#it's like the high of making someone laugh but when it's something that you know is going to happen

[hhughes]

♡ 𝆬 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄

𝓹airing , jack hughes x bsf!reader

fourth of july is usually one of jack’s favourite holidays , but this year he can’t help but wish he was anywhere but their annual lake house party . . . (wc ; 4.1K)

꒰ 𝓷ote , not a big fan of the ending but this has been stuck in the drafts for a while so it needs to go <33 . . . ꒱

there were many times over the years that Jack has known Trevor where he’s been grateful to have him as a friend. that one time where Luke got stranded with a flat tire and Trevor went to help his little brother out when Jack couldn’t. or another time when Jack accidentally ran over someone’s mailbox but Trevor took the fall for it because he knew Jack’s parents would be way madder than his own. people could say what they wanted about Trevor. that he was too cocky, too loud, just too much to handle in general, but he’s also a great friend, a loyal friend, his best friend. which is why the sight before jack’s eyes baffled him so much.

they were having their annual July 4th party at the lake house. the deck outside by the lake was filled with people waiting for the fireworks show to start, some faces he recognized but most he didn’t. normally he wouldn’t mind the amount of strangers in his house, knowing most of them were friends of friends of friends of his own friends but right now he just found the crowd annoying as he tried to keep his eyes on you and trevor on the makeshift dance floor. a small part of him was amused by the horrendous way trevor was moving his feet, but most of his attention was drawn to trevor’s hand on your back. a hand that kept wandering a little lower and lower each song. a hand that jack has imagined slashing off a hundred different ways in the span of the last ten minutes alone.

you and jack have been friends since high school. jack hadn’t really admitted it to himself all these years but he’s always had a little thing for you. maybe it should’ve been obvious by the butterflies swarming his stomach every time you pay him a slither of attention. or the way he’s always going out of his way to do things that will get your attention. perhaps deep down jack was aware of the feelings he had for you, but there’s always been something holding him back. the fact that you two lived in different states, or the new boyfriend that appears every few months once you realise the old one wasn’t good enough for you. or the fact that you’ve never shown even a little interest in jack past a platonic friendship and jack was scared or ruining that and losing you in the process.

jack’s never been this bothered by a guy flirting with you before. perhaps because deep down he knew it wasn’t gonna last. but the sight of his best friend twirling you around while whispering things in your ear that makes you laugh, more than jack’s seen you laugh in a while, leaves his stomach in knots. jack’s sure if he untangled those knots he would discover long ropes of fear. fear that trevor’s flirtations were out of genuine interest and not just drunken friendliness. fear that the way you snuggled into trevor was out of affection and not just the fact that alcohol makes you drowsy.

“might wanna loosen your grip on that glass Jacky. drunk lucy that’s passed out on our couch already broke two and we’re gonna run out soon at this rate,” quinn jokes, lips forming a tight line when he follows jack’s line of sight and sees trevor tugging you off the dance floor and gently pushes you onto a deck chair.

jack drags his eyes away from you to glance at his drink, loosens his grip and looks at his older brother. he momentarily forgets about the sight he saw moments earlier that made him so upset, overwhelmed by the fact that him and quinn were at the same place. it always takes jack a few weeks to adjust from seeing quinn once every few months to seeing him daily. and just when he gets used to it, they have to go their separate ways again.

“it’s not like we can’t afford it,” jack teases, and a commotion on the other side of the deck catches jack’s attention and he turns his head in time to see his younger brother miss a step on the deck and land on his ass.

“you gonna go fix that?” jack asks quinn, trying to keep the laughter out of his tone as luke tries and fails to get up a few time. having obviously had one too many.

“nah, I'll let him learn the hard way,” quinn replies but jack knows he’ll go check on their little brother in the next ten minutes. quinn was a bit of a mother hen and he was just gonna punish himself by not checking up on luke.

“you gonna go fix that?” quinn asks in return, gesturing to where trevor was tucking strands of hair behind your ears.

“nothing to fix,” jack says, downing the rest of his drink.

“I’ve got a prefect execution plan for zegras. it’s all planned out already. I just need a reason,” quinn says and jack can’t help but let out a soft cackle at the serious expression on his brother’s face. anyone who didn’t know quinn well enough would think he was dead serious.

“do you?” jack asks softly, just to be sure.

