#ignore how some are in uniforms and some casual…

[ella423]

Liam Mairi x Female Reader

Attention

Summary: When your boyfriend seems too busy looking after another girl, your bitterness seems to have a mind and a plan of its own. But will it backfire?

Warnings: Smut, mentions of blood, angst

A/N: This has to be my favourite story so far, and it's pretty long too! It's heavily inspired by the amazing Tight Black Leathers, written by the talented @scorpioriesling, who's fanfics are what inspired me to write my own. Go check out her work!

I watch as Liam gracefully climbs down Deigh's leg, the muscles in his arms rippling as he lands firmly on the ground.

You aren't going to go to loverboy? My dragon, Stratia asks, as I stay motionless atop her, observing Liam.

"No I want to see what he does."

Liam pats Deigh's foreleg and they appear to exchange a few words. He turns...

My eyes narrow....

.... And heads off in Tairn's direction, to where Violet has just slid down his foreleg.

I release a breath I didn't realize I had been holding. Why did I think he would come towards me?

Who am I anyway?

Not like I'm his girlfriend, who he used to walk back with after Flight Field, and pretty much everywhere else, up until exactly 20 days ago, when Liam's 'brother', the almighty indispensable Xaden Riorson decided that a 21 year old grown woman, Violet Sorrengail, who has bonded the most powerful dragon of our year, needed 24/7 protection by a boy who had a girlfriend.

Give me the clearance and I'll char him. Never liked him anyway, Stratia grumbles in my head.

"Stratia."

Don't tell me you still love that cheating bastard. He's been practically ignoring you for days now.

"He hasn't cheated on me!"

How do you know that? Not like he's been around you at all. Or even bothered to come find you. Even after you've been giving him weird looks.

"I-..... He's not cheating on me Stratia, he would never.. he's not like that..."

But she isn't wrong either, I think, as I climb down her foreleg, and walk back alone to my room. Since Liam's been assigned as Violet’s bodyguard, he's been following her around all the time. Violet and my timetable is slightly different, and Liam's was changed so he could be with her in every class. Liam no longer has time to spar with me because he trains with Violet now, and I can't do that time because it is my reserved spot in the Scribe Quadrant Library to study History. Liam and I always used to spend the night in each other's rooms. In the past 20 days, for atleast half of those nights, I've waited for him to return to his room, but fallen asleep by the time he would return. And the other nights when I expected him to come to mine, he never showed up, except maybe once or twice. The only time we see each other is during our Squad's common classes.

And initially, it was just mutual pining on both our sides. We used to kiss each other extra hard when we were around each other. I'd playfully mention how I 'didn't get my full body massage the night before', or how my neck seemed 'too spotless' lately. But it gradually became serious. The distance was genuinely depressing. And I missed my boyfriend. Missed his casual touches, our constant whispering and talking and flirting, his playful kisses for seemingly no reason, his deep, confident voice telling me how gorgeous I was, his beautiful blue eyes looking at me even when he thought I wasn't aware, his dimples and that arrogant smirk....

I barely realize when I reach my room. I yank my door open, and slam it shut.

This is ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. I love Liam, and I know he loves me, even though he hasn't been around to say it as much.

I yank my closet door open, shoving aside my spare uniform unnecessarily aggressively, as I sift through the clothes at the back for some traning wear to change into.

It was absolutely demeaning, shameful and downright disrespectful for Xaden to assign Liam, of all the people, in this bloody place, as Violet’s bodyguard. How would he feel if Violet was suddenly asked to shadow Dain all the time?

I growl in frustration when I can't find the tank top I'm looking for. I chuck aside more clothes, carelessly tossing things around.

And Liam! That useless toerag! Doesn't he have a goddamn mouth? Is he not noticing that he hasn't so much as slept beside his girlfriend more than once or twice in almost a month? Or does he not care at all?

I pull back from my futile search, and kick my closet door. I barely feel a sting in my foot, but a little bit of my anger seems to drain out.

I can't seem to find my bloody training wear. But I have to be down for sparring class with Professor Emetterio in a short whle.

My eyes fall upon my sports bra, hanging from a hook on the closet door. Sighing, I pull it off and quickly change into it.

This will have to do for today, I guess. I move over to my tiny vanity mirror to see if it is decent enough.

Nothing overly revealing, but it does give my chest a good shape, the dip just low enough to..... tease.

Hmmm.

I tie my hair back into a tight ponytail, and double knot to make sure it stays. I don't normally make such tight styles, but I can't deny that it looks, striking? It makes my cheekbones much more defined, my eyes more intense.

As if acting on some strange feeling I don't yet want to fully acknowledge, I take out my kohl from the drawer and very lightly line the underside of my eyes, just a smudge, to pronounce them.

I walk over to my closet once more, and this time, pick out the tiniest cycling shorts I own- ones I rarely wear now that I have more muscle from months of rigorous training- and change into them.

Looking into the mirror makes me smile. I've always liked the way I looked, but this look makes me exceptionally pleased.

It's not unnatural to want to feel wanted, is it? To feel appreciated, admired. Especially when I have done nothing wrong. Nothing to deserve this second rate treatment from my own boyfriend.

I don't give a second thought to my new look. I walk out of my room and slam the door shut behind me. The training room is almost directly underneath my room, so I don't encounter a lot of people till I enter.

I ignore the momentary hush that falls over the cadets in the immediate vicinity of the door. I ignore the dropped jaws of the guys from Second Wing, not even trying to hide their staring. I ignore Caroline Ashton's glare as I walk past her.

I ignore it all, till I spot Sawyer and Ridoc leaning against a bench, talking. And a few metres to their right, Violet and Liam, laughing together.

Even then, I ignore the little jump my heart gives when I see his silhouette, with his back to me as he and Violet stand together.

He doesn't notice me, and I pretend to not have noticed him either, walking swiftly towards Ridoc and Sawyer.

Sawyer notices me first, his eyebrows raising as he fully takes me in. I wave at him, and Ridoc turns to look at me as he catches Sawyer's line of sight. There’s a pause, while his eyes widen. He stares at me for a moment, before a grin breaks over his face, and he lets out a low whistle.

"Damn, Y/L/N," he drawls, as I reach his side. "New look? Or new strategy to win your fight?"

"Neither of the above. I think my regular training wear is still in the wash. So I wore what was available", I shrug.

"Right. Available. Surrre" Ridoc scoffs.

I roll my eyes.

"No seriously though. Who are you trying to torture?"

"I'm not trying to torture anyone. This is literally all I had to wear for training."

"And the kohl just magically flew to your eyes right?"

"It looked nice."

"Right. Well, if it's Mairi you're trying to seduce, then I think it's working."

"More than working," Sawyer coughs.

"His eyes are practically tearing the bra off your body." Ridoc remarks.

I can't help the blush that creeps up my cheeks, but I roll my eyes.

"I hardly think he would even care."

Ridoc lets out a choked sound.

"Care? Y/N, are you-"

"Liam no longer seems to care about what I do or don't do now." I can't keep the bitterness out of my tone. "A little outfit can't do what I couldn't in weeks."

Ridoc frowns at the genuine emotion in my voice, his smirk faltering. Even Sawyer seems to note something is wrong. But then he seems to notice something behind me.

"Uhh Y/N, he's coming over here right now."

Shit. I don't want to face him right now. I can't. I'm about to turn around and walk off, when-

"Y/N, Thomas Girardi, to the third mat!" Emetterio's booming voice calls out.

I've never been this relieved at a match announcement before. I practically skip over to the mat, shaking hands with Thomas, who's a bulky First Year from Third Wing. Even he seems a little distracted, to say the least, as his eyes, as if betraying his better judgment, trail down my body, before he blushes and steps back. Sawyer is not called to the mat today, because he stays back to watch my fight, giving me an encouraging smile. Just as I smile back, I see a familiar blonde head saunter over and stand next him.

Apparently, Liam wasn't called either. I quickly focus back on Thomas, forcing back the stupid grin that threatened to split my face.

When the match begins, I'm even more determined to win this fight than I normally am. Liam actually coming over to watch ME fight, when I'm pretty sure Violet's sparring too, is hella surprising. Did my ridiculous outfit plan, borne out of pure bitterness and rage, actually work? Was Liam that affected by the sight of a little skin? While that is a little flattering, it's also.... underwhelming? Is physical aspect the only thing that could make him give me a little more attention? I push the thoughts out of my head. Atleast right now, it didn't matter why Liam was here. He was watching regardless. I couldn't lose this match.

Thomas is a good fighter, and more than a few times, he flips me over, and attempts to hold me down, but I'm a master of using my body to my advantage, and each time, I wriggle out of his hold.

"Nice slide, Y/N!" Sawyer calls out, as I slip past Thomas's bruising hold.

My eyes glint as we continue sparring, sweat pooling down my forehead.

Thomas lunges at me once more, but I tuck under his arm, kick his back, hard. He stumbles forward, but quickly regains consciousness. However, I'm ready for him. I ram into him, using his momentum against him, and punch his stomach, making him gasp and double over. In the second he doubles over, I spare a glance to the side, pride coursing through my veins.

But all warmth vanishes from me in a second.

Sawyer stands alone. Liam is gone from his side. And I don't need to look far to spot him. A few feet behind Sawyer, he stands next to Violet, who appears to have just finished her match. They're conversing in low tones, Liam’s hand on her shoulder-

The wind is knocked out of me as I slam back to the ground. And then Thomas is on top of me. I barely gasp, before he punches my cheek. My head flies to the left, and a sharp pain resonates through my face. A warmth trickles down my cheek, slipping down my nose, and to the mat below, glistening a vibrant red.

My head snaps to the other side, as he lands another swift blow. And another. And another.

The blooming pain makes me snap out of whatever pitiful stupor I was momentarily in, and slam my knee straight up into his exposed groin.

Thomas screams, and I take the chance, throwing my body up, flipping him around. I whip out a knife and hold it to his throat.

He yields before I even voice the command myself.

I quickly get off of him, dropping to my knees next to him.

"Are you alright?"

Thomas's eyes are squeezed shut, his mouth contorted in pain, as he curls his legs inward, his arms around them in a crushing grip.

"I'm-sigh- fine" he breathes out.

I offer him a hand, which he takes without much hesitation, helping him get to his feet. He looks at my face, and winces.

"Sorry for... those."

I smile, even though it hurts to do so. And not just physically.

"We're even, aren't we?"

Thomas shakes my hand, and I step off the mat.

Sawyer is immediately by my side.

"Gods Y/N, your cheeks-" he starts.

"I'm fine, Sawyer, let it go." I say, even though I can feel another drop of blood drip from my cheek to the floor.

My face throbs painfully, an irony, considering how numb I was feeling inside. I begin to shuffle painfully to the door.

"What happened, Y/N? Why did you zone out during the match? You had him in the palm of your hand, but your hesitation-"

"Sawyer," I stop in my pursuit, and turn to face him. "Let. It. G-"

"What in Malek's name happened to you?" A booming voice sounds, followed by quick heavy footsteps quickly making there way to me.

Not this fucker.

"Y/N, love, what bloody happened?" Liam's exclaims as he reaches my side. Violet’s there too in a second, both of them openly staring at my face as if I've grown horns.

I shake my head, and start to walk again.

"Darling-"

I flip around.

"DON'T CALL ME THAT," I snap. Liam’s eyes widen. "YOU WOULD KNOW WHAT HAPPENED IF YOU EVEN BOTHERED TO WATCH, YOU POOR EXCUSE OF A BOYFRIEND. STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!"

I don't bother waiting for a reply, before running out of the training room, bitter tears welling up in my eyes and rolling freely down my face, all the way to my room.

I slam the door shut behind me, and lean back against it.

My eyes screw shut, and my lip wobbles, before a sob finally breaks loose.

Tears or blood or sweat, I don't know at this point, flow like water down my face, and to the floor. My knees follow the same path.

I've barely been in my room for a minute, when an incessant pounding begins on the door, sending jolting vibrations through my body as I leaned against it.

"Y/N! Open the door! Please! What's wrong?" Liam's voice, loud and frantic, mixed with a hint of confusion, and what is unmistakably hurt.

"GET LOST," I scream, my voice cracking with sobs.

"Absolutely not! Let me in, Y/N! Wha- What happened?"

"Just. Go. AWAY!"

There's a long pause, and I wait with bated breath to see if his footsteps move away from the door.

But then Liam speaks again, softer this time, the pain his tone blatantly evident.

"Please, sweetheart. Just let me in. You can yell at me, scream, fight, punch me, kick me, do whatever. Just let me in. Don't shut me out like this."

And in my head, I picture him so clearly. His blonde hair, adorably tousled, strong arms around my waist, holding me close. His blue depths, normally full of life and love when looking at me, filled with hurt and confusion. Does he really not know why I'm so upset?

I tell myself it's my anger at his ignorance about what he's done wrong, that makes me get up and open the door.

Even though I'm glaring at him so fiercely I would expect him to recoil, Liam seems more concerned by the condition of my cheeks right now.

"Oh gods," he murmurs, before abruptly stepping into the room, making me step back in surprise. I only watch as he takes out the medical kit I keep in my drawer, before turning back to me, grabbing my hand, and ushering me to sit on the edge of my bed.

"I can do it myself," I whisper hoarsely, not meeting his gaze.

"Nonsense," he says, getting onto his knees in front of me so he's level with my face.

He doesn’t waste a second, only a quick warning about how it might sting, before one of his hands tilts my head the side, and the other gently brings some cotton dipped in antiseptic to a probable cut on my cheek.

I can't hold in my gasp as searing pains tears my face. Liam’s hand that's propping my chin up squeezes me comfortingly, but he remains firm with his swipes.

He cleans both sides of my face, the wounds as well as the blood, before bringing out some gauze.

"I can do it myself," I repeat, my voice no longer as weak.

"You're not dressing your owns wounds when I'm around, my love."

My anger, which had dissipated a little because of the all consuming pain (and the close proximity to him), flares up once again at his words.

"Oh, now you're boyfriend of the year, are you? Taking care of your so called girlfriend, when you're the reason she's hurt, when you can't even bother to watch the full fight!"

My voice rises in volume with each word, but to Liam's credit, he barely flinches.

"I- That's what you're upset about? I didn't watch the whole fight? Y/N-"

"It's not just that you-" I pick up a pillow from my bed and chuck it at him- "Insufferable duffer!"

"You're never around anymore! Not in the mornings, not during classes except for the ones I have with Violet, not during traning, not while studying, not while walking in the hallways, not at night! I barely see you anymore. I've been trying to respect that fact that Xaden gave you this duty, and he has... done a lot for you, but this is borderline ridiculous! I need you too. What's the point of being in a relationship when we aren't there for each other at all?"

Liam's expression, initially just filled with shock and lingering confusion, becomes more and troubled as I keep speaking, even seeming resigned to an extent, as if he feared this would happen. He look at the ground, pursing his lips. There's a long pregnant pause in the wake of my outburst, before he lets out a weary sigh.

"Y/N, I-" he begins, before pausing again. He's trying to choose his words very carefully. "My sweet girl, I get what you mean. I completely understand." He finally looks up at me. His eyes glisten, not with tears, but with the weight of unspoken words, words which he wants to say, but has difficulty voicing. Conflicting emotions, and a deep guilt in those beautiful blue eyes.

Without leaving his gaze, I feel him gently take my hand in his, fingers intertwining with mine. I can't bring myself to pull away.

"It's not that I don't want to be with you, sweetheart. Trust me, I wake up with your name on my lips, and go to bed with your beautiful face haunting my thoughts."

"But you don't act like it, Liam," I murmur softly. "You don't act like you care. I don't see any inclination on your part to spend more time with me, or you even being sorry that you're not with me. It's like it doesn't matter to you."

Liam's brow furrows, not with anger, but with sadness. Desperation. I supress the urge to smooth out the lines. Even amidst my anger and disappointment, any negative expression on his face makes my insides clench. It hurts me to see him hurt.

He opens his mouth, as if to say something, but thinks better of it. I see his expression change, from desperation and resignation, to a more steely gaze, more... determined.

"Y/N, my gorgeous girlfriend, that's not true."

His other hand, the one not laced with mine, encircles my waist, pulling me closer. He's still on his knees, and the pull makes us come almost face to face.

"It’s not possible that I'd ever be content with not spending every waking moment by the side of the person I love more than anyone else in this world." His palm rubs circles on my bare back. "The person who's my whole world, my everything, the reason for my laughter, my joy-" his hand that was previously holding mine ventures over to my thigh-"the beating of my heart, my reason for living."

He leans in, pressing a feather light kiss to the corner of my eye.

Barely there, but promising so much.

The simmering anger in me starts to race through my veins again, but it's not exactly... anger anymore.

Liam trails further kisses down my face, careful to avoid my wounds. Both his hands venture over to my thighs, carressing, squeezing.

Gently probing them apart.

His lips trail to my neck, where the feather light touches tranform into open mouthed kisses. Despite myself, my eyes fall shut, and I tilt my head to the side, allowing Liam better access to my skin, as he kisses, sucks, marks away.

His hands continue massaging my thighs, venturing higher and higher, till they rest on the waistband of my shorts.

"I know I haven't been around much, Y/N," Liam murmurs against my skin. He trails lower, down to the valley of my breasts. He punctuates his words by a delicate bite on the skin pushed up by the bra, and I can't help the whimper that escapes my lips.

Liam pulls back from my breasts, and I open my eyes to look at him. His eyes burn like blue fire, a silent promise swirling amidst the ever spreading black of his pupils in the wake of his desire. The familiar look in his eyes, when desire threatens to overtake everything else.

"But I'm here now."

He bends, lower and lower, till he now kneels comfortably beneath me, between the circle of my thighs.

His hands tug at the waistband of my shorts. I barely notice when I'm rising on my hands, allowing him to tug them down my thighs.

Slowly, tantalizingly.

"Liam..." I moan, unable to take it anymore.

"Let me take care of you, love."

He throws my shorts to a corner of the room, leaving me in just my underwear.

Oh gods. Liam smiles, a devlishly handsome smile, that sends a jolt of desire straight to my core.

"Already soaked for me, darling?"

Liam's long, nimble fingers hook around the edge of the lace and with a swift tug, rips them off, chucking them far behind him.

He throws my left leg over his shoulder, and leans in, pressing a tentative kiss to the inside of my thigh. The action sends sparks of pure pleasure shooting through my body, and I gasp.

I can't take it anymore.

"Liam-"

"Don't worry baby, I've got you."

He licks up my slit, in one swift motion, and I gasp once more. I throw my head back when he does it again. But it's the soft kiss he presses on my clit that sends me over the edge, and I let out a loud moan. He sighs in contentment at the sound, and the breath aggravates the maddening sensations in me even more.

"There you go, love," he murmurs. He runs his tongue in circles, tasting, teasing, making me whimper and moan his name desperately.

"Oh gods, Liam-"

I feel his hands brush over me, fingers no doubt feeling and smearing the fluids dripping out of me.

His long, calloused middle finger sinks into me with ease... and I'm a goner.

His free hand finds mine once more and his finger intertwine with mine, physically, emotionally, in every way possible. I squeeze his fingers bruisingly, my breath ragged, my moans free, my body tense and desperate and impatient, wriggling on the bed.

His finger pumps in and out of me, agonizing in its savouring pace. Not nearly fast enough, not nearly enough to quell the burgeoning ache in me. White hot pleasure pools low in belly, and it's as if it's that pleasure that courses through my veins instead of blood, as if that's what my heart is pumping rapidly through my body, all the way to my curling toes.

"My pretty girl," Liam smirks against me, the vibarations in my already stimulated heat making me let out a particularly desperate cry. I feel a faint blush colouring my cheeks, even though it's probably the thousandth time Liam has called me his pretty girl as he ate me out. But the words never fail to make me feel special, lose myself in the pleasure of it all even more.

"Such pretty sounds from a pretty girl."

He inserts a second finger, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out that desperately again, cause I no longer have any control over my vocal cords anymore.

"No, don't hold back, love," Liam murmurs, as if sensing my restraint. His teeth tug at my swollen bud, and this time, I can't suppress the desperate scream that rages through me.

"That's it," he praises. "I want to hear exactly what I'm doing to you, exactly how much pleasure I'm making you feel, my love."

His tongue sucks my clit, the pressure clearly no longer teasing, but purposeful. The unhurried, thorough thrusts with his fingers now faster, rougher. He curls his fingers in me, hitting that spot, again and again, till my nails dig into Liam's hand intertwined with mine, my other tangled in his blonde curls, twisting and pulling at his hair. I writhe, moaning and whimpering desperately, pleasure raging through me....

The familiar pressure in my belly builds, heavy, insistent and inevitable, consuming every thougt that isn't his name, his relentless nimble fingers, his unforgiving tongue, and his teeth nipping at me....

Oh gods.

"That's it, darling," he breathes. "Come for me, my love."

His words send me over the edge, and I shatter, coming apart on his lips and fingers with a scream. He doesn’t falter in his ministrations, if anything, his mouth becomes even more thorough as he eats me out, lapping up every last drop till I'm whimpering and pulling at his hair, begging him to stop.

Finally satisfied, Liam straightens up. I lean back on the bed, using my hands to keep me upright, but barely.

My lidded gaze meets Liam's vibrant, intense blue, his eyes alive and lit with satisfaction, and he keeps it locked with mine as he slowly brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean.

His lips stretch into a lazy, satiated smirk, still glistening with my release.

Even though I'm still weak and trembling, I can't resist leaning forward, and kissing him straight on the mouth. Liam immediately pulls me closer, and I savour the sweet taste of his lips in the aftermath of the warm pleasure still running through me.

We break apart, but only for a moment, as Liam settles against the headboard of my bed, before lifting me up with ease and settling me onto his lap. I'm still trembling slightly, my legs mush, and I melt in his arms. I sigh, a tiny smile on my face as I rest my head on his chest, just under his chin. He presses a soft kiss to my forehead, and doesn't pull back.

"I love you, Y/N," he whispers throatily against my forehead. "So much. More than you'll ever know, darling. I'll-I'll talk to Xaden about shadowing Violet. I know I should have done it long ago, but I didn't want Xaden to think I wasn't interested in helping him. But it wasn't fair to you. And I'm so sorry for that, for neglecting you and making you think that you don't matter to me, which is the furthest thing from the truth. It kills me knowing I was the reason for your sadness, your tears. I'm so so sorry, my love."

His words fill me with warmth, the lingering traces of disappointment and resentment vanishing, leaving behind nothing but overwhelming love for this wonderful man, who is everything to me.

"It's fine, Liam," I whisper to him. I press a tiny kiss to his neck, the only part of him within reach of my lips. "I could never stay mad at you. I love you, so so much."

He kisses my forehead again, and I can make out that his lips are stretched into a smile. "You're my whole world, Y/N, and I'll be damned if I don't spend every day of my life showing you just how much I love you."

[saekin]

Persona 5 drawing I’m putting on something cO-o

[7nuh]

WAS IT 'CASUAL' WHEN...? — TWST 1ST YEARS

Headcanons on the 'casual' things you do with him that made him wish that there was something more between you.

CW 𓂃 sfw, gn!reader, reader is implied to fit in Deuce's clothes in his part, pining

CHARAS 𓂃 Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Jack Howl, Epel Felmier, and Sebek Zigvolt

AN 𓂃 mostly* edited now 😎👍

ACE TRAPPOLA — you slept in the same bed?

Ramshackle isn't exactly known for having the best facilities or furniture, and that is a fact Ace has to make peace with whenever he gets kicked out by Riddle. It's always a little too chilly at night and the floors still creak beneath his feet. Even with a makeover, half of the beds are broken and that stiff couch downstairs is your next best bet at getting some semblance of sleep.

You insisted you really didn't mind sharing a bed at all and Ace took you up on your offer. In his words, "if you say so then!" Just create an invisible partition down the middle and the two of you should be fine. Sure, yeah, that'll be infinitely more comfortable than the couch, and Ace absolutely agrees. He repeats the thought to himself over and over again— this is supposedly the better alternative, isn't it?

Yeah, totally. He tries to convince himself that it's really not a big deal for him to be inches away from you at night and feel your warmth spreading through the sheets. God, you'd think he's a weirdo if you woke up and caught him staring right now, but he could always twist it into a dumb joke about your sleeping face looking like an ogre. Consequently, he would have to watch your face twist in annoyance and pretend he wasn't watching every rise and fall of your chest. He would rather lose his magic entirely than admit the ugly truth and make himself vulnerable to you.

Ace does realize he's being embarrassingly sappy and romantic, and he's disgusted at himself for these thoughts, but he can't help it. He can't change the fact your lips look so soft and your eyelashes are so pretty. This is freaking him out so much more than it should. Does this really mean nothing to you? Do really only see him as a friend? Fine, then the two of you are just friends sharing a bed then!

It's really nothing! Ace was the one who joked about it months ago, after all. But things (and his feelings) have changed and he cannot ignore that. Back then it wouldn't have been such a big deal, but now it is and he cannot calm his heart down no matter how hard he tries.

You're right there. It's not the first time he had to share a bed with someone but it's different now because it's you. He did the math and the two of you are only 10 inches apart. Ace almost reaches for you in his weakest moment until he remembers that the two of you are supposedly just two friends sharing a bed. You're doing him a favor by sheltering him for the night, that's all.

Ace retracts his hand right away at the very last second. He might have as well taken the goddamn couch (lest either of you wake up in each other's arms).

DEUCE SPADE — he lent his clothes?

You came here with next to nothing. You had exactly one change of clothes and pocket lint for change, so Deuce, being the righteous and honorable student that he is, decided to lend you some of his clothes for the meantime. It's what a good friend would do! It's a temporary arrangement that would last only until Crowley spares enough change for you to buy another set of uniforms.

But this arrangement drags on for so long even when you have a functional closet and multiple sets of better-fitting clothes. Deuce never really noticed until recently that a third of your (albeit very limited) wardrobe actually belongs to him. But whenever you tug on his sleeves for his latest sweater, he doesn't have the heart to tell you no.

