#it crosses a line to where its okay to do that to everyone

[daryltwdixon]

Hi angel!

I’m here for a request, but not a typical one. I want to request that you finish something you’ve been working on but maybe are nervous that people won’t want it. Something YOU have always wanted to write.

Okay that’s it love you bye 🖤

𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲

Summary: You tried to love Joel Miller the way he was. But eventually, the silence, the walls, the way he kept you at arm’s length… it broke something in you. So you let him go. || angst! fluff! smut! we got it all! MDNI 18+, Jackson!Joel, break up, joel is bad at feelings, makeup sex (eventually), pinv, love makin', lots of kissing cause I wanna kiss him, fingering, f!receiving oral, and yeah its a little corny idc, tiny mention of an age gap|| Inspired by Kacey Musgrave's song Space Cowboy a/n: taylorrrrrrr my angel girl I could cry ilysm. I’ve always had this thought that Joel Miller, at least at first, would be emotionally unavailable and like...not willing to really date. In p1, he’s constantly shutting Ellie down when she brings up Tess or Sam and Henry, Tommy when he offers him that photo of Sarah. Sure, by the end he’s more open, because Ellie made him feel something again. But I think being romantically involved would be hard for him at first. I've always wanted to explore that, and this been collecting dust in my wips since I wasn't sure how everyone would feel. so all this to say....here you go :')

For once, Joel Miller stayed the night.

Not by accident, not because he was drunk off his ass and you made him crash on your couch. No, you’d seen that version of him more times than you could count. But last night, after fucking you hard enough to leave dents in your drywall from sheer force of the headboard, he’d collapsed beside you, pulled you against his chest, and… stayed.

Almost like he meant to.

So god forbid you woke up the next morning with your cheek against his bare chest, your thigh slung over his hip, still foggy brained in the haze of sleep, and asked if he wanted to go grab breakfast at the dining hall.

You might as well have asked What are we?

Or worse: Will you be my boyfriend forever and ever, Joel?

Now he was out in your living room, shoving his boots on by the front door as sun poured in dusty light across the floorboards. You leaned against the archway in his flannel, bare legs out, nothing but the socks on your feet and silence in the air.

You watched him with narrowed eyes. To say you didn’t know what this was would be like saying the sky wasn’t  blue. And you weren’t a liar.

Because you saw it, saw the same pieces being shunted between you. He was building it up again. Brick by brick. That impenetrable wall was back high and tight.

“I don’t get it,” you said finally.

He didn’t answer, only grunted. 

Of course.

“You come here a few nights a week, we hookup and then…what? I don’t exist once your pants are back on? The one night you actually stay with me and I ask you to eat breakfast, I’ve suddenly crossed a line?”

“That’s enough,” Joel muttered, jaw clenched tight.

The way he said made your stomach twist something ugly.

“Yeah,” you said, letting out a long breath as your voice flattened into something stale, “You’re right. That’s enough.”

You stepped in front of where he was sitting, his chin tilting up to meet your eyes for once. His brows furrowed, but he didn’t back down. He just looked at you like he didn’t understand why you were standing in the way of his exit.

“What do you want, Joel?”

He shook his head and leaned down to finish tying his boots. “Don’t want nothin’ from you.”

That stung more than it should have. “Trust me,” you said scoffing. “I got that message a long time ago.”

He stood, slow but abrupt, towering over you as if it was easier to loom than feel anything at all. “What is it you want from me, girl?”

“I want you to admit there’s something here!” you finally snapped, your blood beginning to boil, “I want you to act like all these nights mean something! Like I’m not just a warm body you crawl to when you’re lonely.”

His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“I want you to talk to me. I want something real. But you don’t even try.”

“I am tryin’,” he said, eyes squeezing shut once before looking at you under heavy brows.

“No, you’re not,” you said, and your voice cracked, not quite out of sadness, but rage. “You’re just—” your hand cut the air, motioning to all of him. “You’re existing, Joel. Going through the motions like you’re waiting for it all to be ripped away. You’re so damn scared of letting anything good happen that you’re choking the life out of it before it can even start.”

His jaw twitched, shoulders stiffening. That look in his eye—rage, grief, guilt—you weren’t sure which it was, but it burned cold and hard beneath the surface.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” he said quietly, but there was venom behind the words. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”

“Then tell me.” You stepped closer, letting your voice drop to something soft and gentle as you lifted your hands to his chest. You looked up into his eyes, now dark as storm clouds above a forest as you whispered, “Let me in.”

He didn’t answer, only stood there, breathing slow through his nose, his body rigid like he was waiting to be hit.

You shook your head, your hands falling back down to your sides in fists, “You always talk about space,” you murmured. “Needing time.”

You turned on your heel and stomped toward the door, yanking it open with a loud creak. Cold autumn air rushed in, hitting your bare skin and stinging your eyes.

“Well,” you said, voice low and bitter. “Your prayers have been answered.”

You swung your arm out toward the open doorway.

“You can have your space, cowboy.”

Joel paused for a long moment. Because maybe for once he realized you meant it. Like maybe he’d expected you to cave, to give him the same grace you always did. But you were tired.

Tired of not knowing what this was. Tired of not knowing what you were to him. Tired of the way he’d shut down and pull away when you could feel the good in him, the gold buried under all that iron.

You knew he was a good man. He just wouldn’t show it to you.

Slowly, he started toward the door. Time dragged as he approached you, whether that was because every step looked like it cost him something or you were cataloging every movement he made to store in your memory.

He reached the threshold and stopped, the morning light catching the edge of his face, soft and golden. He looked back at you, but you didn’t lift your eyes.

Then softly, just a whisper, he said your name. As if he knew it was the last time.

Finally, you looked up at him, biting your lip to keep back the tears.

“I’ll see you around, Joel,” you said. “I know my place. And maybe it’s just not with you.”

You couldn’t quite make yourself regret being with Joel.

Not even for a second.

You told yourself a hundred times in the days that followed that what happened between you and him had been real. Maybe not enough, maybe not lasting, but real. And sometimes that was all you got.

Roads were made to go down. Some just didn’t have a way back.

And if you’d been smarter, you would’ve remembered what the movies always tried to teach: the good guys don’t run away.

But the broken ones sure as hell do.

And Joel Miller had always been a runner. Even if he showed signs of want, of connection only through the nights with your name on his lips like prayer and he took your body like it was his salvation. 

But when a horse wants to run, there’s no sense closing the gate.

In the weeks after you’d broken things off, you saw him everywhere. Yes, in the little things like the butcher’s stall that had a sign he’d made and the wooden figurines in your neighbor’s windowsill, but more than that, you actually saw him.

From across the market gathering whatever it was he needed one week, or the back of his head on horseback heading out with a patrol group, or his flannel at the edge of the community garden, nodding to someone like he was fine. Like nothing ever happened. He never looked your way, not once. But you looked at him.

And the days you didn’t see him were somehow worse.

You'd catch yourself worrying. Wondering if something went wrong on patrol, or…if he was holed up with another woman in a house that wasn’t yours, if he’d finally decided to try with someone easier.

Someone who didn’t ask him to talk. Someone who didn’t wear his t-shirts and expect breakfast the next morning.

Two months passed like that— slow and strange, like you were trudging through water. You kept to yourself, did your work, smiled at friends when they asked if you were okay. You told them you were tired, that you were busy. That you were fine.

But there was something about Joel that clung to you like smoke.

It didn’t matter how many days you went without seeing him. He was still everywhere. Whether it was in the smell of pine when it rained, the creak of your porch steps when you’d hoped it was him, or the ache of your thighs the first time you tried to be with someone else and couldn’t go through with it.

Because try you had. Over and over, you’d tried.

And on one stormy night, three sharp knocks slammed against your front door like warning shots.

You were curled up on the couch beside someone who was… fine. He was nice, respectful, said “please” and “thank you” and laughed at your lame jokes with his hand resting on your knee. You were trying, honest, to feel something. To find that spark again, to forget about the one you’d known all too well.

But you couldn’t force yourself to, could you? So when the knocks slammed into the wood of your front door, you were almost grateful, because the man on your couch had just been leaning in for what you were pretty sure was a kiss.

Eric? Aaron? Whatever his name was blinked, glancing toward the door. “You expecting someone?”

You shook your head slowly. “No.”

Another knock. More like a demand now.

“Let me just see who it is,” you said quietly as you crossed the room, your bare feet silent on the hardwood, and opened the door.

Joel nearly fell through it.

Rain clung to him, dripping from the hem of his jacket, pooling beneath his boots. Mud streaked up the sides of his jeans. His hair was soaked to his scalp, his eyes red-rimmed and glassy. There was something feral about them.

He didn’t even say a word as he stepped forward, grabbed your face with both hands, and kissed you.

It was messy and sudden and rough, tasting hot with whiskey, his stubble scraping your skin as he tilted your chin up, as if he had the right. As if you were still his. You froze for a heartbeat, maybe two. Because you had missed him. Missed him in ways you hadn’t even let yourself feel yet. But this…this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. And the second that sick, hot twist of anger rose up in your gut, you shoved him.

“Joel—what the fuck—get off,” you snapped, trying to twist out of his cold, wet grip.

But he kept coming. Hands sliding to your hips, dragging you into him again, his mouth crashing against yours, slurring against your lips, “Missed you. I miss’d ya so fuckin’ bad, baby, I—”

You pushed harder this time, shoving at his chest until he stumbled back a step. He swayed, visibly disoriented, breath catching as he reached for the doorframe to steady himself. His eyes blinked slowly like the room was spinning. When he looked back at you, he looked confused. Like he didn’t understand why you were pushing him away.

Behind you, you heard the floor creak.

“Uh, what the hell is going on?”

Joel’s head jerked up at the voice.

The man stood from the couch, slow and cautious. His brows pulled tight, clearly trying to make sense of what he just walked into. Joel stared for a long moment. Then his whole body stiffened.

“What the fuck is this?” he asked, his voice lower now, that mean, Southern bite curling around the words.

You stepped into his eyeline immediately. “Joel—don’t.”

But he moved around you like you weren’t even there, sodden boots heavy on the floor as he stalked forward.

“Get the fuck out,” he said to the man.

The guy blinked, baffled. “Excuse me?”

“I said get the fuck outta her house.”

“She invited me—”

Joel began to move, an angry glower pinching his brows as he moved to get in his face, but you stepped between him, hands on his chest.

“Jesus, Joel,” you said, shoving him back again, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Joel’s breathing was ragged, chest rising and falling fast. He turned toward you, eyes wild and heartbroken and far too open, “Can I talk to you?” his eyes glowered briefly at the man behind you, “Alone?”

“Man, you need to leave,” your guest said, annoyed.

You held up a hand. “It’s fine. I’m sorry. Just… please go.”

He looked at you for a long second, then scoffed, shooting one last glare toward Joel as he stepped out the door.

The second it closed behind him, the silence in the room was deafening.

Joel stood there in the middle of your living room like something unholy. Soaked to the bone and chest heaving. His eyes were red and full of everything he refused to say for the last two months.

The silence stretched, long and heavy.

“Baby, I–” he began, but you shook your head.

“I don’t want to hear it, Joel.” you squeezed your eyes shut, bringing your hands up to rub your temples, “Whatever it is you want to say, I need to hear it when you’re sober.”

You should’ve screamed, should’ve been angry. Hell, you should’ve thrown him back out into the rain and locked the door behind him. 

But you didn’t. Instead, you stepped forward, carefully, slowly, wondering if he was just going to bolt again. 

“Let’s just…get this off,” you murmured. Your fingers found the collar of his jacket, trembling a little from the adrenaline coursing through you as you tugged it down his shoulders. The fabric clung to his arms, soaked and heavy, but he didn’t fight you. And you didn’t realize til after you’d gotten it off of him that his eyes never left your face. Not once.

You hung his jacket up by your door, the fabric freezing and soggy. Then your hands moved to his flannel. The buttons were half-undone already. You didn’t ask, you just kept going.

And still, he didn’t stop you.

You pushed the fabric apart, palms brushing down the front of his chest, and God—he was so cold. But he was still him, even if the cold had gotten to him, had sunken into his skin.

You sank to your knees.

Not for him, and not like that. You just crouched down in front of him and tugged at the laces of his boots. The knot was sloppy and rushed like he had rushed in a fury to put them on. You undid it anyway, peeling each boot off one at a time, your fingers clumsy from the cold and the tension.

Neither of you spoke.

Not until you stood again, eyes meeting his. Something passed between you in that moment, raw and wordless. Maybe a kind of truce. Not forgiveness, just a single thread of mercy, offered in silence just for tonight.

Joel swayed again, catching himself with a heavy hand against the wall. His voice came out low and ragged, like it hurt to speak.

“I… I fucked up, okay?”

You could’ve screamed at him. Could’ve thrown every angry word you’d swallowed these past few months in his face. But instead, you just reached for the hem of his shirt.

“Lift your arms.”

He blinked, confused, but obeyed, sluggish and slow.

You pulled the soaked fabric up and over his head, dropping it to the floor with a wet slap.

“I’m tryin’ t’talk to ya,” he slurred, more firmly this time. “Yer not… listenin’.”

You poked him hard in the chest, “Because I don’t,” you poked again, “want,” a third poke, “to hear it, Joel.”

You poked him one last, hard time, his face turning into a grimace as his fingers wrapped around your wrist, but you kept going.

“So here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna take a shower, and I’m gonna make sure you don’t bust your head open on the tub. Then you’re drinking some damn water and sleeping it off on the couch.”

He opened his mouth, but you cut him off with a sharp look.

“If you still wanna talk after that? When you’re sober and not dripping all over my floor? Then maybe I’ll listen.”

He stared at you for a long moment, rainwater still clinging to his skin, chest rising and falling. Then he nodded. Just once, his face falling, his eyes wide.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “Okay.”

You draped the blanket over him, tucking it gently around his shoulders. He was half-asleep already, sunk deep into the couch cushions, still damp around the edges but warm now, finally. Clean shirt and a pair of sweatpants he left behind many nights ago, water by his side, the softest throw you owned wrapped snug to his chest.

Joel blinked up at you slowly, lids heavy and uneven. His hair was still a little wet, curling at his temples. That same whiskey glow lingered in his eyes, glassy and soft.

“Yer so pretty,” he mumbled, words slurred as he watched you tuck him in, “Really miss’d ya.”

“Okay, Joel,” you said halfheartedly, not believing a word of it.

He blinked again, slower this time. “Even when I was t’dumb to say it… I always wanted t’come back ‘ere. To you.”

You froze.

Your throat tightened, but you forced a smile anyway. Brushed a dark hair from his forehead with careful fingers.

“Okay, cowboy,” you said gently. “Drink your water and rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”

He hummed, the sound low and content. “M’kay.”

And as you turned to leave, his hand found the edge of the blanket again, clutching it close.

You were up before him the next morning, the sky still a pale and silvery grey through the kitchen window when you set the kettle on.

You’d saved the last of the good coffee grounds for this, maybe because some part of you hoped he’d come back. Maybe because opening the jar, running your fingers through the coarse grinds, breathing in the bitter scent… it helped when you missed him.

The rich smell filled the room as it brewed, creeping into the corners of the house like a memory. You heard the low groan from the couch before you saw him. The rustling of blankets and the sound of his hand rubbing against his beard.

You poured a mug and walked over slowly.

He was hunched over, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Bleary and still half-fogged. When he finally lifted his face, eyes squinting against the light, you held the mug out to him.

He blinked at it. Then at you.

“Thanks,” he said, voice rough with sleep and whatever was still left from the whiskey. He took it gingerly, careful to avoid your fingers.

You sat down in the corner of the couch, legs tucked under you, keeping a decent distance with your hands wrapped around your tea to ground you.

Joel took a sip from his mug, closing his eyes and exhaled a sigh, long and slow.

“Needed that,” he murmured, setting the mug on the table.

You nodded, watching him out of the corner of your eye. His beard was scruffier than usual, curling at the edges. Eyes rimmed in red, lashes still clumped from sleep. His face was carved in exhaustion, but even now, something about him still softened when he looked at you.

“I’m, uh…” he started, then shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m real sorry about last night. Feel awful.”

You gave a crooked smile. “Yeah, I figured the hangover’d be brutal.”

He shot you a look. “Not like that, smartass.”

Your smile deepened in spite of yourself. The silence between you hummed a little, something warm and bitter like old whiskey. You broke the gaze first, sighed, and stared down into your tea.

“So,” you said.

“So…” he echoed, rubbing at the corner of his jaw. His fingers rasped against the unshaven stubble. “I, uh… I ain’t so good at this.”

You nodded. That much, at least, didn’t need explaining.

“But I meant what I said,” he added quietly. “I’ve… ya know. Missed you.”

You lifted your mug again, stalling with a sip. You didn’t answer right away, and you didn’t plan to. The old version of you might’ve melted on the spot with so few words. Not this time. You needed more. Real words. The truth of it.

Joel watched you, waiting. Then waited some more.

The longer the silence stretched, the more agitated he looked. His mouth twitched, like he was finally coming to terms with the fact he was gonna have to work for your forgiveness.

He leaned back finally, one arm slung along the back of the couch, his eyes still fixed on you.

“Not gonna give me anythin’, huh?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said, setting your mug down with a quiet clink on the coffee table, “I thought you came here with somethin’ to say.”

“I was drunk.”

“Drunk words, sober thoughts,” you said simply. “So let’s hear ’em.”

Joel let out a low groan, dragging his hand over his face again. “Okay,” he muttered into his palm before reaching for the coffee again.

He took another sip, holding the mug like it might shield him from what came next.

“I dunno all the shit I’m supposed to say,” he muttered finally. “It’s not…easy for me.”

You stayed quiet, letting him talk, even if the words came slow and uneven.

“I’m used to... keepin’ things in. Just dealin’ with whatever shit came my way. I never…never really had this before, someone who wanted to know what was goin’ on in here.” He glanced your way, tappin’ his temple.

“So when I started comin’ around here… and it felt good… felt, I dunno, safe… I think I got scared I’d fuck it up. Or that maybe I already had.”

You blinked slowly, processing the mess of it. His voice, low and gravelly, kept catching like it was tripping over things he didn’t know how to say. Like there were words he wanted to find but had never really practiced out loud.

“Joel,” you sighed, fingers fidgeting around your knees, “I just want to know…what it is you want. Because it seems like we want different things.”

His eyes found yours across the couch, setting his coffee down as he shook his head, and sat forward, leaning closer to you, “No, no. That ain’t it. I want this, I just…” he trailed off, rubbing his face into his hands. You almost felt bad, how hard this was for him. 

Then, his eyes looked up, and he sat back. “Can you come here?”

You weren’t sure if you were ready for this part. Because part of you knew how fast you’d give in if you touched him. Knew how easy it would be to fall back into his arms and forget everything you’d been hurting over. But your chest ached for it. And the way he was looking at you, so raw and cracked open, it made you move against your better judgement.

Slowly, you crawled over. He shifted to make room and when you tucked yourself beneath his chin, his arm came around you like he’d been waiting. Both hands found your arm, rubbing gently like he could feel the chill under your skin.

It was odd, almost. Most of the times he’d pulled you in like this were when you were both naked, the post coitus hormones running high, limbs tangled up and skin flushed.

“Missed this,” he murmured, his voice warm against your hair.

You swallowed. You missed it too, missed him, even when he made it impossible.

He shifted just enough to tilt your chin up, fingers brushing along your jaw. His eyes searched yours, darker now but softer. You saw something there you hadn’t seen in the light before. Not when he wasn’t trying to hide it.

Then his gaze dropped to your mouth, and he leaned in.

The kiss was soft and careful, the kind that said he was still learning how not to ruin things.

You kissed him back, breathing him in, your hand fisting in his shirt gently.

But then you caught yourself and pulled away, your hand untangling from the fabric to rub your eyes, “Joel–” 

“What do you need me to say?” he asked quietly. There was no bite, no sharpness in his tone. “What is it you want to hear?”