“no. but I can come up with one if you need me to,” quinn responds, knocking his shoulder into jack’s gently and jack sends him a grateful smile in return. I can if you need me to. if that didn’t sum up his brother perfectly, jack didn’t know what could. Jack’s always been jealous of quinn’s selflessness. He crushes his red solo cup, along with the guilt building up in his chest that he was sitting here brooding instead of spending quality time with his family like he should be

“Nah, I don’t have plans to kill my best friend any time soon. But if I do in the future I’ll make sure to call you,” jack says and quinn sends him a smile

“Even when he’s flirting with the girl you’ve been in love with for ages?” quinn asks, finishing the last of his own drink

“I’m not in love with her,” jack argues weakly, the words sounding false even to his own ears.

“are you making it a habit to lie to me lately? first about the orange juice this morning and now about-“

“I told you it wasn’t me who drank the last orange juice. I swear to God. I’m telling you, it was luke!” jack stresses and quinn lets an amused chuckle slip past his lips. thoroughly amused that his little brother was getting this worked up about it.

“okay okay,” quinn defends when his brother continues to glare at him but his laughter fades when jack suddenly stands up from the deck chair

“where you going?” quinn asks

“anywhere but here. I can’t stand to watch any more of that happen tonight,” jack mumbles, referring to you and trevor giggling a few metres away

“you can’t just leave. this is your house and your party. you’re a host,” quinn argues

“so are you. and it’s not like you’re going anywhere so…” jack shrugs

“what if I had plans to slip away too?” quinn asks

“with a lady friend?” jack inquires, wiggling his eyebrows teasingly and quinn sends him a deadpan look

“no. to my bed. by myself. I’m exhausted,” quinn admits and jack lets out a booming laugh

“you old fuck, it’s not even 1 A.M yet,” jack teases and quinn just shakes his head, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

jack squeezes his older brother’s arm as he passes and makes his way through the crowded deck, pushing past people and mumbling a few apologies.

the sight of you and trevor together put him in a sour mood that even joking around with quinn couldn’t get him out of so he avoided all the people that were trying to rope him into their conversations as he passes. he lets out a sigh of relief once he made it through the back door and into the house, taking his time to cool off and get his mix of emotions together.

plopping down on the couch, his thoughts immediately go back to the sight he saw of you and trevor together not even ten minutes ago. jack silently cursed at himself, realising that not being able to see what the two of you were doing was almost worse than having to see it. because now jack didn’t know if it was escalating or not. if trevor’s hand has moved from your waist to your lower back, or maybe even lower. if his little whispers in your ear have transformed to words mumbled against your neck.

jack found it hard to swallow past the ball of bitter emotions lodged in his throat. it just wasn't fair. if anyone should’ve been flirting with you, it should’ve been him. if anyone should’ve had their hands all over you, it should’ve been his. because quinn’s right, jack has been absolutely in love with you since highschool and he’s tried to keep those emotions at bay, one obstacle or another always standing in his way, preventing him from making a move. and the one summer you were finally free, trevor swoops in before jack even has a chance to try and do something.

jack ran a hand over his face, desperately trying to get the image of trevor making you laugh out of his head but it continued to taunt him instead. he was sure it would be embedded into his mind for the next few nights as he tried to get some rest. he was so deep in thought he didn’t even notice the shuffling of feet in the hallway.

one moment he was consumed by his thoughts and next thing he knows you were standing in front of him, calling his name softly. your hair was messy, strands falling down your face and your cheeks flushed, no doubt due to the alcohol. or trevor’s sweet nothings whispered in your ear jack things bitterly.

“hey” he mumbles quietly, fiddling with the empty solo cup in his hand and trying desperately not to let the bitter emotions bubbling in his chest show on his face.

“you’re hiding in your own house now?” you asked and there was a slight teasing tone to your voice as you took a few steps closer to the couch, but not sitting down.

jack forced himself to look up at you, biting his lip and taking note of the way the fabric of your dress hugged your body.

“wasn’t hiding. just — not in a mood for a party I guess” he replies and he silently curses himself when he hears the slight edge in his tone. his annoyance from earlier hadn’t faded, even when you were standing directly in front of him, looking beautiful and so unaware of how you made him feel. and jack was never good at hiding how he was feeling, except when it came to his feelings for you apparently. but he was sure his jealousy and annoyance was all over his face. an open book for you to read, examine and judge.

it took everything in him not to reach out and touch you, brush back a strand of hair that was clinging to your forehead. to do something to keep your attention solely on him and not leave to wander back to the party. to trevor.

but he kept his hands firmly placed on the couch. trying to maintain the little bit of self-preservation he had.

“yeah I noticed” you say, a slight frown pulling at the corners of your mouth. jack always loved the fourth of july party. it was one of his favourite summer events.