When he went home during break, his mom even noticed that certain sweaters and shirts had gone missing. "I left them at the college," he tells her as to not worry her. It's technically the truth— it's back with you in the college (and you're probably wearing them right now; the mental image is enough to fluster him all of the sudden when it never did before). He has to get them back eventually since those clothes are his. He's sure you wouldn't mind? Right?

Simply asking for them back is the difficult part for Deuce. You're there in front of him wearing one of his older shirts that fit snugly around your figure and he's at a loss for words. It's worn down and outright hideous as hell but the very first thought that comes to mind is that you look good in it.

Ah, yeah. You walk around campus on non-school days wearing his clothes 1/3rd of the time and nobody else knows that those jackets and shirts and sweaters and button-ups are all his. You make even the ugliest ones look good, or maybe it's because you're the wearer and you always looked good to him? Do his eyes need to be checked...? Deuce is tortured by these thoughts while merrily go about your day. You're laughing at something stupid that Grim said and he can't hear anything else. There's a fight in the courtyard but he can't see anything else. There's a midterm tomorrow but he can't think of anything else. You're too distracting.

When you finally do remember to return a shirt or two, Deuce tells you there's really no need to return them. He insists that they're better off with you, but you laugh and remind him that you're no longer the same pathetic charity case you were at the start of the year.

The truth is, your scent still lingers on recently returned shirts. It's the closest he'll get to being skin-to-skin with you, and Deuce is supposed to ignore that but he cannot. Or maybe he's the only one making this weird for the two of you because it doesn't seem to bother you in the slightest (and he's bothered by that).

But when Deuce looks at the recently returned shirts in his hands, he hopes he has a chance. He hopes you think of him as much as he thinks of you. He hopes the odds of him not actually liking you after all make your guts churn and set butterflies in your chest at the same time. He hopes he isn't the only one yearning for used shirts, lingering scents, and ghost touches. But at the same time, you've only ever asked these kinds of favors from him... Deuce doesn't want to assume anything, but a blush creeps upon his cheeks all the same and he continues to hope for more.

JACK HOWL — you played with his ears and tail?

Beastmen weren't a thing back in your world, so seeing them regularly made you morbidly curious about their animalistic features. Jack was easily the best candidate to satisfy your intrusive thoughts because just who else could you ask about this? Leona wasn't exactly an option and Ruggie might rope you into some scheme of his. And Jack owed you a favor, after all, so this is what you decided to ask of him.

Jack's ears twitched— did he hear you correctly? His face scrunches up in confusion because you barely knew each other for you to be asking something like this. How could you ask something so personal from him? It's in your innocently eager expression that he realizes what's going on... you just didn't know. Fine, it should mean nothing to you and thus he agrees to let you pet his tail and ears for five seconds. Maximum.

It's supposed to be a one time thing but he finds him involuntarily offering up his tail whenever you look him like that. He's not even sure how it got to this point. After all, there are romantic connotations of having your tail petted by someone else and... nevermind. Ruggie and Leona have started simultaneously teasing him over it the very moment they caught wind of this peculiar arrangement. It doesn't help that Jack's tail is particularly sensitive and reactive, but he keeps a straight face no matter how much it embarrasses him.

Jack doesn't understand why you're so fascinated by his tail and ears because there are so many others just like him. However, he supposes it's not an entirely terrible feeling, though, to have your fingers absentmindedly rake across his tail and hair as the two of you study. It's relaxing, even, but he won't tell you that. Jack will never tell you that it gives him goosebumps all over and makes him shiver whenever you play with his tail. Or that he's begun wondering what it would be like to have your hands elsewhere, or for him to touch you in similar ways in return.

He doesn't understand why he craves your company but doesn't question it either. All he knows is that your hands are so soft and gentle and that he likes the way the corner of your eyes crinkle when you smile in satisfaction. And when you hum a soft tune as the gap between the two of you closes, he wonders if he's the only one feeling this tension.

"Again?" Jack huffs. The pretext of this being a silly favor has been long forgotten. He should probably tell you soon that you shouldn't be doing this, but you just look so pleased with yourself when the two of settle down in a lesser-known corner of the library. The routine persists, the cycle continues. Hours later, the both of you have gone through multiple bags of chips, two movies on his laptop, and his tail is now comfortably curled around your abdomen as you read a book and he tends to his beloved cactus.

Again? Jack silently asks himself whenever he sees your face in a crowd. Could the two of you spend hours in a comfortable silence while the unsaid implications haunt him? He's started to ask himself— were you just playing dumb at this point or just plain stupid? Or what if you had known all along and the two of you were just dancing around it?

EPEL FELMIER — you kissed him?

Epel eventually learns to use the way others perceive him to his advantage; there's strength in appearing to be weak and striking when the iron is hot. Still, he couldn't help but wish to be seen for his talents and strength instead of his beauty at the first glance. The first assumption everyone makes of him, for god's sake, is that he's a fragile little thing from a rich family, and, quite frankly, he's sick of it.

So he's secretly delighted when none of his charms worked on you and you yank him by the ear for even attempting. A few curse words and rough shoves later, both of you are on the floor, grappling and wrestling against each other. The two of you are laughing so hard and swearing so loudly that you'll probably wake up the rest of Pomefiore at this rate, but neither of you care. It's just the two of you right now grasping at each other like your life depended on it.

It's a nice change of pace to be openly exchanging insults instead of restraining himself. He enjoys the comfortable rhythm the two of you share— from all the brawls and the bantering and the hugs and to the kisses on the cheek. Yes, kisses. They started as simple thank you's after a few favors here and there, and just one of them is enough to make a mess out of Epel for weeks. Better yet, you only seem to be showering him with more and more of your attention and he relishes in it.

Ah, things are finally working out for him! He found someone he could confide in and he's sure that there's a spark between the two of you. By the end of the year, he might have someone to bring home and brag about to his relatives—

All the momentum halts when he sees you across the hall granting the rest of your friends the same levels of affection. From all the brawls to the bantering to the hugs and the kisses, none of those were ever solely his to take delight upon. It doesn't matter that he opened up to you about all his fears and insecurities because he was never special. You were just the kind of person who got along and felt comfortable with everyone around you, but Epel hates that he has no one to blame but himself. He willingly walked your warmth but it was never his to take.

It finally dawns upon him that you have never seen him in a romantic light and that was why you were so comfortable around him. In retrospect, the bond you two shared was more sibling-like than anything— and believe him when he says he's incredibly grateful that the two of you were that close —but it doesn't make it hurt any less to know that your affections never carried any romantic intentions after he had pinned for you for so long.

Even when he takes a step back, you're cruel in a roundabout way by continuing to be so kind and loving towards him. How was Epel supposed to make sense of your relationship after realizing he misunderstood you...?

And he also hates to admit this, but his self-confidence takes a huge blow from this. Epel genuinely thought he could be loved for who he was based on the time you spent together. It gnaws at him and eats him alive to finally know the truth, and sometimes he wishes he never found out at all.

SEBEK ZIGVOLT — you wrote him love letters?

So, Sebek asked (demanded) to be penpals...

It's all because Lilia told him it would be a good exercise of diplomacy, he insisted. As the young master's bodyguard, he will have to be as courteous as possible even in unpleasant company. He also rationalized, admittedly partly because of you, that forging bonds with magicless humans may be a worthwhile endeavor after all! It's all rather suspicious (and you suspect his real intentions have something to do with your friendship with Malleus), but Sebek has never been one to lie about his intentions. If anything, the popular opinion was that he's a little too honest and should learn a thing or two about holding back.

There's something very unconventional in sending handwritten letters in this day and age of modern technology, but also something very romantic and fantastical— much like the many fictional knights he had read about. It helps a lot that he's not directly confronted by the fact you are very much a magicless human who shouldn't be in NRC whenever he spills out his heart's contents unto multiple pages. It was a way for him to release his frustrations, celebrate his achievements, and talk about the dull, little things thats happened in his day-to-day life to someone who listened.

And listen you did. Turns out, when you're not subjected to his 1000 decibel shouting, Sebek is a rather earnest guy who worked hard and acknowledged others who also worked equally as hard no matter their disposition. To say the least, you understand why Lilia found it so entertaining to tease him.

It completely flies over his head that you had been flirting with him for months through these letters. Your everyday interactions with each other had been completely normal, so how was he supposed to notice?! It takes multiple rereads and many late-night discussions with the other Diasomnia dormers to decode and understand all the double entendres and hidden 'i love you's' in each and every letter. It was so needlessly difficult, but Lilia laughs in his face and pats him at the back for a job well-done.

"There's no way," he thinks to himself late at night and finds himself doubting Lilia's claims for once. But when Sebek steals a glance in your direction and you smile back in return, he's never felt weaker in his knees. You're absolutely and undeniably magic-less... but somehow you had casted a spell that made his chest tighten and shut him up. He hadn't even realized how much time he was spending with you and thinking about you when he wasn't.

Except nothing has changed in-person. You're acting like you hadn't meticulously hidden your affections for him in those letters, and he was starting to seriously doubt all of it. Yeah, were you event smart enough to pull off all that? As some magic-less human?

Actually... Sebek realizes that you are capable of outsmarting him after getting to know you much better through those letters. He's never been one to deny where credit it was due. Now, Sebek's just deeply ashamed that he failed to accurately assess your character before making judgements based on superficial traits. He knows better than anyone that you're witty, charming, brave, kind, beautiful, ambitious—

Oh no.

Oh no.

Sebek simply explodes on the spot once he realizes that he had been oblivious to his own feelings for you too. He had thoroughly examined every aspect of this conundrum except from within. Quite embarrassing from an esteemed knight of the prince of nocturnal fae to be this slow, really.

[jinusajas]

04/24/25; 06:00pm

{ 18+ drabbles / headcanons }

[ they f-ck you in uniform ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel, caleb

warnings: slight voyeurism and ooc-ness.

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

sylus was in the middle of a meeting, his ear pressed against his phone as he sat against his chair with his expensive suit clinging to him. a bead of sweat was felt descending down his brow, and he could barely listen to the poor bastard on the other end because of how your soft mewls of his name kept distracting him.

in the midst of his call, you had entered his office, wearing nothing but a damp robe. it was clear that you had just finished showering, yet he wasn’t sure why you entered his office. he quirks his eyebrows in response, only to feel the heat rush all the way down to his cock when you drop the silky material of your robe.

a devilish expression was on your face when you place a finger against your lips, silently beckoning him to remain quiet before kneeling down before him. you trace at the expensive material of his suit, giving him an innocent smile before unzipping his pants.

he lets out a hiss, turning away from his phone the moment you manage to free his cock from the confines of his pants, his dick already half hard for you when you slowly began stroking it back to full hardness. you take a second to admire his sheer size and girth, giving him a cheshire cat grin before surging forward.

your lips wrap around the tip of his cock before moving your head down the length of him. he hisses lowly at the sensation of your hot and wet mouth (feeling very much like silk) around his cock. no longer paying attention to the call, he grips at his phone “i have to go.” he tells the man with a growl before hanging up the call, tossing aside his phone while gripping your head with both of his hands.

controlling the pace now, he rapidly pushes his cock in and out of your mouth, nearly gagging you when he manages to shove himself all the way down your throat. the pants of his expensive suit were now stained with your drool and the beads of his precum that manages to escape from your lips.

with one last thrust, he shoots the rest of his seed down your throat, letting out a grunt of your name. much like a cat that’s had her fill of cream, you remove your lips from his softening cock, licking at your lips while making a show of swallowing everything he had to offer. sylus’s eyes darken considerably in response, hands coming around to give your ass an audible smack! before picking up your form, settling your heat over his half-hardened cock.

“you’re going to spend the rest of the night making up for ruining my business call, sweetie.”

there was something about seeing you naked, wearing nothing but his white coat that sends zayne’s thoughts into a frenzy.

it started out innocently enough, with you spending time with him in his office, enjoying some takeout you had brought over for lunch. after you had finished eating, you noticed how his white coat had hung off the side of his chair before casually putting it over you.

“how do i look?”

zayne could feel his eyes darken with desire for you, his possessiveness suddenly flared up considerably as his mind began painting images of you naked-

wearing nothing but his white coat as he fucked you against his desk.

yet instead of ignoring such intrusive thoughts-

he acts upon it.

locking his office door, zayne manages to convince you to take off all of your clothes, remaining utterly bare for him as his white coat was hung on your shoulders. he admires your beauty for a brief moment, carrying your pliant form toward the desk as he shoves aside the books and paperwork. settling your back against the table, he pulls down his pants and boxers, revealing his cock to you.

his cock was already hard and ready for you, aching with such potency that he skipped all forms of foreplay. gripping at the base of his cock, he carefully leads his cockhead toward your center, already pushing himself into your heat. your reaction was immediate, back arched against the hard surface of his desk while he began pumping himself into you.

and when you became a little too loud to ignore, zayne surges forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that swallows the rest of your moans.

you always found xavier to be extremely hot while wearing his hunter uniform, hence why you begged him to keep it on as you put on a little dance for him.

and one lap dance later, you found yourself naked while settled on his lap while he sits on the couch. your back was pressed against his chest, legs spread as his leather clad fingertips worked on pleasuring you. the sensation of his slender digits covered in leather pumping in and out of your heat makes your back arch in response.

xavier’s voice takes on a darker tone, pressing the tip of his nose against your damp cheek when he says, “i didn’t know you felt this way when you saw me in my hunter gear. perhaps we should do this more often?”

upon finishing his question, you felt the way he pinches down on your swollen clit, earning a gasp from you when you felt your release rushing out of you in waves. xavier feels the way your walls clamp down on his gloved hands, finding himself addicted to the sensation before acting on his desires.

“tch.” with a click of his tongue, he shoves even more of his fingers inside of you, working on stretching your walls as they continue to clench around them. by now, you were left a trembling mess, feeling the heat coursing through your veins when he tells you, “i’m going to spend hours preparing you for what’s to come. and when you come undone for me, you better ruin my uniform.”

rafayel convinces you to model for him as he wanted to have a rather personal sketch of you. when you asked him what sketch he wanted of you, you assumed that it was a nude one-

and you were partially correct.

because now, you were in fact completely naked, but there was an extra component of having rafayel’s cock nestled deep inside of you. you were left trembling, staining at his pants and white collared shirt with the evidence of your arousal that drips down onto the expensive fabric of his clothes. you were told not to move while rafayel sketched your likeness into the pages of his sketchbook.

time was an unknown concept for you the longer you remained still, cockwarming rafayel as he kept drawing into that damned sketchbook. your cunt was aching, feeling incomplete despite being full of him. the fact that you couldn’t move to try and assuage the ache made it all the more unbearable for you.

tears dot at your vision, and you clench your legs around the lemurian’s waist while clawing at the front of his shirt. “rafe, please… i need you to move.”

feigning a sigh, rafayel admires his sketch of you for a brief moment before tossing the entire book aside. “i’m sorry princess, for keeping you waiting for so long. i should have realized it from the start.”

you were about to ask what he meant, yet lost all sense of coherency the moment rafayel lifts you off of him before slamming you back down on his cock. your mind had a rush of dopamine in response to the pleasure when your lover bounces you up and down his cock while smiling at you, “i should have realized that the real deal would always be better than a mere sketch of you.”

caleb’s possessive nature could no longer be denied when he publicly fucks you while in the midst of a meeting. despite how his men had a lack of free will, the colonel still felt as though their gazes lingered far too long each time you would walk by.

so, he set up a meeting for the very purpose of educating his men that you were his and his alone.

you were hunched over the table, with caleb settled back on his seat while pounding his cock in and out of your heat. a smug expression was seen on his face when he realizes that you were making a complete and utter mess of his uniform. each time he slides his cock back within your heat, your juices would coat the length of his cock before dripping down his pants. while he took his time fucking you, basking in your fucked out expression, he became annoyed when he hears one of his men clear their throat.

“sir, we mean no disrespect, but this does not seem appropriate.”

as if i give a damn. caleb’s thoughts were still in a possessive frenzy the moment he grips at your thighs, now proceeding to bounce you up and down his cock. “consider this to be another training session- no, a lesson that needs to be learned.”

using his evol, he forces all of his men to bow their heads down against the table, forcing them to look away from you. knowing that you were about to cum when he hears the way your breathing hitches and how your walls clench oh so sweetly around his cock, he lets out one last warning to his men,

“if any one of you make any advances towards my woman, you’ll be dead before you even realize it.”

end notes: unedited, bite sized thirst posts to celebrate me reaching 3k followers (⺣◡⺣)♡

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[ponderingmoonlight]

JJK men pretending to date you to get rid of unwanted attention

Pairings: Geto x fem!reader; Megumi x fem!reader; Choso x fem!reader; Gojo x fem!reader

Word Count; 3,9k (Gojo's part is loooong)

Warnings: got carried away by Gojo again lol, no real warnings except creepy guys and fluff over fluff, forgive me Noritoshi lovers, I know I did our man dirty in Megumi's part

Geto Suguru

It’s a quiet afternoon in the city. You and Geto have been meeting at this cozy café once a week for months, a little ritual that started after one too many of countless exhausting missions. The place is familiar and comfortable, usually a perfect escape from the noise of jujutsu sorcery. But today, things are a little off.

You notice it immediately when you enter, the way the barista’s eyes follow you. He’s new, someone you’ve never seen here before, and while it’s normal for people to glance over at new faces, this guy’s gaze lingers. It’s unsettling, but you ignore it, not wanting to overthink things. Maybe it’s just the way your hair falls today or the fact that you’re still wearing your uniform since you’ve just returned from another mission.

You sit down across from Geto, who’s already sipping his tea and scrolling through his phone while lounging with his manspread on point.

As you allow yourself a sip of your favorite drink too, you try to relax. This has to be your imagination running wild, you aren’t even that pretty, right?

But every time you look up, the barista is staring at you, his eyes heavy with intent. Eventually, he makes his way over, holding a plate of complimentary cookies. Fuck, what are you supposed to do?

“These are for you,” he purrs, offering you a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“On the house.”

You blink, taken aback. The stinging smell of way too much masculine perfume almost makes your guts turn and forces you to hold your breathe. You can tell by one look in his eyes what his intentions are – and they definitely aren’t sincerely.

“Oh, um, thanks,” you murmur, unsure of how to refuse without making things awkward.

The guy lingers, his attention focused solely on you. When he takes another step towards you, the alarm in your head starts going wild. What the hell does this creep want?

“You come here often, don’t you? I’ve noticed you a few times.”

Geto looks up from his phone, his eyes narrowing slightly as he notices the barista’s attention. He says nothing at first, but there’s a subtle tension in the air that wasn’t there before. There’s no doubt in the fact that you’re feeling uncomfortable.

“Yeah, we come here a lot,” Geto interferes smoothly, his tone polite but firm.

“Together.”

The barista’s eyes flick to Geto for the first time, a shadow of irritation crossing his face. He clearly hadn’t noticed him before.

“Oh,” the guy mutters, his smile faltering.

“Are you two…?”

Geto leans forward in his chair, casually placing his warm hand on your thigh while giving you that smile that almost makes you choke. The move is subtle but possessive, his body language making it clear what he’s implying. And your body? Oh, you’re all over the place, your face already hot from the minimal touch of his palm.

“Yeah, we are” he replies simply, giving the barista a look that’s both confident and warning.

The guy frowns, obviously not pleased with the answer, but he doesn’t push it – much to your relief.

“Well, enjoy your cookies,” he gabbles before turning on his heel and heading back behind the counter.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your body finally relaxing as the barista moves away.

“That was weird,” you comment, glancing at Geto with a small, grateful smile.

Geto shrugs, his usual calm smile returning.

“Some people don’t know how to take a hint.”

You chuckle, feeling the warmth of his hand still resting against your thigh.

“Thanks for stepping in. I didn’t know how to handle that without being rude.”

“It’s no problem,” Geto replies, his fingers brushing lightly against your covered skin while he leans in slightly.

“Besides, pretending to be your boyfriend has its perks.”

Your cheeks flush even deeper at his words, but you laugh it off, knowing he’s just teasing…

Does he?

There’s something about the way his eyes linger on you for a moment longer than usual, the faint smirk on his lips that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Come on,” Geto finally declares, standing up and offering you his hand.

 “Let’s get out of here before that guy decides to bring us another free snack.”

You take his hand with a smile, letting him lead you out of the café, the tension from before completely forgotten.

Are you actually going insane or was there a…spark?

Megumi Fushiguro

It’s a typical day at the jujutsu high training grounds. You and Megumi have been sparring for a while, your breaths coming in short gasps as you try to keep up with him. He’s quick, precise, and annoyingly good at reading your movements, but you’re giving it your all.

During a quick break, you head to the sidelines to grab some water. As you wipe the sweat from your brow, you notice one of the students from Kyoto High approaching. You’ve seen him around before, but you’ve never spoken much beyond the occasional greeting. After all, you’ll wring each other’s next in a few hours, there’s no need for any formalities. Was his name Noritoshi Kamo?  Before you’re even able to finish your sentence, he stands right in front of you…

And talks?  

“Hey, that was some impressive stuff out there,” he begins, leaning against the fence next to you.

His smile is strangely friendly enough, but there’s a glint in his eye that makes you uneasy.

“Sorry, are you talking to me?” you reply, keeping your tone neutral as you take another sip of water.

The guy doesn’t take the hint.

“You know, if you ever want some private training, I’d be happy to help,” he offers, stepping a little closer.

“I could teach you a few tricks.”

You stiffen slightly, your eyes flicking to where Megumi is standing a few meters away, watching the interaction with narrowed eyes. Before you can respond, the guy takes another step toward you, his hand reaching out as if he’s about to touch your arm.

But before he can, Megumi steps forward, his expression hard.

“She’s not interested,” he says flatly, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

The guy blinks, taken aback by the sudden interruption. “Oh, I didn’t realize you two were-”

“We are,” Megumi interrupts firmly, moving to stand between you and the guy.

His presence is protective but not overbearing, a silent wall that the other student quickly decides not to challenge. All you can do is to stare back and forth between the two. That guy, who never said anything to you and now suddenly tries to flirt and Megumi, who stands in front of you like a wall in order to protect you from unwanted attention? You have to be dreaming.

“Right… well, I’ll see you around, I guess,” the guy mutters awkwardly before turning and walking away.

Once he’s gone, you let out a small sigh of relief, glancing up at Megumi with a grateful smile, even though you can’t shake off those violent butterflies roaming around your stomach.

“Thanks for that. He was pretty straight forward and I was too bamboozled to act.”

Megumi shrugs, his usual stoic expression back in place.

 “He was bothering you.”

You smile, appreciating the way he always looks out for you, even if he tries to downplay it.

“Still, you didn’t have to step in like that.”

Megumi glances at you, his cheeks flushing just slightly before he looks away.

“It wasn’t a big deal,” he mumbles.

“Besides, I didn’t want him to distract you from training.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head at his stubbornness. While this is the first time Megumi stood up for you in this strange way, you can’t help but fall over and over for that boy who hides his feelings like a treasure. Is there a chance that he might like you as well?

“Well, I’m glad you did.”

He doesn’t respond, but there’s a faint smile on his lips as he turns back to the training ground, ready to spar again. And though he doesn’t say it, you can feel the warmth in his actions - the way he stands a little closer, the way his eyes flick to you more often than usual.

“Maybe”, you mutter to yourself before returning to the training field by his side.

Choso Kamo

You never imagined that a simple grocery store run would turn into a whole situation. You’re wandering down the aisles, trying to decide between two different brands of pasta when you notice a guy lingering nearby. At first, you think nothing of it, people shop all the time, after all.

But then he approaches.

“Hey, need any help with that?” he asks, giving you a smile that’s a little too friendly for comfort.

You offer a polite smile back, shaking your head. Oh, you know men like him good enough, the ones who are only interested to drag you into bed. You’ve seen them countless times before, but in the grocery store? People are really desperate nowadays.

“No, I’m good, thanks.”

He doesn’t leave, though. Instead, he steps closer, his eyes roaming over you in a way that makes your skin crawl.

“You sure? I’ve got some great recipes I could share with you. Maybe over dinner sometime?”

You glance around, feeling trapped in the narrow aisle with no way out and no one nearby. Fuck, this isn’t good. Even if he won’t do anything in the grocery store, you still have to get back home – alone. And with that dark lust glittering in his eyes, he definitely won’t give up.

Just as you’re about to make up an excuse to leave and steady yourself for ramming your knee into his groin, you hear a familiar voice behind you.

“She’s already got dinner plans,” Choso announces, his tone calm but firm as he steps up beside you.

Choso.

Your heart skips a beat when you seem him, his eyes resting comforting on yours. Choso’s here? He didn’t even mention that he’ll go shopping when you last saw him at jujutsu high.

He places a gentle hand on your lower back, guiding you away from the guy with a quiet confidence that leaves no room for argument.

The guy raises an eyebrow, clearly irritated by the interruption.

“Oh yeah? And who are you?”

Choso’s expression doesn’t change, his dark eyes locked on the man with a quiet intensity.

“I’m her boyfriend.”

The guy snorts, clearly not believing it at first, but when he sees the way Choso stands protectively at your side, he seems to reconsider.

“Right… well, my bad,” he mutters before turning and walking away.

You let out a shaky breath, your body relaxing as soon as the guy is out of sight.

“Thank you. I thought this creep will follow me until I’m home” you murmur, looking up at Choso with a relieved smile.

“You could have just killed him.”

“You know I couldn’t do that…”, you reply with a scolding undertone.

These past weeks, you’ve spent a lot time with Choso and taught him simple human interaction. Was this why he stood up for you like that?

Choso glances down at you, his hand still resting lightly on your back.

“Are you okay?”

You nod, more than grateful for his presence. Even though his hand still resting against your back sends shivers down your spine.

In a strangely good way.

“Yeah, I’m fine now. I just… didn’t know how to get rid of him.”

Choso frowns slightly, his gaze softening as he watches you.

“You don’t have to deal with that alone. I’m always here if you need me. From now own, we will go to the grocery store together” he replies quietly.

Your heart swells at his words, and you smile up at him, feeling a warmth in your chest that goes beyond simple gratitude.