“I can’t just…tell you. I want to know what you want, not just…feeding me what I want to hear.”

His fingers stayed at your jaw, steady. He looked at you like he was searching for the right words, like he wanted to get them right this time.

“I want this,” he said. “I want you.”

His voice cracked slightly. He held your gaze, his hand still gentle on your face.

“I’m sorry I was an asshole before. I didn’t get it.”

You watched him closely as his brow pulled in. This time it wasn’t stubbornness, but something closer to pain.

“Let me try again.”

He must’ve taken your silence as hesitation, because he kept going, voice picking up like he was trying to get ahead of the panic building in his chest.

“I know how it looks, I know I’ve been—Jesus, I’ve been a fuckin’ wreck about this, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. With you. With what I feel when I’m around you. It’s not just… It’s not just wantin’ you in my bed, it’s everything.”

You didn’t move, didn’t blink. You just sat there listening, because holy shit, you’d never heard this man talk so damn much. Never heard him unravel like this, like he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. And it was pouring out of him now, fast and messy, as if trying to outrun the fear of messing it all up again.

“I wake up thinkin’ about you. I walk around Jackson wonderin’ what you’re doin’, what you’re thinkin’ about. I’d hear someone say your name and feel like an idiot ‘cause it’d make me smile. And then I’d remember I fucked it all up. That you were done with me. That you should be.”

His gaze dropped along with his hand from your face.

“But then I’d remember...what the hell do I think I’m doin’, bein’ with someone like you? You’ve got this whole life to live. You’ve still got time. Options. People your own age who can give you things I can’t.”

He looked at you again, and this time his eyes were pained and earnest.

“What happens in a few years when I hit sixty, and you still got your life ahead of you? What happens when I’m gone and you’re—”

You cut him off with a kiss.

You surged forward and grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him into you, kissing him hard again, and again, like you could stop his words with your mouth. Like maybe if you kissed him enough, it would undo the ache in his voice.

“I was tryin’ to talk to you, you know,” he murmured against your lips, breath warm, a hint of a smile breaking through.

You nodded, laughing through the tears you didn’t remember letting fall. Your face was wet, your throat tight.

He pulled back just a little, his hand back to cradling your cheek. His eyes searched yours.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” you smiled, “It’s just…I’m happy is all.”

And then he grinned back, and he was kissing you again and it was like something broke open in him. A dam cracked, all that restraint, all that aching hesitation he’d carried for months poured out in the way his hands slid into your hair, the way his mouth deepened against yours.

You barely had time to gasp before he was pressing into you, kissing you harder now, like he needed to make up for every second he’d spent staying away.

And he pushed you gently down onto the couch cushions, his palm cradling the back of your head as he guided you flat and braced himself above you. His body laid flush against yours, that familiar warmth of him enveloping you. 

You felt the heat of him, the weight of him, every line of him sinking into you like he’d finally allowed himself to kiss you in the daylight. 

You moaned softly against his lips, your thighs parting instinctively beneath him as he settled in the cradle of your hips. He dragged his mouth down your jaw, across your cheek, leaving heat in his wake, murmuring something low against your skin that you couldn’t quite catch—something desperate and grateful.

You arched into him, your hands sliding up his chest, and he caught one of them, threading his fingers between yours. He pulled back just enough to kiss your fingertips, slow and reverent, then your knuckles, one by one, all while holding your gaze.

"You’re so beautiful," he whispered, almost to himself, kissing the inside of your wrist this time, right over the spot where your pulse jumped.

Your skin burned under his gaze. You cupped his face with your free hand, thumb brushing his bottom lip slowly as your thighs lifted higher around his waist. You ground up against him, dragging friction against the hard outline of him beneath his sweatpants.

His eyes fluttered shut, breath catching. He exhaled like it had been held in his lungs for weeks.

“If you keep doin’ that,” he rasped, “I’m not gonna be able to take the time I wanna take with you.”

You smiled, warm and crooked. “Don’t want you to take your time,” you whispered, pulling him back down to your mouth.

His lips met yours again, deeper now, more urgent. One hand threaded through your hair, the other roaming your side as your tongue met his, soft and slick and hungry. He groaned into your mouth, kissing you deeper and deeper.

“Jesus,” he muttered against your skin, trailing kisses to your throat, “you feel so fuckin’ good beneath me, baby.”

“Missed you so much, Joel,” you breathed, eyes shutting as his teeth scraped your neck, the sting of it blooming hot under his tongue.

He was already fumbling with your shirt, pushing it up until you were bare to him, braless, chest rising and falling. His mouth latched onto your nipple without hesitation, all heat and need and reverence. You moaned, back arching, one hand gripping his hair.

“Missed you,” he echoed, voice rough, “Missed this.”

You looked down at him, gasping. He was so pretty like this—lashes low, mouth full, lips slick. Always so careful, making sure you felt good, that you were ready. That you wanted him.

He looked up at you, eyes dark with something that could only be described as devotion. “Wanna show you how much I missed it,” he said, kissing you hard on the lips before trailing back down your body. His tongue flicked out, slow, teasing, licking every inch he could get his mouth on until he reached the waistband of your pants.

Clothes disappeared fast, a blur of limbs and fabric. He hiked your legs up over his shoulders, settling between them like he belonged there. Because he did, after all.

“And don’t even get me started on her,” he said, voice playful now, pressing a kiss just above where you needed him most. “Missed her too.”

“Joeeel…” you mewled, already dizzy with how close he was.

He kissed the left side of your center, then the right, slow and careful. “Thought about her every night,” he murmured, mouth hot and close, “dreamed about how she tastes.”

And then he kissed your clit, and you jolted.

He moaned softly, like this was what he’d been starving for. His tongue flattened, dragging slow, wet strokes from your weeping entrance up to your clit, then back down again. When he pressed the tip inside you just a little, your hips rolled instinctively, your moan coming out sharp and breathless.

He let you move and grind against his mouth, his tongue, let you tangle your fingers in his hair and chase that growing pressure in your belly.

The sleep was gone now. Whatever haze he’d been in had burned off completely.

Joel moaned softly against your skin, tongue dragging another long stroke through your folds, savoring the taste of you like he’d been craving it since the second he left your bed two months ago. He kept going until your thighs trembled against his shoulders, your fingers twisting in his hair, breath stuttering out of your lungs in broken little gasps.

Then his mouth slowed. He pulled back just slightly, his lips brushing against your swollen center as he spoke, the tickle of his beard making you twitch.

“Goddamn,” he murmured, almost reverent. “She’s even sweeter than I remember.”

And then you felt his hand sliding up your leg, rough and broad, fingertips stroking the crease where your thigh met your heat. He watched you as he moved, mouth parted, eyes dark and focused, completely dialed in on the way your body writhed beneath him.

He pushed one finger in, nice and slow, and it felt like heaven and hell at once. That thick, slow pressure opening you, curling into that soft spot inside you with practiced ease. Like memory.

Your back arched off the couch. You whimpered, head rolling back. He’d always had the thickest fingers, one was all you needed to feel that tight stretch of him.

“Shit,” he groaned, watching your face as he moved it. “You feel that? How tight she still is for me?”

You could barely answer. You only moaned louder when he added a second finger, working you open, his knuckles brushing where your body fluttered around him. His fingers were so big and broad, callused, perfectly angled. They filled you so good it made your thighs shake.

He set a deep, unhurried rhythm that had the sounds of your wetness filling the room, obscene and beautiful as he brought his mouth back to your clit. He could feel the pulsing of your velvet walls around him as he continued pushing his fingers into you.

“There she is,” he said, pausing the flicking of his tongue, “Look at you, takin’ it so good, like always, baby,” 

His lips pursed around your clit and sucked hard, making your breath stutter and stomach tense. Within seconds, you were arching and clamping down on his fingers, your nails digging into his scalp as he moaned against you. 

Suddenly your whole body was locking up, thighs clamping around his head as you cried out, your release washing over you in a shudder that left you boneless and gasping. Joel kept moving through it, easing you down, letting you ride every last wave while he whispered against your skin.

“There you go. That’s my girl. Just like that.”

When your breath finally evened out, your eyes fluttered open and he was already moving up your body, slow and sure, kissing your skin as he went.

He pressed a kiss to your stomach, your ribs. Then up curve of your breast, all the way to your collarbone. Your throat.

And finally, your mouth.

Kissing you deep and full, he let you taste yourself on his lips. It was like honey and tang and the lingering taste of coffee on his tongue. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, like there was no place else he'd rather be than between your thighs, tasting your breath and holding your face like it was something fragile, something his. His mouth moved slowly over yours, tongues sliding together, hands still trembling faintly with how badly he wanted you.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, voice frayed. “I missed you. Missed you so goddamn much.”

Your fingers trailed down his chest, down to his waistband, dragging the pair of sweatpants down over his hips, not caring how clumsy it was. You needed him. You needed him now. He helped, kicking them off without hardly breaking the kiss. Your hand wrapped around him, hard and flushed and aching against your thigh.

“Jesus—” he groaned, his hips jolting forward into your palm, his forehead pressing into yours as his breath came hot and shaky, “Been a minute, take it easy,”

Your own body was on fire, soaked, aching for him. His voice, his hands, the weight of him over you was too much and yet not enough.

“Joel,” you whispered, “please.”

“Tell me you want it,” he said, and it didn’t sound like teasing. It sounded like pleading. His voice broke like it physically hurt him to ask. “Tell me you still want me.”

You nearly sobbed with need, “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”

He reached between you to line himself up, the thick head of him dragging through your folds. You were so wet it made both of you groan, the slick sound obscene in the quiet room. He rocked his hips forward, just the tip pressing against your entrance.

“You’re so wet for me,” he whispered, his voice thick, breathless. “So warm.”

You writhed under him, thighs spreading wider, needing more. You could barely think.

“Joel– Jesus– please, just fuck me already.”

He smiled at that and sank into you in one long, devastating thrust, burying himself deep. You cried out, hands clutching at the nape of his neck as your body stretched to take him. Thick, hot, perfect. He filled you like he never left. Like he’d been made to fit.

“Shit,” he breathed, eyes squeezing shut as he bottomed out. “You feel like fuckin’ heaven. Always have.”

He stayed there for a second, shaking with the effort to hold back, “I’m not gonna last,” he admitted, voice strained, “Christ, been a while, huh?”

“You didn’t–?” you blinked up at him, catching your breath.

He shook his head, jaw clenched, a shiver running through him as he twitched inside you. “No. Couldn’t. Didn’t want to.”

He paused, looked down at you, eyes searching. “Did you?”

You cupped his face in your hands like he was delicate beneath your touch.

“No,” you said softly. “No one’s like you, Joel.”

Something shifted behind his eyes, something aching and raw and beautiful. His mouth fell to yours, kissing you deep, as your hips lifted to meet his.

And then he started to move.

He was slow at first, deep and dragging, every stroke deliberate, like he was trying to memorize how you felt all over again. You moaned into his mouth, your nails digging into his hair, your breath catching with every roll of his hips.

He dropped his head into the crook of your neck, his breath hot on your skin.

And then you heard it—gasping, raw, like it ripped itself from his chest.

“I love you,” he groaned. “Fuck—I fucking love you.”

Everything felt like it slowed down.

Your bodies didn’t stop moving, not yet, but something inside your chest pulled tight. Like your heart was trying to brace for impact. Like you hadn’t realized how badly you needed to hear it until it was right there, spilling out of his mouth in that low, broken voice, rough with disbelief and months of silence.

Something woke up under your skin, hot and bleary eyed, the kind of heat that lives dormant, that fills your throat and makes your pulse race. It had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with how this man was looking at you. 

He was still inside you, still moving with that same steady rhythm, but his eyes were locked on yours now. Wide and dark and raw. His mouth hung open slightly like he was waiting for you to say something, anything, to tell him whether he’d just changed everything or ruined it.

Your hands came up slowly, almost in disbelief, and you touched his face, one palm to his cheek, the other curling into the back of his neck like you needed to feel he was real. Your voice caught in your throat before you could even speak, but somehow it pushed out.

“You love me?” you whispered, and the sound of your own voice didn’t even sound like yours.

“Yes,” he breathed.

Something cracked open inside you, something deep and hidden and too tired to be cautious anymore. You kissed him, harder than you meant to, your mouth catching his in a collision that felt like everything snapping. He groaned against you and kissed you back like it was instinct, like he’d been waiting for your permission to give in completely.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, your lips brushing his, your body still pulsing around him, still stretched wide and full, still needing more. “Say it again,” you whispered, not because you doubted him, but because you needed to hear it again. Needed to feel him give it to you without fear.

His hand slid to your jaw, holding you there, and his voice came softer now, steadier. “I love you.”

The words landed different this time. Less like an accident, more like a promise.

Your chest ached. You felt it rise up and out of you, that thing you’d been holding back for so long. “I love you too,” you said, and you didn’t have to think about it, didn’t need to second guess. It had always been there.

His head dipped and he kissed you again, deeper this time, not frantic like before but slow and thorough, like he wanted to feel every part of your mouth. His thrusts never stopped. They grew more purposeful now, more measured, like he wasn’t afraid anymore of where this was going, only desperate to take you with him.

He shifted slightly, reaching down to pull your leg higher around his waist, and the new angle made your whole body tense. He sank even deeper, drawing a low sound from your throat you hadn’t meant to make. You felt the build starting again, that tightening low in your stomach, that ache rising in time with every thrust, your body greedy for it, your hands clawing at him like you needed to hold on to something solid while everything else inside you fell apart.

You buried your face against his shoulder, your mouth open, your breath catching, your body clenching tight around him. He groaned your name into your skin, over and over, like it was the only word left in the world.

And then you came. Hard. Full-body, all-consuming, a wave that knocked the breath from your lungs and made your vision white around the edges. Your whole body trembled, and he held you through it, never breaking rhythm, never letting go.

He followed a second later, with a sound that sounded something close to a sob. He thrust deep and stayed there, grinding into you as he spilled inside, his whole body shuddering with the release.

You felt him lift his head to press his forehead to yours, felt the weight of his breath, the warmth of his skin, the thudding of his heart trying to slow against your chest.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment. There was nothing to say. Just the feel of him still inside you, the heat of him wrapped around you, the echo of those three words still settling into the space between your bodies.

You closed your eyes and let it all soak in.

Because this time, you believed him.

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

𝐒𝐎 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘, 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐖・h.j.

🎸 — you don't think jisung cares about you enough to tell your fans you're dating, fucking. he proves you wrong when he pulls you in on stage, and kisses you in front of everyone.

♟️ — paring・hanji x reader // genres・suggestive, band members with benefits, han writing hold my hand for the reader // words・1.5k // warnings・illusions to sex, kissing on stage, cursing and general crude language, han is kind of an asshole in the beginning, but he makes up for it, kinda silly kinda sexy, a little bit of my weird awkward writing style.

a/n・ ngl it was kinda crazy rewriting this. i wrote this near the very, very beginning of my old blog and i found it rotting in my drafts bc i never got to re-upload it...then i re-read it and remembered why... (why did i never use proper punctuation holy shit) but yeah i had fun writing them on stage ngl also what do we think of the new layout/theme?? (guys im still @lixies-favorite-cookie :))

"So you're okay with fucking me before the show, but telling people we're together���that's where you draw the line?" you spit, narrowing your eyes at a frustrated Han, stress-sweating as he wrestles with his guitar strap, huffing when it gets caught on a tuft of his hair.

He's flustered, cheeks flushed and red as he cards his fingers through his hair, untangling the rogue strand from the slider. It's a Han Jisung staple: rushing right before a performance because, before he can actually get ready, he has to hear the setlist 143 times, chat with the sound tech about his new gaming system, and—his personal favorite—drag you into the bathroom to screw the daylights out of you.

He calls it: jisung's good luck fuck™

You haven't decided if you love it or hate it.

He huffs, giving you an agitated look, "We really don't have time for this, the show starts in 5 minutes." He continues tuning his guitar, testing a few strings.

"You seemed to have plenty of time when your dick was inside of me!"

He buffers, his ears flushing red as he fumbles a loud, off-tune string.

The crew freezes.

"Jesus, just put your damn bass on, y/n." He mutters, his entire face painted dark red.

You clench your jaw, crossing your arms and rolling your eyes. The crowd roars from behind the velvet curtain, anticipating, your now, very soon arrival. He's right, you do need to get ready. Though, that knowledge doesn't make the crack inside your ribs any less painful.

It was futile arguing with him—if he wanted to, he would.

There's no wound getting on stage couldn't fix.

It's already an hour into the concert and the adrenaline still hasn't worn off, thrumming hot through your veins. Han's guitar explodes, threading its way into your last string fluidly. You whisper into the mic, your voice low and seductive, rolling over his riff like whiskey and wine.

The crowd goes wild, stomping so loud it makes the platform shake. Han eats it up, running across the stage and high-fiving a throng of women right before the final riff.

You finish the song with a dark, crisp chord that vibrates through the stadium with a bitter hiss. You're both gasping into the mics when everything's said and done, exchanging exhausted looks. You look over, watching as sweat drips down his forehead, making his hair stick to the back of his neck. The same thing is happening to you.

It's scorching up here, but it's worth it.

Han pants, scrunching his brows as the camera zooms in, tearing his IEM's out. You're both smiling, wobbly and slightly off center, but smiling nonetheless.

Then, he looks at you.

He's looking at you like he's plotting something, like he's in love with you, and like he's about to do something monumentally stupid all at the same time.

Whatever he was thinking, you were down.

Suddenly, the next song erupts from the speakers and he turns to you with a smile.

Han wrote the lyrics to this song after, finally, putting a label on the whole bandmates-with-benefits thing you two had going on.

It was three in the morning when you found him slumped over the bathroom sink, steam slipping out of the glass shower panels. He was butt-naked, a white towel slung over his neck, catching beads of water trickling from his wet hair. It was clear that he was troubled, a tight knit forming on his eyebrows as he stared at the single sentence written on his notebook.

First, you laughed at him for not putting clothes on before grabbing his notebook. Then, you spent the next three hours working him through his writer's block.

It was then, with your hair disheveled and mascara smudged underneath your eyes, he realized he was completely, irrevocably in love with you.

And in a typical Han Jisung fashion, he wrote a song about it

And, also, in typical Han Jisung fashion, he hid that song and his stupid feelings away from you, until, well, now.

You give him a 'what the fuck are you doing?' look before, just like he practiced, he slides towards you, plucking the first dramatic chord. You anxiously flick your eyes over his face, then the crowd, then back to him again.

"Numerous trials and errors and fights,"

A thousand eyes are watching him, and yet, he's only worried about yours. You stand there, looking both very awkward and very pissed, not knowing what to do with the bass hanging off your shoulder. He just smiles.

"Every time I see you cry

I feel like drowning in the dark

You said it's fine, but no, I'm not 'Cause all I want is you, not your tears

눈물이 마를 때까지

I wanna make you the happiest one, no fear"

His gaze never falters as he takes the final step forward, dropping his guitar and pushing away his mic. You were a mess—hair caked to your forehead by sweat, eyeliner streaming down your face from your tears, but, to him, you were as beautiful as you have always been.

It was just you and him in that stadium, when he cups your cheeks, and whispers—

"So baby, hold my hand now"

Then, he kisses you. He kisses you so hard, with so much passion it makes your knees go weak, melting into his arms. Confetti cannons explode around you.

There was no mistaking who he belonged to now.

When he pulls away, his cheeks are flushed and his lips are swollen and he just can't keep his shit-eating grin off his face. Tiny, colorful paper flutters around you, falling onto his shoulders and in his hair. It was magical, all of it was utterly magical.

It takes you a solid fifteen seconds to realize that there are other people in the room.

Forty four thousand to be exact.

He turns to the crowd, throwing his hands up into the air and finishing the song like nothing happened.

Han has been studying music for about as long as he has been alive, and in all of his 24 years of living, he has figured out three things.

One, music was the language of the heart. Two, music can only be created through passion. And three, his heart never stayed silent when he was with you.