“surprised you did honestly. trevor’s been keeping you occupied” jack mumbles, the words slipping past his lips before he could stop them.

you don’t say anything for a second, letting his words settle, trying to figure out what they mean. what you want them to mean.

“yeah he’s had way too much to drink. you know how he is. talks your ear off on a regular day but once he’s got a few drinks in him, the guy just won’t shut up” you shrug with a little laugh, hoping to lighten the mood a bit as you take a seat next to him.

a small smile tugs at the corner of jack's mouth. trevor’s ability to never shut up is one of the things people don’t like about him, but it’s always been one of the things that jack’s found particularly endearing about his friend.

"yeah, I suppose it is part of his charm. well, at least to some people" he says with a wry smile. despite the envious feelings bubbling in his stomach, he couldn’t deny that you and trevor would be good together. trevor was genuinely a good guy, he might look unserious most of the time, but jack’s seen first hand how his best friend can flip and become dead serious about the things he wanted to commit to. hockey being one of them.

“you guys would look good together” he says, having a hard time forcing the words out past the lump in his throat. he wasn’t used to feeling like this. and he wasn’t even sure what this was. jealousy? envy? insecurity? all of the above?

“me and trevor?” you ask, voice tinged with amusement

jack can feel his stomach twisting into knots as you ask the question. he tries to keep his expression neutral, but he knows he's failing miserably. he can feel his heart racing in his chest as he nods in response.

"yeah... I mean, you two seem to get along really well" he says, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

he's aware of how pathetic he sounds. he feels like a jealous boyfriend, even though he's not even your boyfriend. he wants to tell you that he doesn't want you to date trevor. that he doesn't want you dating anyone. that he wants you all to himself. but he keeps his mouth shut, knowing that it's not his place to make demands like that

“well yeah but that’s because I only see him two to three months of the year. I think if I saw him any more than that I would smother him while he slept” you say, laughing softly at the idea

“you’re the second person threatening to kill him tonight” jack says dryly

“really? I bet you there’s gonna be a third” you say and he laughs softly. your heart speeds up at the sight of his grin, and you reach out to trace the laughing lines on his cheek.

“there he is. was wondering where my happy guy went” you say softly, cheeks heating up when you realize how close the two of you have gotten, your hand still cupping his cheek.

“what’s wrong jack? tell me, maybe I can fix it for you” you ask pouting slightly, and jack leans into your hand, soaking up the warmth

“nothing” he reassures softly but you know that’s a lie

“you lying to me now hughes? first about the orange juice this morning—“

“jesus not you too! i’m telling you it was luke!” he insists and you can’t help the giggle that escapes you at his serious face, that only transforms to a slight pout when he realizes you’re laughing at him.

“whatever” he mumbles, crossing his arms over his chest and you smile at the sight, leaning a bit closer and putting both hands on his arms

“but seriously what’s wrong? do you miss hockey already?” you ask, knowing jack felt a little restless without the routine hockey provides him with the other three seasons of the year.

“no. not yet at least. i’m perfectly happy having some time off and just spending it at the lake house with you and my brothers” jack says and your heart swells when you see the genuinity behind his words.

“me too. besides this might be the last summer we have like this. since I graduated from university, i’m about to get a big girl job and will probably be working during summers starting next year” you pout and jack immediately frowns, not having considered what your time coming to an end at UMICH meant until now.

“don’t say that” he whines resting his head against your shoulder, and you laugh softly, running your hands through his messy hair.

“I know,” you pout slightly, the reality setting in for you too that you and jack probably won’t see each other as often anymore once this summer is over.

“you uh— gonna stay in Michigan?” he asks, fidgeting with his bracelets

“not sure yet to be honest. I like the idea of staying close to home but I also like the idea of going somewhere new,” you say and jack has a moment of panic, not knowing what he’ll do if you decide to move out of Michigan. He’ll barely see you then.

“maybe I’ll move to the west coast. see how I like that,” you think out loud and jack immediately pulls away from you, your words enough to make him stand up and pace around anxiously.

“the west coast? you can’t move to the west coast!” he insists

you look at him surprised by his reaction. you hadn't expected him to be this upset by the idea of you leaving Michigan.

"but why not?" you ask, wondering why he's so adamantly against the idea

jack continues to pace, running a hand through his hair anxiously

"there's a lot of reasons why not! it's so far. we wouldn't get to see each other. and what about hockey? the devils play in the eastern conference!"

you can't help but smile at his reaction, secretly loving how worked up he's getting over the small topic.