“I know. And I’m really lucky to have you.”

Choso’s cheeks flush slightly at your words, but he gives you a small nod, his usual calm demeanor returning.

“Let’s finish shopping,” he says, gently guiding you toward the next aisle.

“I’ll stick close, just in case.”

Gojo Satoru

The bass thumps through your body, the vibrations of the music almost tangible as they pulse through the packed nightclub. Neon lights flash over your head, casting everything in a rainbow of colors, and the crowd moves like a living, breathing body. It's a typical night out with Gojo, who insisted you both hit the club after a long week of missions.

You spot him easily in the chaos, standing at the bar with his signature sunglasses on even in the dim, flashing light. His presence is impossible to miss. After all, Gojo is always the center of attention wherever he goes. His tall frame, casual stance, and self-assured grin naturally draw people in. And tonight is no exception.

You watch from the other side of the club as a woman approaches him, her gaze locked on Gojo like a predator targeting her prey. She’s tall, confident, and clearly intent on making her move. At first, you don’t think much of it - this kind of thing happens all the time when you’re out with him. Gojo is Gojo, after all. But the way she leans into him, brushing her hand against his arm, makes something sharp twist in your gut.

You try to shake it off. You’re not the jealous type, and Gojo has always been playful when it comes to flirting. He simply enjoys the attention, but you know it’s harmless. Still, there’s something about the way this woman is looking at him that makes you feel uneasy.

Even though your not even his fucking girlfriend.

As you make your way through the crowd, heading toward the bar, you see the woman press herself closer to Gojo, her lips moving near his ear as she says something you can’t hear over the pounding music. Gojo’s grin only widens, and he says something back, causing the woman to laugh, her hand lingering on his chest.

Your pace quickens, a mix of frustration and something else bubbling up inside you. You’ve been with Gojo long enough to know how he works, but tonight, for some reason, the sight of him entertaining someone else makes your chest tighten.

Finally, you reach the bar just as the woman leans in even closer, her hand now resting on his shoulder.

“Hey,” you say, louder than necessary to cut through the music.

“I see you’ve made a friend.”

Gojo turns his head at the sound of your voice, his trademark grin plastered on his face.

“Oh, hey, babe!” he calls over the music, completely unfazed.

“I was just chatting with—uh, sorry, what was your name again?”

Wait, did he just call you babe?

The woman looks visibly annoyed as Gojo fumbles for her name, her gaze flicking to you with thinly veiled irritation.

“I was just about to get us drinks,” she purrs, trying to brush off your presence, clearly not deterred by the fact that Gojo is here with you.

You raise an eyebrow at her audacity, but before you can respond, Gojo’s arm snakes around your waist, pulling you close to him with a casual but unmistakably possessive gesture. His hand rests securely on your hip, and he leans down so his mouth is close to your ear, his breath warm against your skin.

You feel like fainting. Or maybe dying? Oh, your heart will definitely beat out of your chest if that dream continues.

“She’s not really my type,” he murmurs, his voice low but playful.

“I’m more into, well… you.”

Despite the loud music, the tension in the air shifts instantly. The woman stares at you, clearly catching Gojo’s not-so-subtle dismissal, her expression darkening. And you? If it wasn’t for Gojo’s hand that keeps you in place, you’d land straight on your wobbly knees.

“Really?” she huffs, glaring at you like you’ve somehow intruded on her territory.

“Yeah. Besides, I’m already taken” Gojo replies easily, his grin never wavering.

You feel a small surge of satisfaction at his words even though you know he’s lying to annoy the hell out of her, but the woman isn’t ready to give up just yet. She scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You sure you’re not missing out?” she challenges, giving you a once-over that makes your skin crawl.

Gojo’s grip tightens on your waist, and this time, his playful smile fades just a fraction.

“Nope, I’m sure. I don’t think we need any drinks after all. They won’t help with your disgusting attitude anyway” he comments, his tone firmer.

With that, he smoothly turns his back on her, guiding you away from the bar and into the crowd. You glance back just in time to see the woman’s face fall, a mixture of disbelief and irritation crossing her features before she disappears into the crowd of people.

Once you’re safely away from the bar, Gojo turns to you, his grin back in place as if nothing happened.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice light and teasing, but there’s a flicker of concern in his eyes.

“Yeah,” you mutter, feeling your face heat up slightly.

“But you…Did you just call me your girlfriend?”

Gojo’s smile softens, and he reaches up to gently cup your chin, tilting your face up so you’re looking at him.

“What if I did? Would that be okay for you?”

Your heart skips a beat, your body reacting to his words in an instant. Is he making fun of you, testing you? No, you can feel that he means it by the way he holds you by your waist, his fingers resting there like he’s afraid to let go. The world around you feels muffled, the music and the crowd fading into the background. It’s just you and Gojo now, his bright blue eyes shining under the neon lights.

You swallow, trying to find your voice.

“I-I… I don’t know,” you stammer, suddenly feeling like the confident façade you normally carry around him has vanished. The way he’s looking at you so seriously, intently, is doing things to your heart that you can’t quite control.

“I mean, you don’t-”

Gojo interrupts you with a soft laugh, his hand sliding up from your waist to gently brush a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You don’t have to answer right now, you know,” he mutters, his voice a little softer than before.

“But I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I guess tonight just gave me the perfect excuse.”

You blink at him, too stunned to speak. Gojo Satoru, who flirts with everyone, who acts like nothing ever truly gets to him, has been thinking about you as more than just a friend? You’ve always had a bit of a thing for him, of course. It’s hard not to when he’s charming, gorgeous, and undeniably protective when it comes to you. But you never thought he felt the same way.

“I thought you were just messing with me,” you admit, your voice a little quieter now, feeling vulnerable under his gaze.

He grins, though this time it’s softer, not the usual cocky smirk.

“I mess with everyone. But with you? It’s different. I don’t just want your attention, I want you.”

His words sink in, and suddenly the air between you feels charged. Your heart is pounding in your chest, and you feel like you’re standing on the edge of something huge. You’ve seen Gojo in action. So fearless, confident, always in control, but the way he’s looking at you right now is different. He’s giving you the choice.

A swell of warmth floods through you as you meet his gaze. Maybe it’s the alcohol you drank earlier, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s just so close, but you can’t hold back anymore.

“You’re not playing around, are you?” you ask, searching his face for any sign of his usual teasing.

His smile softens further as he shakes his head.

“Not this time.”

Something inside you snaps, and before you can stop yourself, you close the gap between you.

You wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips to his in a kiss that’s been building for far too long. Gojo freezes for a moment, clearly surprised, but it only takes a second before he’s kissing you back with an intensity that makes your knees weak. His hand tightens on your waist, pulling you closer, and the world around you disappears completely.

The kiss is electric, everything you imagined it would be and more. You can feel the pent-up tension between you finally break as his lips move against yours, and when he deepens the kiss, your mind goes blank. All you can think about is the way he tastes, the way he feels, and the way your body seems to mold perfectly against his.

When you finally pull back, breathless and a little dizzy, Gojo is grinning down at you like you’ve just handed him the world.

“Well,” he comments, his voice slightly rougher than usual,

“I guess that answers my question.”

You laugh, your heart pounding wildly in your chest.

“I guess it does.”

He doesn’t let go of you, his arms still wrapped securely around your waist.

“You know, I don’t usually do this. Y’know, getting serious with anyone” he starts, his tone light but sincere.

“I know,” you reply, your smile softening.

“But I think we’re both a little different when it comes to each other, aren’t we?”

Gojo’s eyes flicker with something deeper as he nods.

“Yeah, we are” he murmurs, brushing his thumb gently along your cheek.

The club around you is still loud and chaotic, but in this moment, it feels like it’s just the two of you. Gojo, for once, isn’t playing his usual games. His smile is genuine, and there’s a warmth in his eyes that makes your heart race.

“So, does this mean I get to call you my girlfriend for real?” he questions, his grin slowly returning.

You laugh, feeling lightheaded and happy as you look up at him.

“Only if I get to call you my boyfriend.”

He raises an eyebrow, that familiar playful smirk creeping back onto his face.

“Oh, I think that can be arranged.”

Before you can say anything else, Gojo leans down and kisses you again, slow and deep, like he’s making sure this is real. And for the first time in a long time, everything feels right.

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[oceantornadoo]

ch13 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: allusions to torture. reader has some ptsd. SMUT.

also i did not edit this srry

masterlist | next

“Again.”

Johnny sighs to his right, but Simon ignores it, too concerned with the man in the chair in front of him. “Say it again.” The man in the chair (Richard, 34, nephew of a Price uncle, twice-removed or some bullshit) spits out a glob of blood on the floor before clearing his throat. “The night the weapons were stolen I was at home with my wife. We watched a new episode of one of those trashy American shows, The Bachelor, that dropped that night. I was off-shift. Came in at 6am because of the Mrs. Price emergency.” Simon’s eyebrow twitches under his mask. Three days after getting his sister back and this is what sniffs out the rat? An American show Johnny loves to pirate? He wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Johnny catches his eye and he can’t fault the man for the grin on his face. When Simon turns back to Richard, red in the face, he’s pretty sure the man’s figured it out. “The Bachelor drops Mondays.”

Richard sputters, twitching. “We were catchin’ up from the week before.” Simon shakes his head, glancing at the papers on the table to his left. “You had off every other night that week and only got to it by Sunday? Tellin’ me the wife keeps up with the drop schedule but waited six days?” He walks closer to Richard, gloved hands gripping the man’s jaw tightly. He presses his fingers into the bruise near his mouth, pressing hard until he breaks.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m in debt, man, 50,000 Euros. No one knows so when I lost to the guy at that shithole of a bar and he offered me a job, I couldn’t say no! He said it was just a few documents, wouldn’t hurt anyone…” Stupid, stupid, stupid. Before Simon can grab a tool from the wall, Johnny clears his throat. “Let me, sir. Gaz called. You’re needed at base.” That could only mean one thing. Simon nods, swallowing thickly as he leaves the room to the sound of screams. 

It’s a half hour drive back to the Castle, but it feels like eons. Simon changes his gloves and mask with the limo partition up, even swapping his sweatshirt out for your benefit. The smell of blood fades when the fabric is removed, bundled into a trash bag he leaves in the car. When Simon double checks his phone, his hands are shaking. Another oddity of the week, too miniscule to dwell on.

It’s been three days since he last saw you, cuddled up in Price’s arms like an injured stray. For all Simon has tried to protect you from, the insults of childhood and your shared shitty father, it worries him to think you got hurt despite his greatest efforts. There’s no doubt that you’re a strong woman, but he’s not sure what Shepherd did to you and no matter what, there’s only so much a person can take. The guilt that’s been following him since the marriage is heavy like a chain, weighing down his every motion. Did he marry you off too early? Was Price the wrong pick? Thoughts swirl like a snowstorm in his head, only stopping when the car pulls up to the Castle.

It’s the perfect home he would have picked for you, given the chance. Sophisticated wealth, nothing flashy or too pretentious. Gaz mentioned that you redecorated, and he can see parts of you in the artwork, in the new chairs meant for casual conversation instead of just functionality. You’ve turned the base into a home and the guilt creeps up again thinking of how you might have never returned to it.

“Mr. Riley.” The door guards nod at Simon as he walks through. He feels out of place in his hoodie, used to his lax uniform in Manchester. Price styles himself more as a businessman than Simon ever has. He hides the scars with gloves and a mask but he doesn’t delude himself into thinking of himself as a professional. He’s more like the head of a wolf pack, barking and snarling at anyone who gets too close. Nothing like Price and he’s glad for it. You deserve someone who can give you a semblance of a normal life, pretending like he’s going to work at an office instead of meeting illicit weapons dealers on the edge of town.

Gaz is waiting for him in the foyer, immaculate in a deep blue button-up. It’s the first time he’s seen the man shaved, a testament to the bonds that you forged with Price men that were tested in the past week. “Ghost.” Gaz nods, leading him through the Castle. “How is she?” Gaz walks slower than usual, seeming to need more time before bringing Simon upstairs. “She’s…recovering. Been talking with a trauma therapist the Captain trusts.” Simon nods. He can’t imagine what they put you through, why John ordered him to find a new set of clothes when they found you. Everything he learns is a strike against Phil, whenever Simon finds him. John promised him retribution.

“How is she physically? They hurt her?” Gaz stops in front of the stairs, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “She’s skittish. Can’t approach ‘er from behind, got t’ give ‘er plenty of warnin’. I only saw her last night when she came down for some food, ‘s the first time she’s been out of the room. The Captain’s given me a temporary title while he’s taking care of ‘er.” It’s not temporary. Simon can sense it, leadership senses setting off alarms. Loyalty, initiative, intelligence - Gaz has it all. A fine replacement if he’s ever seen one. Too bad Johnny hates him. 

Simon nods, ready to see his sister. Before he can step up the stairs, Gaz clears his throat. “If you can, sir, convince her to drink some water? Last night, all she could do was look at the glass.” Christ. What did they do to you?

When Simon climbs up the stairs, you’re lounging in the sitting room, swathed in clothes too big for you. The couch you’re on is out of place, tugged from its original spot so the back is now against the wall. Tactical. He ensures his steps are loud so you sit up with a smile instead of a shudder. “Si!” You grin and his heart stops at the fact you still have the ability to. They didn’t take everything. “Hey, love. Can I hug ya?” You nod, setting your book down with your arms reaching up. “I missed you.” You murmur as he hugs you. The angle is awkward as he towers over you but he doesn’t particularly care, sitting down next to you while keeping you in his arms.

“How ya doin’, kid?” He asks when you release him. Simon slips off his medical mask into his pocket. On closer look, you’re wearing John’s clothes, the name of some obscure London footie team emboldened on the chest. He can hear the man’s voice come from behind the closed bedroom door, likely on a phone call. “I’m okay. John got me a therapist and she’s really helping. She specializes in kidnapping victims and immediate solutions and…yeah. Isn’t that a bit weird, saying I’ve been kidnapped?” On second look, you don’t look your best. There’s circles on your eyes and faded bruises on your jaw, like someone grabbed it and forced it open. Instead of answering, Simon brushes the soft skin of your neck until he can find your pulse. You don’t jolt like he expected you to, instead curling into the feeling of his familiar touch. 

“I knew somethin’ was wrong ‘fore Gaz called. Had this dream of you screamin’ my name, askin’ for my help from somewhere far. When I woke, I just knew. Ready to tear the world apart f’ you, kiddo. You’re still my little sister to protect.” A tear escapes your eye. He brushes it away, then squeezes your cheek like a grandmother would before pulling back. “I’m still lookin’ f’r others who were involved. They’ll get what’s coming for ‘em.” You nod, catching his hand before he pulls back completely. “Thank you for that, Si, but also, I just- just need you here, you know? I think your presence here will do a lot more for me than being an avenging angel.” He gets it, he does, but he didn’t get to kill Shepherd. He was John’s but Phil is Simon’s and no matter what, he will be found. “Think there’s a way f’r us to split it?” It. His time. Your wants, his needs. 

You squeeze his hand and nod. “I think so.” You croak out. Simon can sense the need for levity, so he starts telling you about how Johnny almost got himself blown up a few weeks ago when dealing with a Chinese chemical supplier. Simon’s not usually the joker between you two but he channels the infectious energy of his husband, in pursuit of making you laugh. You finally giggle when he mimics the windblown look on Johnny’s face, even putting in the effort to mimic his mohawk with his hands. It’s goofy and reminiscent of your childhood, the ghost of Tommy making a rare appearance in the corner of the room. Your kidnapping has sent Simon off the edge and out of character, desperate to do anything to repair what has been broken.

The bedroom door creaks open and John’s heavy footsteps follow. “Hi, sweetheart.” John approaches the couch head on, kissing your forehead before nodding at Simon. “Simon.” He nods back, not feeling the need to put his mask back on. “John.” “What is this?” Your eyes flick between the two of them, brows furrowed. Simon looks at John, who shrugs. “What’re ya talkin about?” You frown at Simon’s words, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “Since when is there a bromance? What did I miss?” John sighs, dragging a hand down his face. Simon reaches out to ruffle your hairdo, smiling when you screech and bat his hand away. “‘S called mutual respect, sweetheart. Not sure what a bromance is.” You mock John’s sigh, rolling your eyes. “You’ll be wearing friendship bracelets by the end of this year if you keep going on this trajectory.” The men lock eyes with twin glances of horror.

“On that note, you good if I pop in downstairs, sweetheart? Gaz needed help on something.” A look of understanding passes between you two, a look Simon has felt time and time again with his husband. It’s like a punch to the gut in the softest way possible. “All good, I’ll be here with Simon.” John nods, kissing your forehead before taking a few steps back towards the staircase. Before he can leave, Simon clears his throat. “John, you have any condos or safehouses in the area you aren’t usin’?” John’s eyes flicker with a different kind of understanding. “Enough space for two, I gather?” Simon nods, ignoring how you’re kicking his shin. “For a month or two, at least.” You kick him harder and he shoves your foot away in a playful push. “I’ll see what I can do.” John responds, nodding before heading down the stairs. 

“You’re stayin’?” When he turns to look at you, your lip is quivering. He sighs in faux exhaustion before tugging your legs on top of his. “‘Course I’m stayin’. Can’t let my baby sister fight alone.” You shyly wipe your eyes before meeting his own. “What about the business in Manchester?” He shrugs, acting like he didn’t spend hours on the phone with his best men last night. “It’s what I’ve got men for. Plus, you can show me ‘round.” Instead of squealing or jumping him, you give him a small smile. It feels older and mellow, something he hates. “Thanks, Si.” He squeezes your foot. He wants to bring up the water drinking, but you seem a little fragile right now. He’s got time now, something he won’t miscount. “‘S what I’m here for. Now tell me the rest ‘f y’r redecoratin’ plans. That entryway could use some work.” You grin and he’s reminded of the toothy five-year old, playing hide and seek in the Riley house of horrors. A survivor, through and through.

-

Every day passes faster than the last. You find out your therapist, Marie, is actually Dr. Marie Laswell, Kate’s wife. She promises you that despite their marriage, everything you share is confidential and stays between you. It’s hard work, recounting everything that happened in your daily meetings. John is there, kissing your forehead and cuddling you after nightmares, like the perfect gentleman. As the adrenaline drains and you find yourself living again, you crave more than that.

You want to go back to your last fight. You know it could be self-sabotage, but in the confines of the Castle, it’s like nothing can harm you. John only has guards you know working. Terrance stops by once or twice, telling you he got promoted. Simon visits whenever he can. Your reunion with Johnny is heartfelt and strong. Gaz feels like a son now, protective and firm about your security. All of these facts coalesce into a suit of armor, knowing that as long as you don’t leave the building, you are safe.

Marie tells you it’s not the healthiest mindset. You remind her progress is progress. She sighs in a way that reminds you of her wife.

The one-month anniversary of your kidnapping creeps up on you, haunting the corners of your mind. There’s an ache deep in your heart to return to normal, no matter what he said about finding a new one. You want so badly to change without looking over your shoulder. On rainy days, there’s a phantom ache in the side of your arm that Phil sunk a syringe into. He’s still in the wind, a fact that agitates Simon more and more. Small wins happen too. There are days you don’t need John at home, content with phone calls throughout the day and a long dinner at night. You’ve gone on two (2!) walks by yourself, passing through the park across from the Castle as guards trail behind you and at the corners of the park. You’ve progressed to Gatorade and flavored carbonated water but still jump at unknown touches. Except, of course, John’s.

Every night runs like clockwork. You shower, John standing outside the door like a protective hound. Then you slip on a robe and let him in, brushing your teeth and finishing your routine together. He leaves to ‘check something’ and always returns with a new non-water liquid he wants you to try, like a new Gatorade or flavor of tea. In the time he’s gone, you change. You’ve graduated from speed-changing to taking your time, rubbing lotion on your body before slipping on pajamas. When John comes back, you cuddle and talk, and then lights out.

The same damn routine. Every. Night. You feel like a nun.

The anniversary passes without little fanfare. John takes the day off, unusual but part of the new normal. Gaz is left in charge again, a fact he’s getting more used to. When you wake in the morning, something else new happens.

Morning light warms your eyelids. John’s arm is a comfortable weight around your waist, his forearm hair rubbing the patch of your stomach exposed by your raised shirt. Something pulses low in your belly. When he turns to pull you closer into him, your stomach flutters. His face tucked into your neck, the weight of him searing as his body is half-slung over yours. It’s a welcome change from how you usually find yourself on top of him, like he’s pinning you to reality. A body scan reveals wetness between your thighs and a keenness between your lips.

When you cant your hips slightly, chasing that fluttering feeling, his cock twitches in his sweats where it’s against the outside of your thigh. You tilt them higher, fighting against the weight of him, and smile when his cock twitches again. “Go t’sleep.” He groans, rough and sleepy into your ear. Instead of listening, you push your thigh outwards to the heavy weight of him.

“Watch what y’r doin’, pet.” Pet is new. Unlocking a new nickname sends a thrill down your spine. You ignore the connotations behind it. “John…” You whisper, injecting an extra breath of air into your speech. He pulls his head up, hair mussed and eyes blurry. He’s beautiful.

He props himself up on his forearm, giving your own arm freedom to move. You do so, sliding it from his neck to his torso, snaking down to follow his happy trail. “What d’ya think y’r doin’?” You run your fingers through his trimmed body hair, only dipping slightly into the elastic of his boxers. “I want to feel you.” You blink at him with wide eyes. He pulls his core backwards, letting your hand drop on the mattress. “Y’r not ready.” You frown, scooting back into your pillows so you can properly meet his eyes. “I think I get to decide that, John.” He closes his eyes, sighing. “I was readin’ an article and-” You huff, pulling back further until you’re sitting on the opposite side of the bed. 

“This is the problem we have, John. You trust external sources more than me.” If he was a weaker man, he’d look whiplashed. Unfortunately, you got a husband prepared for anything, a man who can argue at the drop of a hat. “I’m jus’ sayin’, sweetheart, maybe we wait. I don’t want t’ hurt ya.” You scoff, pulling your knees to your chest. “Can you trust when I say you won’t hurt me? That I can handle myself and know my limits?” He’s silent for a second too long.

You launch yourself out of the bed, heading for the bathroom. He’s faster than you, weak from weeks of lethargy, beating you to the punch to stand in front of the door instead of tugging you back into him. “Stop.” You place a hand on his chest, intent to push him away, but all he does is cover it with his own. “Can you jus’ wait for a second?” That’s when you take a second look at your husband. How he’s panting like he’s out of breath, even if you know he goes for runs every day. His pupils are blown and feral, a predator in the wild. You stand for a bit, letting your palm track how his breaths go in and out of his chest.

“Deep breaths for me, baby.” How nostalgic it feels, the roles reversed as this time it’s you talking him off a ledge. His breathing calms after a minute, eyes going tame as he squeezes the life out of your hand. When he’s calmed, he speaks. “The last time you ran from me after an argument, you were taken from me.” Your heart breaks a little at the weakness he lets you see. Your hand slides up into his beard, brushing over the rough strands as you look in his eyes. “I wasn’t running, John. I just needed some space.” He shakes his head in disagreement. “Ya don’t know what it felt like, seein’ you step into tha’ car an’ gettin’ a call hours later that you were gone.” You nod, biting your lip.

“You’re right, John. I don’t know. And you don’t know how my brain works. You don’t know how harsh grips trigger me but yours never have.” Understanding brews in his eyes, cloudy like a cup of coffee. He pulls you in closer by the waist, lining you up until your pelvises meet. “I get it, sweetheart. I trust you.” You exhale a breath at his words.

“I didn’t take ya on tha’ trip months ago because I was meetin’ a new supplier an’ I didn’t trust him. You know firsthand now how dangerous my world is. I know you’ve lived this life, but London is more cutthroat than Manchester could ever be. ‘M not sorry f’r smotherin’ ya, because at least y’r safe. ‘S my number one concern in this world.” It’s terrible, how you don’t care that he’s admitted that he smothers you. How all you care about is how he knew what you were referencing, even if it was from months ago.

“How do I know you want me for me?” Another concern of yours from your fight before the kidnapping. He shrugs, giving you a wry smile. “Guess you’ll have to trust me.”

You drag him into the bathroom, jumping onto the counter and pulling him between your legs. You practically maul his face, kissing him with unrestrained want. His admission flipped a switch in you, a longing that’s been asleep for a while. It wakes up when he pulls you closer to his pelvis, your clothed cunt rubbing against the outline of his cock. You’re still wet from earlier, your folds sticking to airy fabric. 

“Didn’t want it like this.” He breathes behind your ear. John sucks a soft patch of skin there, licking at the sweat from your sleep before trailing down your neck. “Wanted t’ eat ya out f’r an hour ‘fore even pullin’ my cock out.” You run a hand down his rigid back muscles, pulling at the fabric until he lets you tug it off. John laves his tongue at your neck, alternating between sucking and nipping at your sensitive skin. His hands grip your hard, thumbs inching closer and closer to your core. You’re wearing shorts without underwear, a perfect combination that he soon discovers. “What else?” You moan, leaning your head back until it hits the mirror behind you. It’s perfect, knowing there’s nothing but a wall behind your back. It calms the worried part of your brain, letting you fully focus on the moment.

“Then I’d let ya suck my cock, get it nice an’ warm in tha’ mouth of yours. Let you rub y’r cunt against me.” You whine at the image, nails digging into his back as he continues making out with your neck. Finally, he tugs your sleep shirt off, trailing downwards to suck at your tits. He squeezes one while sucking the other, pulling hard enough to make it hurt. There’s no part of him you can reach, the angle of it awkward and wrong. The solution is to trail your free hand up your thigh, passing his hands to push the fabric of your shorts aside and thumb at your clit. “Wha’s this, hm?” He murmurs, switching to your other tit. “Wanna be ready f’ you, John.” The wetness seeping from your cunt makes it easy to slip a finger in, stretching yourself in preparation for your husband. He’s letting you set the rhythm in a way he usually doesn’t, and you love him for it, something you don’t think too hard about.