[moon-ttokki-x]

Inspired by 'relight me' so feel free to skip if it's too similar! request for a 9th member sitting down the guys/or just channie if you prefer, to ask for their support/help bc she feels herself slipping back into unhealthy habits/scared to eat/feeling so icky about it, angsty angsty but they're so proud she's asking for help

hihi~ similar request to 'relight me' but just channie and reader hehe . i liked the idea of this one too . you are loved, everyone x

what you're worth - (bang chan x 9th member!reader)

pairing: bang chan x 9th member!reader

summary: you decide to tell chan about what you've been going through. his reaction isn't what you expected...

genre: super soft, really angsty, idol!au, soft channie, mentions of ed, not being able to eat, drinking water in place of food, reader is brave for opening up, chaotic binnie, hannie, and minho, mentions of eating, drinking, lighthearted stabbing joke (no skz was harmed in the making of this fic)

a/n: this is pretty much 'relight me' in a different font . div by @strangergraphics

skz masterlist

"Minho, eat your food."

"I am."

"No, you're not. Stop stabbing Jisung with your chopsticks and eat quickly. We have a dance practice to get to."

Minho groans and slouches over the table, mimicking Changbin's voice in an extremely overexaggerated, high-pitched drawl. "We have a dance practice to get to."

"Shut up."

Jisung laughs as Changbin throws a tissue at Minho, who retaliates and lifts his water bottle, threatening. "Calm down, seriously..."

You're watching as the three of them bicker from the other side of the table, head leaning on your crossed arms. Normally, you'd be the first to initiate these sorts of petty, playful arguments, but you're weighed down by a heavy, drooping tiredness. And it's not letting you do anything.

At all.

"Aren't you gonna eat, Y/n?" Jisung asks, peering around Changbin (who is currently attempting to headlock Minho). "You haven't eaten at all today."

You sigh and sit up, downing the contents of your waterbottle. Ice fills your stomach, freezing its soft lining. You feel stiff.

"I'll eat later," you say. "Promise."

You cross your fingers under the table. Jisung shrugs and looks away, wolfing down the rest of his food. Minho and Changbin, seemingly blind to the interaction, eventually pipe down and do the same.

You sigh and watch as Minho shamelessly stuffs his face, and the sight makes you smile as Jisung and Changbin do the same. At least they're eating properly. But it quickly fades, and you snap out of your thoughts just as Changbin pokes your side.

"...Hey, Y/n. You're not listening."

"O-oh," you stutter. "Sorry."

"Why did you zone out? You always listen to me," he whines.

You always listen to me.

The phrase sparks a dangerous idea in your head. It's so immediately distracting that you stand up, scraping your chair across the floor. Minho and Jisung both look up in surprise at the sudden movement.

"Where are you going?" Minho asks curiously.

"I gotta go," you say, and promptly turn away to leave.

The three members stare after you in confusion.

.

You knock on the door to Chan's studio. The hallway leading to his door is dark, and you trail a hand along the wall as you wait for the call to come in.

There's shuffling, a thump, and then the padding of footsteps as Chan comes and then opens the door. His hair is wild, half of it skewed from his headphones. One of the muffs is placed over the back of his ear so he can hear without taking them off entirely.

"Hey," he greets, unruffled by his very-much-ruffled appearance.

"Hi," you say, suddenly feeling vulnerable.

Chan pauses. "Everything okay?"

You pause for a split second, mind whirring. Why are you here, anyway?

"Um..." you begin feebly, trying to compose a singular thought.

There's a a few seconds of quiet between the both of you before Chan takes your hand gently. You exhale, knowing that he knows something's wrong.

Leading you inside the studio, he sits you down on the black couch behind his desk, taking off his headphones entirely. The cold water from earlier sloshes unpleasantly inside your stomach, doing nothing to quieten the hunger pangs gnawing at your insides. Like filling up a bathtub without the plug in, it can never truly be full.

And neither can you.

You watch as Chan begins to click on files at his desk, dragging and dropping and typing things quickly before he closes down the software entirely. You rise from your seat on the couch, suddenly feeling guilty.

"Chan-"

"Sit." He pushes you back down gently with nothing more than a flick of his wrist. You sigh and try and relax into the cushions, but it's like trying to untense limbs made of rock. You shift uncomfortably as Chan turns around.

He's so much taller right now as you're sitting down; the blue glare of his screen dims slightly as the computer goes to sleep, sending a warm halo of light over the fluffiness of his unbrushed curls.

You gulp as he sits down next to you, sliding down on the couch slightly as he tilts his head to look at the panelled ceiling. The lights up there are off; the only source of illumination comes from a small table lamp in the corner.

"Something's wrong, hmm."

He says it not like a question at all; rather than something he already knows, and he's waiting for you to confirm it.

So you do.

"Yeah." You can't stop fidgeting.

A gentle smile caresses his lips, his gaze still locked on the ceiling. "Are you going to tell me what it is?"

You exhale, a low whoosh from your very core. You're in it now.

"I- I can't eat." Your voice sounds thin, dissipating as soon as the words leave your mouth.

Chan is still looking up, but he's silent for a moment. "When was the last time you ate a full meal?"

You can't answer.

He does look at you then; for the first time you see the true softness of his gaze, the way it seems to reach out and caress your jaw. Your cheeks warm from its steady intensity.

"Don't be ashamed, Y/n," is all he says.

You can feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you will them away. You don't want to cry in front of him.

"But I am," you say, almost inaudibly. "There's- there's something wrong with me, Chan, and I can't-"

"Hey, hey," He sits up and cups your face, heat flooding into your skin. His palms are warm and dry, slightly rough, but you relish the touch anyway. "There's nothing wrong with you, okay? Nothing at all. Sometimes we just forget how much we're worth, and our habits follow."

You sniff. "I don't have a worth."

"Yes, you do." He scoots closer on the couch, folding you into his arms. "You always have had a worth, and you'll continue to have it. Sometimes you just forget it. And that's completely okay..."

You lean into his shoulder, squeezing your eyes shut. "Chan..."

He continues. "See it like this," he reaches across, letting go of you slightly, and pulls the table lamp closer to him. "Tell me what you see."

You sniff again, feeling a little stupid. "A lamp."

Chan nods. "What's inside the lamp?"

"A light bulb."

He hums and reaches across to the powerpoint, trailing his fingers down the wire til they meet the plug. He rips it out of the socket, the light flickering and dying. The room dims, so much so that you can only just see the outline of Chan's hands around the cord. "Now what do you see?"

You look at him, confused through your misery. "It's still a lamp."

"And what's inside it?"

"A- a light bulb?"

Chan nods simply and sets the lamp down on the floor in front of you, still holding the cord in one hand. "No matter how we change the lamp, no matter what shape, size, colour, or texture it is, the light bulb inside remains the same.

"Even if we damage it, or forget to take care of it," he turns to you then. "I've had this lamp for three years, and I've knocked it over countless times, spilled coffee over it, scratched it, done all sorts of damage to this thing."

You can't fight a tiny smile. He really is clumsy.

"Nevertheless," Chan continues, "It's still working. It's still shining and bringing light to this room, to me. And, like I said, no matter the damage, no matter how the outside changes..." He reaches over to the powerpoint again and plugs the cord back in. Warm light floods the room once more. "The same light keeps shining."

You don't even realise how wet your cheeks are until he swipes a gentle thumb across your face. "Even if the light turns off, it's still there. Sometimes, Y/n, we just need someone to help us bring our light back."

He wraps his arms around you. "It's okay if you can't eat. You don't have to force yourself overnight. Just take it step by step. Snack a little. Have sliced fruit. Keep hydrated, and take breaks during practices. You'll find that eating comes normally once your body's system realises that's what's missing. It's nothing to do with your worth."

You sniffle, wiping your nose on your sleeve. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," he says simply. His voice is solid, steady, as warm as the light emanating from the lamp. The oversized hoodie draped over his torso is pillowy against your wet cheeks.

Chan is still talking softly, and both of you know that you don't have to listen. All you need to do is bask in the glow of the light and his comfort. You can feel the soft, deep vibrations of his voice from within his chest, along with the steady pulsing of his heart.

You close your eyes, and relax.

a/n: man it's been so long since i wrote something (it's been a week)

ttokki's taglist: @emilyywhyy @galaxy4489 @hyuneskkami @justsomekpopstuff @wavetohannie @strayingawayy @its-stayville-forever @batty-barty-crouchjr @wickedbutlovely @headfirstfortoro @lov3yv4mps @possum-playground @bear8585 @astraystayyh @m-325 @gnabnahcbby @mbioooo0000

send a dm, comment under the taglist post, or send an ask to be added !

[scoupsakakitty]

Cover Up | idol!S.coups x idol!Reader | angst, fluff

The golden glow of the evening sunlight streamed through the bedroom windows as Y/N sifted through the rack of clothes her stylist had sent over. The award show was just two days away, and every outfit seemed louder and bolder than the last.

Seungcheol sat on the edge of their bed, phone in hand, pretending to scroll through his messages. But his eyes kept flickering up to her. She was humming softly to herself, holding up a sleek black dress to her frame before shaking her head and moving on to the next one.

She was beautiful, no matter what she wore—but that wasn’t the problem tonight.

“Cheol,” she called over her shoulder, “are you even paying attention?”

He looked up quickly, straightening as she turned to him with a grin. “Yeah, of course.”

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Liar. Don’t worry, I’ll make you pay attention soon enough.”

With that, she disappeared into the closet to change. Seungcheol’s stomach twisted slightly. He knew she was going to look stunning—she always did. But he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that had been building all evening.

When she stepped out a few minutes later, his breath caught in his throat.

The dress was short, its black fabric shimmering faintly in the light. Cutouts along the sides and back revealed smooth skin, and the neckline dipped just low enough to make his heart race. Her long legs were framed perfectly by the sharp heels she wore, and she stood confidently in front of the mirror, adjusting the straps as though she hadn’t just completely robbed him of his ability to think.

“What do you think?” she asked, spinning to face him.

Seungcheol swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he struggled to find the right words.

“You’re… you look good,” he said finally, though the tension in his voice betrayed him.

Her eyebrows knit together. “Just good? It’s for the red carpet, Cheol. My stylist said it’s perfect for the theme. Bold, modern…” She gestured vaguely at the dress. “Eye-catching.”

“It’s definitely eye-catching,” he muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

He stood, running a hand through his hair as he crossed the room. “Y/N, don’t you think it’s a little… much?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Much? What do you mean?”

“It’s short,” he said bluntly, gesturing toward the hem of the dress. “And tight. And the cutouts…” His gaze drifted to her sides, where the fabric revealed smooth lines of skin.

“That’s the point,” she said, crossing her arms. “It’s supposed to be bold.”

“But do you really need to show this much to be bold?” he shot back, his frustration bubbling to the surface.

Her jaw tightened. “Seungcheol, this is my job. I’m an idol. People expect me to dress like this at events.”

He let out a frustrated sigh, pacing a few steps before turning back to her. “I know it’s your job, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. You’re my girlfriend, Y/N. I don’t want everyone else looking at you like that.”

Her mouth fell open, and she stared at him in disbelief. “Are you serious right now?”

“Yes, I’m serious,” he said, his voice firm. “I don’t like it when other people stare at you, okay? You dress neatly most of the time, and I love that about you. But this—” He gestured at the dress again, his voice rising slightly. “This feels… wrong.”

“You think my dress is inappropriate?” she asked, her tone sharp.

“For me, yeah,” he admitted. “It’s not just about how it looks—it’s about what it makes me feel. I don’t want other people seeing you like this. I want you to cover up.”

Y/N blinked, her lips parting in shock. “Cover up? Cheol, do you even hear yourself right now?”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, his words tumbling out before he could stop them, “maybe something that covers your knees. Or something with buttons up to your neck—”

“Buttons up to my neck?” she repeated, incredulous. “Are you kidding me?”

“Why not?” he shot back, his frustration mounting. “I want you to look like you’re mine, not like you’re on display for everyone else.”

“That’s not how this works, Seungcheol,” she said firmly. “I’m not yours to control. I love you, but you don’t get to dictate what I wear or how I present myself.”

He fell silent, the weight of her words hitting him like a punch to the chest.

“It’s not about control,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “I just… I hate the thought of other people staring at you, thinking they have the right to look at you like that. It’s not fair to you, and it drives me crazy.”

Her expression softened slightly, but her stance remained firm. “Cheol, I get that you’re protective. I do. But you have to trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

“I trust you,” he said quickly, stepping closer. “It’s everyone else I don’t trust.”

“That’s not something you can control,” she said gently. “I’m an idol. People are always going to look, no matter what I wear. But none of it matters, because at the end of the day, you’re the one I come home to.”

He stared at her, his jaw tightening as he struggled to find the words.

“I have so many plans,” he murmured finally, his voice almost a whisper. “So many things I want to say and do to show you how much I care. But when it comes to moments like this, I just… I can’t say anything right.”

Her expression softened further, and she reached out, taking his hands in hers. “You don’t have to say the right thing, Cheol. You just have to trust that I love you and that nothing—no dress, no event, no cameras—will change that.”

He let out a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I don’t mean to be like this. It’s just… hard for me sometimes.”

“I know,” she said, stepping closer and wrapping her arms around him. “But we’ll work on it, okay? Together.”

He nodded, resting his chin on her head as he pulled her into a hug. “Okay. But for the record, I still think you’d look amazing in something that covers your knees.”

She laughed, the sound light and melodic. “Noted, Grandpa. Now, do you want to help me pick out accessories, or are you going to keep pouting?”

He chuckled softly, finally letting go of his frustration. “Fine. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

As she stepped back to grab her jewelry, Seungcheol watched her with a small smile. He didn’t like the dress, but he loved her—and that was enough to quiet the storm inside him.

[created-system-hub]

How the heck do I make a system? A brief introduction

This guide includes brief mentions of suicide and brief descriptions of abuse.

Hi there! My name is Arthur, and I'm a tulpa of the Fluffy Crew. If you're here, I'm assuming you're a singlet who doesn't know much about system creation (but has interacted with the plural community), and wants to intentionally create fully separate headmates. If you're not that, you're welcome here too, but I'm writing with that audience in mind. This will be a long one, so everything else is under the cut.

First, I want you to ask yourself, am I ready to make a system? Becoming a system is a big decision. You are going to be sharing your mind, including the most intimate and private parts, with other people 24/7, for the rest of your life. You will have to give up some of your time and energy to the rest of your system, and more than some if you plan on having them interact with the outside world at all. If you consider all of that and you decide being a system isn't something you want, that's okay. This is a deeply personal decision, and nothing you should be forced into. I highly recommend waiting until adulthood before making this decision, but I also can't exactly stop you.

(suicide and abuse mention in this paragraph) Second, I want you to ask yourself, WHY do I want to be a system? Is it something selfish? Is it going to hurt myself or my headmates? All reasons are going to be a little selfish, and that's okay. But consider what your goals are. Do you want a friend? Do you want to know if this is even real? Do you have an interest in mind hacking and find this really cool? These are "selfish" reasons, but they aren't malicious. When you cross the line into goals that hurt one of you that's the trouble spot. A lot of people want to become plural and switch because they're overwhelmed with the world and want escapism. Others want to force their headmates to fill specific roles, such as being a partner or their favorite character. I've heard of too many systems where the host destroys their own personality and leaves their created headmate alone as an alternative to suicide. Your headmate is a conscious person who can be hurt just like you. If you can't act like a responsible person who can respect and cooperate with their headmates as equals, I suggest not becoming a system until you can.

But let's say you decide that, yep. You 100%, beyond a shadow of a doubt, want to be a system, and you're not doing it to have a brain slave or to withdraw from the world. Do you have someone already in mind? A base can definitely help your mind latch on, but it isn't necessary. A base can be anything from a whole character, to a few personality traits in a list, to just a name and gender. Keep in mind, your headmate will likely diverge from this. A good host encourages this, nurturing a headmate's self-expression.

Speaking of being a good host, there is a certain mindset you should keep in mind. You are here to nurture and help your created headmates grow. You're going to have to be gentle with your mental presence sometimes, especially in the beginning where your personality can accidentally easily dominate. But don't feel like you have to lesser yourself to greater your headmates. You can all grow and become greater together.

Now, we are going to focus and form ONE headmate. For the love of god, do not do what we did and create four at once. Its overwhelming and leads to a lot of guilt over not spending enough time with everyone, speaking from experience. If you are starting with a base, dedicate any traits and visuals to memory. If you aren't, it may help to create a simple visual form to focus on when interacting with them. In tulpamancy, a ball of light is a traditional choice, but you can choose anything you can think of. Visual forms are not necessary for creation, but many enjoy the ability to visualize them and interact in headspace. Headspace creation will not be gone over here.

In my opinion, the best way to start is an introduction. Feel the space in your mind where they are, or at least try to. You are going to direct your thoughts to this space, your headmate. If they have a visual form, visualize it as vividly as you can. Introduce yourself to them, and explain your intention of creating a system. Explain that they are a headmate of yours, and the form you are visualizing is theirs to control. If they have a base, explain who they are and tell them that they are that base, though they are free to change it. Invite them to respond back, and keep an open mind.

Try to spend time with your headmate every day, as much as you can. You are having to build the mental connections that form your headmate by hand, and that takes a LOT of repetition. Spending time with them could be a lot of things. It could be speaking with them as you go about your day, immersing yourself in headspace with them, working on a new system skill, playing a game together, or just hanging out. Try to be varied in the type of interaction you do.

Eventually, you will start getting responses. These probably won't be words at first. More likely, they'll be an emotional response that feels "alien" and "not you", a sense of pressure in your head, or a raw thought or feeling that isnt yours. It can be difficult to hear their responses, especially if you have a busy mind. You have to try not to block out their thoughts from appearing, as especially in the beginning that's easy to do. Their responses may sound like you at first, but that will get better with time and practicing separation.

Now, there isnt exactly one way to form a headmate, and you should experiment on your own to find what works best for you and your system. We theorize the most basic mechanism for created plurality is your brain being allowed to think as someone who isn't the host, over and over, until it happens subconsciously. The difference between a headmate and an imaginary friend or character is autonomy. Wren used to daydream constantly but it didn't lead to a system because they didn't allow their characters any freedom of thought. It was all very much puppeteering. When they started roleplaying, they allowed the characters to "think" on their own, imagining what their emotions and thoughts would be, separate from theirs. This eventually caused me and the other original three to start forming, due to that freedom of thought. Anything that allows your headmate to gain that autonomous thought is just as valid as any other method.

How long development could take varies a lot. Some people are more predisposed to be plural, and become a system easier and quicker than others. Some people have a really hard time becoming plural, and it takes a lot more effort and time to become a system. Singlets who already talk to themselves, have dissociative tendencies, are easily hypnotized, and are creative storytellers tend to have a high disposition for being plural. It could take as short as a week, or as long as years. Average times are around 3-6 months with dedicated work. It took us 18 months to feel confident in saying we were a fully realized system, but we also struggled with motivation and dedication.

The most common system goal is to have fully-realized independent headmates who can operate without their host's help and do not fade without interaction. The best way to get to this stage is just time. Keep spending time with them and living your life together. Treat them as independent, and they will become independent quicker. Your expectations shape a lot of your experiences when it comes to system creation.

I'm not going to cover any more advanced techniques like switching or headspace creation in this guide, as this is meant to be a jumping-off point for beginners. This is our first attempt at a guide and would love to improve. If you have any comments or questions, please feel free to reach out!

Have a wonderful day, and I wish you the best of luck on your system journey!