"it's not that far, and we could still keep in touch. we can call or facetime each other whenever we want to" you try to reason, but jack doesn't seem convinced, still looking rather distressed about the idea of you moving away

“face time?” he spits the words, as if just the existence of them utterly disgust him

jack freezes in his pacing, turning to look at you with a deadpan expression

"yeah, facetime. you know the little app on your phone that allows you to call someone and see them at the same time" you say mockingly

his face transforms from one of frustration to one of annoyance, his eyes narrowing

"very funny,” he responds sarcastically. he wasn’t in the mood for jokes. this night has gone from extremely bad to excruciating.

he never thought he was the dramatic type, but the idea of you leaving for the west coast was enough to send him into a panic. you being so far away from him would drive him completely crazy. he couldn't stand the idea of only being able to see you once or twice a year. not to mention that you’d be closer to trevor than you would be to him.

“absolutely not. you’re not a west coast girl. you belong here” he says, you belong with me, is what he means.

“I was considering Carolina too” you say casually, laughing at jack’s mocking groan

“now you’re just trying to piss me off” he says, plopping down on the couch next to you again.

the two of you sit in silence for a few minutes, both contemplating what your lives are gonna look like a year from now.

“you should move to jersey” he blurts out, and the two of you simultaneously turn your heads, eyes connecting in a long stare.

“what would I do in Jersey?” you ask, biting your lip before the words ‘except you’ can slip out

he shrugs, just looking at you for a moment before letting out a big breath and turning towards you completely, taking one of your hands in his.

“it could be summer all the time” he states simply, as if you should know exactly what that means.

you look at him dumbfounded for a moment before saying, “have you seen east coast winters?”

“I mean metaphorically,” he explains. “you’re summer” he shrugs, hand reaching up to cup your face gently.

“I don’t like summer because of the weather, or even the fact that it’s off season. I like summer because I get to come here and I get to see you. For at least two months straight I get to wake up every day and know I will see you that day. And that’s the best feeling”

“jack—“ you say softly, a bit choked up and he smiles, bringing his other hand up to cup your other cheek, both hands now holding your face gently as he stares into your eyes.

“I’m already mad at myself for letting us be friends this long without admitting my feelings to you. I’ll never forgive myself if I let you move to the west coast, or Carolina, or anywhere that's not right here next to me" he adds softly.

you can see the vulnerability behind his eyes as he stares at you, thumbs stroking your cheeks slowly.

he can feel his heart racing in his chest, his stomach twisting into knots as he waits for your response.

he looks at you, studying your face and seeing your expression change slightly at his words

"it's not that I'm trying to pressure you into anything, I mean if you don't feel the same way I get it. and I'll support you no matter what you choose to do" he says, the words tumbling out of his mouth faster than he can stop them. he can feel the anxiety building in the pit of his stomach, the thought of you rejecting him and moving away anyway making him nauseous.

“y-you have feelings for me?” you ask, still trying to come to terms with that part of his confession.

jack looks at you, slightly surprised that you didn't already know that. did you really not realise how he felt about you?

"yeah, you didn’t realize?" he responds, a small hint of disbelief in his voice

“no. I’m not really your usual type, if you haven’t noticed” you say softly, and jack loops his arms around your waist pulling you closer. not liking the way you said that. his face twists in a look of annoyance and he suddenly looks slightly insulted

"and what is my usual type then?" he asks, his voice coming out a bit harsher than he intended

“c'mon jack. every girl you’ve ever dated has been the exact opposite of me” you say

“it’s not like the guys you’ve dated have been anything like me either” jack argues softly and you shrug. fair enough.

“that’s why you were upset earlier? you thought trevor was flirting with me and you were jealous,” you say putting the pieces together and jack’s cheeks redden slightly as you catch on to what was happening.

“yeah. I wasn’t happy. I’ve been waiting two years if not longer for you to be single and the one summer you finally are, my best friend beats me to it,” jack mutters, hands tightening on your hips slightly, pulling you even closer so now you’re practically straddling his lap.

“you should’ve said something earlier,” you say, resting your forehead against his, hand running through the hair on the back of his neck.

he groans softly at your touch, the feeling of your hand running through his hair making his body tingle. he can’t stop the shiver that runs down his spine as you run your fingers through his hair, and he tilts his head back just slightly to give you more access.