“Let me?” He asks and you nod immediately. He replaces your hand with his own, sliding two thick fingers into your hole. You clench immediately at the intrusion, more out of tension than fear. John stops, glancing up at you from where he’s leaning down. “Need me to stop?” You shake your head, moving your hips forward so his fingers slide in deeper. “It’s just been a while.” John is still stopped, searching your face for something. “I trust you, John. I need you to say it back or this won’t work.” His eyes don’t leave your face, nodding slowly. “I trust you with my life, baby. An’ I trust ya with yours. You gonna let me stretch you out?” Instead of answering, you start to grind slowly, fucking yourself on his fingers. His gaze drops down, watching your cunt squeeze him tight. 

“How’d I get so lucky, hm? Perfect wife, dropped right into my lap.” John makes you work for it, angling his thumb so your clit hits it with every grind. It’s the most work your body has done in months and you love it, love the burn in your muscles as you command them to work. “This is goin’ t’ be a lot shorter than I wanted it t’ be, pet. Can’t focus when y’r mewlin’ f’r my cock like this.” You whine at his words. John pulls his fingers out, a string of slick trailing after them. He rubs them against your chest, pointed nipples scraping against your own wetness. The friction makes you delirious and needy in his arms. “John, I need you.” He hums, that same hand pushing down his sweats to reveal his cock, thick and heavy in his hand. He gives it a pump and you watch him spread your slick around it, mixing with his precum to make it even smoother.

“Last chance, baby.” John lines his cock up with your cunt. He rubs it up and down, catching on your clit every other time. “Shut the fuck up and fuck me, John.” His name on your lips is punctuated with a gasp as he pushes into you. You let out a string of curses at the intrusion. No matter how many times John has given you his fingers, the blunt width of his cock is so much more. It’s been over a year since you’ve fucked someone, and it’s never been like this. It’s never been dark blue eyes filled with trust and care, flicking down every so often to watch his cock go in and out. It’s never been dangling over the precipice of an orgasm so fast, the speed of it hitting you like a lightning strike. He fucks you through it, his hand on the back of your neck, forcing you to look down at where you’re joined. You watch your tits and stomach bounce at his movements and you watch as he hungers for it.

John’s a talker. This you’ve known, but it’s never been like this. 

“Look at you, taking my cock so well. Fuckin’ made f’r it.”

“Y’r cunny’s so tight, baby. This all for me?”“So desperate for it, pet.”

“Such a good girl for daddy. C’mon, say it.”

It makes you clench and mewl and claw at his back. He tries to kiss you but all you can do is let your mouth fall open and pant against him. Your first orgasm left you weak-willed, eager to follow his instructions. You nod your assent to every word, sweat dripping into your eyes. The second orgasm builds slow in your core. It burns with every thrust, every brush of your clit that John’s thumb makes. You lean your head back so it hits the mirror, suddenly realizing that your actions echo each other in the mirror behind John.

Your mouth is open. Sweat makes your skin glisten. You settle your weight on your hands and arch your back, a glimpse of your tits visible in the glass. It means you look almost whorish but it doesn’t matter because it’s for your husband, whose muscled back ripples with every thrust. That’s the image that sends you over the edge, whining John’s name as you fall off the edge. 

“Where, baby?” John meets your eyes with a burning question. You look down at the creamy ring around his cock, the slight of it sending another hazy spark to your core. “Inside.” This time John’s the one cursing, dropping his forehead to your collarbone as he watches himself come inside his wife. Finally, with his soft cock still inside you, John slows to a stuttering stop.

“Oh fuck.” John looks up at your panicked words with a matching expression. “Somethin’ hurt?” Your mouth opens, then closes. “What? No. I just remembered I stopped taking my birth control because of what happened. I haven’t been on it in over a month. And Plan-B’s really mess up my cycle.” John laughs. Your husband laughs, with his forehead on your collarbone and his cock inside you, pushing his cum in further. “This is not funny, John!” He shakes his head before meeting your eyes. “I got a vasectomy.” You blink. “What do you mean, you got a vasectomy?” He drags a hand down his face. Instead of answering, John eases out of the tight hold of your cunt. He fishes for a washcloth somewhere near, running warm water over it before swiping at your inner thighs. “When we had tha’ conversation about Gaz. Didn’t want it to happen after tha’ an’ not be prepared.” You squint in confusion. “I timed it with your period.” You bark out a laugh of disbelief.

“You’re fucking crazy.” He looks up at you with worry etched into his face, like he’s done something wrong. All you do is smile and pull him in, kissing his nose like he’s adorable. “I hate you.” You say, laughing. “You love me.” He murmurs against your skin. You don’t refute it, shutting him up with a kiss.

-

Phil watches and waits.

Her husband keeps leaving her alone. Phil’s camera screens flicker, shots of her through windows and from the park. The brother is closing in but it doesn’t matter, not when he’s so close to completing his mission. He must watch and wait.

-

one. chapter. left.

i barely edited this so if you see any mistakes no you didn't

-

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[cinnamanz]

✦ ─── 𝓣rouble , 𝓓aniela 𝓐vanzini i know you felt something too.

─── 𝓣he annual sunnyvale vs. shadyside football game is always a disaster—violence, chaos, and spilled blood. but this year, when you laid eyes on daniela avanzini across the field, you don’t expect to fall for the woman—sunnyvale’s golden girl and the new cheer captain. she’s taken, off-limits, and from the wrong side of town. luckily, you’ve never been one to follow the rules. and hey, who were you to deny a challenge?

❝𝓯orbidden from the beginnin', i saw her there, up there. 𝓫een like that since i met her, they said i couldn't have her.❞

౨ৎ 𝓹airing. cheerleader!daniela avanzini x bandkid!f!reader ౨ৎ 𝓰enre. fluff wc. 5738 (IM SORRY I YAPPED AND ACCIDENTALLY DRAGGED IT😭😭😭) a/n. this was lowk all over the place and yes ik this isnt what frank's trouble means but lets pretend for one minute okay cause this song fits the plot sb🙏 based this off the little rivalry from fear street cs it made it easier for me to actually have sumn to base it on. ALSO MY BAD FOR YAPPING IN THIS FIC. layout inspired asf by @ninguitar bro ur layouts r bomb asf never die blud💯 WE MISS YOU FRANK COME BACK HOME PLEASE😭😭😭 also i mightve kinda lowk gotten sidetracked from the og plot like i usually do so js ignore that pls THANK YOU🙏🙏 NOT PROOFREAD BTW😿

❝𝔀ay out of my league, i never believed it. 𝓰otta get her heart, i gotta make her mine.❞

"UGH, I’M GONNA SHOOT THOSE SUNNYVALE IDIOTS." chaewon grumbled beside you, voice thick with frustration. she adjusted her cheerleader uniform, fingers tugging at the pom-pom attached to her hand with a huff, her face twisted in an annoyed frown as she glared toward the sunnyvale side.

she shifted quickly, bumping into yunjin who mirrored her expression with a roll of her eyes and a sigh. both of them, in perfect sync, looked ready to explode.

"seriously," chaewon muttered, "i can’t believe they pulled that stunt again. they don’t get it—we’re here to win." she tugged the clasp tighter, her anger palpable.

yunjin crossed her arms, jaw tight. "they think they can always get away with this. not this time." she shot a glare at the sunnyvale fans, still jeering.

you scoffed, shaking your head. their optimism stung, but it didn’t change anything. you glanced at kazuha, absently fiddling with her hat. she sighed, furrowed brow, already worn out before the game even began.

"let’s be serious," you muttered, voice sharp. "we’ll lose, like always. they cheat, we lose, and no one bats an eye." the words felt bitter, but true. it was the same story every year.

the air thickened with frustration. no matter how hard the team fought, sunnyvale would pull some underhanded move, and the town would be left with nothing but the sting of defeat. 

kazuha’s gaze flickered to the field briefly, fingers tightening on her hat. you weren’t the only one who knew how this would end. it wasn’t about whether you’d lose—it was how much damage they’d do before the game even began.

“hey, am i tripping or is that asshole alison gone?” chaewon asked, her voice laced with confusion as she scanned the crowd, squinting to spot the familiar face that usually irked her.

yunjin side-eyed chaewon, eyes narrowing as she took in the empty space where alison would usually be. “holy shit, i think you might be right,” she said, her voice almost disbelieving. “did she finally quit? or is she hiding somewhere?”

before chaewon could respond, sakura appeared beside yunjin, walking up with eunchae. she gave them both a knowing nod, her tone casual but with an edge of satisfaction. “i heard she quit a week before the game and got replaced. no one even bothered to tell us until today.”

yunjin and chaewon exchanged a relieved look, the tension in their shoulders easing. “good riddance,” yunjin mumbled under her breath, her lips curling into a small, victorious smile. chaewon chuckled, shaking her head.

"who’s her replacement though?" you asked, furrowing your brows as your eyes scanned the field, searching for any signs of the new addition. 

“oh, y’know daniela avanzini? the mayor’s daughter?” sakura replied casually, her gaze drifting across the field. “she’s replaced alison, from what i gathered from yena.”

“i still can’t believe she left us,” chaewon grumbled, her voice thick with irritation. you could tell she hadn’t quite let go of the betrayal. your eyes continued to flick across the other side of the field, trying to pick out any unfamiliar faces among the crowd.

“wait, what does she look like?” you asked, still scanning for someone who might match sakura’s description.

“the latina one with her hair dyed blonde,” sakura said, pausing as if she were searching the field herself. “you’ll spot her standing with her asshole of a boyfriend.” she added with a knowing look. “they’re the ones practically glued to each other.”

you shifted your focus, eyes narrowing as you spotted the girl standing in the middle of the group, her hair almost glowing under the stadium lights. it didn’t take long to identify her—daniela, the mayor’s daughter, standing right next to a tall guy with a smug look on his face.

from across the field, she stands there like a dream—daniela. her blonde-dyed hair shimmers in the light, catching every flicker of the lights and casting a halo around her. it’s like she doesn’t even realize how effortlessly she pulls everyone’s attention, how her presence shifts the energy of the entire place.

you can hear her laugh, light and musical, cutting through the noise of sunnyvale’s own marching band. it’s soft, almost like a secret, yet somehow it fills the space around her. she stands so casually beside him, yet there’s something so magnetic about her, like the world just seems to bend around her, to gravitate toward her without effort.

and then, your eyes meet. just for a second, but it feels like an eternity. time slows, the stadium noise fades, and all you can see is her—those eyes, full of curiosity and something else, something playful, pulling you in.

yunjin glanced at you, noticing the sudden silence that blanketed the six of you, eyes roving all over your face before her face fell, and her palm met her face. “y/n, you can’t be serious.” she knew you too well.

gaze still trained on the latina who looked away from the other side of the field, you’d only snapped back to earth when yunjin shoved you hard enough to bump into the person in front of you, a hurried, hushed apology slipping past your lips. “fuck you, she’s pretty.”

chaewon eyed the interaction before a dramatic gasp fell from her lips, clutching her pom-poms to her chest. “no, absolutely not. she’s a sunnyvale brat!”

“please,” an exasperated sigh left your lips, a smirk already curling at the corners. “it’s not her fault she was born in sunnyvale. besides, i’m pretty sure she’d swing my way if she saw how hot i am.”

an amused laugh left sakura’s lips while the other three’s expressions were the complete opposite, eunchae nodding at the back in agreement with your words. “why the dude in the sky ever gave you this much confidence, i’ll never know.” 

you gave yunjin’s shoulder a nudge, winking at her playfully. “watch carefully, jennifer. i’m gonna steal her from her boyfriend. give me a few weeks.”

and as your eyes darted back out into the field to zone in on your town’s football players trickling into the grass, you could’ve sworn the latina shot you one last look before pulling away from her boyfriend.

“camp nightwing, my fucking ass. camp nightmare, more like.”

“give it a chance, chae.” you’d mumbled, hauling your bags into your cabin, the girls following suit with their own bags in hand, dropping them on the floor promptly as chaewon practically collapsed onto the lower bunk, sprawled out on the sheets like a starfish.

"you only say that because yena told you daniela’d be here too. otherwise, you'd be just as miserable as i am.” she retorted with a huff, cheeks puffing up while yunjin nodded in agreement, walking past you to claim the top bunk and chucking her duffel bag onto the mattress.

“oh, give it a break. i need somethin’ to distract me while i’m in this dump-”

chaewon shrieks, the sound piercing and high-pitched as she sat up on the bed and ran towards the door, jumping towards yena who poked her head in through the doorway, stumbling back as she struggled to support chaewon’s weight. “dude, what the fuck.”

you groaned at the sight of the two already giggling like children, shaking your head as you started to unpack, drowning out the chatter until yunjin perked up beside you, her eyes widening. just as you were about to ask what happened, a sweet, unfamiliar voice travelled through the cabin.

“yena? sophia’s looking for you. she’s calling a meeting for all camp counselors and—oh, you must be chaewon? yena’s talked a lot about you.” you whipped your neck around. it was a surprise you didn’t get whiplash, eyes zeroing in on the latina that stood awkwardly outside the doorway, catching a small glimpse of chaewon tensing up and unwrapping herself from yena, taking a step back.

yena nodded in response, glancing at the two before gesturing. “chaewon, meet daniela. daniela, meet chaewon.”

daniela stuck a hand out, a rather awkward, crooked smile curling on her lips. “hi, nice to finally meet you.”

surprisingly, chaewon took the handshake, nodding with her lips pressed into a thin line. “nice to meet you too.” she’d mumbled, before quickly letting go after a few moments, acting like daniela’s touch had burnt her.

yena exchanged glances with you, shaking your head as she nodded in understanding, choosing to stop the interaction before a whole war breaks out in your cabin. “well, i’ll see you guys later. we can catch up then.”

chaewon had shut the door after the two had left, turning around with a gobsmacked expression. “out of all the people yena had daniela shake hands with, she chose chaewon.” sakura’s comment earned a laugh.

it was the fifth day of camp when your mere stares and glances at daniela from the sidelines suddenly turned into her standing in front of you with a pleading expression, though playful— something you’d never have expected from a sunnyvale resident to give to a shadysider. her eyes, usually sharp and calculating bore into yours wide-eyed and glossy, and fuck, why does she remind you of a puppy now?

she blinks up at you expectantly, and wait a second, what did she want again?

to say you were sidetracked by this absolute beauty asking you to do god-knows-what would be an understatement, with the way your grip loosened around the plates you were cleaning after dinner, slipping from your hands if it weren’t for her voice pulling you back down to earth. “y/n?”

she knew your name? you cleared your throat, forcing yourself to tear your gaze away from her and back to the dishes you were tasked to clean, two more plates till you were finished. “uh, sorry. what were you asking again?”

daniela doesn’t pay much attention to your demeanour, beaming beside you. “i was asking you if you could possibly light up the campfire?”

your brows furrowed. the campfire? wouldn’t there be another camp counselor in charge of that? you glanced back at her as you finished the last plate, and with the way that she’d practically shapeshifted her eyes into that of a begging puppy’s, you were more than a hundred percent sure that she could ask you to do anything and you’d oblige more than happily.

“uh, sure. got a match?” she grimaces at the words that slipped from your lips, shaking her head.

“yeah, that’s the thing. you gotta light it from scratch. that’s why i asked you, actually. yena told me you were a girl scout and that you knew how to make fire.” her words pulled out a dreaded groan from your throat, leaning your hip onto the end of the counter as your eyes shut briefly at the mention.

“ugh, please don’t remind me of that.” your pained expression had her smile growing, amused.

“i think it’s cute—”

“let’s start that campfire.” you’d cut her off before she could say anything else, the tips of your ears already bright red as you walked past her, the latina trailing behind you. seriously, this is the first interaction that you’re having, and she already pulls that shit on you? you were not god’s strongest soldier. at all.

you grabbed a twig next to the campfire as you kneeled beside it and placed the twig on top of the dry leaves, rubbing the pointed end of the stick onto the leaves until black smoke started to erupt, giving it a little oxygen and watching it spread quickly around the campfire, wood crackling and spitting out red embers.

daniela stood a few steps away, leaning casually against a nearby tree, but her gaze never left you. there was something so effortless in the way you worked, your movements confident and smooth, as if starting fires were just second nature to you. the way you knelt, the slight flex of your muscles as you arranged the wood just so—it all made you look so... capable. so in control.

her breath caught for a second, a warmth rising in her chest that had nothing to do with the fire. she didn’t even realize she was smiling until she caught herself. your quiet determination, your ability to turn a few sticks into something powerful, was somehow the most magnetic thing about you. there was a raw, understated strength in you, and daniela couldn’t bring herself to look away.

“you’re good at that,” daniela finally said, voice soft, as if she were careful not to interrupt the rhythm you’d fallen into.

you glanced up briefly, a flicker of surprise in your eyes before a small, meek smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "thanks," you replied, focus unbreaking, but the slight quirk in your expression told daniela she knew exactly what was going through your mind.

"no, seriously," daniela continued, stepping a little closer, her voice a little lower, "it's... kind of impressive." there was something in her tone now, something deeper, that made you look up at her with a raised eyebrow.

daniela didn't shy away, meeting your gaze with a warmth that mirrored the flames now crackling between them. it wasn’t just the fire that had her attention. it was you—everything about you, from the way you worked with purpose, to the way you seemed to make everything look effortless. and, maybe, just maybe, that was a little too attractive.

“thank you—”

“can you two stop undressing each other with your eyes for a quick second and help me out here? i need more hands.” yena appeared out of thin air, a disgusted look on her face as she crossed her arms, chaewon following behind her as she’d mirrored the exact expression the woman beside her had the moment her gaze fell on the two of you.

“are you incapable of being normal, choi yena?”

it wasn’t until the next week that you noticed daniela hovering around you like a watchdog—always lingering nearby, arms crossed, brows furrowed like she was a detective tailing a suspect. she wasn’t even subtle about it. every time you so much as breathed, her sharp eyes flicked to you, narrowed in suspicion, as if you were plotting some grand crime right under her nose.

it was almost funny. almost.

yena, however, found it downright hilarious.

“so like, you went from admiring y/n to hating her?” yena suddenly popped up behind daniela, munching on a bag of chips she’d somehow smuggled in. she extended the bag toward the latina, who shook her head without even looking, too busy burning holes into the back of your head with her stare.

“who said i hated her?”

yena scoffed, mouth full. “dude, you’ve literally been staring at her like she personally slaughtered your entire bloodline. ask anyone.”

before daniela could retort, yena’s eyes lit up as she spotted manon walking past, her delicate fingers curling around the ghanaian’s wrist to pull her close.

“yo, manz,” yena called, jerking her chin toward daniela with a smirk. “hasn’t she been glaring daggers at y/n?”

manon hummed thoughtfully, lips pursed in faux contemplation before her mouth stretched into a slow, knowing grin. “y/n… oh, the cute one from shadyside?” she teased, her amusement only growing when daniela shot her a glare. “yeah, poor girl. hasn’t done a thing wrong and already gained herself a hater.”

daniela’s frown deepened, arms crossing tighter over her chest as she let out an exasperated breath. “okay, no—i was not glaring at her,” she huffed. “i was just… making sure she doesn’t do anything stupid. y’know, since she’s from shadyside. and—”

“yeah, yeah, whatever. like you ever cared about that bullshit.” yena tutted, cutting her off with a dramatic wave of her hand. “let me stop you right there. because while you’re busy playing hall monitor with y/n, your actual problem is throwing hands outside.”

she pointed her chin toward the commotion outside camp, where daniela’s boyfriend was in the middle of a full-blown meltdown, shoving people like a rabid raccoon and flailing his arms around as if he was possessed.

manon groaned at the sight. “please, for the love of god, go handle that before mt. sophia erupts and we’re all dead.”

daniela clenched her jaw, eyes flickering from the scene outside to you, who were now happily minding your business like you weren’t the supposed criminal she’d been tailing all week.

she sighed. christ.

it was the third week when daniela approached you again, tugging on the sleeve of your shirt and dragging you away from the chaotic mix of shadysiders and sunnyvalers gathered in a circle, shouting over each other in some ridiculous game she hadn’t even bothered to figure out.

her perfectly-sculpted brows furrowed in a deep pinch as she pulled you along with a little more force than necessary. you barely had time to react before yena stepped right in front of the two of you, arms crossed like a bouncer at the entrance of a club. “now, now. where do you two think you’re going?”

daniela let out the most dramatic eye roll known to mankind, while you perked up behind her, a small, playful smirk dancing on your lips as you shot her a look that practically screamed, ‘leave it.’

yena, naturally, ignored it. because why would she ever leave something this juicy alone?

“it’s gonna be dark soon,” yena added, raising an accusatory brow at daniela.

daniela scoffed. “please, we’re just going to fetch firewood for the bonfire tonight.”

you blinked, tilting your head. “we are?”

daniela’s head snapped toward you, briefly faltering for half a second before composing herself. “yes,” she said, more forcefully this time, as if sheer conviction alone would make it true.

yena squinted between the two of you, clearly skeptical, before finally stepping aside. “whatever, just don’t get murdered,” she muttered.

daniela took that as her cue to bolt, practically yanking you behind her like a dog on a leash as she sped-walked toward the woods.

“wait—where are we actually going?” you asked, half-laughing as you stumbled along.

“i told you, we’re picking up firewood for tonight’s bonfire,” she repeated, like that somehow clarified everything.

you mused for a second, feigning deep confusion, then suspicion, before letting a teasing smile creep across your lips. “wait, you’re not bringing me out here to kill me, right?”

daniela huffed, barely sparing you a glance. “oh, please.” a small smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as she added, “if i wanted to kill you, you’d be six feet under by now.”

“hot.”

she faltered mid-step. you grinned.

for the next twenty minutes, the two of you wandered through the clearing, picking up dry branches and twigs—well, you were picking up branches and twigs. daniela, on the other hand, was sneaking glances at you like it was her full-time job.

her gaze would linger a little too long when you bent down to grab a log, eyes flickering over the way your shirt clung to your back. she’d watch, mesmerized, as you absentmindedly chewed on the inside of your cheek, the curve of your lips doing things to her. and every time you caught her staring, you’d shoot her a knowing smirk that sent her into a spiral.

“y’know, if you keep staring at me like that, i might start thinking you like what you see,” you mused, tossing a stick onto the small pile you had gathered.

daniela scoffed, crossing her arms as if that would mask the warmth creeping up her neck. “i don’t.”

you hummed, not even trying to hide the amusement in your tone. “whatever you say, watchdog.”

she scowled. “you really don’t shut up, do you?”

“nope,” you grinned. “but don’t worry, i’m starting to think you like that about me.” you murmured, gaining confidence by every second that passed.

daniela groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose as if she were suffering, but the ghost of a smile threatened to betray her.

before you could tease her further, a sudden, ear-splitting scream rang through the clearing.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TWO DOING?!”

you nearly dropped the entire pile of wood as sophia, the head camp counselor, emerged from the trees like an angry cryptid, her hands on her hips and her expression one of pure exasperation.

daniela, ever the composed one—though she was internally screaming at getting caught—, simply crossed her arms. “fetching firewood,” she said flatly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

sophia looked seconds away from combusting. “THERE’S ALREADY TOO MUCH FIREWOOD. LIKE. WAY TOO MUCH. WE HAVE A WHOLE DAMN PILE BEHIND THE CABINS.”

you pursed your lips, glancing at daniela. she blinked. “…oh.”

sophia exhaled like she had just aged five years. “drop the sticks. go back to camp. now.”

daniela, ever the picture of grace, immediately turned on her heel and started walking back, as if she hadn’t just dragged you all the way out here for absolutely nothing.

you, however, lagged behind for a second, shaking your head with a chuckle before calling out, “well, at least we got some quality bonding time out of it, right, watchdog?”

daniela flipped you off over her shoulder.

but, even in the dim light of the sun setting, you could see the way her lips curled upward, just slightly.

the night air was cool against your skin as you stepped out of the cabin, the soft crunch of leaves beneath your feet the only sound in the stillness. you hadn’t been able to sleep—mind buzzing with thoughts, the stuffy warmth of the cabin making it impossible to get comfortable—so you figured a walk might help. maybe some fresh air. maybe—

your eyes caught on a figure near the dimly burning campfire, hunched slightly, shoulders rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. daniela.

she was sitting on one of the logs surrounding the fire pit, absentmindedly poking at the embers with a stick, watching as little sparks floated up into the night like tiny fireflies. her expression was unreadable, lit only by the soft, flickering glow.

something about it made you pause.

you weren’t sure what compelled you forward, but before you knew it, you were sinking onto the log beside her, close enough to feel the residual warmth of the fire, but not quite touching.

daniela barely reacted, only glancing at you briefly before returning her gaze to the flames.

“couldn’t sleep?” you murmured.

she huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “not really.”

silence settled between you, comfortable but heavy, like there was something waiting to be said. you watched the way she prodded at the embers, her usual sharp demeanor dulled at the edges, almost hesitant.

then, finally—

“i broke up with him,” she said, voice even, but lacking its usual bite.

you blinked, caught off guard for a moment. “your boyfriend?”

daniela let out another humorless laugh, nodding. “yeah.”

holy shit.

you schooled your expression, keeping your face neutral, but internally? you were fucking cheering.

“wow,” you said instead, keeping your tone light but careful. “that’s… a pretty big deal.”

she shrugged, eyes still fixed on the fire. “should’ve done it sooner. he was a jerk.”

there was a weight to her words, a quiet frustration, but more than that—relief.

you leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees, watching her carefully. “why now?”

daniela let out a slow breath, tapping the stick against the charred logs. “i don’t know,” she admitted. “maybe i got tired of pretending. maybe i realized that… i wasn’t really happy. or—” she hesitated, her fingers tightening around the stick. “—maybe i was just waiting for the right moment.”

you tilted your head slightly. “and this was the right moment?”

her lips pressed together, like she was debating whether or not to say something, before she finally turned her head to look at you. really look at you.

there was something different in her gaze—something softer, less guarded.