[with-my-calamitous-love]

bodyguard! shoto, who decided to use his training and skills for a different career path, because fuck endeavour, and because he still wanted to serve people out of the good in his heart.

bodyguard! shoto, who is a 5’9, young, muscular man whose quiet stance speaks volumes. who despite his aloofness, remains a true gentlemen. who stands on the outside of the sidewalk when he’s with you, and who perceptively takes note of any men who seem to be eyeing you with anything more or less than adoration.

bodyguard! shoto, who works hard to keep his strength and health. who you can sometimes find doing pushups in his room during his free time, or taking out pent up rage on his punching bag. you’d think he’s putting up a show for you, grey tank-top hugging his muscles while sweat drips from his forehead.

bodyguard! shoto, who deals with most grievances calmly. he’ll step in front of you, hands in his pockets shielding you from whatever asshole decides to give you any issues. he’ll first, tell them to get lost, letting his eyes do talking. who isn’t afraid to get physical, despite his aloof nature. who will never cross that line unless he absolutely has to, and unless your safety is on the line. who would take a bullet for you, or shield you with his body. once he’s ensured you’re safe, he’ll disappear for some time and come back with bruised knuckles, much like his brother… 🤍

bodyguard! shoto, who, after a few drinks, will open up. he’ll tell you about his past, about his family, and about how he feels for you. he’s well aware that it’s unprofessional, and is more than willing to see whatever consequences you have for him now that his secret is out. who is both surprised and unsurprised when you tell him you want to stay, an undeniable warm feeling in his chest.

bodyguard! shoto, who makes everyone else disappear when you look at him. who is yours to keep and yours to lose. who isn’t a bad guy, but is more than capable of doing bad things to you, pressing himself against your back while you put lipgloss on in front of the mirror. who waits for you to say its okay before pressing a kiss to your neck. who gets you alone, and wears your feelings for him like a necklace.

bodyguard! shoto, who lets you hold his feelings hostage. who makes all your gray days clear, protecting you not only from others but from yourself. who reminds you not to overwork yourself, tugging you away from your desk and into his arms. who’s got your heart, skipping even when he isn’t around.

bodyguard! shoto, who makes falling for him inevitable. who walks you to your bedroom one day, only for you to tug him by his tie and press your lips to his. who suddenly doesn’t care about who’s keeping score. you did a number on him, but honestly, who’s counting?

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

f! reader, nsfw portion

bodyguard! shoto, who is a sweet, gentle lover. whose hot breath tickles your ear when he firmly orders you to lift your arms, pulling your shirt off so he can see more of you. who feels his pants getting tighter, cock straining against his pants when he massages your breasts, drawing out those shallow gasps of pleasure from your lips.

bodyguard! shoto, who makes sure the door is locked for everything he’s about to do to you. who his sweet and gentle, until he isn’t. who roughly tugs your bottoms off, leaving a trail of bites and hickeys on your inner thigh, leading up to where you need him most. and he’s mean, making sure you feel his breath graze your pussy, trailing his tongue on the innermost corners of your thighs before finally lowering his head to eat you out.

bodyguard! shoto, who’ll hook your legs over his shoulders, looking up at you while he works his magic, thinking he could do this for hours. who is well aware of the way your thighs tremble, the way you tug his hair begging him to make you cum. but he’ll give it to you, right after dragging out your pleasure for as long as he can.

bodyguard! shoto, who takes your thighs and folds you in half, pressing your knees to your ears. his cock slides right into you perfectly, groaning about how tight you are and how good he’s gonna fuck you. who watches you with hazy, duel-coloured eyes, waiting for you to adjust to his size before thrusting.

bodyguard! shoto, who makes you cum again, and again, and again, all while showing no signs of backing down. who tries a little harder every time he feels you flutter and clench around him, neither of you wanting to stop. who decides taking this job was the best thing he’s ever done.

bodyguard! shoto, who laughs to himself seeing the ship edits fans make of you and him, knowing they’ve got it right.

@crushmeeren i couldn’t resist! 😭🫧🫧

inspired by so it goes

[snoopychris]

heart stopping

warnings: non-descriptive car crash, dry humping

in which... cheerleader!reader finds two times in the same night where her heart stops

the second that you pieced together what the sound of the crash that came behind you was, your heart stopped. in recent days, your heart had been stopping. once per day, each time for all the right reasons. there was the time where you were walking in the hallway and matt said hey to you. there was the time where it was raining and matt walked you into the school under his umbrella. there was the time when you noticed the pokemon card in matt’s phone case had changed to piplup. weirdly enough, there was the time when Mr. Harrison showed you matt’s project as an example. but this time was different. this time, your heart stopped for all the wrong reasons. 

your eyes squeeze shut for a moment as you gather your thoughts, turn off your car, and reach over to your glove box, grabbing your cars insurance and registration before exiting the vehicle. your hazards are on now, as are the hazards belonging to the other car, and you make your way over. after a brief interaction with the cars owner (grace, you learned) you assessed the damage of your car. it looked to be only a dent, and from what you could tell it was purely cosmetic. everyone was unharmed, both of you had insurance, everything was good to go. 

the second you began driving down the road, your car stopped. turns out, the bump was not purely cosmetic. pain rushes through your head when you hit yourself on the steering wheel a few times. you groan as you grab your phone from the cup holder besides you, looking through your contacts. your parents are probably the last people you want to call right now. youre scrolling for a moment or two before you make the call. 

you let out a sigh when the line rings, smiling when you hear the other end pick up. “hello?” the voice replies quietly with a crack in his voice. “hey…i-im sorry for calling so late. i got into an accident by the park on Dutch street. my car was fine but then it stopped and ive got no other friends with a license. is there any way you can come pick me up? ill owe you big time.” you whisper, crossing your fingers. 

matt hesitates but then speaks. “yeah, im on my way. stay right where you are dont worry.” if any of your friends had seen the way your face turned red, theyd never let you live it down. while youre waiting you do the responsible thing and call a tow truck. when you see a pair of headlights pull up, you instantly assume the worst. you would assume it was matt if he didnt live so far away. when the car pulls up next to you and you realize it is matt, youre okay. he rolls the window down and smiles, gesturing towards the passenger seat. you climb in with your belongs carefully, being as respectful as possible. he sends you a small smile and you take in your surroundings. theres a comfortable silence that sits between the two of you. somehow even with how much chaos you put up with when youre with your friends, you enjoy it. the silence looms for a while but then its broken.

“it smells salty in here…” you giggle, throwing your head against the headrest. matt nods slowly and shrugs, glancing over at you. “i was just at the beach, i sit there when i need more quiet than my room provides. you were at… practice i presume?” he eyes your uniform, the top half covered by your varsity jacket. you nod in response, adjusting the ponytail your hair was in. “i was. we have to come up with new routines.” you smile, licking your lips. matt adjusts the rearview mirror and then his glasses, running a finger through his hair. the small talk continues for the entirety of the car ride, but it didnt take more than 3 minutes to realize how comfortable matt was when talking to you when there werent any other people around. you swallow your spit and frown when matt turns onto your street.

 you take a leap that you never expected to and speak. “pull over here.” you whisper, matt complying while he raises his eyebrows. you take in all of his features before leaning over the center console, holding your face dangerously close to matt’s. “say the word and i stop and leave right now.” you whisper. a shaky exhale exits matts mouth as he shakes his head, cupping your face in his palms as he presses a gentle kiss to your lips.

 youve had a fair amount of kisses before, but there wasnt a single one that came to mind that was quite like this. not a single kiss in all of the previous ones you had shared that were so full of lust, passion, and love. no, not a single one of your previous kisses had any trace of love. you’re the first to pull away. matt couldnt find it in himself to. he was finally kissing the girl of his dreams and you expected him to pull away? no way in heaven or hell.

the two of you sit for a moment, avoiding the gaze of one another. you go to break the silence by speaking, but youre cut off when matt presses another kiss to your lips. you gasp at the sudden feeling, but not a single bone in your body cares. the hand that matt previously had sitting on his steering wheel moves to your thigh, and the hand that had been resting on the window moves to push his seat back as far as it can go. you catch on fairly quick and move to straddle matts lap, never once breaking the touching of your lips. the song that was playing on the radio is tuned out, but you make it out to be doja cat’s “Agora Hills”. this time when the kiss is broken, its due to matt. part of you thinks that he only breaks the kiss to discuss the hardness thats poking your thigh, but he surprises you when he semi-ignores it. 

he stutters as he looks away from you, face flushed with embarrassment. “im a virgin…” he whispers, the suddenness of the confession being the only thing that really shocks you- not that youd ever admit that. you nod as you kiss his neck gently, grabbing onto his hands and placing them on your hips. “thats okay. i am too.” you whisper, making matt’s ears turn red. you had always heard rumors floating around the school that you weren’t, but they didnt bother you, people would always believe whatever they wanted. you look at matt, silently asking for some sort of permission. 

you never verbally get the command, but you catch on pretty quickly when matt begins moving your hips for you. you let out a small noise at the feeling, letting your body take control. matt’s breath hitches in his throat and he lets out a moan, his grip on your hips tightening. “fuck…” he mumbles, his eyes shooting between the way your face looks as youre grinding yourself on his jeans and the way your skirt looks when your legs move. the actions continue for at most ten minutes, though for both of you it feels like an eternity. your hips only come to a stop when you let your orgasm take over your body, collapsing onto matt’s chest, his tshirt stuck to him due to all the sweat. matt only lets go of your hips when he lets his own orgasm take over, a dark, wet spot forming on his jeans and part of your skirt. the two of you gather your breaths for a few moments, a moment only ruined by matt’s phone ringing. 

he composes himself as you slide off of him, gathering your belongings from the backseat. you wait patiently for matt to hang up the phone, licking your lips. “its just chris… he wants me to bring him some ice cream when i go back home.” he whispers, to which you smile and nod. you shoot a glance of reassurance at him, looking over to your house. “guess i should go then huh…” you whisper, not wanting the moment to end so soon. matt lets out a hesitant “yeah”.

 you open the car door and begin stepping out when matt grips your wrist, sending you a smile. “this doesnt end when you walk into that door right?” he mumbles, worried about the outcome. his heart flutters when you shake your head, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “this doesnt end when i walk into that door.” and for the second time that day, your heart stops.

๋࣭⭑ a/n: :P and thats all i have to say. aside from dividers by @issysh3ll kiss kiss! -gen

๋࣭⭑ tags(reply or message to be added): @ifwdominicfike @frankoceanfanpage @mattssslutbby @sophand4n4 @matthewsturnsgf @izzylovesmatt @m11rx @chris-hallelujah @isabellewhatt @st7rnioioss @yuppocarzy @mattsbrat

[masochistkatsuki]

Team Player : How to Fuck your Friend Group 101

Pt One → Masterlist

When you're tasked with having sex with every person in your friend group, the friend who put you up to it isn't excluded either. With Mina Ashido, you either go big or go home. It's a life or death (dealing with your friends stupid flirting) situation, and only you can stop it !

Luckily for you, she's your best friend, which means you can have some fun and figure out your next moves on everyone else.

See, now, there are some 'odd' aspects of your friend group. You often found yourself stuck on whether the dynamics in-between members were normal. You'd seen a lot of people who were completely comfortable, content with being physically intimate while having a full understanding of the platonic relationship.

On the other hand, so many people criticized or didn't understand it all. A lot of people could never imagine doing that with their friends. Its not exactly fitting under that definition, is it ? As soon as you crossed that line, you were in-between being friends and something romantic.

So, you never really knew what to think of those moments where you stood on the line of okay and not okay. Everyone in the group had kissed all the others at least once-- stuff like that was just.. regular. The insult gay or skank lost all meaning by your third year. You all were close in a way that was extreme for most highschool friend groups, but even so, the only actual romantic development was between Mina and Kirishima. Right ?

A part of you felt like there was something there, but it was unreachable in your mind. It was stuck to the tip of your tongue, like the perfect word for a situation, but one you just couldn't remember.

It was a mystery you were determined to solve in your Third Year. You weren't one of the top students for nothing.

You'd been scouted by the Public Safety Commission in your last year of junior high, something only Mina knew. Ironically, this led to your first "encounter" with her. If fucking your friends was a course, you learnt Minas lesson first.

It was your second year, and Class 1-A got their hands on alcohol for the first time. By the end of the night, just about everyone was wasted. Of course the class reps stayed sober, and a few people stayed responsible. But the culprits of planning the party, Bakugous friend group, were all fucked up. Especially the classes notorious party girls : Mina, you, and Jirou (who was more dragged into this by extension but still)

You and Mina set her to bed after wiping down her makeup and leaving water and a few ibuprofen pills on her bedside table. From there, you two figured youd ride down the intoxication with a movie in your room.

This turned to you two sharing secrets, past stories, and overall character traits. Highschool drunk bonding really is like no other bond. It was a big part of you two becoming the closest friend duo in the class. You two had calmed down enough to remember what was going on, but the ongoing buzz made the air around you two hotter than it probably would've been.

Still tipsy, you told her your biggest secrets. One, you were in special commission training in order to secure a spot in public safety after graduation.. totally not an insane accomplishment and huge breach of contract to say.. But more important..!

"I think I like girls too.."

The pink hair and skinned girl looked up at you, instead of surprised, or shocked, she only seemed confused. "Girl.. are you just now..?" How did you just drop that insane bomb then act timid about a glass closet ?

"Hey !! What's that supposed to mean ?" You pulled away from where you were resting on top of her before, growing embarrassed.

"Nonono, dont worry !" She pulled you back onto her, "im sorry, I didnt mean to make you uncomfortable." She rubbed softly at your waist. Gentle and soft, something you always loved about her. Its probably why she so easily could coax this information from you.

"Its okay" You brushed the messy pastel fluffs from her eyes, looking straight into them. You had an idea, you just needed to ease the tension in. You knew you were both already feeling it. "You wanted to know more about the Public Safety Commission processes and procedures.. why don't we combine the two ?"

Sharp teeth biting into your neck pulled you out of your thought process. "Minaaa" You sang, finally willing to commit to her challenge.

She looked down at you, "Ohh, you have something in mind, don't you ?" She smiled, she often had to be in charge of people, especially the idiots. You were one of the few people who let others relax as you took a calm control over things. It was something not just she, but everyone liked about you.

You and Mina were two sides of the same coin, similar in a concerning amount of ways, but contrasting like complimentary colors. You two understood the other's wants and desires more than anyone else. If anyone was going to pleasure either of the girls, they knew it'd be their best friend.

It's times like these, when you're practically practicing for your future job, but also stripping Minas leopard tank top from her chest, panting a hot breath over her skin, you wonder if your love for girls and everything about them began with her.

Goosebumps rise across the expansive area, her nipples beginning to harden just slightly. You sigh, "You're so pretty, Mina." You bite softly at her underboob, trailing your tongue towards her sternum.

"I know" She giggled, light and airy. Pulling your hand towards her bright pink dolphin shorts. Throughout the fabric, you felt her wetted lips cling to the cloth, creating a perfect mold of it against your fingers, when you havent even taken anything down there off. "I think I'm ready.."

You smiled, proud you could get such a pretty girl going so fast. Perfect. "Mina Ashido" You spoke softly, but sternly.

She looked up at you giggling, "This is my favorite part !" You held back a smile, as much as she loved these stupid roleplays, she never took them too seriously either. It helped, honestly. Youd probably get embarrassed acting all serious for too long.

You grinned wider, "You have one chance to provide the information needed." adding pressure to the inner area, rubbing softly through the fabric to start a slow, teasing pace. Her head fell back slightly, and while she had bitten her lip to avoid being too loud too quick, a content sigh gave away that you were on the right track. "Or the Public Safety Commission will have to deal with you personally."

She bucked her hips into your palm, grinding steadily against it. The moist fabric and further secreting liquid soaked into your skin. How cute. "Please, just get to it already !!" She whined, but still mischievously flashed her teeth at you.

"Ah, ah" You scolded, though in a joking tone. You pressed your hand against her, giving her the pleasure she began to beg for, but holding her in place. "What was this about flattering comments ?"

"Oooh, so you're actually going to do it ?" She looked pleased, but also kinda shocked. "Youre so amazing~" She teased, though you knew she genuinely meant it, "Im so happy we have someone who'd do anything to protect the public's safety !" Okay now she was trying to rile you up.

You slid your fingers through the shorts and under her panties, resting your middle and pointer fingertips against the hood of her clit. Not enough to do anything serious, but the light touches were going to break her down eventually.

"Lets start." You looked at her, asking if she wanted to continue, not just the physical intimacy but overall conversation. She smiled at you, aegyo sal growing plump under her eyes.

"Sounds good, (Hero Name)." You smirked. You couldnt lie, it was pleasing how into this Mina would get.

"So who from the list is the easiest to start with ?" Your fingers started to slowly circle around where she wanted it, occasionally brushing over it when you were pushing your fingers up left.

Me, obviously, she thought, but her words got caught in her throat. "Mm.. its.." Her legs trembled a bit, spreading out.

'Jesus Mina. You really need to fuck.' You slowed your movements, and placed your spare hand on her thigh, bringing her back to where she was. "Eijirou..", She moaned, voice a little too sensual while saying his name.

You were still quite shocked that she wanted you to actually fuck him as well. In you, her, and Jirous personal group chat, the topic of Mina keeping him in her basement was one of the most recurring conversations. "And how's that ? Be specific, Ashido."

Itd been such a long time since anyone used her last name, in the right context, it could feel like it was someone calling out her given name for the first time. "O..oh.." Her head tilted back. Between her tension with Kirishima, and intense work studies, you doubted shes had the time to herself. You could tell she was more sensitive than usual. "Hes.. real inexperienced.." She sighed, hips bucking slightly as you began to steadily quicken the pace again.

You thought back. There wasn't really a lot to be said about Kirishima. He was a sweet boy, got really hard easily.. unsurprisingly. You tried to come up with anything that could help. He was relentlessly respectful, and of course chivalrous. It's easy to forget hes just a man too.

"Sooo," you began, genuinely curious on how shed answer this next question. "If hes the easiest, why haven't you done anything ?" You began to make the circles smaller, enclosing directly to where she was the most sensitive.

"I..im.." Her legs were beginning to close and open sporadically, she was getting close. "Only you know how to do this stuff to me.. I need you to teach him..!" Without warning, her legs finally snapped shut, and you locked your fingers in a tight spiral against her clit, letting her ride out her first orgasm.

Wow, is she that scared hes gonna suck ?

"Thats hot." You gasped, itd been a while since you got to see Mina like this. She truly was breathtaking. "So.. I think I understand Kirishima.. but I still think you should teach him yourself.." You had an idea of what you were going to do, but hoped Mina would just grow a pair.

"Its even hotter when they magically know." She sighed, a dreamy look on her face. Is this what happens when you read too much Tumblr smut ?

"Thats not.." You still can't believe this is happening. "Its another girl who taught him-"

"Don't worry I can pretend." Oh my god okay shes seriously not gonna fuck him until you do.

You sighed, a little proud of Mina for how fucking insane she could be. Your eyes trailed down her sweaty neck, towards her collar bones and bare chest. Hmm.

"Well," You continued, readjusting your hand so your middle and ring were prodding against her entrance. Your body leaned over hers, and in a familiar move from tonight, the vibrations from your voice rumbled softly on her shoulder. "Keep going, whos next ?"

"Denki-" You slid your fingers in, down to the second knuckle. Of course it was him. You began softly massaging around, relaxing her to the movement.

"Im holding off on him for as long as possible.." You grimaced. Kaminari was one of your best friends, dont yet anyone wrong, but.. well.. its HIM.

"Makes sense.." She sighed. He was definitely going to need the least convincing, but a lot of self motivation and convincing was needed.

It was an unspoken rule that more graphic sexual conversations happened between the guys specifically, and the girls specifically. It wasnt often that theyd seriously talk about it to each other, given the awkward teen hormones going on. The most that was shared was small incriminating details the other group would tease the person for, or things willingly shared during a truth or dare type thing.

But Denki fucking Kaminari. Public group chat, "just learned I have a mommy kink" "hear me out on lactation tho" It wasn't too surprising given he was also friends with Mineta, but goddamnit did he make it everyones problem. Also everyone in that group chat has seen that one specific picture of his dick. Unrelated probably.