“it was just never the right time. but I realized tonight that the right time is never gonna come and if I wait too long, I might lose out on having any opportunity at all” he mumbles, tracing your bottom lip softly

“then stop waiting, and kiss me already” you order, and jack doesn’t spare a second as he crashes his lips onto yours, not disconnecting them until the two of you absolutely need to breathe.

it’s all so much. your lips, your hands, the taste of you, the scent of you, your body pressed so close to his. he’s never felt this way before, wanting something so much. needing it. needing you.

he’s spent so long wanting this, imagining what it would be like to have you here in his lap, kissing him and letting him touch you, that it’s almost overwhelming.

“looks like we’re gonna have summer all the time now jacky” you mumble against his lips and he grins, utterly thrilled by the idea.

[anakinstwinklebunny]

Ok, Ik that this is well known by every single soul. But Scott or Sam (whatever, they're ALMOST the same characters to me) as a high school love, with reader being a normal girl and smart one, and them being the annoying popular boy who plays with everyone and is a little rude and mean. Buuuttt, they change completely with reader, they're suddenly sweet and caring, just for them, but they still rude and a little mean. Ugh. A good high school confusing love🎀

Author's note: I think it's a great start to make them fight against each other for the reader. Nonnie, you're awesome <3

Everyone knew the MONROE twins. SAM and SCOTT ruled the high school in their own maddening, cocky way—Scott, all swagger and sharp grins, the life of every party, and Sam, the quieter one, with a brooding intensity that felt both attractive and a little dangerous. They were untouchable, reigning over the school’s social hierarchy like kings, their effortless charisma drawing people in and keeping them at arm’s length. Together, they were a storm—too loud, too intense, too much.

They were mean in a way only the untouchable kids could be—quick with smirks that cut deeper than words, glances that dismissed people as if they weren’t worth the effort. But not with you. You were different.

Smart, quiet, utterly uninterested in the drama that swirled around them, you’d somehow caught their attention. Maybe it was your no-nonsense attitude, the way you rolled your eyes at Scott’s cocky charm in the middle of class or the way you’d flat-out told Sam to do his own damn homework for once. Whatever it was, you’d slipped under their skin, and suddenly, they were everywhere.

It started slowly. Sam would linger at your locker between classes, his dark eyes softening when they met yours, a quiet, almost shy smile ghosting his lips. Then there was Scott, who always seemed to find his way to your side in the library, plopping down with an exaggerated sigh, sliding his notes your way like he was doing you the world’s biggest favor.

They didn’t play their usual games with you. They didn’t dare. Sam’s sharpness softened around you; Scott’s bravado turned teasing, almost affectionate. You saw sides of them no one else did—the way Scott’s smirk faltered when you caught him staring too long, the way Sam’s hand trembled when he reached for yours.

It was confusing, maddening, and utterly impossible to untangle. Because when you were with Sam, it was like the rest of the world faded away. His voice dropped lower, softer, his fingers brushing yours in a way that made your heart stutter. But then there was Scott, who’d lean against your locker with that infuriating grin, his hand grazing your shoulder like he couldn’t help himself, like he needed to touch you.

You didn’t know what you were to them. Friends? More? You weren’t sure, and the twins weren’t exactly forthcoming. And then, one day, things got even more complicated.

Sam was waiting for you after school, leaning against your locker with his usual quiet confidence. He was all soft smiles and lowered eyes, his hoodie hanging off one shoulder like he hadn’t a care in the world.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice low, his hand brushing yours as he handed you the books you’d dropped earlier.

Your heart fluttered at the contact, but you forced yourself to stay calm. “Hey, you waiting for someone?”

He smirked, his fingers curling around the strap of his backpack. “Just you.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he interrupted, his voice firm but gentle. “Let me walk you out. Make sure no one gives you a hard time.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you care about anyone giving me a hard time?”

“Since now,” he said simply, his gaze steady, unwavering.

Before you could respond, a familiar voice cut through the air.

“Am I interrupting something?”

You turned to see Scott strolling up, his usual cocky grin firmly in place, but his eyes flicked between you and Sam with this weird sharpness you didn’t miss.

Sam straightened instantly, his hand dropping from where it had almost—almost—found its way to yours. The change was subtle, yet you felt it. The softness was gone, replaced by the guarded, indifferent mask he wore with everyone else.

Scott didn’t wait for an invitation, sliding between the two of you like he belonged there, of course. He threw an arm over your shoulder, pulling you close in a way that made your breath hitch and a great question ring in your head 'what the hell?'. “Come on, we’ve got places to be,” he said, completely ignoring Sam.

You glanced between the twins, your heart pounding, not really knowing what to do. At some point you wanted to stay with Sam yet you couldn't bring yourself to just say 'no' to Scott.

