment you stepped out of his flat. You really didn't know why you did it either, somehow it just felt natural for you to leave in the morning despite your heart screaming at you to stay there wrapped under wool sheets and locked in his embrace. You just slipped away early in the morning and now you had to live with the consequences. That being the fact John Price would not leave your mind. You went on holiday break just days after the night you spent together, and spending a month where you knew you weren't even the same city as the man who had given you the best night of your life and had treated you so delicately at the same time, was driving you insane. Every waking moment was filled with memories of your casual conversation and teasing jokes. When you dreamed, that is when you could fall asleep and not be in a spiral of regret, it was as if he possessed some otherworldly claim on your body because there was no other explanation for you reliving the pleasure night after night. Not to mention the fact that you couldn't get the jazzy tune of the record you had decided to throw on out of your head, constantly humming along to it and murmuring the words the best you could. But you just couldn't find the song no matter how hard you searched, it was eating away at you, and from where you were, there was nothing you could do.

John wasn't much better. Devastated would have been an understatement if you were trying to describe how he felt after waking up to an empty bed. In the beginning he really tried to ignore his feelings, bury them under work and absentmindedness as he so often did. But it came back to bite him in the ass, every time he got stressed he could only imagine having your sweet voice calling him to bed or telling him you made a fresh pot of tea. When he tried to get in his truck to go back to base for a change of pace, your name and phone popping up in his bluetooth menu the moment he turned on the ignition was like a slap back to reality. The reality that he had genuinely believed you might stick around and stay with him, a reality that had been shattered (and no he definitely did not remove your phone, not just because he didn't know how to). You were driving him mad at work too, the team had never seen their cap' with such an abhorrent attitude. Poor Soap and his usually endearing antics were usually the subject of his anger but nobody was safe. Ghost was sighing too loud and Gaz's use of the wrong mug was suddenly criminal.

" 'M tellin' ye mate, never seen the cap'n so...snarly." Soap complained after being told off for what would have usually been a harmless jab.

"Maybe yer' jus' not funny bruv, ever think a tha'?" Gaz was half listening but more focused on scrolling on his phone.

" 'S not tha' ya half-whit, he's been a dick with the lot'f us." The scot bit back, "Almost tore Lt. a new one fer' slammin' a door."

There was a grunt of agreement from the corner of the room and the boys continued to bicker about what could possibly have their captain so worked up but solutions could be agreed upon.

The only person he didn't snap at was Laswell and that was just because she would snap right back, and snap back meaner. When Price was being particularly sharp about a document not being ready on time she let loose, in front of the team.

"Look, John, I don't know what's got you acting so anal to everyone here, but clean up your attitude and fucking fix whatever the hells got you like this before I write you up for workplace harassment." She snapped, muttering the last part under her breath.

And John would have loved to have been able to fix his mood but he didn't know how to. You were lodged in his mind and wouldn't let him go. That slow, bass heavy song you played in the car replayed over and over in his head every time he thought of you. Your voice and the way you felt wrapped around him, but he couldn't for the life of him find the name of the damn song.

And so the slow and agonizing month away from uni dragged until you were back at school. You thought getting back into the rhythm of your classes and work would help you rid yourself of his memory. But no, you could barely focus in class when all your thoughts were of the way he whispered in your ear and opened doors for you. Against your (and your friends) better judgement you began to try and track him down. Retracing your steps from the bar and scouring google maps, even going so far as to search up his name, to no avail. All your friends told you to give up, that some man twice your age wasn't worth it, but you didn't give up, you couldn't. Finally you found a promising looking building on your maps app that you were able to retrace to his flat, looking exactly like you remembered. You didn't waste a second, grabbing your bag in a frenzy the moment you recognized the building.

Fighting with yourself the whole way there, debating every step you took. He might not even be there? He was in the military. Would he even want to see you? What if had wanted you to leave in the first place? It didn't really matter when you were navigating the stairs up to his place and standing in front of the door at 10:00 in the morning. It felt like lifting a 50 pound weight just to raise your hand and knock on his door, and you regretted everything the second you did.

Seconds later, the door knob turned and revealed a sleepy looking and shirtless John who was nonchalantly leaning against the door frame, a bowl of cereal in one hand and a spoon in the other. Don't let him fool you though, it was all an act, on the inside this man was freaking out and absolutely ecstatic to have his pretty bird fly right back into hands.

"Uh...hi." you gulped, trying to look anywhere but his built chest that you remembered the feeling of like it was yesterday.

"How was the break?" He asked, looking down his nose at you with a slightly amused expression that pissed you off, just slightly.

"Look," you started exasperatedly, "I just- I came, well I wanted to-" You could barely get the sentence out as he took a bite of his cereal, leaving the spoon in the bowl.

"C'mere," He said through bites, ushering in you in even as you shifted away, " 'M not going'ta letcha' stand out in the hallway."

And so he ushered you back into his flat, the exact same one you remembered, the record you had played was still on the player.

"Can I getcha' anything?" He asked, leaning against the kitchen table, still working on that bowl of cereal.

"No I'm fine." you responded curtly, leaning against the back of the couch across from him.

He looked like he was about to say something but you cut him off, "Look, I don't even know what I'm doing here but I haven't been able to stop thinking about you, about that night. It's been weeks and- and I keep replaying that moment in my mind, the moment before I left- and I just wish I had stayed or something. And I don't know why I'm here- I thought about turning back my whole way here and I think somethings wrong with me because I've never felt like this but I should have just left it alone- but I didn't and I don't-"

You heard the sound of the bowl clattering onto the table before suddenly his lips were on yours, silencing your ramblings and relaxing as he felt you melt into him. All your worries suddenly forgotten now that his hands were on you.

When he parted for air, he rested his forehead against yours murmuring "You 'ave no idea how much 've been missing you my sweet girl, drivin' me fuckin' crazy without'ya." against your skin with a kind of quiet earnestness you had only dreamed of.

You couldn't hold back and began to let out shaking sobs against his chest, hiccuping out "I-I'm sorry for l-leaving, I- I just."

"Shhh s'all right." He cooed, rubbing his hands up and down your back, just happy to have you in his arms again.

When you calmed down enough to pull back and look at him with your tear stained face he smiled, stroking your cheek, "You might want to get ready." He whispered

"Ready f-for what?" You sniffled

" 'M takin' you out on a proper date."

A/n: Old man Price consumes me more and more everyday