"There's some things you should probably know.." Mina continued, whimpering a little as you began you fuck her softly with your fingers. "Hes real fucking stupid, obviously.." She gasped, your fingers getting closer and closer to her gspot. "But he knows a lot .. he probably has files on everyone's sexual preferences and feelings."

you groaned, sinking your teeth into her lower neck, sucking a purple bruise out of her pink skin. "Hes a fuckin psycho.." you lifted yourself up, and brought one of her thighs up to her chest as you deepened your thrusts. "Well.. whos next on our list, Mina ?" You pressed a kiss against the edge of her mouth, her voice finally breaking as breathy moans slipped from her lips.

"Fuck..fuck.. um.." Her eyes struggled to stay open, her legs felt numb from the overstimulation but her lower stomach felt so fucking good. Heat rose through her body as she whined louder and louder. "S-Sero.. Jirou is close after th-though.." Her face was an even brighter pink, a telltale sign of blush for the acid girl.

You slowed your thrusts, opting to grind your fingers against the opening muscles. "Wait.. wait fuck.. no dont stop.." she pleaded. She was definitely close, and the roleplay was beginning to get thrown out her mind.

"Its okay.." you hummed, picking your pace back up. "Just tell me real quick and ill let you cum Mina, okay ?" You smiled, and held her chin in place to make eye contact with you. "Is that okay ?" Your place was back on par with how she liked it.

"Yes yes yes.. oh fuck.. okay .. Sero is.." Her head tilted back, her legs spreading. "Hes the second closest to you, casual sex is easier than you think with him."

Your fingers began beating softly against the edge of her gummy pad. right where she would fall apart. Honestly, you knew she was right. You and Sero constantly would build up sexual tension from conversation or body language alone, it probably would've happened at some point anyway. "Okayy.. and.." You began rubbing circular around the spot, fully preparing to feel her coming around you any second. "What about Jirou ?"

Mina was panting, and struggling to get her words together even more. "J..j.. its.. haaahhh.." She was totally beginning to lose it. You quickened your pace, more interested in seeing her let go again than what she was going to say. Being in the girls group, you already knew most of Jirous sexual preferences anyway.

"Its okay, Mina." You finally fucked your fingers into her gspot dirrectly, using your other arm to lift both of her legs up to her chest, gaining a deep and quick angle. "You did good."

"Fuckfuckfuck oh my.. oh my g..god.." Her hips stuttered against your hold, her warm walls tightening and releasing rapidly against your fingers. "Yes.. fuck.." She had a fucked out smile, eyes fluttering closed contently.

You let her rest, and took your hand away to take care of her. While gathering the warm cloth and a bottle of water (with a lemon slice, she likes citrus after intense.. situations), you briefly reviewed what you knew about Jirou.

She's a lesbian, so you had an easy chance. The issue is she gets flustered easily, you wanted to make sure you didn't scare her away. There was also the Momo situation..

While cleaning up Mina, towling town her sweat and using the warm damp cloth to soak up the mess between her legs, you thought about everything you knew now.

Kirishima is probably similar to Mina, in need of releasing all the tension they've been teasing each other with. You have a good idea of how to relieve him, but also set him up with Ashido once and for all.

Denki is a whore. You'll probably have to out slut him in order to get him to talk. Its going to be a long night for him, taking some time to study the bdsm test wont hurt.

Sero's pretty laid back, if you're upfront about what's going on and why you're doing what you're doing, you know he'll be cool with it. Besides, this is one you're looking forward too.

Jirou might be a bit tricky. You'll let her know your intentions, and set up a personal hang out to just relax and ease into anything at her pace. You can also try and see whats going on with Yaoyorozu !

Oh.. and Katsuki.. Well. There's not really a point in thinking about him. You know nothing. Despite being the first two at the table, he kept everyone locked out of his romantic or sexual life completely, as far as you knew. As it concerned you, he didn't have anything going on. You didnt need to ask Mina about him, you knew he would be the hardest.

As you finished up, you looked back over to the clock. "We're thirty minutes late by the way." You held back a giggle, stuff like this always ended up happening.

"Fuck !" Now this one sounded way less pleased than before.

A/N : Not a lot of Bakugou development, sorry, i like girls more. next chapter should have more though !! speaking of

i think its pretty obvious the order that the characters will go in, but who do you think will be the next chapter focus ?

tag list (ask to be added) : @adv3rs1ty @icarusthefoolish @hyunjinshairband7 @waterfal-ling

[evilminji]

You know all those Cults in Gotham?

Bet at least ONE of them could spring for both a Legit Magic User and a Cloning pod.

Because The Wayne's? Hearts of Gold. Long standing pains in the asses. Probably the only thing standing between this gods forsaken wasteland of a city and Their Dark Lord. For GENERATIONS no less!

It's sooooo obnoxious!

So they want to Curse Um dead. Just a good ol fashioned bloodline curse. Destroy um from within, etc. BUT! To do THAT? You kinda need a blood relative to sacrifice!

And Bruce is... well... rather infamously An Orphan With No Biological Kids (at that point).

So? What do you do? Make one, obviously. You send in some of your own on a Holy Mission. Honeypot that playboy! Get us a kid to sacrifice! Our God will reward you etc! But... FFS! What? Are brunettes not your TYPE or something?! Pretty lady! Throwing herself at you!!

TAKE THE BAIT!

But he DOESN'T. Because he's both really used to that behavior, as The Wayne Heir and a False Playboy, AND because? He's fuckin Batman. He can see through your schemes.

Okay.

Okay!

Plan B!

Get us some DNA. We'll CLONE the sucker. That should be doable, right?

........OH COME ON! How?!

Batman: [REDACTED] / Cultists: 0

Fuck it! This is impossible! How are we supposed too... *eyes drift over to the Wayne Family Private Graveyard* .......Idea? Ideeeeaaaa~! Someone get us a shovel!

So they, cultist bastards that they are? Fuckin rob a grave for some DNA.

OBVIOUSLY though, it can't be one of the more RECENT graves! He probably VISITS those! Watches them! No we gotta be SNEAKY! Get one a bit further back! Mwahahahaha! We're so brilliant! Our God is gonna give us SUCH a Good Grade in follower!

A thing that is both REAL and possible to achieve!

So, while a Weirdly FURIOUS Batman? Is just... VIOLENTLY breaking ALL of their bones? Cultist 17 is furiously digging like his life depends on it. Either somebody snitched or Batman was hunting them down! Either way?

Gotta! Get! That! DNA!!! *digs faster*

Ah HA! Got it!

Fucking SCATTER! Run you fools, RUN!!! *everyone bolts*

And AT LAST! They have it! Wayne DNA! Now? Pop that sucker into the machine and make us a baby! Too sacrifice! *relieved noises* Man, that was hard work you guys. But we DID it!

Except??

Theoretical Babies? And "Real, slowly forming in front of me and becoming a human child" type babies? VERY DIFFERENT psychologically. It's ONE thing to sacrifice a HYPOTHETICAL baby... but when you're the guy running and monitoring the Cloning machine? Watching it slowly form and come together into... into a CHILD?

You start asking questions of yourself. Of God.

Of what, EXACTLY, you are willing to do.

What lines you find yourself unwilling to cross.

And yeah, your life was SHIT before the cult. Yeah, you were alone. Adrift. Without purpose. Angry at the world for all of its ugliness and failings. But... sitting, alone, in a dark room? Nothing but the steady hum of machines and the cool light of that pod? You are left with nothing but time... and your thoughts.

And the baby.

The one... the one YOU made.

Almost... he's almost like a son, in a way. Your son. Floating there, innocent and unknowing. Destined to be born, only to die painfully, for a cause he could not even begin to understand. Because he's too young. Too small. Just... just a baby.

The baby YOU made.

Doubt seeps in like mist. Creeping into the cracks forming in your faith. Surely there's another way, right? Why not save up for a better magician? Or... or hire a hitman? Why involve a child? Surely... surely your God would not WANT this, right? Or if He did! Surely, he would want the boy to be able to CHOOSE, right? A noble sacrifice, for the cause?

The pressure builds. Batman is tearing the city APART looking for your fellow Believers. Leadership is pressuring you to get "It" ready all ready.

He's not an "it".

They are dismissing your questions. Threatening and posturing, as you grapple with your faith. Where? Where is the COMMUNITY that you joined? The camaraderie? Every day, Believers are being torn down. The faith has lost so many!

How can this be WORTH it?

Your faith is slowly, cruelly, strangled in your chest. A death, by ten thousand silences, and ten thousand more cruelties.

Your son is ready.

You do not tell them.

The Clone of Bruce Wayne's great-grandfather is small, but healthy, in your arms. A tiny warm body, with a strong beating little heart. You call the police. Leave your phone, call running, on the desk. No one thinks to stop you, as you calmly walk out the back door.

Why would they doubt?

You are Faithful.

You drive. Pray to a God you have lost faith in, beg forgiveness for what you do now. Your beat up old junker of a car makes decent time, as you leave Gotham. Your son, asleep in a carefully made nest of blankets, on the seat next to you. You drive. You keep driving.

Past towns.

Past cities.

Out of the state.

Stopping only to feed your son and fuel your car. You... you can not bring yourself to care about what will happen to you now. You know they will find you. Know this is the end. But something ancient burns in your chest. A caring you never thought was REAL.

You are afraid.

But you will not let them harm your son.

Finally, a town. Far from Gotham. Quite and cheerful. It calls to you.

Here. It... it has to be here.

You find the hospital. Tears choking you. There is a place to drop of children. You've seen them before. How strange, that now you stand before it and HURT. Your arms not listening to your command. You... you have to do this. You HAVE too.

He is just a baby.

He is your son.

You have to keep him safe. And... and that can not be with you.

You gently put your baby boy into the drop off. Press the buzzer. And then? You make yourself walk away.

Get back in your car, and drive. The gun in your glove box will insure they can never pry from you, what you have done. Where he is. He is safe now. He has to be. You... you did your job. As his father. You made sure he was safe.

You can barely see the road, through your tears.

You take your secrets to the grave.

And Danny? He grows up. Is adopted young and never knows different. Both a Fenton and a Wayne. Knowing only one of these, to be his. But... that Wayne? Was a damn fine man. A pillar of his community and a champion of the people.

Got tossed more then a few blessings, in his life.

They weren't the STRONGEST. But they added up. And more importantly? Were hardly the refined magics of the more powerful. They were cast onto "Him". By blood and bone, more often then not. Which was all well and good!

When there was only ONE of "Him".

Cloning technology did not exsist. So why would you word carefully against it? Danny becomes a VERY lucky boy. Survives many things he should not. In fact, the kindness and hard work of his original? Gifted back in magically powered well wishes? By this, he survives something NO ONE could possibly expect him too.

It saves his life.

His template would be quite pleased, knowing that. That his life of good deeds, saved the life of the child he never got a chance to meet. That it protected his children, from even beyond death.

And in Gotham? At long, long last. The program Bruce made in his helplessness and despair, to search EVERY child until the child made of his bloodline was found? Spits out a match.

A Watchtower engineer.

Daniel J. Fenton.

@hdgnj @hypewinter @lolottes @babbling-babull @nerdpoe @mutable-manifestation

[revelboo]

You works are awesome, but i also wanna remind you not to overwork yourself! :) Have a nice day/night! ;3

Honestly, considering this blog is only 24 days old, it’s you guys I’m a bit worried about. Y’all good? Cause holy crow…

The Weakends Pt 5

TFP Ratchet x Reader- argument

• Putting a tool away, Ratchet glances over at the empty counter, the medbay quiet around him. Who’d have thought he’d miss your questions and companionable chatter? Need it to work. That silence drives home the fact that you’re avoiding him. Have been for days now and it’s worming under his plating, a disquiet that sparks through him, because you belong here. Your loss making him snap at everyone, because it’d be one thing if you were just skulking about the base, but no. Since you got upset with him, you’ve kept far away. Sulking like a sparkling.

• Setting the little trowel aside, you drag one of the mums you’d bought closer and wiggle it free of its little plastic pot. It’s warmer today, sweat slicking your skin as you work. Really, you’re just keeping busy. Trying to distract yourself, because you’re so frustrated you want to scream. Mostly at a certain white and red moron. And yourself. You know you’re both too proud to bend now. Neither one of you willing to back down no matter how silly the argument actually was. Even if staying away feels like you’re punishing yourself more than him.

• The sound of gravel popping under tires lifts your head and you squint in the sun. Bumblebee and the kids back again to pester you into coming in? Lips pressing into a thin line when you spot the ambulance, you yank off your gloves. Surely, he isn’t going to actually apologize? Blowing out a breath, you stand and stretch the kinks out of your back. Your little house is far enough from town and the main road that Ratchet can transform without worrying about being spotted and he does, walking the rest of the way over with a scowl like he tastes something foul. Cocking a hip, you cross your arms and wait for the apology. “Well, you’re not dead or dying,” he growls, optics narrowing at you.

• “Yeah, doing great,” you say, tone tight with anger as your fingers dig into your upper arms. “So, I don’t need a medic.” The ‘I don’t need you’ coming across loud and clear. That open hostility in your stare ramping up his own irritation that you’re so petty you’d made him drive all the way out to retrieve you. And you turn your back to him, bending to roughly seize a potted plant. Ignoring him. After he came to get you? His servos close around your middle, hearing your startled gasp as he lifts you. And then you whip around, chucking that plant at his head. It bounces off, scattering dirt all over him as you glare at each other. “Put me down. Right now.”

• Your heart’s racing, the adrenaline souring inside you as you realize you just hit him with a mum. And he’s not just going to let that slide. His optics shutter, jaw clenching as he vents angrily and you tense for the yelling. The fury. Instead, one of his servos slides over your torso as he adjusts his grip. That servo settling against your breast where your frantic heart is pounding away. Grabbing that servo, you mean to shove at it, but just hold on. Slowly his venting evens out.

• He can feel your heart thumping against his servo, frantic with fear. Of him. He can’t move, snared by that rhythm, knowing he’s causing it. As he remains still, that too quick beat slows. Calming. Your little hands shift on his servo. “There’s work to do. I need my assistant,” he says. Can’t make himself apologize, but isn’t leaving without you either, even if he has to just take you. You’re coming home. And you whisper okay so low he almost misses it, that tension winding through him just unraveling.

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[keepingitformyself]

nothing gentle lives here

A/N: shauna shipman fic BOOYAAAA!!!! also first time writing smut pls go easy on me guys.

synopsis: she’s blood, ash and girlhood burnt at the altar.

pairings: shauna shipman x reader

genre: fluff in not its usual fluff form but more rough edged and dangerous.

warnings: typical yellowjackets violence, smut, sexual themes, sadist sex kinda, cannibalism, shauna shipman being shauna shipman. cutting people open, vegans/vegetarians dni tbh.

please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.

you were all just girls before this. so, what are you now?

you find yourself asking this same question over and over again. constantly racking through your brain how you’ve all become so unapologetically mad, and cruel. if what you’ve done has crossed some invisible line of morality that you can no longer go back. if you can even go back.

shauna still kisses you with a fire you’ve never known before. something you’re sure would have never existed to you had you ever been on that plane. she touches you like she’s never been more sure of something in her whole life.

like, she’s never actually existed until now. as if being out here is the best thing that could have happened to some of you.

you hate to say that there’s some truth in that. in some twisted and haunted way.

when she decided that everyone must stay behind, instead of accepting rescue, she left no room for argument. you watched in disbelief, the grief slowly flowing through you as it’s decided that, no, you won’t go home. not today.

shauna finds you crying in front of the small lake, just a few hours later.

she pulls you in as if she isn’t the reason why you’re hurting. she kisses all your tears away, shushes you, tells you it’s okay. it isn’t.

“we can’t go back, baby,” she whispers into your hair. her words make you cry even harder into the warmth of her neck. “we’re better off here,” you think, maybe that’s okay.

maybe it is fine. because truly, something this ugly, this violent, and beautiful doesn’t belong in the world out there, anyway. that maybe the wilderness is where you’re meant to be.

because even if you’re scared to admit it to yourself, a world outside of this place is just a thin guise you’re all pretending isn’t close to cracking.

and you love her. you love shauna. every dangerous, violent, grief-ridden side of her. you’ve seen her kill, seen the way she doesn’t even flinch at the sight of barbarity anymore. she smiles at it instead.

she’s kissed you with the blood of others on her lips, and you loved the taste of it. she’s handed you her blade and led you through skinning the fur off of animals you’d later eat. you’d see the way her eyes would gleam at the sight of your innocence being continuously stripped away. she loves that she’s the reason for how you unravel.

you used to only be able to cut through meat with your eyes closed. used to cover your ears so you wouldn’t hear a deer cry as it took its last breath. only able to feel the way the muscles spasm beneath your fingers. you never looked, never listened.

now, your hand no longer shakes at the weight of her knife in your hands. now, you meet shauna’s eyes as blood pools out.

but you still let out shaky breaths when she licks the blood off your fingers.

“you’re getting better and better,” she murmurs, taking the blade from your hands and finishing off the dead carcass in front of you. “i’m proud.”

you smile at her words.

you were all just girls before. you know that. you think you’re something more now. maybe worse. you don’t know. you don’t really care.

because you’re feral, you’re violent, you’re messy, but you’re loved.

and shauna loves you in ways that couldn’t exist back home.

she loves you roughly, madly, and on purpose. like everything only exists for both of you. like you’re the only thing that exists to her.

and that version of you that existed before her? the one before the crash. she’s gone now.

sometimes you hate her for it. but you love her for it more.

because being with shauna feels like you’re finally real. and whatever is left of you is hers.

even now, as you watch with your mouth agape, natalie is forced to slash open the corpse of your dead friend. mari. you’re scared. grief-stricken. you want to cry. but you want to feel shauna’s cold hands in yours more.

she watches as you stare at the way mari’s blood pools onto the snow-covered ground. you’re breath is shaky.

she doesn’t say anything. she wears a proud smile and lets you exist in the moment instead.

later, when she’s in her antler queen cloak and has finished leading everyone through a feast, she catches your wrist as you return to camp.

“say something,” you think she’s pleading for it. like she wants the reassurance that this is what she’s like now, and if you still want her this way. it hits you all then. mari. your teammate. your friend. is dead. and you ate her.

the hot tears in your eyes feel good against the cold of the air. you still don’t say anything. shauna lunges forward and kisses you. your eyes well up again at the taste of iron and meat on her lips.

her hand grips the back of your neck, her fingers tighten in your hair. she pulls back again, breathless, eyes wide and blown.

“this is the only way love can exist for me,” she breathes. “can you live with that?”

you nod. and kiss her back again. all teeth and bite.

shauna leads you back to your hut, and you let her stake her claim. she deserves it, after all. she’s your queen now.

you let her press you into your cot on the floor.

she drinks in your sighs, and you feel your body burn up at having her breathless on top of you.

you give her exactly what she wants when you feel her fingers press crescents into the inside of your thighs.

you spread yourself, soft and obedient, not because she asks you to or because she expects it, but because you want to.

and you smile at her sadisticness when she bites down on your neck, and praises you when you let out sounds for her. you revel in the feel of her. you try to ignore the biting cold just beyond the thin fur that covers the entrance.

it’s easy to when every time she touches you it burns. and it feels fucking amazing.

you gasp when she gets down to that spot right at the apex of your thighs. you try to trap her there. like if you close your thighs, maybe she’d listen.

she does. thank god, she does.

she laughs at your neediness. and pulls you open wider, rougher. like you’re hers to claim, to shape, to ruin.

“i love you like this,” she says fondly. you think, i do too.

you whimper immediately when her mouth finds you. it’s obscene the way you buck into her, the way you ground yourself by threading your fingers into her tangled hair.

there’s only her now. her mouth. her hands. the burn of her name caught in your throat as she pushes you closer and closer to unraveling.

she holds you steady when you start to shake, groaning into you like she’s starving and you’re her salvation. like you’re the last good thing left in this godforsaken wilderness, and she intends to consume every part of you.

then, just as you’re about to, she replaces her mouth with her fingers. and pushes her lips towards yours as she swallows your moans.