Sam’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides, but he didn’t say anything. He just gave you one last, lingering look before turning and walking away. Just like that

"Asshole" you heard Scott's scoff

It was like that for weeks. When you were with Sam, he was soft, gentle, his touches tentative yet deliberate. But the moment Scott showed up, he’d back away, his affection vanishing as quickly as it came.

And Scott? He was a complicated mass of nature, pulling you into his orbit with teasing grins and over-the-top gestures, but there was something deeper there, something he didn’t want to admit and you, couldn't really catch the meaning of it.

The twins didn’t know about each other—not really. You weren’t sure if they didn’t notice or if they were just pretending not to, but either way, the tension was suffocating, feeling like it chokes the life out of you.

One night, you found yourself alone with Scott in the library. He was sitting too close, his hand resting on your knee like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re too serious, you know that?” he teased, his fingers tapping against your skin. “Life’s too short to spend it buried in books.”

“Some of us actually care about our futures,” you shot back

Scott chuckled, leaning in closer. “You don’t have to worry about that, sweetheart. I’ll take care of you.”

Your heart stuttered at the words, but before you could respond, a shadow fell over the table.

“Am I interrupting?”

Thank God for him saving you

Sam’s voice was low, eyes narrowing as they flicked to Scott’s hand on your knee.

Scott didn’t move, didn’t even flinch. He just smirked, his grip tightening slightly. “Not at all, Sammy. Just keeping your girl company.”

You swore you saw Sam jaw clench, giving Scott this daring look as if he was about to steal something that belonged to him. And as you sat there, caught between them, you realized something: whatever this was—this game, this pull between you and the Monroe twins—it was far from over.

And you weren’t sure you’d survive it.

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[epickiya722]

Folks, you're not going to like what I have to say. I just know it and I'm warning you of that. I said it once before, but leaks really do make some folks act out in ways that I can't understand. We ain't even got a full translation and already people are saying this ship is canon and that ship is canon... and whatever else. Jumping to conclusions when you don't even have all the facts.

Look, I'm not saying Hori is the best writer. I'm not saying Izuku and Ochako is a bad ship (it's not, there's worse... a lot worse).

But I do think some people are jumping ten steps ahead and I doubt that they are canon romantically. This isn't me being in denial because I could care less about the ship. It's not a ship that makes me sit up at night and cry and want to punch a wall and harass people. No ship for me does.

So far, from what I can gather from the very little information Izuku wants to see Ochako more because... THEY LITERALLY HAVEN'T SEEN EACH OTHER A LOT. In the last chapter, Izuku states that the class haven't been able to catch up and whatnot because over the years they got busy with their careers. The last time they probably had a proper conversation was in high school.

Izuku and Ochako wanting to meet up more doesn't automatically mean they're going to date. Let's not forget, Ochako is one of the first people to become a close friend of Izuku's in their first year. They clicked because they were so similar. They mirror each other even!

They're best friends if anything and wouldn't you want to see your best friend after not seeing them for a long time?

So far, it just feels that this epilogue is them accepting their own feelings about everything that has happened, like a self-reflection and self-acceptance type of deal.

Sometimes, you realize something about yourself when encountering someone who is like you. That's how Izuku and Ochako are to me.

It takes them identifying with the other to come to terms about themselves.

"But the blushing! The handholding!"

So blushing automatically means "I have romantic feelings for you", is what some of you are saying?

Just gonna forget all the times they and others have blushed out of embarrassment or happiness? That even some characters have the blush stickers to show their sweet innocent nature, like Ochako for most of the story?

Izuku blushed at Katsuki in the final chapter out of happiness, so it can't apply here, too? Why does blushing got to only be used in a romantic sense?

Seeing Izuku blushing looking at Ochako is funny when considering he's holding an (possibly) alcoholic beverage in that same shot. My guy is probably drunk. 😆 Jokes aside, jokes aside.

This is Ochako and Izuku, we're talking about here. They're the Queen and King of MHA characters who blush a lot, no matter what is going on.

And the handholding? In MHA? It happens a lot between characters! It's not like anything new or Izuku and Ochako are going to get cooties.

Look, I might make some people laugh or hate me for this one but when I saw this... I was reminded of this.

For those that don't know, that is from the Predator (1987). Yes, that Predator.

Two characters that have been friends for a long time and just happy to see each other.

We seen this kind of handshake like this before between characters of different and same genders. Either as a greet or as an agreement.

Izuku and Ochako are just agreeing to see each other more and that they should allow themselves to live happy lives. That doesn't mean they're going to start dating and having babies the following week.

"Bakugou is being treated like his wingman!"