“yeah,” she said quietly. “i think it was.”

your chest tightened, warmth blooming in a way that had nothing to do with the fire.

you didn’t push for more. didn’t tease, didn’t pry. instead, you simply nudged your knee against hers, offering the smallest of smiles. “for what it’s worth, i think you made the right choice. i saw him always fighting with those camp counselors just to see you.”

daniela stared at you for a moment, then exhaled a laugh, shaking her head. “of course you would say that.”

“what? i’m being sincere!” you placed a hand over your heart in mock offense. “i can be nice, y’know.”

she hummed, unconvinced, but her lips curled upward ever so slightly.

the two of you sat there for a while, the fire crackling softly between you, the night stretching quiet and still around the campsite. neither of you rushed to leave. neither of you wanted to.

and later, when you finally dragged yourselves back to the cabins, a quiet understanding settled between you—something unspoken but felt.

something that, after that night, made the space between you feel smaller than ever before.

it started off slow. so slow daniela barely noticed it at first.

the way her eyes lingered on you longer than they should’ve. the way she found herself gravitating toward you more and more, standing closer, brushing shoulders, stealing glances when she thought you wouldn’t notice. the way her stomach twisted whenever you smiled—at her.

it wasn’t like she hadn’t always looked at you. from the moment you stepped foot in sunnyvale wearing that ridiculous dark blue band uniform and met her eyes across the field, daniela had been watching.

but it was different now. before, her stares had been filled with scrutiny, laced with the tiniest bit of frustration at how easily you got under her skin. and now they were filled with something else entirely. something she wasn’t ready to name.

but then—

it was the last week of camp when everything clicked.

the bonfire crackled in the middle of the campsite, a golden glow illuminating the circle of campers gathered around, their faces alight with warmth and laughter. the air was thick with the scent of burning wood, mingled with the distant scent of pine and the lingering traces of marshmallows and chocolate.

and you.

you sat on a log, guitar resting against your lap, fingers plucking at the strings with practiced ease. the opening notes of a song filled the air, soft and familiar, and as soon as your voice joined the melody, daniela felt something shift in her chest.

"well, i guess you'd say…"

her breath caught.

"what can make me feel this way?"

her fingers curled into the fabric of her jeans, stomach twisting as your voice washed over her—gentle, soothing, captivating.

she couldn’t look away.

she wasn’t the only one enraptured—everyone else sat silently, listening intently, swaying slightly to the rhythm—but it felt like the moment belonged only to the two of you. like nothing else existed outside of the glow of the fire, outside of the space between you.

and then you looked at her.

your eyes met across the fire, something soft and knowing dancing in your gaze, and daniela’s heart stopped.

"my girl, my girl, my girl.”

she swallowed hard.

“talkin' 'bout my girl, my girl.”

because that was the moment.

the moment she realized she was completely, hopelessly, utterly in love with you.

not in the way she’d tried to convince herself she wasn’t. not in the way that was casual, fleeting, something she could shake off or push aside.

no—this was real. heavy and warm and terrifying in the best way possible.

her lips parted slightly, breath uneven, her entire body frozen in place as the song continued, the words wrapping around her like a confession she hadn’t even said out loud yet.

"that's all i can talk about is my girl."

you smiled. a tiny, knowing thing.

daniela looked away, suddenly overwhelmed, her hands clenching into fists to steady herself. but it was too late. she couldn’t unfeel it, couldn’t ignore the way her heart ached at the sight of you, couldn’t pretend this wasn’t real.

she was in love with you.

and for the first time, she wasn’t afraid to admit it—to herself, at least.

the kitchen was quiet except for the faint clatter of dishes and the distant murmur of campers outside. daniela wiped her hands on a dishtowel, tossing it onto the counter with a little too much force. yena, leaning against the sink, watched her with an insufferable smirk.

"so," yena drawled, crossing her arms, "you gonna say it, or do i have to spell it out for you?"

daniela shot her a glare. "say what?"

yena scoffed, shaking her head. "oh, come on. that you're in love with y/n."

daniela froze.

yena grinned, clearly savoring the moment. "you act like she’s just some shadysider you have to tolerate, but you’ve been following her around like a lost puppy. you literally sat through her entire song at the bonfire last night, staring at her like she hung the damn moon. and don’t even get me started on the way you look at her when she talks—like you're trying not to combust."

daniela scowled. "i do not look at her like that."

"oh, please," yena snorted. "you're like a victorian man seeing ankles for the first time."

daniela groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "fine. okay. maybe i like her."

yena gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. "maybe? babe, you're in love. in love love.”

daniela rolled her eyes. "oh, shut up."

"nah, this is huge," yena continued, grinning like she just won the lottery. "i mean, the infamous 'i don't need anyone that’s why i broke up with my boyfriend like i did with the others' daniela? falling for a shadysider? this is better than a romcom."

daniela huffed, turning back to the sink, hoping to ignore yena and the smug energy radiating off of her. but then—

"oh."

daniela froze.

yena’s eyes flickered past her shoulder, widening slightly before her smirk returned full force. “well. my cue to leave.” she grabbed her towel and promptly bolted out of the kitchen, leaving daniela alone to face the one person she really didn’t want hearing that conversation.

you.

you stood in the doorway, looking completely stunned, like you weren’t sure if you’d walked in on a confession or a crime scene, before leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, head tilted slightly in amusement. there was a flicker of surprise in your eyes, sure, but it was the kind that faded fast—like you were already settling into the idea, getting comfortable with it.

daniela’s heart was racing. she gripped the counter, trying to ground herself. “how much of that did you hear?”

you hummed, pretending to think. “enough to know that you think i hung the damn moon.”

daniela groaned, running a hand down her face. “kill me now.”

“mm, no can do. i kinda like knowing you have a crush on me.”

daniela gaped at you, and you took slow, measured steps forward, that teasing glint in your eyes growing.

"you know, i was so sure you hated me at first," you mused, tapping a finger against your chin. "but now—"

daniela glared, cheeks burning. "don’t."

"—now, i'm thinking you just didn’t know how to handle your feelings," you finished, grinning. "poor thing."

daniela exhaled sharply, pressing her lips into a thin line. great. just great. she wasn’t even supposed to tell you, let alone have you overhear it in the most humiliating way possible.

silence stretched between you, thick and unsteady.

you took a small step forward. “so… you like me?”

daniela swallowed. she could lie. brush it off. say it was nothing. but looking at you now—playful smile and teasing eyes full of mirth, the way you didn’t look completely horrified—she couldn’t.

so she inhaled deeply and nodded. “yeah. i do.” daniela let out a slow breath, feeling something warm settle in her chest the more you looked at her. your eyes contorting into one of adoration now. “so… what now?”

you smiled, still playful but genuine. “well, usually this is the part where we kiss.”

daniela’s breath caught. her eyes flickered to your lips before she could stop herself. “oh.”

you tilted your head slightly, a soft invitation, no pressure, just you. and for once, daniela didn’t overthink it. she just leaned in.

the kiss was slow, tentative—like testing uncharted waters—but when you sighed softly against her lips, daniela melted. she pulled you closer, her fingers curling at the hem of your shirt, your hands finding her waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

the kitchen smelled like dish soap and pinewood, the campfire outside still crackling in the distance, but all daniela could focus on was the way your lips moved against hers, the way your hands felt warm against her skin, the way everything—everything—felt right.

when you finally pulled away, you were grinning, eyes crinkling at the edges.

“guess that settles it,” you murmured, eyes flickering between her lips and her gaze. “so worth the wait and dealing with that ex of yours who kept popping in and begging for you to take him back.”

daniela huffed out a small laugh, her forehead resting against yours and pushing you lightly, but you just laughed, grabbing her hand before she could pull away completely.

"and they said shadysiders couldn't have sunnyvalers. guess i'm just built different. i'm the ultimate sig—"

"shut that mouth if you want to keep me."

"ooh, demanding. i like that."

bonus!

yunjin gasped dramatically, a hand clasped up to her chest while chaewon stood frozen beside her with a horrified expression. “you are not dating her. you’re fucking with me. a sunnyvaler? you could do better.”

you scoffed. “she is better.”

“i mean, you’re a shadysider and she’s a sunnyvaler. not to mention, she’s the mayor’s daughter! how the hell are you going to make it work?!” chaewon exclaimed.

you waved the concern away as yena munched on chips at your bed. “oh please, you guys talk about that like it was supposed to stop me. besides, have you guys even checked the news? apparently, they’re gonna join sunnyvale and shadyside. so… what’s the problem now? i’ve got a rich gorgeous, goddess of a girlfriend and we’re no longer gonna be poor like we are. quality month.”

chaewon collapsed face first on the cabin floor.

“i told y’all, she’s gonna be my baby mama.” “i’m throwing you into the lake.” “wait, i can’t swim!”

— please do not repost, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way without permission. thank you! xx

masterlist.

[nobodysnowhere]

The Prefect can kick some NPC ass

A How-Too Guide to threatening people you don’t like

Summary: You see some idiot pick on Grim and you put him back in his place.

Cast: Riddle, Grim, gn reader

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

“I didn’t expect that you need to keep so much in mind while taking care of a hedgehog. Those little guys are quite demanding aren’t they?”

“Well of course. Every animal has their own needs that need to be met so that they can live comfortably. Of course, it would take some effort to replicate the way they would live outside of captivity.” Riddle explains as he continues walking down the filled hallway towards the cafeteria.

During the breaks, the halls of the building are always lined with rude students who don’t care if they run you over, but since you’re with a Housewarden right now, the same students avoid you like the plague.

The conversation between the two of you flows easily until you hear a commotion from the courtyard.

You look outside of a window and find Grim angrily stomping and pointing at some student who has his magic pen ready for combat.

“Could you hold this for a second?” You ask Riddle hurriedly, before -without really thinking about it- shoving your bag into his hands, opening the second-floor window, and jumping out of it.

You only hear Riddle yell with worried confusion before you land on a tree branch and swing yourself onto the ground floor.

After safely landing on the floor you skillfully ignore Riddle’s frantic yells and the weird looks the surrounding students give you, to casually -or as casually as you can be- jogging up to where Grim and the student are.

“Have I missed anything?” You ask as you arrive at the scene of the fight.

“Henchman! That guy attacked me for no good reason! Tell him off!” Grim commands as he hops over to your side.

“Has he now?” you ask, giving the guy a chance to explain himself.

“So what if I did? That rat stood in my way so of course I would make the thing move.” he scoffs at you, giving you a once over and rolling his eyes as he recognizes you.

“You’re that Ramshackle Prefect, aren’t you? The one without any magic? What are you going to do? I’m practically quacking in my boots.”

You smile at him. Cautiously taking a step towards him before putting a hand on his shoulder, gripping it tightly, letting the fabric of his uniform bunch up from the force.

“I don’t need to do anything. All we need to do is wait for the very enraged Housewarden of Heartslabyul to show up.” you smile innocently at him.

“W-what?” he asks, uncertainty slipping into his tone. He tries to take a step back, but you don’t let him.

“Oh, have I forgotten to mention? Silly me, Riddle saw you casting a spell from right over there, and you and I both know that’s against the rules.” you gesture towards the window you just jumped out of, while talking down on him as if he were a small child.

“But I’m no Riddle. You’re free to go as long as you apologize to Grim.” you say as you point toward where Grim is standing, still gripping the guy's shoulder in a vice grip.

“Shit alright, just let me go already. I’m sorry for attacking your stupid rat!” he says as he continues to try and free himself.

You sigh knowing that this is probably the best you will get out of him. “Fine. You’re free to leave. But do remember. Next time I won’t be this lenient.” you let him go, even shoving him a little just because you can.

As he scampers away, figurative tail tucked between his legs, you make him trip over his own feet.

“Myah hah hah hah! And stay away from us next time. Great job Hench Human, I totally had everything under control, but I knew you could handle that swiftly as well.” Grim boastfully claims, as he jumps up onto your shoulder, giving it a praising pat.

“I’m impressed with how quickly you came up with that lie, you tricked him well.”

“Oh, I didn’t lie. Riddle probably is on his way down here after the stunt I pulled. Don’t worry though, I have everything under control.”

Grim looks at you appalled, he seems about to ask what kind of stunt you pulled, before said Housewarden shows up.

He angrily stomps up to you, still carrying your book bag, before stopping right in front of you.

“Prefect! What were you thinking?!? Jumping out of the second floor like that. You could have seriously injured yourself!” he huffs, scanning you for any injuries you might have given yourself with that stunt.

You realize that he seems more worried than mad, how sweet.

“Alright. First of all, we both know that isn’t the worst thing that, one has happened to me and two this wasn’t the weirdest thing that’s happened in this school, that probably belongs to either Rook or Jade.” you state in a matter of fact way, while taking you bag back with an appreciative nod.

“And also I saw Grim down here so it was only logical for me to do that.”

Riddle shakes his head in exasperation, he sighs once before deciding to let this topic rest, knowing full well this conversation would lead nowhere if he tried pursuing more answers.

“Just don’t get reckless with it. I don’t want to visit you in the nurses' office because of some broken bones and a concussion.”

“Will do Housewarden Riddle.” you smile and nod in agreement, knowing full well that nothing is going to change.

“Now… where did we stop? Oh right, so hedgehogs actually need to exercise daily to not go overweight? I know a certain someone that could learn a thing or two from them.”

“Hey!” you at Grim who’s still sitting on your shoulder. “I wasn’t talking about you? I meant the ghosts. They really need to watch their diets, but if you think I was talking about you then there might be something true about that statement.”

Grim grumbles on top of your shoulder as you continue to chat with Riddle, walking to the cafeteria uninterrupted.

[honeyscara]

Chapter 3

Seongje’s love masterist| whc masterlist|

Prev chapter | next chapter

It had been a few days since your strange, tense meeting with Seongje in the clubroom. You’d seen him a lot since then—more than you ever expected to. He always had some flirty remark ready, that familiar cocky smirk tugging at his lips like he knew exactly how to get under your skin. And yet… it wasn’t just that. It was the quiet things that started to linger. Like the day you forgot your umbrella and he appeared beside you without a word, casually holding his over your head as if it was nothing.

Or the time someone spilled juice on your shirt during lunch, and he silently handed you his jacket before going back to his food like it didn’t mean anything. But it did. Because despite yourself, despite everything you thought you knew about boys like Seongje—you were starting to feel something. And that scared you more than anything else.

Now, as the sun dipped below the rooftops and the sky turned to hues of purple and deep gold, you found yourself walking home again, hugging your bag tightly against your chest. The street was quiet, but not in a peaceful way. It was the kind of quiet that made your skin crawl.

You didn’t notice the figures behind you until it was too late.

“Well, look who we have here,” a familiar voice drawled. You turned around to see two of Seongje’s goons lounging against a wall, smirking as they approached.

You instinctively stepped back. “What do you want?”

One of them cracked his knuckles with a grin. “Seongje sent us. Said you’ve been on his mind lately.”

The other one chuckled. “Wanted us to check in. Maybe get you to talk a little more. You’re so quiet in class.”

“I’m not interested,” you said, trying to step around them. One moved in front of you, blocking your path.

“Come on. Don’t be like that. You already caught boss’s eye. That’s not something you just ignore.”

You clenched your fists. “Tell him I’m not some toy he can keep messing with.”

“Bold of you to talk like that when you’re all alone,” one said, leaning in far too close for comfort.

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest as you took a shaky step back, ready to scream for help.

“Hey,” a new voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Why don’t you back off?”

All three of you turned at once. A tall boy stood at the mouth of the alley, hands in his pockets, eyes sharp and assessing. He looked calm, but something about him screamed danger. He wasn’t from your school, you recognized the Eunjang uniform immediately.

The two goons exchanged a look. “Tch… Eunjang? This ain’t your turf, kid.”

“Didn’t realize you guys were picking on random girls now,” the boy said coolly, taking a few steps forward. “Real tough.”

“Whatever,” one of them grumbled. “Let’s go. This ain’t worth it.” With one last warning glance at you, they slipped off into the shadows.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your knees weak with relief.

“You good?” the Eunjang boy asked, walking closer. Now that he was in the light, you recognized him—Go hyuntak. He was known for backing up Eunjang’s strongest, baku.

You nodded hesitantly. “Yeah… Thank you.”

He looked you over for a moment, then blinked at your school uniform. “Wait. Aren’t you from… Ganghak? Same school as Seongje?”

You hesitated, then gave a small nod.

“…So why were they bothering you? That doesn’t make sense.”

You lowered your gaze, clutching your bag strap. “I… might have tried to record them a few days ago. When they were beating up some kid. I just… I couldn’t watch and do nothing.”

Gotak stared at you, eyes wide in surprise before a slow grin crept across his face. “Damn. That’s actually pretty brave of you.”

Your cheeks burned. “Stupid, more like.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Brave. Stupid is letting them keep doing whatever they want. What you did takes guts.”

You blinked at him, unsure how to respond. People didn’t usually say things like that to you.

“I’m Gotak, by the way,” he added, offering a hand.

You hesitated… then shook it.

“I’m… Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N,” he said, still smiling, “if you ever wanna talk—or need someone to walk home with—hit me up. I think we’d get along.”

For the first time in days, a small, genuine smile tugged at your lips.

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

.

.

.

You were quietly arranging your notes, hoping to get through the day unnoticed, when a familiar weight settled in the air around you—heavy, suffocating.

Seongje was standing in the doorway of your classroom, one hand casually in his pocket, the other holding a half-eaten lollipop stick he lazily tossed into the trash. He didn’t say anything at first. He just stared.

The room quieted immediately. A couple of students exchanged nervous glances. Others quickly got up and slipped out—no one wanted to be in the room when Seongje decided to cause a scene.

He finally walked in, his shoes hitting the floor with a slow, deliberate rhythm as he approached your desk. He didn’t ask for permission before pulling out the chair beside you and sitting down backwards on it, resting his arms on the backrest, gaze locked on you.

“You looked real cozy the other night.”

You blinked, your stomach twisting. You looked around—there were still a few people in the room, but everyone was pretending not to hear anything.

“Are you… spying on me now?” you muttered, barely meeting his eyes.

He laughed, short and amused. “Didn’t need to. Was on my way out when I saw you standing around in alleyways with some guy from Eunjang.” He leaned in, just enough for you to feel his breath near your ear. “Takes a certain kind of bold to hang out with one of our enemies after getting caught recording my boys.”

You froze, fists clenched at your sides as Seongje’s words echoed in your head.

“Tell your new Eunjang friend to be careful.”

Thats it.The audacity of it all made your blood boil.

He was jealous? Threatening? After what his guys did?

You pushed your chair back roughly and stood up to face him.

“Are you serious right now?” you said, your voice trembling with frustration.

Seongje raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by your sudden appearance—and your tone.

“You sent your guys after me?” you accused, stepping closer. “Cornered me. Threatened me. You think you can flirt one day and treat me like trash the next?”

His expression darkened. “What are you talking about?”

You stared at him. “Don’t play dumb. That night—after school—your guys said you sent them. I could’ve gotten hurt!”

Something shifted in Seongje’s face as soon as those words left your mouth. He straightened up, and sighed. “I never told them to do that,” he muttered, his voice suddenly colder.

You blinked. “Then…?”

“I was gonna meet you. Wanted to talk.” He ran a hand through his hair, tension radiating off him in waves. “Got held up. By the time I got there, you were gone.”

The pieces clicked. The way his gang looked at you. The hostility. The resentment.

“..They did it on their own,” you whispered.

Seongje’s jaw clenched. “Which ones?”

You hesitated. “Those two always around you. The tall one with the scar, and the one who laughs too loud...”

His eyes flashed with something dangerous—rage, sharp and cold. He didn’t say another word. Just turned and stormed off down the hall.

You didn’t even need to ask where he was going. But you followed.

Down the corridor, around the bend, until you reached the third-year classroom where most of his gang hung out. The moment Seongje stepped inside, the atmosphere snapped like a rubber band stretched too tight.

The loud one was mid-laugh about something when he looked up and paled. The one with the scar tensed, suddenly alert.

“You thought you could lay a hand on her?” Seongje’s voice was low, deadly calm. “And then lie about it?”

“Boss, wait—”

“No.” He didn’t yell. He didn’t have to. His presence filled the room like a storm about to break.

“I said don’t touch her. I said I would handle it. You defied me.”

“You were getting distracted—”

A fist connected with the scarred one’s jaw so fast you barely saw it happen. The guy hit the floor hard, groaning.

The others didn’t move. No one dared to step in.

Seongje turned to the other one, eyes cold. “You want to disobey again? I’ll make sure you can’t stand long enough to try.”

Silence.

You stood in the doorway, heart pounding. You hadn’t meant for this to escalate—but you couldn’t deny the strange, warped satisfaction curling in your chest.

He had defended you.

No.

He’d lost it for you.

Seongje finally turned back to you, a flicker of guilt in his gaze.

“You good?” he asked, his voice quieter now. Sincere.You nodded, unsure what to say. But one thing was clear.

You weren’t just a random girl to him anymore. And now... everyone knew it.

Tag list @gacktsa

[peachdues]

ALL THE THINGS WE LEFT UNSAID — PROLOGUE + TEASER

Tengen’s Bundle of Joy • Secret Pregnancy AU

A/N: surprise! Have a first look at Tengen’s installment of my Bundle of Joy series.

This fic will be multi-part canon-AU. It is a non-linear story (alternating between Then and Now) and double surprise! It will be a slow burn (just because they fuck doesn’t mean they’re in love!)

CW: MDNI • this story features explicit sexual content • secret pregnancy • angst • mentions of injury/head wound • these two are stubborn as fuck lmao

PROLOGUE

“The Sound Hashira is rumored to be in this region. Some mission.”

Your comrade’s off-handed comment freezes you in your step.

“Where.”

Your fellow Kinoe shrugs, unaware of the way your eyes dart anxiously around the clutter of wooden homes and ramshackle shops, as though you half-expect the silver-haired swordsman to leap out from the shadows at any moment.

“It’s not like we get details of the Hashira’s missions shared with us,” he brushes you off with a yawn. His arms fold behind his head, his gait lazy and far too casual for someone of his position as he struts lazily along an uneven path that leads to the small building marked with a fading, painted wisteria crest. “We might be Kinoe, but we’re still bottom feeders compared to them.”

You hum in half-hearted agreement, but your attention to your fellow Slayer — to your mission — flounders as the knowledge you’ve worked desperately ignore explodes out of the mental bottle you’d shoved it into.

Beneath the ever-tightening buttons of your uniform shirt your stomach has begun to swell. Slight; not yet noticeable to the naked eye, but sure as hell prominent when you’re fighting to close the last two buttons or fasten your hakama pants.

You thumb absently at your belt — now loosened two notches. Perhaps you’ll take a cue from the Love Pillar’s book and opt for a skirt. At least the waist would sit higher up, the pleats, offering cover you’ll need while you figure out what the fuck it is you’re going to do. It won’t be long before your secret is exposed; before word inevitably reaches the jewel-crusted ears of the very one you want most to avoid.

You’d be more useful dead.

A callous thing to say to a subordinate, let alone someone who’d risked their neck on more than one occasion to preserve his. And, for all the testiness that had built between you over the years, a resentment born of your mutual inability to confront the other honestly, you hadn’t expected him to resort to that.

You’d known he regretted his words the moment he hurled them your way, but it was too little, too late. And it hadn’t stopped you from leveling his ire with your own, your response a series of poisoned darts you were only happy to launch right back his way.

I look forward to meeting your expectations.

But it was his regret, perhaps, that led him to grab you by the bicep as you’d tried to leave, that yanked you back to face him, breath heavy and pupils dilating.

The crack fissuring across your chest had been dulled by the way his hand swallowed your arm; how his mouth crashed into yours, and the powerful movements of his body. But once he’d collapsed atop you, panting and spent, the wounds he’d inflicted turned raw once more, the salt of his sweat preventing your blood from clotting where he’d torn your chest clean open.

You manage a furtive shake of your head, dispersing the memory of his body and his violence from your mind. This is not the time for you to pick at the scab over your heart, not after you spent the better part of the last two months trying to force it to form. For now, you need to focus on getting the hell out of here; to get as far away from this desolate corner of the earth before the universe decides to throw you back at him.

Before he knows.

Your comrade prattles on, bragging over how he’s been lucky enough to see the Sound Pillar in battle, oblivious to the smirk settling on your lips in spite of yourself. The Kinoe you’ve traveled with seems unaware that in detailing the way the Corp’s great Uzui had appeared out of thin air to save him and the handful of other slayers cornered by a particularly fearsome avian demon, he’s admitting to his own ineptitude in finishing off the beast on his own.

The Hashira don’t come unless hope is lost; the fact Uzui had appeared at all meant they’d been done for. Yet, he wears the boast of having needed his ass saved by one who’d undoubtedly disposed of the demon with a painful swiftness like a badge of honor.

You know better.

For all the ways your fellow swordsman brags over having witnessed the Pillar’s great display of strength, you’ve seen him weak. Not only that, but you’d been the direct cause of such weakness; you’d broken him down, made him give into temptations he believed he’d suppressed.

But that weakness has led you here — chewing on your thumbnail in a fit of anxiety your comrade remains woefully ignorant of as you try banishing the memories of the Sound Pillar’s weakness from your mind.

More, you’d begged him, sweaty and panting and delirious. More.

He’d obliged you — enthusiastically so. And the way you’d fallen apart in his arms showed you that you were just as weak as he.

Not once had he bothered to apologize for what he’d done; what he’d said. And his too casual pronouncement that your death — as gruesome and violent as your profession demanded — would be a better convenience than for him to work through his own bullshit was a slash through your chest even his most fervent apologies wouldn’t be able to stitch back together.

Not that you thought he ever would offer one — but the image of him dropping to his knees and begging you for forgiveness you wouldn’t allow yourself to give was a small comfort to your bitter heart.

Besides, you’d claimed the privilege of having the last word by not saying any at all. Instead, you’d crept away from the inn, leaving him asleep on the discarded heap of his uniform in the room you’d been forced to share.

You’d given him exactly what he’d given you — nothing. And that vindication had been as sweet as it was short-lived. Now, you’re stuck with the consequences of your own pride and weakness without any idea of what to do about it.