“you know, if you died out here,” she pants against your lips. “i’d eat your heart first.”

maybe you should be scared, or turned off at the kind of joke she’d make in such a crude moment, with her hands between your legs. but you’re too gone to care. too blissed out. even if you know she means it.

“you’d keep it safe?”

she smiles wicked and beautifully. the kind of smile you know you’d never forget. the kind of smile that brings you that much closer to the edge. “i’d keep it in me forever.”

and at her words, at the terrible truth in them, you let out one final shriek. your body arches, and you let out a silent scream, anchoring yourself on shauna’s shoulders.

she watches you with that same look she wears whenever she’s cutting into flesh and meat. the one that’s all teeth and grin. you hear the trees start to howl, the cold starts to bite, but she still doesn’t move. she’s still inside you, palm pressed to your chest.

and you let her take from you again.

[flwrkid14]

hey, so for your “Love, in All its Impossible Forms” can you put Tim and Danny in a scenario where Danny has to either choose the world or Tim, and everyone and I mean everyone is telling Danny that he has to choose the world while Tim is staying quiet because he believes no he knows what Danny would choose. Danny, ever the hero would choose the world he so desperately fights to keep safe. Tim is okay with being the other option, he has only ever been the other option.

But what Tim doesn’t know is that Danny has never fought to keep the world safe. No, he fights to keep his loved ones safe, he fights so his family is safe, so Tim is safe.

Now that Tim is being threatened? Well Danny has never felt sentimental about this world, he’s sure Tim could adjust to a new world. After all, what’s the point in Danny being the ghost king if he can’t even do as he pleases?

And Tim? Tim would follow Danny no matter what he chooses, because that is love. Love isn’t conditional, not like how the batfam’s feel, not like how his parent’s felt.

(Take your time!)

anon, you saw into the softest and cruelest part of this story. the part where the world calls Danny a hero, demands he live up to the myth they made of him—and the part where Tim quietly prepares to be left behind.

because that’s what love is supposed to do, right? love chooses the world. love lets go.

but Danny’s never played by those rules. and this time… he doesn’t want to.

When the world begins to end, it’s quieter than anyone expects. No fire, no screaming sky—just cold calculations. A choice. A question with only one right answer.

Danny is called to the center of it. Not as a boy. Not even as a ghost. But as a king. As the King. The one being with enough power to fix it. To rewrite entropy itself if he just agrees to the terms.

All he has to do is choose the world. The millions of people who’ve never known his name, who would never thank him. The strangers who will live because of his sacrifice.

Or—

“Or,” they never say. Because there isn’t supposed to be an “or.”

But Danny feels it.

He feels it in the silence where Tim should be begging. He feels it in the way Tim stands just behind the gathered voices, distant, steady, waiting. Not asking for anything. Not even hoping.

Because Tim’s not the kind of person who gets chosen.

He’s always been the fallback, the extra, the strategic loss. Even in his own family. Even in love. And Danny—Danny is the kind of person who saves the world.

So Tim prepares himself to be left behind. Quietly. Without resentment. Because he understands. And he’s not surprised.

But Danny is.

Because Tim doesn’t know. Doesn’t know that the only reason Danny’s ever fought at all was to protect the people he loves. He’s never been sentimental about the world. He’s never even liked it all that much.

He fought to keep his family safe. His home. His people.

And now—

Danny looks at Tim. At the boy who never asks. Who loves so deeply and quietly he assumes that love means sacrifice. Who isn’t trying to make Danny choose. Because he already thinks he’s the thing that gets left behind.

And Danny can’t. He just can’t do it.

Because what’s the point of saving the world if it means losing the reason you were saving it in the first place?

What kind of king protects an empire and lets his heart die on the battlefield?

So Danny says no.

He turns to the council of ancients, to the army of heroes, to the crying civilians and the trembling ambassadors. And he chooses Tim.

And it’s not fair.

It’s not heroic.

It’s cruel in the way all real love is cruel—because it draws a line between “everyone” and “someone,” and then crosses it without apology.

The backlash is immediate. Gasps. Rage. Horror. They call him selfish. A monster. A failure.

And maybe he is.

But he looks at Tim, and for the first time in his life, he isn’t afraid of being selfish.

Tim stares back, disbelieving. He hadn’t prepared for this part. He hadn’t prepared to be wanted more than the world.

“I don’t understand,” he breathes.

And Danny says, “You don’t have to.”

Because Tim would follow Danny anywhere. To a world that will hate them both. To a universe where no one knows their names. To an entirely new timeline where there’s no pressure, no expectation, no family holding him back. And that's exactly what Danny asks him, to follow him to a future they make themselves. One the world may never forgive them for.

Tim nods.

And that’s love, too.

Not the conditional kind. Not the kind that’s earned or tested or weighed. But the impossible kind. The cruel, human kind.

The kind that lets the world burn because one person mattered more.

[rosierin]

stem wars | atsumu, osamu, suna

synopsis; osamu can tie cherry stems with his tongue so atsumu, suna and (y/n) try to one-up him.

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

It started innocently enough.

The four of them were gathered around the dining table, bowls half-full of fruit, the soft drone of an animal documentary playing on the TV in the background. The narrator’s voice was mellow, British, and mildly bored:

“The leopard uses stealth to approach its prey, crouching low in the tall grass…”

Atsumu had one leg propped up on the chair, slowly chewing on a cherry, fully engrossed in the program. Suna sat opposite, slouched with his hoodie half-zipped, eyes flickering idly between the screen and the bowl. (Y/n) had a cushion behind her back and one of her legs tucked under her, snacking contentedly. Osamu was methodically pitting cherries and lining up the seeds on a napkin like some sort of serial killer.

The mood was calm. Peaceful. Nobody saying a peep—until a rogue thought crossed (y/n)’s mind.

“Hey,” she piped up, chewing thoughtfully.

She earned a chorus of hums, all varying in pitch and interest.

“Can you guys do that thing where you tie a cherry stem with your tongue?”

The documentary kept droning in the background.

Atsumu blinked. “That’s a thing?”

Suna glanced over. “Can’t say I’ve tried.”

Osamu didn’t even look up. “I can.”

(Y/n)’s eyes lit up, her grin spreading like wildfire. “You can??”

Atsumu looked personally offended, cast his brother a judgemental stare. “Since when?”

Osamu shrugged, picking out another cherry. “Since I’ve been eatin’ cherries.”

Suna nodded slowly, twirling one of the fruits between his fingers. “That’s pretty impressive.”

“I ain’t buyin’ it,” Atsumu scoffed. “I don’t see how it’s even possible.“

“No,” (y/n) insisted, leaning forward now, “it’s a legit thing! Some people can just do it.”

Osamu raised an eyebrow and plucked a stem from the bowl. “Wanna see?”

All three of them responded in unison:

“Yes please.”

“Yeah.”

“Duh.”

With all the nonchalance of someone tying their shoelaces, Osamu popped the cherry in his mouth. His jaw shifted slightly. A few seconds passed.

He stuck out his tongue.

The stem was tied in a perfect little knot.

Atsumu dropped his cherry pit onto the table. “What the actual hell—”

Suna blinked. “Damn. He can actually do it.”

(Y/n) let out a breathless laugh. “That’s sick!”

And just like that, the table descended into silly competition.

Everyone suddenly had a cherry stem in hand.

Atsumu was determined. He shoved one in his mouth, brow furrowed like he was solving a math equation.

“How the fuck are ya supposed to—”

“Don’t choke,” Suna warned, already working on his own attempt.

(Y/n) giggled. “Okay, wait—how do you even start? Do you fold it or just like… twist it around?”

“Use your tongue, obviously,” Atsumu snapped, still mumbling around the stem. “What else are ya s’posed to use?”

She snorted. “It’s harder than it looks!”

Osamu leaned back with his arms folded, watching like a proud sensei. “Just takes practice.”

Then, without warning, Suna casually stuck out his tongue—and lo and behold, his stem was perfectly knotted too.

“WHAT?!” Atsumu practically shrieked. “How’d you do that?!”

(Y/n) gave him a look, mocking his tone. “By using his tongue, duh. What else are ya s’posed to use?”

Atsumu shot her a glare.

Suna shrugged, completely unfazed. “I’m multi-talented.”

(Y/n) gasped. “Okay, what is this? How are the two of you so good at this?!”

Atsumu spat his stem onto a napkin, clicking his tongue irritably. “Mine broke. This is rigged.”

Osamu, grinning now, lazily spun his tied stem between his fingers. “Guess I’m just better at usin’ my tongue. No big deal, guys.”

(Y/n) choked on air.

Atsumu’s head whipped around. “Fuck off—”

Suna’s smirk grew three sizes as he brandished another perfectly knotted cherry stem on his tongue.

(Y/n) gawked, cheeks hot as she looked between the very smug Suna and casual-as-ever Osamu.

“What?” he said, too innocently. “Just statin’ facts.”

Atsumu looked anything but convinced. “You both know what yer doin’.”

Osamu bit into another cherry, lips quirking. “Can’t help it if you’ve got a dirty mind.”

(Y/n) giggled helplessly, chasing the less-than-appropriate thoughts from her head.

Atsumu reached for another stem, undeterred. “One more. I swear ’m gonna do it.”

“Give up, 'Tsumu,” Osamu drawled. “Some people just don’t got it.”

Suna tossed a cherry into his mouth, casting a sly glance at (y/n). “Then there’s those who do.”

Atsumu groaned at his third failed attempt, lobbing the seed at the wall like it was the cherry’s fault.

Osamu clicked his tongue. “Ya better pick that up.”

Atsumu huffed, picking up another cherry with unnecessary force. “Not until I figure this shit out.”

(Y/n) stilled, tugging on their sleeves. “Guys—guys—the leopard is hunting.”

Nobody paid attention.

[viloxity]

Fluctuating Skies (Part 1 of 2) — Yandere! Sung Jinwoo x Female Reader

Part 2

Synopsis: The scenario where the Monarchs rule Earth and the Shadow Monarch finds you in the New World.

A/N: this is one of two parts (he’ll get more unhinged, don’t worry). additionally, this is cross posted on quotev under the same name (viloxity). Any and all feedback or comments are greatly appreciated!!!

You loved the sky.

The sky was beautiful, and perfect. It was never-ending; even when you stared until your eyes burned, you could never find the ending—or the beginning. You would stare, and stare, until you noticed the clouds. The way the clouds explored the skies’ vastness, steadily drifting towards their next unknown journey, gave you hope in this fickle world—a world where you were not sure if a tomorrow was guaranteed.

Each distortion that filled the skies—the skies you have started to despise—spelled an inevitable demise as humanity endured even worse losses. As you took exams at college, there were lines outside of hospitals. The day of your graduation, as you walked the confetti covered balcony, there were bodies lining graves—the A-rank dungeon break nearly flushed out a small city an hour away from you. That day, your supposed ‘celebration’ encompassed hesitant smiles and reluctant whispers that congratulated you on your success.

“At least we are still here.” You recalled a woman saying, scolding the looks on her family’s faces.

You looked at the sky, your tassel gently flowing with the motion of your head. Eventually, the monsters will take over this land. They will overwhelm humanity’s strongest fighters and wipe out the population in clusters. You could feel the anger pooling, then, at your helplessness. Average civilians were so weak, so useless. It hurt that you couldn’t even protect anyone, let alone yourself. Why, why were you born so weak—

Your emotions stilled at a cloud that slowly passed over the sun. Your heart was calm, beating slower.

Even when the world ends, the sky will remain unchanged—unchanged, vast, and still beautiful.

Then, the world ended.

You still remembered the day as if it were just yesterday, when the gates appeared—the roaring sounds oscillating across the entire country and its diameter devouring the peaceful summer sky. The action of itself was unjust—not because it triggered the apocalypse, but because it tied in a pacifist to the unyielding destruction of the entire world. There was a brief intermission between the gate openings and the flow of monsters; realization of the situation propelled Darwin’s theory of natural selection into motion. You were lucky to have broken out of your stupor, yelling out that everyone should run—maybe you saved some lives that day.

The screams were just as loud as the tremors that shook the earth once the rampage began. You could not focus on anything else but the shrieks, and the vile sounds of slicing of innocent faces you would now never get to meet in this lifetime. Once again, you were helpless to the world around you. No awakening, no power, no ability to do anything. The best you could do was silence your whimpers and hope it all stops.

Was your family okay? You thought as another scream fell silent. Where were they?

You looked at the sky for a miracle, but all you could see was that damned gate.

“Thank you.” The stranger’s trembling hands folded over the small bread bun, his eyes full of shame and gratitude.

You nodded, then smiled. “You can pick up water from the well just North of here.”

The man nodded his head, repeatedly murmuring ‘thank you’s’ with his voice growing hoarse as tears dripped down his eyes. He had not moved to start eating yet; you could feel his hesitance even after you gave him the bun. You nodded once more before making a swift exit. From a few meters away, you could distantly make out the sounds of biting and chewing.

Your heart felt content. It was warm, sometimes, but it was hard for the heat to linger long. It was hard to fan the flames in the first place; humanity had dispersed into fragments, with remnants of a sound society lost long ago. You also had not heard of a single word regarding your family, no matter how many villages you crossed or people you asked—you assumed them dead on the day of the Parade.

Yes, the day of the Parade. The day of the nightmare you wished to forget, the crossing of endless monstrosities, and the mark of the end of humanity. By some miracle, despite the constant onslaught of dragons and beasts crossing the gates, you lived. Back then, people agreed how fortunate you and others were to be able to hide—after all, if you didn’t hide, you ran. Yet, all you could feel was turmoil brewing within you.

Was it really something fortunate?

The people you loved; your family, friends, they were all gone. Your accomplishments, career, vanished the moment the gates flooded open. Back then, you were playing a game of ‘pretend’—those serene smiles and unsaid thoughts renounced the oncoming catastrophe as a tale of make-believe. You wanted to shout at the survivors that nothing was ‘fortunate’ anymore, that you all were apart of scrapped pages ripped from a fable that deemed your lives forfeit after its story reached the end. You were dirt on the ground, now; organic matter that existed as sustenance for better life forms.

Then, there was the sky. The sky you had loved and cherished deeply, was an entity that you blamed. It was the sky’s fault; something that symbolized tranquility and freedom was replaced as a symbol of the beginning of the end. Beautiful, were the bright explosions that blinded and wrecked cities. Vast, the lines of gates that it held. Limitless, the rows and rows of monsters it brought from within. No longer a constant variable in your life, it was something that reminded you of the day you lost everything.

At least, that’s what you thought back then.

There was more to life than you realized when you found the first village. You had trekked far from the city, and far from your home. You did not know where you were walking, and it looked fruitless based on the lack of your supplies. By a stroke of luck, a group came across you while you were slumped on the floor. They pitied you, offering to take you to their sanctuary—the last of humanity’s efforts to survive.

Upon arrival, you noticed the structure itself looked flimsy, with a handful of people walking through rubble and around deep holes in the ground. It also looked poorly built; houses were built from logs and leaves, with some looking as if they could fall over any moment. But, that didn’t matter—what mattered were the people. A person stood in the middle of the village; you could only make out his shouts and pointing in different directions to assume he was the leader of the village. You watched as men moved to build another house, the same poorly structured house, as others ran away to seemingly get supplies. The women occupied their time by cooking and playing with the children, and you nearly cried at how carefree the children looked.

Despite everyone’s losses, they still moved on. You all were specks of dirt in the ground, but together—as soil—you could erode even the hardest of rocks.

You stopped momentarily, turning behind a piece of wooden wall that was left from a now-destroyed-shed. You peeked around the corner, seeing the man feast on the tiny bun. Good, he was eating. You originally volunteered to assist outsiders, thus had been handing out bread buns the entire day to lone scavengers roaming the outskirts. Although you could no longer take care of your family like you used to, at least you can try to ensure the nourishment of others.

You sighed, relief sifting down your body. You shifted through your bag, feeling the weight of a singular item. You had one more piece left, meaning your work wasn’t over, but you had exhausted nearly the entire outskirts. Perhaps you should take another lap around again—

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw what looked to be a dark, blackened figure. It reminded you of the black spots you would get when you were dizzy or fatigued, so you turned your head for a better view.

There was… nothing. Everything was dark, covered by a half-broken roof and the rapid growth of moss and vines. You felt as if… something was staring at you. It was like a sharp pinch, as if there was a pair of eyes piercing like a needle into your soul. At the same time, you felt tired; enough so that if you were to close your eyes right now, you were sure the abyss would greet you in response.

Your eyes swept the shed, noticing a faintly drawn outline that was swaying within the void of darkness. You made contact with a pair of dimmed gray hues, its stare so bold and cold that a shiver quaked through your body. It was tempting to conclude that it was just some illusion, some petty trick on your mind so that the pill was easier to swallow. The longer you stared into the gray depths, the more you couldn’t look away.

What was this feeling?

It was not only that you felt your heart pump strenuously, but the surreality of your condition. You felt and heard your heart pump simultaneously with the feeling of adrenaline hitting your bloodstream. Your arms and legs tensed out of instinct, causing you to wince as your muscle fibers moved and pulled across your bones. The several cracks under the soles of your feet trembled slightly, as if matching your fear.

You wanted to look away so badly. You are too entranced now; a rabbit trapped under sharp claws as the wolf stared down its prey.

Please, please, please, look away.

No, this feeling—

You are remembering that day again. God, why even remember now?

It must be a coincidence—but it couldn’t be. It feels so much like…

Like…

Like those beasts.

Those beasts that walked where the sun did not follow.

They appeared in shaky and inky black forms. They would appear, and whatever they would do, would always result in a calamity. You heard the most screams from them, always.

“I’m paralyzed.” You thought, realization sinking in.

Is this the end?

Then, a sigh.

A deep, long, aired out sigh.

In an instant, all the pressure building within your frame vanished. The tension on your sarcomeres lessened, like a weight slowly floating off your shoulders. As the rush dissipated, you are left with trembling hands and shaky legs. Your senses came back to you, one by one.

Your head shot up, fearful eyes meeting wary ones. You see a figure, now—which looked to be a man—but it was odd. His frame was fluctuating between reality and obscurity, like he was struggling to pick the right balance of tenebrosity or to succumb entirely to the veil of night. His stare engraved holes into you; it was lucky that you hadn’t deflated into a balloon, most likely due to the restraint on his aura.

Aura… his sheer presence is powerful enough to knock you unconscious, that much you could tell.

To be truthful, you were clueless as to his actual thoughts. Initially, his presence was concealed—only emitting essence that you now thought was a warning. Maybe you pushed a button or two, seeing as he actually appeared in front of you. If anything, you were slightly grateful to know that you weren’t entirely crazy and that there was an actual person in the shed. However, you couldn’t read his expression at all; firstly because he wasn’t conveying anything, and secondly because you were too scared to try.

Neither of you moved; the shock having knocked the breath out of you and the stranger seemingly studying you.

Then,

“Go home.”

His voice was deep, so low in octave you imagined the sound waves still bouncing around your ear drums. In any other situation, it would’ve soothed you, as you envisioned singing lullabies or the humming of baritone tunes.

But, you also weren’t stupid. The man’s wording was specific—a demand. In a sense, he was a king; a ruler who offers you mercy after finding you in contempt of the sovereign because you tried stepping on his land. Unconsciously, your legs moved, recognizing that the lord gave you permission to leave—words your being waited on with bated breath to live another day.

So, you ran, not realizing that you dropped your bag of items, nor the growing smile on the stranger’s face.

That man, he never left your mind.

Somber gray eyes, and a complexion that rivaled Greek gods. His hair was as dark as the shadows devoured under his silhouette. He was more than ordinary, representative of a being that practices and deals in absolute power. There were only a handful of people who were gifted with abilities like that, back when the very first gates opened.

Right, now you remembered—they were called hunters. Hunters were classified into different rankings, all the way to S-rank and even national level hunters. To be a hunter, you were granted a certain seed of power.

If he were to be like anything else back then, could he have been a hunter? An S-class, even?