Ah, stop right there. Katsuki encouraging Izuku to talk to Ochako isn't like that strange because between Izuku and Katsuki, Katsuki is the one to most likely reveal his emotions. He is more in touch with his emotions than Izuku who while emotional tends to keep everything in.

Katsuki isn't playing wingman. He's playing advisor and someone who has experience with emotions.

Seeing Izuku stumbling over his words and being all nervous trying to talk to Ochako is so in character for him. He has never been too good expressing his emotions.

I doubt Katsuki would be like "go tell her you want to marry her". He is more like "go talk to her, you're friends, remember? Been forever since you had a proper conversation."

It's the same case with Himiko pushing Ochako towards Izuku. She is encouraging her to be happy and not be stuck in the past. Not "go get married".

Happiness doesn't mean you must be in a romance.

Just me, again, but I feel like some people are really just jumping the gun here. If you really are thinking Izuku and Ochako being canon is bad for your ship, that's... I'm sorry, this will be mean of me to say, but that's ridiculous.

A ship being canon shouldn't stop you from enjoying the ships you do like. What ever happen to "ignore canon"? Oh, I guess that becomes irrelevant when you want to cause panic and bash and panic and bash and panic and bash.

Like a handhold like that shouldn't make you feel threatened by that ship.

Just continue shipping your ships! Take it from someone whose favorite ship is of two characters who haven't been seen interacting before.

Even still, with just leaks alone, it doesn't mean they are canon. I have my ships and there's moments in whatever the story makes me ship them but I also don't think every little behavior is meant to be romantic.

The thing I know I'm going to hate about this epilogue isn't even the chapter itself. It's the reactions.

I know some people are going to say this chapter is queerbait and use to it to even go as far as to bash Ochako given she is the woman and it's routine to hate on the woman. It ain't queerbait if Katsuki and Izuku wasn't going to be explicitly a couple themselves. Let's not forget it's Shonen Jump and even though the queer coding can be there, we can't have everything.

Also, I also know that some fans of IzuOcha are going to use this chapter to justify their "authority" of "best ships" and harass people like "my ship is better than yours" and be only concerned about Ochako being a housewife.

I don't think Horikoshi is the greatest human and MHA is a flawless story but some of you are no better to these characters and the story.

[wolfsclothing6]

ThanksGaining

Ryan had always been the black sheep of his conservative family. An outspoken left-wing activist and proud member of the LGBTQ+ community, he often found himself at odds with the rest of his relatives, who were staunchly conservative and fiercely proud of their traditional values. Still, when Thanksgiving rolled around, he knew better than to skip the family dinner—despite all the uncomfortable debates, the political jabs, and the endless discussions about how the country was "going downhill."

This year, however, something felt different. As Ryan walked into his uncle's house, he noticed a strange air of calm around the place. There were no heated discussions about the latest election or news headlines. Instead, the smell of roasted turkey and pumpkin pie filled the air, and his uncle, Steve, greeted him with a firm handshake and a bear-like hug.

"Glad you could make it, kid," Uncle Steve said with a hearty laugh. He was a big guy, burly and broad, the epitome of a trucker who loved his country, his guns, and his freedom. His rough hands patted Ryan's back as he gestured for him to come inside.

Ryan smiled awkwardly, setting his bag down and following his uncle into the living room. "Thanks for having me," he said, taking in the sight of the house—antique wooden furniture, American flags hanging proudly on the walls, and the faint smell of diesel and cologne. It was… a far cry from his hipster apartment in the city.

Dinner was served, and as the family gathered around the table, Uncle Steve poured everyone a drink. "You know, Ryan," he began, his deep voice carrying across the table, "I’ve been thinkin'—you've always been so... focused on your own side of things. Maybe this year, you should take a look at the world through a different lens. It might just surprise ya."

Ryan raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Uncle Steve smirked, his eyes twinkling. "Oh, you'll see." He nodded at Ryan's plate, which was already piled high with food. "Go ahead, eat up. You've been lookin' a little skinny lately."

Ryan didn’t think much of it at the time. He dug into his meal, feeling the warmth of the family around him. But soon, he noticed something strange—every bite seemed to be making him feel fuller, more content, more… relaxed. His thoughts began to shift. The usual discomfort he’d felt around his family was fading, replaced by something entirely new. He felt a deep sense of pride in the food, in the family, in everything that was so… traditional.

A few minutes later, his body started to feel heavier, like the weight of the meal was settling deep inside him. His shirt began to stretch, his muscles swelling and softening. His arms, once slim and toned, thickened with layers of muscle and fat. Ryan felt his stomach bulge out in a way he had never experienced before. The loose-fitting jeans he wore started to cling to his expanding thighs, and his once-sharp jawline softened as his face filled out, a new layer of stubble growing along his chin.