Feigning indifference where Tengen Uzui was concerned, however, is your speciality; a skill you’d perfected just as surely as you’d mastered shadow breathing. Thus, the mask of cool neutrality is easy to slip on as you listen to your comrade continue prattling on about skill levels and techniques to improve breathing styles, chiming with a mildly interested nod when necessary.

And you plot; plot your escape from this tiny fishing village, plot how best to guard the secret you know won’t remain such for much longer. Running away from your problems had always been far easier than forcing yourself to choke them down, and this time will be no different. Of that much, you’re certain.

Coward, a voice that sounds suspiciously close to Uzui’s hisses in your head. Coward.

And so, you continue to strategize your best chance at avoiding the storm brimming on your horizon as your fellow Kinoe continues, too consumed by his blustering to notice how your had drifts to your stomach, resting on the hidden curve where the Sound Hashira’s child grows.

—-

BONUS

“The baby — the baby —“

“Where?” Tengen surveys the wreckage scattered around you, ears carefully pricked for any cry, any smaller, weaker heartbeat, but for all his strain, he can discern none. “Was it a village kid?” He jostles you as much as he can, trying to force your eyes into focus. “Where, Y/N?”

But you only keep muttering the baby, your brow furrowed, your head twitching as though in dissent, though it remains limited where it is braced in the crook of Tengen’s massive arm.

He swears under his breath as your eyes roll into your head, your lips straining to form the mantra you cannot stop repeating, even as your breath turns shallow and raspy. Two fingers find the pulse point in your neck, and Tengen swears again at weakened beat of your heart.

“You don’t get to die.” He snaps at you, hand slapping lightly at your bloodied cheek. “You don’t get to run away. Not now. Not again.”

He needs to figure out where else you might be injured — that way he can help, can stabilize you before the Kakushi arrive. You’re not taking the easy way out this time. He would stand at the gates of heaven or hell itself to block your way, ready to haul your ass right back to life so he could chew your ass out the way you so obviously needed. And once he did, he can put this volatile, tempestuous thing between you to rest. He can free himself of the bonds you’d snapped around his wrists the moment you first sized him up and cut him down with a few, caustic words.

Then, he might finally be able to let you go.

Gritting his teeth, Tengen surveys your body. Your head wound is the most prominent, but no matter how much blood mats in your hair and streaks down your face, he knows better than to assume that it’s the worst you’ve sustained.

Gently, his hands smooth along your body, and he notes every odd bend, every lump along your joints that does not belong.

“The ba — baby —“ your voice grows fainter with each word, and Tengen can only see a sliver of white peeking out from between your eyelids.

Beneath the dark crimson of your blood your skin has turned ashen.

“Y/N.” The hoarseness of his voice has nothing to do with the smoldering flames and thick smoke that has burned the village to its skeleton. His hand slides to your abdomen, ready to position you in his arms so he can run with you, can tow you to the nearest Kakushi. You will not die; he forbids it, he forbids you from even trying —

His hand settles on your navel and freezes.

Beneath the flush of his palm is a curve; an outward swelling of your stomach that had been hidden under the loose fit of your uniform shirt, but under his touch, it is unmistakeable.

A bump. A sizeable bump extends from your abdomen.

The grunts and groans of the houses and structures giving way to the crackling flames fall away, his ears filling instant with a high-pitched ring that pulses in time with his thundering heart. The sweat rolling down his neck turns cold, his chest tightening until his lungs burn. Slowly, his eyes drag back up your body until he finds your graying face once more.

For one, brief moment, your eyes flutter open and search wildly before landing on his, wide and frozen in his horror.

“The baby.” You say once more, in explanation and confession. And then your eyes roll back into your skull and you turn limp in Tengen’s trembling arms.

[chimielie]

hold ‘em up (above my heart)

summary: Atsumu x Physical Therapist!F!Reader. the sun rises and sets over and over as your relationship progresses from friends to pro yearners to more.

wc: 4.3k

cw: friends with benefits subplot and all that entails; not explicit, just suggestive, reader is fighting for her LIFE in her brain, atsumu is just chilling (not really)

a/n: hi i didn’t die :3

“Hands up,” you say, voice low so as not to disturb the peace of the morning.

Atsumu raises his arms, elbows bent, making a frame of his face. His blond hair is pale, almost white because his little kitchen window faces east and he wakes before it rises above the upper pane. You sidle past him, back to his front, ignoring the weight of his hand as it settles on your hip while you reach up for the granola you keep in the cabinet next to the fridge.

He likes traditional Japanese breakfasts, the savory and umami flavors of natto and rice and miso. You have a sweet tooth and a craving for crunchy food, like a wild animal that needs to grind down its molars. On the days he has work, he settles for an omelette (or scrambled eggs if he fucks it up). You eat the same thing every morning or you'll be sick.

Growing up, Atsumu was never a morning person, but he sleeps better on the nights you're next to him. He doesn't get angry when you slosh milk over the side of his bowl onto his dining table, doesn't snap when you ask him what his plans for the day are. Maybe this is what being an adult is, these steady waters and calm skies.

You don't speak much as you chew, staring into space and thinking the slow thoughts of the exhausted, and he busies himself scrolling through his group messages and social media accounts.

There's a request from a verified account, a retired athlete-turned-model. He knows her name, has seen her in ads, bumped into her at the last Olympics. He clicks on it.

Hey, handsome. I'll be in Osaka this upcoming weekend - let's get a drink!

"I'm gonna shower," you're patting your hair, looking irritated. It always sticks up in the morning, no matter how you sleep on it, a few particular strands defying gravity.

"You should go to work like that," he says, voice still rough even if his mind's woken up. His accent is thicker in the morning, you've told him, but he can't hear it.

"Hell no," you say. "You're the only one who gets to see this morning glory for now."

"I better be," his grin is roguish, running his hand through his own bird's nest. "C'mon, you gonna let me shower with you or what?"

"No, you'll use up all my nice shampoo again!" You fake running to the bathroom, keeping your pace slow enough for him to wrap his arms around your waist and tackle you down, careful to fold himself so that you land on top of him, body between his legs, face cushioned on his chest.

He leaves his phone face up, forgotten on the table.

He's toweling off his hair, dressed in his practice uniform, while you're packing your bag for the day in the kitchen. His apartment is small, way smaller than some of the other guys' on the team, but he grew up crammed into a room with his mom and his brother. He'd toured one penthouse and decided he couldn't live with all that space strangling him.

He'd tried to get Samu to bunk with him like old times, but his brother had just said I'll sleep three meters from your dirty laundry in hell, and that was the end of the argument.

Besides, he has a lot of car bills to pay. He managed to fold another Mazda last month and you've been carpooling in your ancient Toyota while he waits to get license privileges again ever since.

"You got a text, by the way," you say casually, digging through your purse with your lips twisted to the side. "Aha!" You pull out a tube of lipstick triumphantly. "You should respond before you forget."

"Ah, was it Samu?" He asks, crossing back into the bedroom to put away his damp towel.

"Nah, the model," you call. "Sorry, I read your texts."

You're fighting the growing bitterness of the words, trying to sound jaunty and uncaring and casual. The admission of invading his privacy weighs heavily on your shoulders; you can't make yourself look up into his face when he comes into the kitchen.

"I don't care," he shrugs. "You can read whatever you want."

"You shouldn't say that," you try to laugh and wince instead. He just grunts and picks up the phone, swiping away from the conversation and leaving her on read. "I don't have the right, don't I? I shouldn't have—"

"I really don't care," he cuts across your strained attempt at an apology again.

"You should!" You sound like you're about to stamp your foot at him. He doesn't understand why you're so angry; he doesn't bite. "Aren't you gonna get mad? Shouldn't we be fighting?"

"I don't wanna fight," he rubs his large, calloused hand over your shoulder, your upper trapezius, to cup the back of your and pull you into a loose embrace. You stand, dumbfounded, chin pushed into his shoulder, hands at your sides. "Do you? We can if you want to."

"No," you whisper. "Sorry, I—sorry."

"'S okay," he says, digging his thumbs into the tight knots of muscle. "No big deal. Here, you dropped your thingy."

The thingy is the tube of lipstick, a deep berry color, rolling towards the edge of the table. He steps back and squeezes your cheeks in one hands, prompting you to part your lips slightly. He does it how he knows you do, a soft smear on the lower lip and two dabs made sharp by a swipe of his thumbnail on the outer creases, all blended together at the end for a subtle touch of color.

"You look like a frog about to burp," he says when he's done. You laugh so hard you cry.

On the car ride to work, you keep chewing on your lip. He frowns when he notices, all his work bitten off.

You wait for him to get out of the car first, a holdover from the days when you would wait five minutes so no one would notice that you were coming from the same place. In some ways, it's easier that he crashed his car; so convenient that you volunteered to be his chauffeur. He comes to your side, opens your door. You squint at him, jutting your chin out like you're bracing yourself for something.

"I wasn't gonna go out with her," he tells you, a secret between you, him, and the hard asphalt of the MSBY gym's employee parking lot. "Ain't nobody else seein' this in the mornings either. That's all."

He turns around and strides off, leaving you blinking in the morning light.

"Can you move it?" You say, your brows knit together. Hinata grimaces.

"I can bend it, like this—" he curls the injured finger inward. "But it won't stretch out, like this. Ah!"

You release his hand, where you'd applied pressure to the digit. "It's sprained. You're sitting out the rest of practice."

"Aw, but it really doesn't hurt that bad," he protests. You give him a look. "Okay, okay. Can I least do some running and stuff?"

"Do you want to come to practice tomorrow?" You say evenly. He gives you big brown puppydog eyes and you fold like wet paper. "I'll give you some stretches and exercises for your legs that you probably can't fuck up."

"Yay!" He cheers. "Thank you!" He uses an affectionate diminutive of your name with -chan tacked on the end. You laugh and wave him off, walking out of the main gym area toward your office, where you can print him the exercises.

You lean against your desk while the printer huffs temperamentally, taking a long sip of coffee. You should really stop going over to Atsumu's on weeknights, but you've been telling yourself that for well over a year, and it's a lot more convenient since all your clothes and your toothbrush live at his place.

You tell yourself a lot of things when it comes to your blond coworker.

The door to your office slams open and you make an involuntary, high-pitched noise in the back of your throat, focusing hard on keeping the cardboard cup in your hand from jumping with you.

"Sorry, sorry," Bokuto says, his hair drooping dramatically. "It's just really important—Tsumu's hurt!"

You take an inhale so quickly it hurts and burst your coffee cup all over your coat and work pants. Luckily, you take it mostly milk and sugar, so it doesn't burn you, but you don't even really notice it, just shedding the coat and rolling up your sleeves as you stride out the door without hesitation.

Behind you, Bokuto follows, making garbled promises you hear as through water to buy you a house to make up for startling you and ruining your outfit.

You try to take three deep breaths before you enter the gym, knowing you'll be much more helpful calm rather than battling the wall of panic that threatens to overtake you. Atsumu is blocked from your vision by a crowd of his teammates, fluttering around him like a herd of bumblebees.

Iwaizumi is already there, you see with an exhale of relief, ordering everyone around him to stay calm. You motion to the players around him to give him space, hoping your terror doesn't show untowardly on your face, hoping he can feel your singleminded prayer: please be okay.

"Eh?" He has a dopey expression on his face, dopier than usual, anyway. He says your name gleefully, but you're too busy scanning him for visible blood or bone to respond right away. "Nice shirt. Hey, why's your coat off? Were you taking off your clothes in there? Without me?"

"He collided with Sakusa," Iwaizumi tells you. Atsumu reaches for your hand and you stroke your fingertips lightly over the back of it, along the bones and tendons, each touch saying you'll be okay, it's going to be okay.

I'll make it okay.

"Sakusa's shoulder got banged up, you should probably put him on reserve for a couple days," Iwaizumi says. You glance over at the black-haired spiker, who gives you a thumbs-up though his expression is characteristically flat. "Atsumu, though... he fell pretty hard."

You can see that. There's a bruise blooming along the side of his face, like the sloppy trail of your lipstick after a night out. His ankle is swollen, too; the disorientation of the head injury must have impaired the grace of his landing.

You kneel and shift into clinical mode, receding into the comfortable space of your training. You feel along his leg, asking him over and over does it hurt, can you move this, does it hurt when I do this.

"Okay, doc?" His beautiful honey eyes are unfocused. You want to cry. You want to squeeze his hand tighter, but you don't want to hurt him more. "S all good. I'm fine."

You shake your head, grateful it's not worse. Afraid of what you have to say to him.

"That's right, you'll be fine. But the concussion paired with the ankle injury... I don't think it's a good idea for you to return to practice for a month at least."

You squeeze your eyes shut and pull your hands away from him. He probably doesn't want to be touched. He might hate you for this.

What's the point of sleeping with the doc if I don't get special privileges, you imagine him saying, if you're gonna take my life away from me like this. A month of recovery doesn't sound like so much to other people, but you've been working around these volleyball freaks since high school. You know that it's everything to them.

"Okay," Atsumu simply says. You look at him. "You gonna drive me home?"

"If you don't mind," you say softly.

"Yeah, then it's okay," he says, and scoots around, hissing when he forgets and puts pressure on the injured ankle. He leans back, and you catch his head in your lap.

"I'm gonna break my leg," Barnes says from somewhere behind you. "I want the doc to hold me like that."

You hear a thwack and then Iwaizumi's voice: "Sakusa, stop concussing your teammates. L/N only has so much room in her car."

Atsumu recovers more quickly than you expect. You should have known, though; he's always had a strong ability to heal. He rarely gets sick and though he's brash and reckless and sometimes outright stupid, he's lucky. In almost all the inadvisable endeavors you've seen him pull, he almost never gets hurt.

You're not actually a doctor, not that the team believes that. You've been trying to explain that you're a sports medicine physical therapist for the three years you've been working for MSBY and not once has it deterred anyone from calling you doc.

Atsumu was signed six months after you started, and you had only been friends until a year after that. In all that time, you've been the consummate professional at work, never letting your touches linger, never stretching him too deeply, trying not to stare at him like he's just any other player. When he first propositioned you, you tried not to say yes too quickly, as businesslike as possible.

You went into sports medicine because of your sister. She had been a superstar from the moment she stepped foot on a tennis court; even at a young age you saw that she wielded the racket like it was an extension of herself. As the two of you grew in age, you also saw the ways she overextended herself: the swollen knobs of her knees, hidden under frozen packs of peas, the frequent doctor's visits for hyperextension, the tear tracks when she tore her ACL.

You had spent so much of your childhood waiting for her during practice, doing your homework in the bleachers, fielding questions about her play to the uninitiated relatives who came to support her matches that it felt like the most natural course of action to go into a career field that meant you could help her and others like her chase their dreams.

You had also almost exclusively dated athletes as a result. While you were attending university and chasing your certifications, you had been surrounded by two types of people: students and athletes. You had barely any time in your schedule, much less the ability to align it with a similarly crammed med student. Athletes, on the other hand, didn't have an obsession with comparing your knowledge, liked that you were too busy to monitor them all day long, and loved that you had to attend every one of their games because it was literally your job.

By the time you got the position in Osaka, you were beyond over the routine of dating the people in your care. You swore to yourself that you wouldn't mess around with the team and entered a yearlong celibate streak, which Atsumu blew up into a million pieces and never allowed to recover.

To his (and your) credit, the both of you became close friends before ever crossing the boundary of inappropriate conduct. Just because you were strictly business during work hours didn't mean that you, lonely and shy in a new city, were going to turn down your coworkers' offer to go out after practice. You'd gotten to know Meian well and considered Bokuto to be something of a little brother. Then they had traded a couple of players for Atsumu, and the moment he gripped your hand and slapped your shoulder instead of shaking it or bowing like a normal person, you knew that he was going to mean much more to you than any other of your team.

You had fallen quickly into a deep friendship, and his apartment was much closer to the team's favored bars than yours was, so it was just easier for you to go home and crash on his couch. And his couch was gross, because it belonged to a bachelor who had never heard of a steam cleaner, so one night you insisted on sharing the bed, and you had become good friends who cuddled weekly.

It happened like this:

You were the last two left in the booth that had once contained the extremely compressed bodies of several of the largest men in Japan, probably, but they had practice early the next morning and had trickled out, one by one. Atsumu had his head down on the table while you desperately tried to convince him to come home (already you were referring to his apartment as your home without thinking, though only a spare toothbrush and a coat were kept there at the time).

"Please," you said, "I'm so tired. I'm not even drunk anymore."

"I am," Atsumu said, turning his face toward you. "Very."

"I know," you groaned. "Let's go home."

"I can't," he said despondently.

"Why not?"

"Not with you," his words slurred together. "I gotta problem."

"What?" You suddenly felt very, very sick. Maybe you were more drunk than you'd thought.

"Mhm. I gotta apologize, I think."

Oh, you thought. This is it. He knows.

"I've been having," he hiccuped and turned his face into his arms again so that you couldn't hear the next thing he mumbled.

"I can't hear you like that," you say softly. "Please, Atsumu, you can tell me anything."

You've been seeing someone, and she wants me to stop sleeping over. She wants you to stop being friends with me. You need the apartment to yourself to have her over.

"No," he says, turning back to you again, his eyes glossy with drink, his lips pink and just the slightest bit open. "I have been having manly thoughts about you. Unmanly thoughts. Whatever."

"What do you mean?" You'd asked, heart beating fast.

"I wanna have sex with you," he said, and then slammed his forehead against the table until it left a red mark. "I'm sorry, women! It's wrong to dream about kissing your girl friends, I know!"

You ignored his nonsensical shouting and put your hand under his face so he wouldn't injure it.

"Then let's go home so we can have sex," you said. He whipped his head up so fast you worried for his spinal discs.

"You promise?"

You actually didn't have sex that night because he fell asleep as soon as you coerced him into the bed. The next morning, he'd been hungover and ashamed, stuttering and afraid to look you in the eye. You had given him a handful of painkiller pills and waited until he was washing it down with a glass of green juice before you said "I think about having sex with you, too," so that he spewed it all over the floor.

Maybe it was petty, but you needed vengeance for his forcing you to drag him bodily out of that bar the previous night.

After your first time, he said, awkwardly, something about not being able to commit to a relationship at the moment, something about difficulty expressing his feelings, about being too immature to settle. A script you were as familiar with as the back of your hands. You turned to him, swiping sweaty strands of hair out of your face, glowing with a smile as he stuttered his way through it, and said I know the game. We don't have to talk about it.

He insisted that it wasn't a game, that you deserved transparency and to be treated well, and you rolled over on top of him and kissed him until he forgot his own name.

During the month-long recovery period, you had resumed the friendship you had had in the early months of knowing each other, refusing adamantly to do anything strenuous or even unsportsmanly while you had to work much more closely together than ever before. You insist on sleeping at your own apartment for the first week, afraid of aggravating his injuries further, until he threatens to walk to you with his pillow and sleepover bag. You bring him food near-daily and call his brother when your schedule prevents you from doing so.

He's diligent about doing the exercises and stretches you assign him to bring him back to full functionality. Towards the end of his detention (you pinch him for using such a dramatic word), you start taking walks together, in the evenings on work days and the mornings on days off.

You keep expecting him to ask for space, to push you out of his daily routine, to realize that he's bored because he knows everything about you; there's nothing left to hide. Nothing except the one unspoken thing, the one you're sure he knows but you can't acknowledge.

New growth is beginning to sprout on the trees, grey wood dotted with little specks of bright green. Atsumu walks without a limp, now, his posture straight but relaxed, his hands shoved into his pockets.

His body is healed, but his heart aches. You're wearing casual clothes, big soft pants that billow around your legs and a black shirt with his name in yellow letters, and you look far away, worried. No matter how many times he smooths the pinch between your brows away with his thumb, no matter how many times he asks what's wrong, you refuse him a straight answer.

He wonders if he's pulled you too close, in this month dying of boredom, forbidden from running and setting and anything that could damage his brain. He still gets to see you in the morning, your back arching as you stretch and yawn, the crinkle of your nose when your feet touch the cold floor outside of bed, which is probably slowly draining all the function from his grey matter.

You're wearing gloves, your extremities sensitive to the cold. He takes your left hand, tugs it off. When he tangles your fingers together, you look up at him, questioningly, that knot between your brows back again.

"What, woman, now I can't hold your hand?"

You stop walking. He curses his big, fat mouth. He always chooses the wrong thing to say, always has.

Osamu used to ask him what he was supposed to say to girls. Atsumu, proud big brother that he wanted to be, would puff out his chest and give him paragraphs of advice, and Osamu almost never used it. There were so few opportunities for him to advise Samu, though; he was so self-sufficient, maybe more than Atsumu had ever been. He was more introverted, less brash and crass and rude. Sometimes, when Atsumu ceded his insistence on being the wiser one with six more minutes of life experience, he wished he could be more like his twin.

"Do you love me like that, Atsumu?" You ask, mouth pressed into an unhappy line, already pulling away from him like you were expecting him to say something completely insane. "Because I understood fucking, and being friends with benefits, but I don't know if I get going out for food and holding hands and—"

"Like?" He says, refusing to let your hand slip from his. "I love you. That's it."

"Oh," you say, and your mouth is twisted up like you're searching for something he can't see again, but the crease in your forehead is gone.

"You gonna go out with me?" He says, and it comes out way easier than he ever thought it would, and if choosing the rest of his life is as simple a decision as chasing volleyball and you has been, growing up sounds way better than he thought. "'Cause I wanna do it all with you."

Once Atsumu's allowed to drink again, it's time for the real volleyball season to start, and his diet becomes much stricter and your schedule much longer, but eventually the two of you find yourselves back at the same old bar with the rest of the team.

"You're a scrub with no hope of survival in the zombie apocalypse," sneers Atsumu. This is a common topic of conversation among them; each one vying to be the leader of your hypothetical ragged survivors' team.

"I could win a fight against you with one hand tied behind my back," snits Tomas, who usually is oblivious to Atsumu's provocations but gets a lot feistier when he's drunk, to the setter's delight.

"Please don't," says Bokuto, his hair deflating in fear of his friends fighting.

"Haven't you had enough dick measuring," says Sakusa, holding a mug in front of his face like it'll prevent him from seeing Atsumu's and thus pretending he's not there.

"Have you guys ever done that?" You perk up, looking around. "Isn't that supposed to be a locker room ritual?"

"In high school, maybe," snorts Barnes. "We're way too old for that now."

"Yeah, we're real mature," insists Bokuto, his hair bouncing back up into its familiar two-pronged shape. You’ve long wondered how it does that, but if working with MSBY has taught you anything, it’s that science can’t explain everything.

You nod, taking another sip of your beer.

“So how big is it?” Atsumu addresses Sakusa and you squeeze your eyes shut. You just got him to start attending team bonding nights.

“Small. Leave me alone.” You choke on your drink, spluttering as you make eye contact with Sakusa and the tiny, prideful smirk on his face.

The rest of the team dissolves into laughter.

"What about you?" Hinata, his cheeks rosy, says to Atsumu. Before you can think, your drunken mouth speaks for you.

"You can’t have it, I called dibs!”

You slap a hand over your mouth, mortified. You can’t even begin to think about the rest of your coworker’s reactions. You haven’t even disclosed your relationship yet! Atsumu guffaws.

“I don’t think anyone’s trying to take it from ya, doll.”

[rootedinrevisions]

Keep My Hands Off You

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry if this one's not as good as some of the other Kinktober things I've posted. I am running on a serious lack of sleep and an unhealthy amount of caffeine. So there may be some mistakes I missed proofreading. But hopefully you still enjoy it!

PROMPT: "Do you know how hard you make it to keep my hands off you?"

KINK: Uniform Kink

WARNINGS: 18+ SMUT. (Oral: Female Receiving, P in V Sex.)

WORD COUNT: 4.6k

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You weren’t nervous walking into The Hard Deck—not at first. You’d been in San Diego for the summer, looking for fun and maybe a little excitement. Matching with Jake Seresin on Tinder seemed like just that—a summer fling with a ridiculously attractive guy who, based on his profile, didn’t take life too seriously. All of his pictures were casual: him in a white or black T-shirt, jeans, and that one photo of him at the beach that had you staring at your screen longer than you’d admit.

You’d chatted for a few days—mostly flirty, nothing too deep—but when he invited you out to this bar, you figured why not? It was supposed to be just for fun. No pressure.

But the moment you stepped inside, all that confidence you’d walked in with started to falter. Your eyes found Jake instantly, standing near the pool tables at the back of the bar. Except he wasn’t in jeans and a T-shirt like you’d expected. No, Jake was in full Service Khakis, his uniform pristine and fitted in a way that made it impossible not to stare. He looked so different from the laid-back guy in his profile. Somehow, seeing him like this—with his blonde hair perfectly tousled, green eyes sharp, and that devastatingly handsome smile—took him to a whole new level.

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a second, you wondered if you were in over your head.

Jake was in the middle of lining up his next shot when he saw you step through the door, and his focus shifted entirely. Handing off the pool cue to Rooster without a word, he straightened up, a grin already forming as he moved to meet you halfway across the bar. His Service Khakis fit him like a glove, the kind of look that was impossible to ignore. And from the way his green eyes lit up as he saw you approaching, he was just as eager to finally meet in person.

“Seresin,” he said smoothly, offering you a hand. “Jake Seresin. But I guess you already knew that.”

You smiled, taking his hand, feeling the warm confidence in his grip. "Nice to meet you, Jake."

He wasted no time, gently guiding you over to the bar, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back. 

As the bartender approached, Jake’s eyes flicked toward you with a teasing grin. “So, what’s it gonna be? Let me guess—something fruity with rum or vodka?”

His voice dripped with playful confidence, clearly assuming he had you figured out. 

But when you raised a brow and said, "Whiskey. Neat," you could practically see the moment you caught him off guard. He blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before that smirk returned.

“Whiskey, huh?” he drawled, clearly impressed. 

You raised a brow, leaning against the bar. “Why, what drink did you think I was?”

Jake chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “Honestly? I was expecting something sweeter.”

You shot him a teasing smile as you took your drink. “What kind of girl do you think I am?”