It was rare to come across ‘hunters’ anymore, the label long disbanding alongside the association that coined the term. When they appeared, it was considered a bad omen. Either they were chased by the Monarchs of the New World (for the risk they held) or isolated by the unawakened out of fear. Perhaps, the man was the last of the hunters—of the humans who could fight back at all.

Either way, you wanted to see him again. The more reflecting you did, the more you registered his seclusion; he is far, far from the remnants of civilization.

Regardless of the fear you felt, or the possibility of death, he was still human. He was someone who lost everything, just like you and everyone else.

The destination was a long and grueling walk from the current village you stayed at. Passing by outlanders, you gave out food and supplies as normal, while steadily making your way towards the shed.

Would he still be there? It was hard to say. Most remaining hunters were known to be nomads; staying in one place for longer than a day was like shooting fish in a barrel for their next enemy. You were not sure if he was a hunter in the first place, too—it was your latest profound superstition to be proven by whatever little luck you had left. As you treaded further, the familiarity of your surroundings fill you with perpetual dread. You began to second-guess your courage to embark on this trip in the first place, thoughts clouded and eventually drowned out by faint whispers inside decaying wooden walls. The moment your final step reached the broken shelter a hush filled the air, the shed girdling the edge of the forest encompassed by a heavy silence.

“Hello?” You called out to no one in particular.

You nearly surprised yourself with the surge of bravery to make out your greeting. You peeked into the shed, hands waving through vines. There was no one around the entrance, despite you hearing multiple voices.

Odd.

You weaved through a few cracks in the floorboard before being greeted by gray eyes. You jumped, obviously, because you did not expect him to be in such close proximity to you. He was a till a few feet away, but you could have never spotted him if he chose to sit closer to the wall. He was indeed discernible now, sitting under a small stream of light gifted by the sun. His shadow dragged along the box he sat atop of, sinking behind its crevices before pushing itself onto the wall and absorbing its shade. In any other universe, you would’ve described it as strange. In this case, you thought it supported how outlandish—and isolated—he must be.

“You’re back, what a surprise,” The man said, expression clearly detached. “I thought I scared you off.”

This was going to be difficult.

“Right. I was, but I thought it would be better to introduce myself since we got off on the wrong foot—“

A half truth, but you were also cautious.

“—my name is Y/N.”

He was burning holes into you again—the stare wasn’t any less discomforting than the previous time. His silence, too, was deafening. A sudden urge to scream to at least get a reaction out of him rose within you, but you quickly simmered it out.

The stranger’s eyes narrowed slightly as he let out a faint hum.

You winced. “I wanted to give you something that I couldn’t last time.”

You quickly plucked out a wrapped item, hastily tearing through the covering to reveal a bread bun. You weren’t able to catch a glimpse of his face, opting to shift the bread onto an elevated surface so he wouldn’t be incentivized to lunge at you.

“I hope that this helps you, even if it isn’t a whole lot.” You said, nervously picking your cuticles.

The silence was very, VERY heavy, and—can he please say something?

You looked up and caught the man’s wide eyed, dazed state as his eyes lingered on the bread. It reminded you of a skeptical stray cat at a crossroads when offered an open-hand. The man’s eyes met yours, then, and all you could think was how much better he looked without baring his teeth at you.

“You’re funny.” He dryly chuckled, faint smile betraying his nonchalance.

You offered a small smile, blissfully unaware of his next few words.

“I’m Jinwoo.”

And,

“See you tomorrow?”

“Are you a hunter, Jinwoo?” You asked after placing down the wrapped bread.

You wanted to use his name in some way, lest you forget it or say it wrong. It was ironic you carried over some of your social habits after the end of the world, like a puppy you once fed.

“You could say that,” Jinwoo replied simply.

“Could?” You echoed.

He must’ve noticed your frown, adding, “Not like it matters now.”

He had a point; the name lost its meaning awhile ago. Still, you were ruffled by his restrained disposition. Surely, the label still had meaning to him.

…No, that was an unfair presumption. Jinwoo knows his own memories and emotions better than everyone, especially you. Besides, it wasn’t worth arguing the semantics on the basis of mere suspicion.

Thus, you decided to let it go.

Ah, that reminded you—he never told you his last name.

“You don’t have family?”

“I did.”

You perked up. “…You lost them, too?”

Jinwoo closed his eyes, licking his lips. “Because of the Tragedy, yes, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Then, he squinted his eyes curiously. “I’m more interested in your story.”

You coughed suddenly, shocked by his gravitation towards you. Maybe it was because all you had to offer was bread and stories, or because you never took the chance to settle with your memories, but you felt compelled to talk.

And talk, you did.

Jinwoo was an excellent listener; he was levelheaded and passive, allowing you to just… talk, and talk, and talk (with a tendency to sigh or huff as remarks). You were spilling your family’s entire life story, grasping this fact in the middle of talking about your sister’s fiancé’s secret affair, but you found that you didn’t care. If you weren’t able to come to terms with your family’s passing before this, perhaps someone else can remember in your stead.

Did he care to remember every single detail, anyway? Probably not.

“Hold on—I lost track of the time. Crap, it’s getting dark.” You said, rushing to readjust your cloak. If you started the walk now, you might make it before it’s fully dark.

“It’s rather late, it wouldn’t be safe for you to leave.” Jinwoo said, rough voice clipping louder than your hurried shuffling.

“Did you like my stories that much?” You joked.

You waited a few beats of silence. “Sorry, bad joke; I wouldn’t have any place to sleep if I stayed, anyway.”

The shed violently shook at the end of your sentence, causing your heart to lurch in your chest. You latched onto the metal pole next to you, clutching tightly as you waited for the shaking to cease. Within seconds, Jinwoo was next to you, gently but firmly holding your arm; in moments, the quaking stopped.

“Must’ve been an earthquake.” Jinwoo noted, tone and expression laced with unconventional serenity.

Your quivering hadn’t stopped after the vibrations ceased. In fact, it increased exponentially because you were still trying to comprehend the glimpse of Jinwoo’s vibrant, deep purple eyes etched with absolute unadulterated fury.

You were deluded, you thought quickly as your breathing hastened. You were tired, surely.

“I should go home.”

His breathing stilled.

“Don’t forget about me tomorrow,” Jinwoo said, sounding strangely hollow as his iron grip slowly released you.

Once again, you ran away from his grasp.

[jburrgf]

About You IV- The Love Trope Series.

"Do you think I have forgotten about you?"

◦pairing: ¡lsu! burrow x ¡ex situashionship!reader

° summary: second change trope, college relationships, slow burn love, right person wrong time.

◦ description: It is the game day, and you and joe are back again. what the future holds for both of you? Forever or Down In Flames?

• playlist: About You - The 1975, Love Me Like You Do - Ellie Golding, Like Real People Do - Hoozier, I Bet You Think About Me - Taylor Swift, Called You Again - Lizzy McAlpine, Tolerate It, ImGonnaGetYouBack, Clean - Taylor Swift

PART FOUR: ABOUT YOU

The soft chime of a new email broke the quiet of my apartment as I sat cross-legged on the couch, absentmindedly scrolling through my notes for the media project. I reached for my laptop, my curiosity piqued by the subject line:

"Peach Bowl Coverage Assignment"

I clicked the email open, scanning its contents. The words blurred together for a moment before clarity hit me like a freight train:

You have been selected to cover the Peach Bowl game this weekend, Saturday evening. This will be your primary focus. Full details and meeting schedule to follow.

My heart sank into my stomach. The Peach Bowl? This wasn’t just any game—it was the game. The stakes were high, the audience massive, and the pressure immense. And to make matters worse, the LSU Tigers were playing, which meant... Joe.

I let out a long, uneven breath and leaned back against the couch cushions. Of course, it had to be this game. I rubbed my temples, willing the knot of anxiety forming in my chest to loosen.

"Great," I muttered to myself. "This is just great."

The email included a note about a meeting scheduled for Friday morning, where the media team would go over assignments, angles, and access for the weekend. I closed my laptop with a sigh, unable to focus on anything else.

I shut down my computer, getting ready to finally leave the house. I packed everything I needed into my backpack, and minutes later, I left my apartment heading towards the LSU campus, not too far from where I lived.

The media room was buzzing when I stepped inside, the hum of conversations mingling with the faint sound of chairs scraping against the tiled floor. A slideshow projected on the front wall displayed the Peach Bowl logo in bold letters, its importance impossible to ignore. I adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder, clutching my coffee cup tightly, as if it could somehow ground me.

"Saved you a seat," Maddie said as I slid into the chair beside her. Her energy was palpable, a stark contrast to the knot of dread tightening in my stomach.

"Thanks," I murmured, setting down my notebook and coffee.

“You okay?” she whispered as I slid into the seat next to her.

“Peach Bowl,” I muttered, my tone flat.

Her eyes widened in mock surprise. “What? No way. You mean you get to cover one of the biggest games of the season? Tragic.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at my lips. Leave it to Maddie to downplay my nerves.

Before I could respond, the room quieted. The director of media assignments, Professor Ellis, followed by coach Taylor, stepped to the front of the room, clipboard in hand. His voice boomed as he greeted everyone and launched into the agenda for the Peach Bowl.

I tried to focus, scribbling notes as he explained the logistics—press passes, sideline access, and post-game interviews. But my thoughts were fractured, my mind wandering to the one person I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about.

And then I saw him.

Joe sat near the back of the room, his tall frame hunched slightly over the table. He was wearing a dark LSU sweatshirt, the hood pulled halfway over his head, and his usual air of quiet confidence seemed to be replaced with something else. He looked... unsettled.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen him since the night at Malone’s—that night was burned into my memory—but seeing him here, in the context of work, made it feel different. More formal. More unavoidable.

He didn’t look up, and for a moment, I thought maybe I could slip by unnoticed. But then, as if he could sense me watching him, he lifted his head.

Our eyes met.

It was like the air in the room shifted. Everything else faded into the background, and for a second, it was just us. His expression was guarded, his mouth set in a firm line, but his eyes… His eyes were all over me.

”Keep it together, Y/N," I told myself, tearing my gaze away and scribbling down notes I didn’t even need.

Joe, on the other hand, seemed unusually quiet. His usual relaxed confidence was replaced by a subtle tension, his fingers tapping against the table and his jaw clenched.

"You okay?" Maddie asked as I slid into the chair beside her, her voice low enough that no one else could hear.

"Fine," I said, though my voice betrayed me, sounding far less convincing than I intended.

Maddie gave me a knowing look but didn’t push. Instead, she nodded toward the front of the room where the media director was setting up.

"You’re not going to faint, are you?" she teased, her tone light, but her concern still evident.

"I’m fine," I repeated, more firmly this time.

Coach Taylor started to speak, outlining the importance of our assignments and the exposure this game would bring. It should have excited me—it was a dream opportunity, the kind of coverage people in my field worked years to get. But all I could think about was how I’d survive the weekend with Joe lurking in the periphery.

"Now," Professor Ellis said, drawing my attention back to the front of the room, "I want to remind everyone of the importance of professionalism during this event. You are representatives of the university’s media program, and your behavior reflects on all of us."

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

As the meeting neared its end, Ellis and Taylor began handing out specific assignments for the coverage. I kept my head down, furiously jotting notes about the timeline for game day. But I could feel Joe’s eyes on me again, a quiet weight I couldn’t shake.

You’ll each have access to a key player from the team you're covering," he explained. "For LSU, Joe Burrow will be the primary focus, given his leadership role and performance this season."

I flinched at the mention of his name, my pen faltering against the paper.

"Your angles should focus on the game, the team’s journey, and what this win could mean for the program."

I stole a glance at Joe, who was now sitting straighter, his brows furrowed in concentration. He wasn’t looking at me anymore, but the tension in his shoulders was visible even from across the room.

Maddie leaned over, whispering in my ear. "You’re gonna have to deal with him eventually, you know."

I shot her a look, but she just smirked, unfazed.

When Taylor finally dismissed us, the room erupted into the sounds of chairs scraping and low chatter. Maddie nudged me again as I shoved my notebook into my bag.

Maddie nudged me as she stood. "Come on. Let’s go before you combust."

I shot her a glare, but I got up anyway, clutching my notebook like a lifeline. As we moved toward the door, I couldn’t resist glancing back.

Joe was watching me. His eyes locked on mine for just a second before he quickly looked away, pretending to be engrossed in whatever was in front of him.

I didn’t know what to make of it—of him—but the knot in my stomach tightened as I walked out of the room.

"You okay?" she asked, her eyes flicking toward the back of the room where Joe was still sitting.

"I am.” said quickly, though the tightness in my chest suggested otherwise.

"You sure? You look like you’re about to bolt," she said, crossing her arms and giving me a pointed look.

"I’m fine, Maddie.” I repeated, grabbing my coffee and heading toward the door before she could press further.

“You’re gonna have to talk to him eventually," she said softly, giving me a look that was equal parts concern and exasperation.

But just as I stepped into the hallway, I heard my name.

"Y/N."

My heart stuttered in my chest. I turned slowly, my grip tightening on the coffee cup. Joe was standing a few feet away, his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatshirt.

"Hey," he said, his voice quiet but steady.

"Hey," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, we just stared at each other, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on us. I could feel Maddie’s curious gaze from behind me, but I couldn’t bring myself to look away from Joe.

"You—uh, ready for this weekend?" he asked, his words tentative.

"Yeah," I said, though it was a lie.

He nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Cool. See you at the game."

"See you," I murmured, and with that, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing there with my heart pounding in my chest.

And just like that, the moment was over. I turned and walked away, my heart pounding as Maddie fell into step beside me.

"You’re going to be fine," she said, her voice firm but reassuring. "You’re tougher than this."

I wasn’t so sure.

[…]

The stadium buzzed with electricity, the kind of energy that seeped into your bones and made you feel like you were part of something bigger. The roar of the crowd was deafening, a sea of purple and gold on one side and orange and white on the other. This was it—the Peach Bowl, the biggest game I’d covered yet.

I adjusted the strap of my camera and took a deep breath, trying to calm the nervous excitement thrumming through me. This wasn’t just another game—it was a defining moment for the LSU Tigers, and I was here to capture every second of it.

The LSU Tigers were set to face off against the Oklahoma Sooners, and everyone knew this wasn’t just another game. This was the Peach Bowl. A playoff game. A shot at the National Championship.

From my spot near the sidelines, I had a clear view of the field. The players were already lined up, Joe at the center of it all, his focus unshakeable. The sight of him in his purple-and-gold jersey, helmet tucked under one arm as he called out plays, made my stomach twist in a way I wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

I raised my camera, framing the shot as he stepped onto the field.

The perfect glare, I looked at my camera and saw the picture that I had taken. I Could feel his energy through the screen. I never knew if it was just me or literally every single other girl in the world, but he was so magnetic. And he did nothing to be like that.

The game started with a bang, LSU coming out strong. Joe was in his element, commanding the offense like he was born for this moment. The ball snapped, and he moved with precision, throwing a perfect pass that resulted in the first touchdown of the game.

I couldn’t stop the grin that spread across my face as the crowd erupted around me. Even though I was here to work, to document the game, it was impossible not to get caught up in the emotion of it all.

Raising my camera, I snapped a series of shots—Joe in mid-throw, the receiver catching the ball, the celebration that followed. The images would be sharp, full of action, but they couldn’t capture the full intensity of the moment.

A 19-yard pass to Justin Jefferson.

Touchdown.

The crowd erupted, and I couldn’t help but grin behind my camera as I snapped a shot of Jefferson celebrating in the end zone. Maddie, who was a few yards away working on her own coverage, shot me a thumbs-up before turning back to her notes.

I stayed focused, switching lenses to get tighter shots of the players as they regrouped for the next drive. Joe was commanding the huddle again, his gestures sharp and precise.

By the second quarter, LSU was dominating. Joe was unstoppable, his passes clean and precise, his movements smooth and calculated. The energy on the field mirrored the stands—wild, unrelenting, alive.

I knelt near the sideline, framing a shot of Joe as he stepped back into the pocket. His focus was laser-sharp, his eyes scanning the field before launching the ball in a perfect arc. I clicked the shutter just as the receiver dove into the end zone.

Another touchdown.

The scoreboard flashed, and I couldn’t help but cheer under my breath, my voice lost in the roar of the crowd. My camera captured the celebration on the field—Joe’s rare but brilliant smile as he high-fived his teammates, the way the entire team rallied around him.

By halftime, LSU was leading 49���14, and the media box was abuzz with murmurs of disbelief. Seven touchdowns in one half. Joe alone had thrown for nearly 400 yards. It was a performance that felt less like a game and more like a statement.

After the first part of the game, I reviewed my shots, scrolling through the images on my camera. They were good—great, even—but there was something about being here, in the middle of it all, that no photograph could truly capture.

Maddie texted me from the stands: "He’s killing it. You okay?"

I didn’t respond. I wasn’t sure how to explain the mix of pride and nostalgia and something heavier that sat in my chest every time I looked at him.

The third quarter started with a bang—another touchdown pass from Joe that sent the stadium into chaos. I barely had time to steady my camera before the celebration started, capturing the players as they piled into the end zone.

Joe scrambling out of the pocket, delivering another perfect pass. The defense shutting down Oklahoma’s attempts to close the gap.

With every touchdown, the crowd grew louder, and I found myself smiling more, caught up in the euphoria of the game. This wasn’t just football—it was history in the making.

Joe jogged back toward the sideline, his expression calm but focused, like this was just another day at the office. But I could see the fire in his eyes, the determination that had carried him and the team this far.

By the fourth quarter, the game was all but decided. LSU’s lead was insurmountable, the offense and defense both performing at their peak. But Joe didn’t let up, still playing with the same intensity he had at kickoff.

I captured a shot of him in the huddle, his arm slung around one of his teammates as he called the next play. There was something about the way he led, the quiet confidence that radiated off him, that made it impossible to look away.

When the clock finally ran out, the scoreboard flashing LSU’s victory, the stadium erupted. Players stormed the field, coaches hugged each other, and the fans went wild. I snapped photo after photo, documenting the chaos and joy that filled the air. They were headed to the National Championship.

I lowered my camera for a moment, just to take it all in. The confetti, the cheers, the pure elation that came with a win like this—it was a moment I wouldn’t forget.

And then, as the team gathered for the trophy presentation, my eyes found him again. Joe stood at the center of it all, the MVP of the game, his smile brighter than the lights overhead.

I didn’t need a camera to remember this moment. It was etched into my memory, clear as day.

I brought my camera back up, capturing one last shot of him holding up the Peach Bowl trophy, a grin breaking across his face. The confetti rained down around him, a sea of purple and gold framing the moment perfectly.

I couldn’t stop smiling as I packed up my gear, my heart full with the weight of what I’d just witnessed. It wasn’t just a game—it was a reminder of why I loved this job, why I loved being here, even when it meant facing things I wasn’t ready to confront.

And maybe, just maybe, it was a reminder of why Joe Burrow still had a way of pulling at my heartstrings, whether I wanted him to or not.

I did my way directly to the media room, waiting for Maddie to catch up with me on the way. Our eyes, mouths, bodies — you could tell that we were living the dream.

“I can't believe in what just happened.” Maddie said to me, loud and clear, trying to talk louder than the voices surrounding us.

A quiet buzz hummed in the media room as Maddie and I reviewed our notes and photos while waiting for the post-game interviews. The energy from LSU’s victory still hung in the air, even though the stadium was slowly emptying.

Joe arrived in the room surrounded by cameras and reporters, his expression calm yet commanding. He still wore his uniform, though the helmet was gone, and his face gleamed with the remnants of sweat. The Peach Bowl trophy gleamed on the table beside him, a physical reminder of the night’s triumph.

I positioned myself near the back, pretending to focus on editing the photos on my laptop. Maddie whispered something about the quality of the lighting, but my attention was elsewhere. I couldn’t help but glance up every time Joe spoke, his words measured and precise as he answered the questions being thrown his way.

“I felt like we were in a rhythm all night,” Joe said, his voice steady. “The offensive line gave me time, and the receivers made the plays. It’s a team win.”