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping just enough to feel intimate. “I guess that’s something I’ll have to figure out.”

You grinned, your eyes glinting with mischief. “Guess you will.”

With drinks in hand, you and Jake made your way back to the pool tables. The room was alive with chatter, but your focus was entirely on him—and his was undoubtedly on you.

He grabbed a pool cue and handed it to you, his eyes trailing down your figure with a smirk. "You any good at this, or should I go easy on you?" His voice dripped with teasing confidence.

You tilted your head, giving him a pointed look. "Oh, I can hold my own, Seresin. But I wouldn’t mind watching you try."

His eyes glinted at the challenge, and you felt the buzz of anticipation in the air between you, the kind that made your skin warm. He was everything you'd usually avoid—cocky, a little too charming for his own good—but in that uniform, with that grin, he was impossible to resist.

Jake leaned over the table to line up his shot, and your gaze flickered down to the way his biceps flexed beneath the crisp fabric of his uniform. He noticed, of course.

“Like what you see?” he asked, a low chuckle escaping his lips without breaking his focus.

You rolled your eyes, trying not to let on how much you did. "Maybe. Haven't decided yet."

He straightened up, walking over to you with that confident swagger, closing the space between you just a little too much. 

His voice was low as he said, “You know, you’re making it hard to concentrate over here.”

You grinned, biting your lip before responding. “Do you know how hard you make it to keep my hands off you?”

Jake’s smirk widened, clearly enjoying how flustered you were trying not to be. He stepped closer, his chest nearly brushing against yours. “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

The tension simmered, unspoken but undeniable. You took a small step back, forcing yourself to keep the upper hand, and shook your head with a smile. “I’m not that easy, Jake. If you want me to take you seriously, you’ll have to work for it.”

He grinned, leaning casually against the pool table, his gaze never leaving yours. “Who says I’m not up for the challenge?”

Over the next hour, the flirting became a game of give and take. Every shot you made, he found an excuse to stand closer, to brush his hand lightly against yours, to flash that smile that made your stomach flutter. His eyes would flicker to your lips, lingering just long enough to make you wonder if he was going to kiss you right then and there.

You were acutely aware of every move he made—the way his fingers gripped the pool cue, the effortless confidence in his stance. He was making it hard to say no, and he knew it. The cockiness wasn’t overbearing, though; it was just enough to keep you on your toes, wanting more.

Finally, after another round, Jake leaned down next to you as you lined up a shot, his breath warm against your neck. 

“So,” he murmured, his lips almost brushing your ear, “how long are we going to pretend you don’t want me to take you home tonight?”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you managed to keep your cool, straightening up and turning to face him, keeping your expression teasing. “Maybe I’m just making sure you’ve earned it.”

Jake raised a brow, stepping even closer until you were almost pinned between him and the table. His voice was low and full of that confident drawl. “Trust me, sweetheart, when you’re ready, I’ll make it worth your while.”

There it was—the line between teasing and something more serious, and you could feel it shift in that moment. Your pulse quickened, the weight of the decision settling between you.

You gave him a playful smile, letting the tension linger just a little longer. 

“You know, I think I might just take you up on that offer,” you said, tilting your head. “But first, I think you owe me a win on the pool table.”

Jake’s smirk was instant, the cocky edge returning as he handed you the cue. “Whatever you say, darlin'. But just so you know, when I take you home tonight, it’ll be the best win you’ve ever had.”

The two of you were deep into the pool game, but you could tell by the way Jake was playing that he wasn’t giving it his all. You smirked to yourself, noticing how his shots always seemed to fall just short of the pocket, his moves just a little too casual. It was clear he planned on letting you win, and while you appreciated the gesture, you had no intention of dragging this game out. Not with the way your heart was racing every time he leaned a little too close or flashed that confident smile.

Lining up your next shot, you took a deep breath, feeling his eyes on you. You purposely missed, standing up straight and stretching your arms as if calling it quits. 

“You know, Jake,” you said casually, glancing around the bar, “it’s getting a little crowded in here. I think I’m going to head out.”

Jake’s brow furrowed for a split second, caught off guard by your sudden decision. You could see the flicker of confusion cross his face, quickly replaced by that easy grin.

“Calling it a night already, darlin’? I thought you’d want to finish the game,” he teased, though his tone carried a hint of disappointment.

You smiled softly, stepping back from the table and slinging your purse over your shoulder.

“Maybe some other time. Thanks for the drinks though,” you said, your voice light, as if you were genuinely planning on leaving alone. 

You gave him a small wave, turning toward the door. Jake straightened up, watching you head for the exit. His grin faltered just a touch, clearly not expecting you to walk away like that.

But just as you reached the edge of the crowd, you stopped. Your heart pounded in your chest as you turned your head slightly, glancing back over your shoulder. You met his gaze, holding it for a beat longer than necessary before flashing him a knowing smile. 

“You coming, too?”

Jake blinked, his surprise melting into something far more playful. His grin was back in full force as he handed his pool cue to Phoenix before making his way through the crowd toward you, his eyes locked on yours the entire time.

“You know,” he said as he caught up, that cocky edge back in his voice, “you could’ve just said you didn’t want me to go easy on you.”

You shrugged, biting back a smirk as you started toward the door, Jake falling into step beside you. “Where’s the fun in that?”

The heat between you had been simmering all night, but now it was undeniable. Every step you took together, side by side, had an electricity to it, an unspoken promise hanging in the air as you both headed out into the night.

The night air was warm as you stepped outside The Hard Deck, the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore filling the quiet space around you. Jake was close behind, his steps slowing as you reached a spot away from the crowd. You stopped and turned to face him, your pulse quickening when you met his gaze—those piercing green eyes that had been focused on you all night, filled with a quiet intensity now that you were alone.

Without thinking twice, you closed the distance between you in one smooth movement. You reached up, sliding your hands around the back of his neck, and pulled him down toward you, your lips pressing against his. The kiss was sudden and electric, all the teasing and tension from the night culminating in this one moment. Jake's response was immediate—his hands found your waist, gripping you firmly and pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies.

His kiss was just as confident as he was, but there was a hint of something more, something that made your heart race faster. You could feel the heat radiating from him, his touch strong but careful, as if he had been waiting for this all night.

When you finally pulled away, your lips still tingling from the kiss, you looked up at him, breathless but composed. 

“So,” you said, your voice teasing as you tilted your head slightly, “are you going to take me home…Lieutenant?”

Jake’s grin was instant—one of those slow, easy smiles that seemed to light up his whole face. The title sounded damn good coming from you, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at the way you said it.

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled, his voice low and full of promise. 

His hand slid down to capture yours, and with one last look that made your knees weak, he turned toward the parking lot, tugging you along with him.

As you walked side by side, the charged energy between you had shifted. No more teasing, no more holding back. Tonight, you were both crossing that line, and neither of you was looking back.

Jake’s truck rumbled to life as the two of you settled inside, the low hum of the engine the only sound at first. He focused on the road ahead, but you couldn’t stop sneaking glances his way. Even now, after the kiss that had left your heart racing, the sight of him in that uniform was doing things to you. His broad shoulders filled out the khaki shirt perfectly, the crisp lines of his Navy service uniform making him somehow even more irresistible than you’d imagined.

Jake noticed, of course. After a few minutes, he smirked and glanced over at you, his green eyes catching yours as you quickly looked away, trying not to be too obvious. 

"You keep staring at me like that, darlin’, and I’m gonna start thinking you’ve got a thing for guys in uniform," he teased, his voice light but laced with that ever-present cocky confidence. "You know…you could just take a picture. It’ll last longer."

You rolled your eyes at him, biting back a grin. “Well, I would,” you replied, glancing at him again, "but something tells me no picture could really do you justice." That made Jake’s smirk widen, but before he could fire back, you continued, your voice a little softer now, more honest. "But...I have to admit, there’s something about you in that uniform that makes it hard to help myself."

He glanced over at you again, raising an eyebrow as if he hadn’t expected that level of honesty. 

"Oh yeah?" His tone dropped, the teasing giving way to something a little more serious. "And what exactly is it that gets to you, sweetheart? The authority? The way it fits?" He let the question hang, his voice like a low rumble as he asked.

You felt your cheeks heat up, but you didn’t back down. You leaned back in your seat, turning fully to look at him now. "Maybe it’s the way you carry yourself in it," you said, your eyes tracing his profile, "or maybe it’s just how good you look in it. Either way…it’s working for you."

Jake chuckled softly, clearly pleased with your response, though his grip on the steering wheel tightened just a little. "Well, I gotta say…I like the way you’re lookin’ at me right now," he said, his voice quieter, more intent, as he focused on the road. "Makes it real hard to keep my eyes where they’re supposed to be."

The tension in the truck thickened as your words hung between you, the atmosphere shifting from playful to charged once more. You both knew where the night was headed, but for now, the anticipation was building with every shared glance, every teasing word.

When Jake pulled up outside your apartment, you could barely wait to get inside, that teasing grin of his still playing on your mind. As you led him up the stairs, your heart raced, knowing exactly where the night was headed.

As soon as you unlocked the door and stepped inside, Jake wasted no time. His hand caught the door, swinging it shut behind him with a soft thud before his lips were on yours again—hot, insistent, and full of that same hunger you’d felt building between you all night. His hands were on your waist, pulling you firmly into him, his body heat radiating through the thin fabric of his uniform as he pressed against you.

You melted into the kiss, your fingers threading through his sun-kissed hair as you pushed up on your toes, giving into the intoxicating pull of him. The smell of his cologne—woodsy and warm—mixed with the scent of the sea still lingering faintly on him, a reminder of his life out there, on the edge.

Your back hit the wall near the entryway, but neither of you broke the kiss. If anything, it deepened, the urgency between you growing as his hands roamed your sides, finding the hem of your shirt and slipping underneath, his touch warm against your skin. Jake groaned softly against your lips, his body pressing harder against yours as if he couldn’t get close enough.

When you finally pulled back to catch your breath, your chest heaving, his forehead rested against yours. He was still holding you close, his eyes half-lidded but dark with want. 

"You sure you want me here, darlin’?" he asked, his voice rough and low, a mix of that cocky confidence and something deeper, a kind of restraint that surprised you after the way he’d been looking at you all night.

You met his gaze, your hands still tangled in his hair as you nodded, your voice breathless but certain. "Yeah, Jake. I want you here."

That was all the encouragement he needed. His lips were back on yours in an instant, his hands lifting you off the ground as he backed you toward the hallway leading to your bedroom. Each step he took felt deliberate, as though he was savoring every second, every touch, the intensity between you simmering just beneath the surface.

The moment you reached the bedroom, the tension that had been crackling between you and Jake finally snapped. His lips stayed on yours as you fumbled your way toward the bed, your hands roaming over the fabric of his uniform. When your legs hit the edge of the mattress, he pulled back just enough to tug at your clothes, his fingers moving with surprising gentleness given the hunger in his eyes.

Piece by piece, he undressed you, taking in every inch of newly exposed skin with that signature Hangman smirk. When you were finally bare in front of him, Jake’s eyes darkened, his gaze raking over your body in a way that made your skin tingle.

"Goddamn," he murmured, his voice thick with admiration. "You’re perfect."

Heat rushed to your cheeks at the compliment, but before he could strip out of his uniform, your hands shot out to stop him. You placed your palms on his chest, shaking your head with a teasing smile. 

"Keep it on... for now."

Jake raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening into that cocky grin you’d come to love. "Yes, ma’am," he drawled, his voice low and rough.

His hands found your hips again, and with gentle pressure, he guided you down onto the bed, your back meeting the soft sheets beneath you. His strong hands slid up your thighs, spreading them apart slowly as he kneeled between your legs.

You felt your heart race in anticipation as he leaned down, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Every kiss, every touch, sent a jolt of electricity through you. He paused, just shy of where you needed him most, and looked up at you with that same mischievous glint in his eyes, as though waiting for you to say something.

But you couldn’t, not when he was this close, not when your body was already aching for him. Your breath hitched as his lips finally found their way to the space between your legs, and any teasing thoughts you had were replaced by pure, unadulterated need.

Jake didn’t waste any time. The moment his mouth pressed against you, a wave of pleasure hit you, and it became clear just how skilled he was. His tongue moved with purpose, tracing every sensitive spot, and you couldn’t help the small gasps that escaped your lips. He knew exactly what he was doing, and it felt as if every flick of his tongue was calculated to drive you closer to the edge.

The sensation was overwhelming, but what really did it for you was the sight of him—his head between your thighs, looking up at you with that same hungry intensity. His khaki uniform was still on, the sleeves pulling taut around his arms as he gripped your legs, keeping you in place. The combination of that pristine military uniform and the absolute sin he was committing between your legs made the whole experience even more intoxicating.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice low and thick as he pulled back just enough to speak. His lips glistened from his efforts, his eyes locked on yours. “You look so good like this. You’re close, aren’t you?”

You could barely respond, too wrapped up in the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. He knew, though—he could feel the way your body tensed, the way your breathing quickened.

“Come on, baby,” he coaxed, his voice soft but commanding. “Let go for me. I want to feel you.”

His words were like a spark, setting off something deep inside you. The combination of his mouth and his voice, that low drawl filled with desire, pushed you right to the brink. His tongue circled you again, slow and deliberate, and your body responded instinctively, arching up off the bed as your release started to build.

“That’s it,” Jake whispered, his fingers digging into your thighs as he held you steady. “Come for me, sweetheart. I want to hear you.”

With a final flick of his tongue and the pressure of his lips, you felt yourself unravel. The world seemed to blur for a moment as your climax hit you hard, your moans filling the room as Jake worked you through it, never letting up until every last bit of pleasure had coursed through you.

Jake climbed onto the bed, hovering over you, a teasing smile playing on his lips as he brushed a few stray strands of hair away from your face. The warmth of his body radiated down to you, and your heart raced as he leaned in for a kiss, his mouth moving softly against yours.

Your hands instinctively moved to his uniform shirt, fingers deftly working to undo the buttons. With each one that came undone, his kisses traveled down to your neck, teasing and sucking softly before he pulled back, leaning closer to your ear.

“You know,” he drawled, his voice thick with that signature Hangman cockiness, “I know you like the uniform on me, but I think you’d like it even better off.”

With that, he sat up, leaning back on his heels, and you watched, entranced, as he slowly undid the buttons you hadn’t gotten to. The fabric fell away from his shoulders and arms, revealing toned muscles that made your breath hitch. Then he pulled his white tank top over his head, and your hands instinctively reached out, running down his chest and abs.

You’d seen the beach pictures on his profile, but seeing him in person was a whole different experience. The way his muscles flexed beneath your fingertips sent shivers down your spine.

He moved to the edge of the bed, his fingers deftly removing his belt and sliding down his pants. When he was finally undressed, he joined you back on the bed, sitting on the edge as he pulled you gently to straddle his lap. His hands found your waist, grounding you as your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer.

“I want to feel you,” you whispered, desire lacing your words.

Jake’s expression shifted, a hint of hesitation flashing across his face. “I don’t have any protection with me,” he admitted, the cockiness momentarily replaced by sincerity.

You felt a wave of relief wash over you. Thankfully, you still had some condoms in your nightstand from your last relationship. Leaning over, Jake’s hands steadying you, you reached into the drawer and pulled one out. He slid it on himself with ease, and the moment felt electric, anticipation crackling in the air.

You positioned yourself over him, lifting your hips slightly. As you slowly slid down, both of you let out moans, the feeling of him filling you making your body tingle with pleasure. His hands on your waist began to guide your pace, but soon he decided he wanted more, thrusting up into you with urgency. Your head fell back as waves of pleasure washed over you. 

“God, that feels so good,” you breathed out, lost in the moment.

“Let me hear you,” he encouraged, his voice deep and low, urging you to speak.

You called out his name, breathless with desire, but he smirked, challenging you. “Uh uh, what’s my name?”

In that moment, the realization of what he wanted ignited something within you. You moaned out, “Lieutenant,” and the satisfaction in his eyes made you feel even more exhilarated.

He picked up the pace, thrusting into you with a hunger that matched your own, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. 

“That’s it, baby,” he breathed, his hands gripping your waist as he continued to drive you both higher, the world outside forgotten as you focused solely on each other.

The rhythm between you two intensified, each thrust igniting the fire building within you. As you felt the heat coil tighter in your core, Jake's hands gripped your waist, guiding you as he drove deeper, his breath ragged against your ear.

“Let go for me,” he urged, his voice thick with desire, urging you to reach that peak with him. You felt every nerve ending come alive, the pleasure building to an exquisite tension that threatened to consume you both.

With a few more powerful thrusts, the dam inside you broke. A wave of ecstasy washed over you, sending you spiraling into bliss. “Jake!” you cried out, feeling yourself unravel as pleasure coursed through you. Your body tightened around him, pulling him in deeper as he met you, the two of you surrendering to the moment together.

Jake let out a low groan, the sound sending another shiver through you as he hit his own release, filling you as the heat radiated between you. You could feel the tension dissipate, the world around you fading into the background as you both lost yourselves in the afterglow of your shared climax.

The two of you collapsed onto the bed, breathless and entwined. You lay there, bodies still connected, as the warmth of the moment enveloped you. Jake’s fingers traced gentle patterns on your skin, his breath gradually slowing as he smiled down at you.

“That was…” he started, searching for the right words, his grin wide and genuine.

“Unforgettable,” you finished, looking up at him, a satisfied smile spreading across your face.

He chuckled softly, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear. “You’re not too bad yourself, you know that?”

You rolled onto your side, propping your head up with your hand as you gazed at him, feeling a mix of affection and exhilaration. The energy still buzzed between you, a reminder of the passion you’d just shared.

As you both lay there, the reality of your summer fling washed over you. Jake wasn’t just some guy you met on a dating app; he was the kind of man who took your breath away, and for tonight, you were grateful for every moment you’d get with him.

[letthemkook]

Terms & ©️onditions J.JK

Pairing: Rich Preppy Jungkook x Oblivious Reader Genre: Romantic Comedy, Fluff, Slow Burn (kind of), Light Smut Vibes Later Themes: Bet-Gone-Wrong, Childhood Crush, Rich People Problems, Forced Proximity

Part I: The Bet

Intro: You are not in love with Jeon Jungkook. He's always been a side character in your life. The one guy who's always there, regardless of how painfully obvious he is, you've never caught a clue. That is until a certain wager changes everything.

------

Jungkook’s been in love with you since second grade.

Since you knocked over his juice box and cried harder than he did when the teacher yelled at you.

Since you called his Spiderman lunchbox “tacky” and then lent him your glittery one the next day.

He’s never really gotten over it.

Now you’re both seniors at St. Cecilia’s Prep — a disgustingly expensive school where everyone has last names that open doors and closets full of uniforms tailored by people with French accents.

And Jungkook?

He’s rich, hot, athletic, drives an imported black McLaren and walks around like the school was built just for him. Girls love him. Guys worship him. Teachers pretend not to notice when he shows up late to class with a caramel macchiato in one hand and a smug smirk on his face.

And he only has eyes for you.

The worst part?

You're completely oblivious.

You treat him like… a friend. A boy. Just some guy you’ve known since forever, who’s always in your orbit and always teasing you and always finding new ways to make your face turn red.

You've always been confident in your academic prowess, so when he teases you about scoring lower than him on the latest exam, naturally you boast about how much more intelligent you are.

So when he makes the bet, he does it with a grin. That he can score higher than you on the next history exam. Worth 35% of your grade.

“If I win, you do whatever I say for three months.”

You frown at him across the school lawn. “Whatever?”

“Whatever.”

The whole friend group groans.

“Dude,” your best friend hisses, “you’re literally walking into a trap.”

“I’m not gonna lose,” you say, too confident.

But you do. Because if you don't, the alternate condition was a shaved head. And you weren't a good looking bald woman.

And that’s how you find yourself standing outside Jungkook’s penthouse-sized dorm room, cheeks already burning before you even knock.

He opens the door, smug and gorgeous, leaning against the frame in his hoodie and plaid pajama pants like a Calvin Klein ad.

“Hey, baby.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“You’re blushing.”

“Am not.”

He steps aside and gestures you in. “You ready to start your first day as my personal favorite person?”

“I already hate this.”

“No, you don’t,” he says, handing you a contract. A real contract, printed on creamy paper and everything. “Clause 1: You owe me one kiss a day.”

You choke. “What?!”

“One,” he says, dead serious. “I’m being generous.”

“That’s not—!”

“Clause 2: You spend your lunch breaks with me. Clause 3: I get to walk you to class. Clause 4: If anyone asks, you’re mine.”

“Jungkook—”

He leans in, grinning. “Clause 5: If you try to escape, I double the contract.”

You’re sputtering. Dying. Blushing so hard your ears burn.

He just taps the paper. “Sign it, Y/N.”

And somehow maybe because of the way he’s looking at you, or the flutter in your chest you’re trying to ignore, you do.

From that day on, your world flips.

He holds your hand in the halls like it’s casual. He kisses your cheek in front of your friends. He texts you good morning, beautiful and don’t forget your stupid water bottle. He calls you “baby” in front of the entire cafeteria and smirks when you try to hide behind your book.

Your friends won’t shut up about it.

“He’s obsessed with you.”

“He’s always been obsessed with you.”

“You’re telling me you didn’t notice?”

And the worst part?

You start noticing.

The way he always remembers your favorite drink. The way he gets mad when you sit too close to other guys. The way he looks at you like you hung the moon and maybe knocked it slightly off orbit just to piss him off.

And the way his kisses - those once-a-day, cocky, confident kisses ... start to feel like something more.

Like maybe he’s not the only one falling.

-----

Twelve days in.

That’s how long it takes for the kisses to start changing.

At first, they were quick. Flirty. Just enough to fluster you and feed Jungkook’s ego. A peck on the cheek when you handed him his coffee. A kiss to the corner of your mouth when he caught you staring during physics. One stolen in the hallway between classes, fast and cocky while your friends screamed in the background.

But now?

Now he lingers.

His fingers skim your jaw when he pulls away. His thumb brushes your lower lip. He stares at you like he’s memorizing the way you breathe.

And you?

You can’t stop thinking about him.

His smirk. His scent. The way he always tugs you a little closer than necessary, like your body naturally belongs next to his. It’s getting harder to write it off as a game — as a stupid bet.

Especially when you catch yourself… wanting the kiss before he even asks for it.

Today, he corners you after school in the parking lot.

You’re about to unlock your car when you hear his voice behind you, low and playful.

“Where do you think you’re going, baby?”

Your stomach flutters.

“Home?”

“You forgot something.”

You turn. He’s leaning against the hood of his car, arms folded, mouth twitching like he’s trying not to grin too hard.

“What?”

He shrugs. “Kiss number twelve.”

Your cheeks warm instantly. “Can’t you skip a day?”

His brow arches. “Do you want me to?”

You hesitate.

And that’s all the answer he needs.

He crosses the space between you in two strides, gently tilts your chin up, and kisses you — slow this time. No audience. No teasing.

Just lips and breath and the faint sound of your keys hitting the pavement when your fingers go slack.

You’re dizzy when he pulls back. Blinking. Your heart pounding like you just ran a mile.

Jungkook just smiles.

“See?” he says, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Not so bad.”

You don’t answer. You can’t.

He reaches down, picks up your keys, presses them into your hand, and leans in to whisper against your cheek.

“Text me when you get home. Or I’ll come find you.”

He walks away like he didn’t just rearrange your entire nervous system.

You get in your car, hands shaking.

And it hits you then, like a lightning strike to the heart:

This isn’t a game anymore.

Not for him.

And definitely not for you.

-------

Jungkook’s flirting with someone else.

You can see it from across the courtyard — the way he leans against the ivy-covered wall with that lazy smirk, sunglasses pushed up on his head, sleeves rolled to his elbows. The girl in front of him giggles, twirling her hair like she’s in a shampoo commercial, practically melting under his gaze.

You can’t hear what he’s saying.

You don’t need to.

He does that thing — the thing he always does to you — where he tilts his head and leans in a little too close, like he’s sharing a secret meant just for her.

Your stomach flips.

You hate it.

It’s stupid. You’re not his girlfriend. This is just a bet. A three-month contract you were dumb enough to sign. It’s not like you want him to only look at you.

Right?

Right?

You’re still scowling when you slam your tray down next to your best friend at lunch.

She gives you a look. “So. What’s with the face?”

“Nothing,” you mutter.

She follows your gaze.

Then grins. “Oh.”

“What?”

She nudges you. “You’re jealous.”

“No, I’m—”

“Yes, you are.”

Before you can argue, a shadow falls over your table.

And then he’s there.

Jungkook. In all his smug, post-flirting glory. Dropping into the seat next to you like it’s reserved, slinging an arm around your shoulders like he’s the one who owns your body now.

“Hey, baby.”

You glare. “Don’t call me that.”

He just grins wider. “Someone’s cranky today.”

You shove his arm off. “Why don’t you go sit with your little girlfriend?”

He freezes — just for a second — before his smile returns, a little more dangerous this time.

“Oh?” he says, leaning in. “You jealous, baby?”

You scoff and turn away, heat flooding your face.

He follows, whispering against your ear, voice low and satisfied.

“You are. That’s so cute.”

“I am not—”

“I only flirted with her,” he interrupts, eyes dark now, “because you haven’t kissed me yet today.”

You look at him, stunned.

He shrugs, still too close. “A deal’s a deal.”

“I’m not kissing you here,” you hiss, glancing around.

He leans back, stretching out with a smirk. “Then meet me after school. Your locker. Five minutes. Don’t make me wait, sweetheart.”

And just like that, he gets up and walks away — leaving behind the scent of his cologne, your racing heart, and a very annoyed sense of how right your best friend was.

You’re jealous.

Very jealous.

------

You almost don’t go.

You spend the last period of the day staring at the clock, chewing your pen, trying to convince yourself you’re not going to meet him at your locker. That this whole bet is stupid. That he’s messing with you. That he wants you flustered. That you’re just another toy in Jungkook Jeon’s very expensive, very privileged collection.

But when the bell rings… your feet move before your thoughts can catch up.