I snapped a quick picture, capturing the moment, even though I knew I wouldn’t use it. Something about seeing him under the spotlight like this, with the weight of his success on full display, felt surreal.

After the interview, the team headed back toward the locker room to change and prepare for the ride back. Maddie and I lingered in the corner of the locker room, packing up our equipment.

We headed to the bus, getting our places on the back, where we used to travel. I was still electrified, feeling on my skin all the energy of the night that we just had it.

“You crushed it today,” Maddie said, nudging me as I zipped up my bag. “Seriously, those shots of Jefferson’s touchdowns are going to blow up.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, distracted. I was double-checking my bag when it hit me.

My second camera.

It wasn’t in my bag. My stomach sank as I realized I’d left it in the players’ locker room earlier during halftime.

“I’ll be right back,” I told Maddie, already heading toward the hallway.

“Want me to come with you?” she called after me, but I shook my head.

The hallway leading to the locker room was silent, an abrupt change from the chaos and energy that had dominated the stadium hours earlier. I could hear the muffled sound of voices in the parking lot, where the team was already preparing to board the bus. Maddie had stayed behind, talking to another reporter in the media room, but I was there, hurried, because I had left one of my cameras in the players' locker room.

The door was closed when I arrived. I hesitated for a moment, my heart beating too fast, but I slowly pushed it open, calling softly so no one would be caught by surprise.

"Just here to get my camera," I murmured, my voice echoing in the empty space.

That's when I saw him.

Joe was sitting on the bench, still wearing the black shirt he wore under his uniform, with a towel draped over his shoulders. His hair was slightly messy, still damp from the shower.He hadn’t noticed me yet, and for a moment, I considered turning around and leaving before he did. But then, his gaze lifted, and his eyes locked on mine.

My breath caught.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice softer than it had been during the interviews but no less certain.

I cleared my throat, forcing myself to speak. “I—I forgot my camera.”

He nodded, watching as I moved toward the bench on the far side of the room where my gear was. The silence stretched between us, heavy and uncomfortable, as I fumbled with the camera strap, trying to avoid looking at him.

As I turned to leave, his voice stopped me.

“Do you think I’ve forgotten about you?”

The question hit me like a punch to the chest, and I froze, my hand tightening around the strap of my camera.

“I…” I started, but my voice faltered. What was I supposed to say to that?

I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. The weight of his gaze was too much, and the vulnerability in his voice shattered any defense I might have had.

He took a step closer, his duffel bag slipping from his shoulder to the ground. “Because I haven’t,” he said, his tone soft but resolute. “I’ve tried, Y/N. God, I’ve tried. But it doesn’t work. You’re still in my head. Always.”

My heart pounded in my chest, and I couldn’t bring myself to move, to speak, to do anything but stand there and let his words sink in.

And for the first time in months, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to run from him—or to him.

I stared at him, my mind racing as I tried to process what he was saying. The locker room felt impossibly small, the world outside forgotten as his words hung in the air.

“I thought…” I started again, swallowing hard. “I thought we agreed to move on.”

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, I thought I could. Turns out I was wrong.”

My chest tightened, the mix of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. Anger, confusion, hope—they all swirled together as I looked at him, searching for something in his eyes that would make sense of this.

“What do you want me to say, Joe?” I asked, my voice trembling. “You walked away. You left.”

“And I regret it,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “Every damn day.”

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t even know what I felt anymore. All I knew was that the way he was looking at me—like I was the only thing that mattered—was making it impossible to think straight.

“You don’t get to do this,” I whispered, my grip tightening on the camera strap. “Not now.”

Joe nodded slowly, his jaw tightening as he took a step back. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I haven’t forgotten. And I don’t think I ever will.”

He turned and walked out, leaving me alone in the silence of the locker room. I stood there, staring at the spot where he’d been, my heart pounding in my chest as his words echoed in my mind.

Do you think I’ve forgotten about you?

No, I didn’t think he had. And that was the problem.

The weight of Joe's words seemed to have transformed the air around me into something dense, palpable, difficult to breathe. The tension was so thick that it could almost be cut, but something inside me hesitated to run away. My eyes fixed on his, a mixture of surprise and something else that I didn't want to name taking care of me.

"Joe..." My voice came out in a whisper, his name almost trembling on my lips. "I don't even know what to say."

He took a step towards me, and then another, his eyes never leaving mine. "You don't have to say anything. Just... just listen," he began, his voice loaded with something I hadn't heard in him for a long time - vulnerability. "I tried to move on. I thought I could bury it, but I can't. You're there, Y/N. Always there."

My grip on the camera tightened. The part of me that had been building walls since the night he walked away screamed at me to leave, to not let him in again. But the other part—the one that still felt the warmth of his touch and remembered every word he had ever whispered—wanted to stay.

“You left,” I whispered, my voice cracking under the weight of everything I had kept bottled up. “You just… left.”

“I know,” he said, his voice raw with regret. “And it was the biggest mistake of my life.”

His honesty cut through me, and I shook my head, trying to find the strength to look away. “You can’t just say that now, Joe. Not after everything.”

“I know,” he repeated, his eyes never leaving mine. “But I need you to understand—I never stopped thinking about you. I never stopped wanting this.”

The vulnerability in his voice, the way he looked at me like I was something he couldn’t bear to lose, shattered the last of my defenses.

“Joe,” I whispered, tears welling up in my eyes. “I don’t know if I can go through this again.”

I shook my head, confused, struggling to contain the wave of emotion that threatened to dominate me.

"Because I was scared," he interrupted me, his voice hoarse. "Of what you meant to me. Of how much you meant to me. And I know I don't deserve for you to forgive me, but—”

"Joe, stop," I said, my voice firm this time, but my hands were shaking. "You can't just come back like this and say these things. Do you have any idea how much it hurts? How much it—”

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if my words had hit him directly. When he opened them again, there was something desperate there. "I know. And I'll spend as long as it takes proving to you that I regret it. But right now, I just need to know—do you still feel it? Because I do. Every time I see you, every time I think about you... it's still there. I’m not asking you to,” he said, his voice steady. “I’m asking for a chance to prove I won’t let you down again.”

My chest tightened with his words, each sentence hitting me like a wave. I wanted to yell at him, say that it wasn't fair for him to come out of nowhere with these confessions, after so long. But at the same time, all I wanted was to stop feeling this pain that seemed to have no end.

"Why now?" I asked, my voice breaking. "Why do you get to say this now?"

Joe closed his eyes for a moment, as if he was gathering courage. When he looked at me again, the vulnerability in his eyes completely disarmed me.

"Because I can't keep pretending I'm okay without you," he replied. "I can't stop thinking about you, Y/N. You're everywhere for me. Damn, for every second of the day since I wake up, you’re there. Every win, every moment, every trophy—I want to share it with you."

I was about to answer, but before I could form any word, he took another step and got so close that I could feel the familiarity of his presence - that unmistakable smell of his, the way his breathing seemed to synchronize with mine.

"Joe," I murmured, my heart beating hard as his eyes plunged into mine. “I hate you,” I mumbled against his chest, my voice muffled but shaky.

“No, you don’t,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his hands cradling my face as if I were something fragile. The tension between us felt like a live wire, humming with electricity.

And then, he didn't say anything else. He just tilted his head, hesitantly, as if he gave me the chance to retreat. But I didn't back down.

When his lips finally met mine, the world seemed to disappear. All the anger, the hurt, the confusion that had haunted me for so long dissolved, replaced by something stronger, deeper.

The kiss was slow, hesitant at first, as if we were both testing the waters of something we had been too scared to confront. But the moment I let myself melt into him, all the hurt, the doubt, the fear—it all disappeared. All that remained was him, and the way he made me feel like I was whole again.

My hands met on his shoulders while his pulled me closer, holding me as if I were something he never wanted to lose again. The warmth of his arms around me brought a sense of security that I didn't even realize I was looking for.

When we finally separated, just enough for our eyes to meet, Joe had a smile on his face. A genuine smile, which seemed to illuminate the empty environment.

"Does this mean you'll let me make it up to you?" He asked, his voice low and hoarse.

"Maybe," I murmured, unable to contain a smile of my own.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice a whisper now. "For everything. For leaving. For not fighting for you. But I'm here now, and I'll fight as long as it takes."

I nodded, unable to find the words.

He smiled then, a real, genuine smile that made my heart twist in the best way. "Be my girlfriend," he said, straight, without hesitation

My heart stopped.

I blinked, surprised, my mind trying to process the sudden simplicity of his words. "What?"

He laughed softly, his nose brushing mine while his hand went up to my face, holding it gently. "You heard me. No more games. No more running. I want you, Y/N. I want us."

“Joe…” I started, but he cut me off.

“Let me finish,” he said, a hint of nervousness in his voice. “I want to be with you. Not just for a moment, not just for now. For everything. So, will you let me prove that to you? Will you let me be yours again?”

My heart seemed to be struggling to get out of my chest, and even with the confusion that still remained in my mind, one thing was clear: in his arms, I felt at home again.

"Okay," I finally said, the word coming out in a whisper. "Okay."

His smile grew, and before I knew it, he had pulled me into his arms again, spinning me around as if we weren’t standing in the middle of an empty locker room.

The smile that illuminated his face was genuine, full of joy and relief. He pulled me back into his arms, pressing me against him while whispering: "You don't know how long I've waited to hear that."

I laughed against his chest, feeling the happiness that seemed unattainable for a long time. There, in Joe's arms, everything finally seemed to be in place.

Joe smiled even more, his eyes shining with a happiness that made me smile back, despite myself. And when he pulled me for another kiss, I knew that, for the first time in a long time, I was exactly where I should be.

[kawoala]

DRIVEN BY ADRENALINE suna rintarou. chapter 002 ; clueless.

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২ 𓂅 ࣪ ೨ ; 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 (2,097)

২ 𓂅 ࣪ ೨ ; 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 (once again; MEEYA KNOWS NOTHING ABOUT CARS, alcohol consumption, profanity, anxious! reader, atsumu + osamu + aran + kita appearance, cops breaking up the race, mention of hinata + kenma, the most words i have written on this account, education major! reader, flirty! suna, party)

You have lost your mind. You’re sure of it. What nice girl from Miyagi attends an illegal street race on their first day being in a new town?

The girls around you look straight out of a strip club. And you’re a feminist, so that’s something you would never say lightly. You feel… awkward, to put it simply. Your arms are wrapped around yourself, attempting to cover your bare body, as you follow Runa to wherever the hell she’s headed.

People stare at you as you walk by, you can feel their gazes burning into your skin. You are out of place. Everyone knows that. You keep your eyes to the ground, following Runa’s shoes.

Eventually, she stops. You look up and three things catch your eye. One; four cars, equally decked out with what you can only assume are illegal modifications. Two; There are four very shady looking guys, beers in each of their hands. And three; Runa is hugging each and every one of them.

You stand a few feet away from her, awkward. You avoid eye contact with them, but, just like when you were walking over here, you can feel their eyes on you.

“And this is Y/n.” You look up just as Runa gestures towards you with her hand. She’s smiling widely, so you return it in a smaller version. “She’s my new roommate, so don’t be mean or crude or whatever, okay? Thank you. Y/n, this is Atsumu, Osamu, Aran, and Kita. They’re friends of my cousins, but I guess I like them a little bit, too.”

They all greet you in the respective order. You nod meekly and smile. “It’s, um, nice to meet all of you. I, uh,” You clear your throat, “I like your cars.”

The blonde one— who you think is Atsumu— glances back at the car he’s leaning against and a cocky smirk makes its way on his face. “Mazda RX-7,” he provides. “Twin turbo, 13-B.”

Your mind blanks. Anything that you’ve ever learned about cars— not much— is wiped instantly. You press your lips together in a smile and nod.

“You don’t know shit about cars, huh?” He laughs out, taking a swig of his beer.

You can feel your face heat up and you look at Runa. She gives you a sympathetic look, then turns to Atsumu and narrows her eyes. “What did I just say? Don’t be a dickhead, blondie.” She huffs and crosses her arms. “Where’s Rin? I want to introduce him to Y/n.”

Aran, you think, nods towards you. “He’s racing that ginger kid for two.” You realize he’s gesturing behind you, so you turn and finally notice the two cars rolling up to a makeshift starting line. “Kozume put the money down.”

Runa hums and takes a few steps towards the crowd that’s beginning to form. She grabs your hand and starts dragging you forward. “Come on, Y/n. You have got to see this.”

You let her guide you through the crowd, apologies rolling off your tongue in mumbles as you bump into people. You break through and you’re inches away a black car. You think it’s an Eclipse, but, then again, what the hell do you know, right?

There’s a woman standing in front of the cars, directly in between them. In one of her hands, a beer, in the other, a red fabric. Whether it’s a bandana or her bra, you’re not sure.

She brings the hand holding the fabric up, pauses to take a drink of her beer, then glances at both the cars, and brings her hand back down. The black car takes off first, the other trailing a bit behind. The whoosh of air that they make forces you backwards a bit and Runa’s steadies you with a hand on your back. She giggles and, when you look at her, her pupils are blown wide.

After what feels forever of intense anxiety, there’s a voice through a megaphone. “As expected, Suna Rintarou has won the race and, in turn, four thousand dollars!” There’s a sound like they’re about to say something, but then they stop. “Cops! Cops!” Everybody freezes. “Y’all better get the fuck outta here before y’all end up in a jail cell!”

A freezing cold shiver runs down your spine. The hair on the back of your neck stands up. Your feet feel like cinder blocks. Runa tugs on your arm and you can’t move. Day one of being in Tokyo and your ass is going to end up in a jail cell.

“Let’s go! Come on!” Even as she shouts directly into your ear, you can barely hear her over the panicked voices and tires screeching against the pavement.

You stumble over your own feet as you finally move. The second you sit down in Runa’s car, she’s pulling out and falling in line with the other cars trying to escape. You finally hear the sirens and you start to sweat. Day one in Tokyo and you’re going to be arrested. Can they charge you for just attending a street race? Maybe they’ll cut you a deal since it’s your first offence.

You zone out as Runa drives. This time, there is no music playing. Runa no longer sings along to it. Only the hum of the engine and the sound of other cars around you. You don’t even notice that you’ve pulled into a driveway until Runa lightly touches your shoulder. When you flinch and turn to her, she’s frowning.

“I’m sorry that your first race was… traumatic.” She winces slightly. “But, to, um, help process that trauma, we can get really drunk.” She smiles, hopeful. “Courtesy of Rin, of course.”

You swallow hard, but nod and follow her out of the car. You’re still in the clothes Runa loaned you and you still feel out of place. You keep your head down as you pass people. You hear their murmurs. You don’t belong here, either. You’re not sure you belong anywhere.

You walk into the house and the warmth that envelops you is welcoming and terrifying. There’s a crowd here, too. Less than at the underpass, but too many people for a house of this size.

Runa shoves a red solo cup into your hands, giving you an encouraging smile. “You can stay by me the whole time, alright? I know you don’t know anyone here, but they’re good people. The guys you met at the underpass? They’re good people. Rin is good people.”

You nod and take a sip of your drink. It tastes bad, but you can already feel it soothing the shaking of your hands. You follow her into the living and spot the guys from before. This time, though, there’s a new addition.

Lidded eyes, eyebrow piercing, tattoos snaking down his neck and arm. He isn’t your usual type— nerdy and shy, like you— but you’d be stupid to say he isn’t one of the hottest people you’ve ever seen.

“Rin!” Runa exclaims, shuffling over to the man. She hugs him, then punches his arm. “You totally abandoned us! Also, good job winning, but that kid had no chance against you. I thought you were against easy wins.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, nice to see you too, Runie.” His eyes dart to you, then down your body and back up to your eyes. “Who’s your tag along?”

“Y/n,” you say quietly, holding his gaze. You don’t know what came over you, but you’re so surprised that your eyes widen a fraction. You clear your throat. “Uh, my name is Y/n. You’re fast. I mean, your car is fast.” You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, face heating up once again. “It’s impressive.”

He hums, taking a sip out of his cup. He keeps eye contact over the rim of the cup. “Thanks.”

To your right, you see someone tap Runa’s shoulder and start a conversation. You’re left alone again. You don’t belong here, even Runa knows that. You look around, silently judging the people in the house.

“Hey.” You look back at Rin. “Come sit.” He gestures to the now empty spot next to him and, hesitantly, you take a seat. You cross your legs and take a deep breath.

“You grow up around here?” He asks. His free arm is slung over the back of the couch and you’re painfully aware of it.

“Uh, no. I’m from Miyagi,” you explain, avoiding eye contact. “I go to U-Tokyo, though. Runa’s my new roommate. Did you? Um, grow up around here, I mean.”

He shakes his head. “Nah. I’m from Hyogo. Y’know, the Ghetto of Japan.” He laughs, and, surprisingly, so do you. “What are you majoring in?”

You pull your bottom lip into your mouth. You’re surrounded by rugged street racers and you’re about to tell him you’re majoring in education. “Education,” you mumble. “I, um, want to be an elementary teacher.”

“No shit?” Once again, he laughs. Great, you think. He’s laughing at you. He knows you don’t belong here, you know, Runa knows— everyone knows. “My mom was an elementary teacher. She taught fifth grade, I think. What grade do you wanna teach?”

Oh. Oh. He’s interested. You sit up a little bit straighter and finally meet his eyes. “Third, maybe. Or fifth. I’m not really sure yet.” You smile a little bit now. He wants to talk to you. “I love working with kids, though, that’s for certain. I want them to still be in the phase of thinking school is fun, but I still want them to actually be able to learn, you know?”

“Ah, gotcha.” He nods. “What do you want to teach?”

“English, definitely,” you say immediately. You clear your throat and look away. “I mean, I was always good at English. I loved my high school English teacher, she really, um, made the class fun.”

“I was horrible at English,” he snickers out. He takes another drink and you peek over, watching his Adam's apple bob up and down. “My teacher hated me and the twins. We were complete assholes all year long.”

“The twins?” Your mind thinks back to Atsumu and Osamu, and you make an ‘o’ shape with your mouth. “Oh, the twins. Have you been friends with them for a long time? Aran and, um, Kita, too?”

He nods. “Yeah. We were on the volleyball team together in middle school.” He pauses then shakes his head. “We were all kind of nerds. And then Atsumu’s dad skipped town and left his car and…” He trails off, shrugging.

“So that’s how you got into racing?” You tilt your head curiously, taking another drink. You’ve barely even drank half of it. When he nods, so do you. “That’s cool.”

“Yeah, I guess.” He shrugs again. You watch his eyes flicker down to your lips, then back up to your eyes. “Your boyfriend okay with you being at a party like this?”

You nearly choke on your own spit. “Boyfriend?” You repeat, eyes wide. “Um, I don’t have a boyfriend. What, uh, what makes you think that?”

“Oh.” There’s the tiniest but of a smirk as he says it. “I would have expected a pretty girl like you to have a boyfriend.”

You’re going to pass out. Your head is spinning. From the alcohol? You doubt it. You swallow hard. “Well, um, I, uh, don’t. I just moved here, like I said, so I haven’t met many people yet. Just Runa and, well, her friends.”

“Do you like Tokyo so far?”

“It’s alright.” You shrug. “I went to my first illegal street race. There was a possibility of me getting arrested. Way less boring than Miyagi.” Now, you’re smiling.

He smiles back, chuckling. “That’s one way to put it.”

You’re interrupted by Runa telling you that she’s leaving and, in turn, so are you. She is your ride for the night, after all. You watch her say goodbye to all of them, then do the same but more awkwardly.

“Bye,” you mutter to Rin. He smirks and waves a hand. When you get back in Runa’s car, you find yourself leaning your forehead against the window, watching your breath fog up the window. “I had fun tonight,” you say quietly.

She looks over at you and you can tell she’s smiling with the way she says, “really? Oh, I’m so glad. You can come to the next one, too, if you want. I think the boys really liked you.”

You smile again. You think you really liked them too.

২ 𓂅 ࣪ ೨ ; 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

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