And suddenly you’re there.

Empty hallway. Soft afternoon light pooling in through the windows. Your locker in front of you, slightly dented from when Jungkook playfully kicked it open last week like he owned the entire school.

Which, to be fair, he kind of does.

He’s already waiting.

Leaning back against the row of lockers across from yours, one knee bent, arms crossed over his chest like he’s the final boss of some video game and you just unlocked a new level.

His gaze flickers to you instantly. And then he smiles — soft, smug, and slow, like he’s been expecting this exact moment forever.

“Took you long enough.”

You stop a few feet away, arms folded.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

He pushes off the lockers and steps into your space.

You try to back up, but your locker stops you.

He cages you in with one hand on either side of your head, eyes warm and intense, head tilted like he’s studying something precious.

“You were jealous,” he murmurs.

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

“I—”

He leans closer, voice dropping. “Say you weren’t. Go on.”

You can’t.

Because you were. And he knows it.

Your silence makes him grin — not the cocky kind, but the real kind. The one that makes your stomach twist and your knees feel like melting butter.

He dips his head until your noses almost brush.

“You ready to give me my kiss now?”

You should say no.

You should push him away.

But instead, your eyes flutter shut.

And that’s all he needs.

He kisses you slow — not teasing, not playful. Real. His hand finds your waist. Yours end up clutching the front of his stupidly soft hoodie, like you might float away if you let go. His lips move gently at first, but when you don’t pull back, he deepens it — just slightly — and you gasp.

He pulls away then, but not far. Just enough to breathe the same air.

His voice is quiet. Raw.

“I’ve been in love with you since we were kids.”

Your eyes snap open.

“I used to wait for you outside the art room every Tuesday even though I hated the smell of paint. I sat behind you in bio just so I could hear you talk about weird sea creatures. And I made that stupid bet because it was the only way I could get you to actually see me.”

You blink up at him, breath caught in your throat.

“I do see you,” you whisper.

He smiles, but there’s something softer behind it now. Something almost shy.

“Yeah,” he says, brushing your cheek. “But I want you to want me, too.”

You don’t answer.

You just kiss him again — because for once, you want to.

And this time, it’s not part of the contract.

It’s just you.

And him.

And something terrifyingly real starting to bloom between you.

-------

It starts with the bracelet.

A simple silver chain, nothing too flashy — but when your lab partner Theo slips it around your wrist during chem, the sparkle it catches in the light is nothing compared to the look on Jungkook’s face from across the room.

You glance over, expression innocent. Jungkook’s jaw tightens.

Good.

Because maybe it’s petty.

Maybe it’s dangerous.

But after days of him flustering you, stealing kisses, flirting with other girls just to mess with your head, and cornering you at lockers like he owns your entire life — you decide it’s time he blushes for once.

So you make a plan.

And it starts at Noah Park’s birthday party.

The Park estate is lit like a music video — bonfires in the backyard, string lights over the tennis court, and speakers blasting Top 40 hits so loud you can feel the bass in your lungs.

You dress up a little more than usual. Shorter skirt. Glossy lips. Eyes lined in a way you know will make Jungkook feel things.

You arrive late, walk in like you’ve never been nervous a day in your life, and make a beeline for Theo — who, bless his flirty, dumb heart, is more than happy to play along.

You laugh a little louder than usual. Let your hand rest on his arm a little longer. Tilt your head when he compliments your lip gloss and say, “Want a closer look?”

From the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook freeze.

He’s standing near the patio, drink in hand, surrounded by his usual crew. But now he’s gone completely still — dark eyes locked on you like a storm cloud about to break.

Good.

Let him simmer.

Let him burn.

Theo leans in. Says something about going somewhere quieter. You smile — sweet and wicked — and before you can say yes, there’s a shadow behind you and a firm hand on your waist.

“Hey, Theo,” Jungkook says, voice smooth but sharp like broken glass. “Mind if I steal her for a second?”

Theo blinks. “Uh—"

“She has a boyfriend,” Jungkook adds, turning to you. “Right, baby?”

Your pulse skips. “Do I?”

His jaw twitches.

You let him pull you aside, through the crowd, until you’re half-dragged into the quiet of the wine cellar hallway — dimly lit and way too close.

He pins you with a glare.

“What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know,” you say innocently. “Looked a lot like what you do every day.”

His breath catches.

“Are you jealous?” you tease, voice soft, smile smug.

“Jealous?” He steps in, crowding you against the wall, one arm braced beside your head. “I nearly punched him.”

You raise a brow. “Why? Afraid I’ll fall for someone else?”

His hand slides to your waist, grip tightening just slightly.

“No,” he growls. “I’m afraid you’ll figure out you deserve someone better than me.”

That shuts you up.

Because for all his cocky grins and flirtatious teasing — you’ve never seen him look like this. Desperate. Wrecked. Like you just ripped the ground out from under him.

His voice drops to a whisper.

“Don’t do that again.”

“Why not?”

He leans in, forehead resting against yours.

“Because I’ll lose my goddamn mind.”

And when he kisses you this time — it’s not playful. It’s not smug.

It’s hungry.

Possessive.

Like he’s trying to claim every piece of you before someone else even thinks about trying.

And you let him.

Because, revenge or not…

You liked watching him fall apart for you.

--------

You thought the kiss in the wine cellar would be the end of it.

That he'd get it out of his system, that you'd get your petty revenge, and that things would return to whatever weird, flirt-heavy, kiss-a-day limbo you’d been floating in since the bet started.

But that night…

Jungkook doesn’t let you go home.

He doesn’t even ask.

He just says, “You’re staying,” and tugs you by the wrist up the winding staircase to the Park family’s guest wing like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

And the worst part?

You don’t fight him.

His room is massive, predictably obnoxious — floor-to-ceiling windows, private balcony, bed big enough to hold your denial and your crush and all your nervous heartbeats.

He tosses you a hoodie. It’s warm, oversized, smells like him. You sit on the bed while he changes behind a screen, and every second feels heavier than it should.

When he finally joins you, shirtless and in sweats, he’s quieter than usual.

No teasing. No smirk.

Just Jungkook.

Barefoot, tired, beautiful Jungkook — standing at the foot of the bed, looking at you like he’s trying not to fall apart.

And then he says it.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

Your breath catches.

“I know this started as a game. I made it one. But it’s never been a game for me. Not really.”

You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.

He sits next to you, close enough to feel the heat of his skin, but not touching you — not yet.

“I’ve been in love with you since we were eleven,” he says, eyes on the floor. “You had braces and ugly glitter socks and told me my eyebrows were too perfect for a boy.”

You blink.

He lets out a soft laugh, bitter and soft. “You don’t remember, do you?”

You shake your head. “Not really.”

“I do,” he whispers. “I remember everything.”

He turns to face you then, eyes shining — not with cocky confidence, but with something raw. Something real.

“You make me crazy, Y/N. Every time you laugh at someone else’s joke. Every time you look at me like I’m just some guy you grew up with. Every time you act like you don’t know I’d burn this entire school to the ground for you.”

Silence.

Heavy.

Sacred.

You reach out, slowly, fingers brushing his.

“I didn’t know,” you whisper. “I swear I didn’t. I thought… you were just playing.”

“I was,” he says. “At first. Because it was the only way I could get close to you without scaring you away.”

You finally meet his eyes.

And this time, you don’t look away.

“I’m scared now,” you say quietly.

“I know.”

“But I think…” You swallow. “I think I’m falling for you too.”

That’s all it takes.

He surges forward, mouth crashing against yours, hands tangled in your hair like he’s been dying to touch you properly for years. And this kiss — it’s not part of any bet. There’s no clause, no teasing smirk.

Just mouths and breath and confessions pressed between teeth.

He pulls you onto his lap without breaking the kiss, hoodie slipping off one shoulder as his hands roam over your back, gentle but desperate.

“I love you,” he says again, against your mouth this time. “Say it back. Please.”

You pause — dizzy, flushed, aching.

Then: “I’m not ready.”

He stills.

But then — he smiles.

And kisses your forehead.

“That’s okay,” he whispers. “I’ll wait. I’ve already waited half my life.”

[auroralwriting]

Consider: Bucky thinking he’s misplaced his dog tags, only to find that the reader’s been holding them hostage/wearing them because he’s (accidentally) ignoring her, and the reader knows this was the best way to ensure she finally gets his attention

attention

avenger!bucky barnes x avenger!reader (after tfatws)

bucky's been ignoring you, and you know how to get his attention.

word count: 1.5k | warnings: light angst but overall fluff

Bucky had never been one to keep too busy. He liked things low key, relaxed, casual. Even while Sam, himself, and you were reforming the Avengers, he always made time for you, his best friend.

Deep down, though, you knew you both weren't just friends. Late nights drinking beer and dancing were enough to tell you that you both were more than just friends. It seemed like Bucky knew it too, seeing as he refused to go on any dates Sam tried to set up or even download Tinder, which he wouldn't have done anyways.

After a long, hard few months of trying to find funding, Clint had suggested Kate Bishop, his somewhat protege, who happened to be rich as fuck as you'd later find out. After seeing her skills, you knew she was perfect for the team.

Kate was quick to suggest Yelena, who took a week and a half longer than Kate to convince, meaning it took her a week and a half to say yes after what she called, 'obsessive behavior' of finding her and begging her to join.

Now, the Avengers were back, and slowly becoming better. Sam was busy working out arrangements with the government while Kate bought the necessary equipment for you all. Yelena was focused on making the best uniforms for you all (filled with many pockets), and Bucky was focused on finding leads to focus on. You, on the other hand, handled the press that was looming over you all.

Even with all of that, Bucky made time for you. However, it was becoming apparent he was finding excuses to not see you.

It began with the excuses that he was busy with leads.

"Buck!" You called in a sing-song voice as you walked in the room he was sat in. "I just bought us a twelve pack, and I think Star Wars is calling our names." You smiled as you walked up next to him.

He barely even looked up from his computer screen, "I can't tonight. I think I have a lead and I need to focus before it goes off-grid."

Okay, that seemed totally reasonable. "Oh, of course. Maybe tomorrow," You smiled.

"Maybe," Bucky said, voice so nonchalant you weren't sure if he had even registered your voice. So, you said a soft goodbye and left the room, feeling confused and awkward.

The next time it happened, it was four days later. Bucky was sat on the computer again when you approached. "Hey Bucky, I was wondering if you wanted to take a nighttime drive on your Harley? It's been a while since we've ridden."

"Outta gas," Bucky's voice was monotone as he replied. "Some other time."

Immediately, it felt like a punch to the gut, which you've felt more than once and this one hurt worse. "Oh, yeah." You muttered as you walked away.

That night, you contemplated everything that had been happening. What had you done to upset Bucky to the point of avoiding you? There had to be some reasonable explanation to this, right? The only way to find out for sure was to get Bucky to actually speak to you again.

When the morning came, you woke up extra early. Bucky was an early riser. You weren't sure if that was from his time in the military or Hydra. You made your way to his room where he was absent. It took just a moment to see the steam leaking from under his bathroom door for you to figure out he was showering. As you looked around his room, you looked at the table next to his bed and saw your target: his dog tags.

Bucky never did anything without those on. They were a part of him, and you'd never even seen him without them on. Maybe it was a bit too invasive, but it felt like the only solid way to get Bucky to speak to you.

You carefully walked up to his nightstand and grabbed the tags, looping them around your neck and tucking them under your shirt. The metal was cold on your sternum, and you had to wonder if the coolness of the tags reminded Bucky of his arm.

The thought was quickly thrown to the side as the noise of running water disappeared. You quickly made your way out of his room, making sure to be extra silent due to his super soldier hearing. You shut the door as quietly as you could and made your way to your room where you collapsed on your bed, the adrenaline of it all making you feel out of breath.

You looked at the clock, six forty-three. The time began now to see how long it took for Bucky to realize you were the thief of his dog tags.

Bucky felt the panic rise on his chest when he saw that his dog tags were not on his nightstand where he left them after getting up. He had the same routine: wake up, take off his tags, and shower.

He searched all around the area to see if they fell. No luck. Bucky felt stumped about where they could be.

There was no way they could've fallen off at any point yesterday. Sam and him spent the evening sparring, and he would've told Bucky if he'd seen the tags laying around. Plus, Bucky remembered taking them off when he woke up.

So where could they possibly be?

They couldn't have broken and fallen off without him noticing, right? They were tags from the forties, there was a chance they just didn't withstand the test of time. Bucky always knew they were on him, though. Those tags were almost a part of his body. He would have felt if they weren't on.

Then, it hit him. The only person who knew just how much they meant to Bucky was you. Was there any way you had taken them?

Bucky quickly made his way to your room, knocking on the door a little bit harsher than he intended too. He looked at the clock that was hung on the wall next to him, it was seven o'eight. There was no chance you were awake.

The door opened slowly and a very anxious looking you. All Bucky could see was just your head, the rest of your body was hidden behind the door.

"Well, look who's come to see me." You said in a flat tone.

Bucky sighed, "I'm sorry, I've been busy. Have you seen my tags?"

His abruptness made you flash your eyebrows upward. "Your dog tags?"

"The only tags I wear," Bucky sighed, growing more frustrated by the situation as the second hand on the clock ticked. It was then that Bucky spotted a flash of silver from the small part of your neck. He pushed the door open further and was able to spot the chain just peaking out from your shirt.

Before Bucky got a chance to say anything, your eyes became watery. A small sense of newfound panic coursed through Bucky's veins. "You kept blowing me off," Your voice sounded small and fragile as you admitted your feelings to Bucky.

"Doll, you know I didn't mean too." Bucky sighed as you sat down on your bed. He was quick to follow, sitting thigh to thigh with you.

"But you were so mean," Bucky didn't think he could feel his heart break more until he heard you small voice call him mean. You were right, he was being mean, but it wasn't on purpose.

Bucky set his hand over your own, his thumb grazing over your knuckles. "M' sorry, Doll. I didn't mean to be mean." Bucky sighed, his head hanging in a sense of shame. He'd never meant to hurt you.

"Why?" You asked in reply, looking at him with confusion.

Bucky stuttered over his words for a moment, taking a breath to calm himself. "I realized that my feelings for you aren't just.."

"Friendly?" You offered. Bucky's eyes flashed to your face, surprise taking over his features. He didn't know you also realized it, too.

"Yeah, that." Bucky nodded. "And I got scared." Bucky sighed, his metal hand rubbing over his face as he took a shaky breath. "I never expected myself to feel this way about someone, especially someone so good."

You felt your heart melt at Bucky's words. "Buck," You mumbled, flipping over the hand that was over yours so your fingers intertwined.

"I never meant to hurt you, doll." Bucky reiterated, looking at you with a gentle care. "Please, forgive me."

"Only if you forgive me for taking these," You replied, hand slipping from his so you could take off his tags.

You set them in his hand as he stared at them. "You know exactly what to do to get my attention, huh?" His next move surprised you, his hands going behind your head as you felt the coolness of the chain relaxing around your neck once more.

"Bucky, no. I can't-"

"I want you too," Bucky urged, staring deep into your eyes. "They're yours. I'm yours."

You felt your heart warm at his words. "Are you sure?"

"I've never been more sure of anything, doll." Bucky replied, a soft smile playing his lips as you enclosed your fist around the tags.

"I'll guard them with my life," You promised.

Bucky exhaled, "I know you will."

[knight-a3]

Heavenbound AU

Masterpost

Vagatha "Vaggie"

I wanted to emphasize Vaggie's moth features. A friend of mine, who is a fan of the show, didn't realize that she was supposed to be a moth. When I showed her my designs, she noticed the moth themes right away. I had to explain that Vaggie was originally a moth, and that it wasn't something I came up with.

More notes under the cut

I know she says her name isn't Vagatha. But... I don't vibe with the sexual connotations. I'm too ace for it. So I'm ignoring that. I came up with a whole complicated justification for her name, but I'll get into that later.

Uniform:

Her main outfit is her hotel uniform. She and Charlie are the only staff members who bother to wear it. Alastor and Husk are never going to, and Niffty simply doesn't care.

Hair and eyes: Her hair has a more obvious moth wing pattern. Her bow is antenna instead. And she has moth fluff on her neck, wrists, and ankles. Which serves as a slight nod to one of her older design. Her short hair is also a nod to it. I never liked the floating X over her face, so I put an eyespot in her hair instead, which is always cut in half by a part. The X is exclusively on her eyepatch instead, which isn't going to be visible most of the time. And she needed a scar to go with it, which also isn't visible most of the time.

Casual:

Basically what she would've been wearing in the pilot. I just wanted to put her in an outfit that shows what she would choose to wear. I wanted to lean into the pastel colors she used to have, but also use purple instead of pink, since she seems to be associated with purple for some reason.

Battle Outfit and Wings:

I wanted her restored wings to be moth wings, rather than typical angel wings. After she regains her wings, her hair can turn into them. It leaves her with short hair, partly so I didn't have to worry about hair and wings at the same time. I primarily based her on the Condalia Silk Moth. I wanted to simplify her battle outfit slightly. I stuck with colors that were already in her palette, instead of choosing anything new. For simplicity.

Exorcist Angel:

Because I wanted the angels in general to look more human, I had to apply it to the exorcists too. Not that there was much alteration needed. But I needed a sense of consistency. I didn't like the look of the exorcists in canon. They looked too demonic with their outfits, and it didn't vibe with their self-righteous attitudes. So I chose a crusader theme instead. It felt more appropriate. The wings can "turn on and off" at will. Vaggie did it in canon after getting her wings back, so I don't see why the same can't apply to other angels. I designed the halo in a very specific way, which I'll probably get into on it's own post. It ties into how I'm reimagining the angelic hierarchy.

I think the canon lore is that the exorcists were created and named by Adam. But I don't vibe with it. I'm thinking that they were humans that either died doing something noble, or had a particular desire to fight against depravity. Consequently, they won't all be female anymore.

Human:

I wanted to base her outfit on an earlier design, and this is loosely based on a couple of her pilot design's alternate outfits. It also gives me some slightly Colombian vibes. Her hair shape is inspired by the shape of her hair in the show. Vaggie as a human name just wouldn't work. So I came up with some convoluted explanation as to why her name would evolve the way it did.

Regina "Gina" Agatha Valdez. Daughter of a Salvadorian immigrant. She wasn't interested in men, so bullies would call her "Virginia." It was a play on her name. Gina was her nickname, and placing her last initial in front would make it V. Gina. The more crass bullies called her the obvious. She died saving a child, but I haven't thought of specifics. Afterwards, she was recruited into the exorcist army. She fell because she spared a child-looking demon(probably wasn't actually a child, tbh). Once she fell, she became a demon, and her appearance changed to reflect it. She may be a fallen angel, but she's not technically an angel anymore. She's a sinner like the rest. Even if her sin wasn't really a sin. Lute cursed her to it. She didn't want to go by her old name anymore, so she went by her middle name, with her last initial in front. V. Agatha. Vagatha.

Some of the designs, besides canon, that I referenced:

(Jan 18, 2025- Changed ethnicity from Columbian to Salvadorian, that was a simple mixup on my part.)

[noorpersona]

Hii !! ♡(˃͈ ˂͈ )

A little near a month ago I found your account and have been hooked on your writing! Like genuinely you characterise everyone so well and your writing is just so perfect (T⌓T) I know you get this all the time but I really mean it you are my favourite author on here without a doubt

I've been loving your rivals series SO MUCH and was wondering if you could do an NSFW Ushijima x reader situation?

I hope you have an amazing day (´• ᴗ •̥`✿)

Hiii <333 Your words are so sweet, I'm so happy i got around to your request hehe caus its very yummy. Definitely a part two is headed your way... and spicy ;)

Enjoy<33

--

Rivalry: Ushijima

It started the first day you walked into the gym.

Ponytail slung over one shoulder, clipboard under your arm, tie knotted too loose against a blouse that didn’t quite match school code. You weren’t late—but you walked in like you were doing them a favor by showing up at all. Your steps echoed sharp across the hardwood, rubber soles and attitude both hitting at full force.

You paused mid-stride, scanned the room, then raised one hand in a casual wave as if greeting old friends. "Why don’t we play music during warm-up? That’s depressing as hell."

The sentence dropped like a cinderblock. Every conversation froze. Tendou choked on his water. Semi looked up from taping his fingers and just blinked. Goshiki audibly gasped like you’d just committed sacrilege. Even Coach Washijou paused mid-note, pen hovering above his clipboard.

You blinked like you didn’t realize you'd said anything unusual, flashing a grin as if you’d already won something.

Ushijima hadn’t said a word. He just stared at you with that heavy, unreadable silence of his. In his mind, the label was immediate: irritant. Too loud, too impulsive, too unserious. She’ll be a disruption, he thought. And he was right.

You’d been with them nearly two years now. And to his complete dismay, you had not only proven yourself an effective manager—you had managed to wedge yourself beneath his skin like a splinter he couldn’t ignore.

On paper, you were everything a coach could want. Organized. Efficient. You remembered stats like a machine, kept meticulous logs, planned trips to the second, and answered press questions with a calm grace that rivaled any professional. You were technically perfect.

But you were also loud. Opinionated. You didn’t walk, you prowled. You gave everyone nicknames they didn’t ask for, cracked jokes mid-stretch, and had once drawn an anatomically questionable caricature of Coach Washijou on the team whiteboard that stayed up for a week. You were chaos wrapped in a school uniform. And somehow, everyone adored you for it.

Especially the team. Tendou egged you on constantly. Semi tried to act above it, but even he cracked grins when you were around. Goshiki blushed bright red whenever you leaned over him to check notes, and Reon always made sure you had a spare chair next to his.

They loved you. And that was a problem. Because Ushijima couldn’t stand how much he noticed you.

He told himself it was irritation. That the reason his eyes followed you was because you were disruptive. But it wasn’t that. Not anymore. Somewhere along the way, the awareness of you had shifted. It was in the way your laugh lingered long after you left a room. The way his gaze found you first whenever he entered one. The way your teasing, infuriating voice stayed in his head longer than his own thoughts. You weren’t just a disruption anymore. You were a fixation.

And he hated that.

Practice had ended nearly twenty minutes ago. Most of the team had already filtered out, some slapping towels at each other, others muttering about dinner plans. But you hadn’t left. You never did until he did.

You lingered like a shadow at the edge of the gym, leaning lazily against the wall as you watched him.

"Still punishing the ball for losing, Wakatoshi?"

He caught it mid-bounce and turned toward you, expression grim, eyes sharper than usual. You were in your usual end-of-day state—hair piled messily on your head, jacket tied around your waist, and that clipboard still glued to your side. He wondered if you ever let yourself be still. He doubted it.

“Need you to sign these for Coach,” you said, strolling up like you hadn’t just committed volleyball treason. “Year-end reports. Budgets. Dreams. Regrets. All the greatest hits.”

Ushijima didn’t say a word as he took the clipboard. His eyes scanned the top page with clinical precision, but you noticed the way his jaw ticked. The little muscle near his temple fluttered. A tiny, telltale crack in the calm.

You lingered a step away, leaning on one leg. “Also, Tendou left his knee brace again. I was gonna hide it in the ball cart as revenge but I’m trying to be a better person.”

The page turned with more force than necessary. Not a full rip—but the threat was there.

“Coach said to schedule a final practice match,” he said, voice flat.

You blinked. Then smiled—slow and deliberate.

“Yeah,” you said, breezy, “and I talked him out of it.”

His gaze lifted with a slowness that could have been mistaken for calm if it weren’t for the way he locked onto you like a goddamn laser sight. His posture changed—nothing dramatic, but all at once he was taller, broader, coiled tight like a rubber band one twist from snapping. You could feel the tension radiating off him like heat off sunbaked concrete.

“You went behind my back,” he said. The words were barely a sound. More like a growl, tucked into his chest.

You just raised both brows. “You make it sound so dramatic. It was a conversation. I made my case. Coach agreed. That’s not sabotage, it's persuasion.”

The clipboard creaked beneath his grip. You saw it now—his knuckles, white. His throat bobbing with a swallowed word. The slight tremor running through his arms like his own control was betraying him. And naturally, you stepped closer.

“Woah,” you murmured, voice dipping to something low and delighted. “Are you shaking, Ushijima?”

His eyes darkened.

“That decision wasn’t yours to make.”

“Neither was losing to Karasuno, but it still happened,” you shot back.

“You undermined me.”

“I protected the team.”

“You acted without me.”

“Because you don’t listen when you’re pissed!” you snapped, and for a moment, it wasn’t playful. “You’d drive them into the floor just to claw back one more win that’s not coming.”

Another step forward. You were close now. Not quite touching, but close enough to feel the heat rolling off him. He looked at you like he wanted to bury something into the wall—rage flickering in his eyes, shoulders square and trembling under the weight of holding himself back. His breath hitched in that way people do when they’re about to yell or—do something else.

You tilted your chin, smirking. “Any harder of a glare and I'll be six-feet under.”

His silence was deafening. Then, in a voice gritted and bitten off at the ends: “I can’t stand you.”

You snorted. “Yeah, that’s why I catch you staring at me during every water break. Real subtle by the way.”

He flinched. Just slightly. Enough to make your grin bloom.

“You're a virus,” he muttered. “An irritant. You dig in and stay.”

You leaned in closer—nose nearly brushing his. “Say it like I’m not your favorite headache.”

His fists clenched tighter at his sides. His whole body trembled, jaw wired shut, eyes boring into you with something wild behind them. You held his gaze for one beat too long. Two.

Then stepped back.

“Anyway. No match. Final answer.”

You turned with a hum and tossed your voice over your shoulder as the gym door creaked open. “Try meditation or something, big guy. Realign those chakras. Might help with the rage.”

The door clicked shut behind you.

Behind it, there was a sharp, violent sound—an unmistakable, echoing pop. The volleyball in his grip had split open beneath his palm. Rubber and air hissed free from the sudden rupture, the seams blown wide from sheer force. He didn’t even look down at it. Just stood there in the middle of the gym, breath heavy, pulse roaring in his ears, jaw tight enough to splinter.

You were a virus.

But God help him—he wasn’t sure he wanted the cure.