Ryan looked around the room, suddenly feeling a sense of belonging. He had always been the "outsider," but now, as his body grew broader and stronger, he realized how comforting the atmosphere felt. His clothes, once fashionable and tight, were now too small. He could feel the fabric straining, almost as if it couldn’t keep up with the transformation his body was undergoing.

"What’s happening to me?" Ryan muttered under his breath, his voice suddenly deeper and gruffer. He felt like he was being pulled into something, an overwhelming desire to become someone different. To be someone stronger. Someone who was proud, loud, and completely comfortable in his own skin.

Uncle Steve noticed the change and smiled knowingly. "Don’t worry, Ryan. It’s just the way things are supposed to be," he said. "You’ll be just like me soon enough."

Ryan’s thoughts began to blur, and before he knew it, the skinny, left-wing activist he had been earlier that day was almost completely gone. The man in front of the mirror now looked like a full-bodied trucker—muscular, broad, and thick with a layer of fat on his belly. His hair grew thicker and darker, and his body was covered in the kind of rough, masculine hair that signaled a true bear. His clothes, now stretched tight over his new bulk, barely hung on to him, the fabric smelling faintly of diesel and cologne.

As Ryan sat back down at the table, his body now taking up much more space, a strange, prideful smile spread across his face. The old Ryan—who would argue about politics, who would criticize his family's lifestyle—was gone. In his place sat a man who loved his country, who proudly supported the family’s values, and who would gladly embrace the simple, no-nonsense life of a trucker. He even felt an intense pride in the way his stomach now pressed against the table as he devoured the rest of his meal.

"Welcome to the family, kid," Uncle Steve said with a knowing grin, his arm draped around Ryan’s broad shoulders. "It’s about time you figured it out."

And for the first time, Ryan didn’t mind one bit.

[mxnsterbabe]

Male Gargoyle/Female Reader SFW Wordcount: 6,091 Commissions | Ko-fi | Masterlist Part 1 (here), Part 2 (coming soon!)

You're a new volunteer at the halfway house and a dear friend of Esmeralda; you expected working here to be tough, but you didn’t expect to fall in love with one of the monsters seeking shelter here.

The halfway house loomed in front of you like something out of a gothic novel, all sprawling stone and ivy creeping up the walls. The rain had turned to a light drizzle, just enough to make the night feel colder than it should.

Tugging your jacket tighter, you glanced up at the carved arches of the doorway, wondering—not for the first time—if you were out of your depth. Then the door swung open, and there she was.

“Finally!” Esmeralda’s voice carried like a warm embrace. Her smile flashed sharp and bright, and even though you knew what she was, it still startled you to see her teeth. “You’re late.”

You laughed, stepping into her embrace without hesitation. Her arms were cool against you, but that was Esmeralda—cool to the touch, always warm in her way. “Blame the weather,” you said. “The train was slow, and so am I when it comes to resisting bakery stops.”

She pulled back and gave you a knowing look. “I told you to bring something. If you didn’t, I’ll be forced to scold you.”

You reached into your bag and produced a paper-wrapped box. “Raspberry tarts,” you said smugly. “Because I know you too well.”

Esmeralda’s grin widened as she plucked the box from your hands. “You do, darling. This is why we’re friends.”

Friends was a soft word for what you were. Not many humans knew what Esmeralda was, and even fewer stuck around once they did. You’d never cared. She had saved your life once, and you owed her for that. Besides, the world was far more interesting with a vampire for a best friend.

She stepped back and gestured for you to come inside. The house was just as impressive on the inside as it was on the outside. High ceilings, dark wood, and the kind of place that felt like it should come with a ghost or two.

“I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re here,” she said, leading you down the wide hallway. Her dark hair bounced as she walked. “The timing is perfect.”

“It always is. Sometimes, I think fate brings us together at just the right time. Every time.”

The place buzzed with quiet energy. You caught movement from the corner of your eye—something tall and shadowed slipping into another room.

Esmeralda waved a hand dismissively, either at your comment or whatever you thought you’d seen. “This time, it really is. I have some associates who could help us secure long-term funding, but they’re going to need convincing.” Her heels clicked against the floor, echoing through the hall as she stopped by an arched doorway and turned to face you. “That’s where you come in.”

“Me?” You blinked. “You want me to dazzle some vampires into handing over cash?”

“Not quite.” She smirked. “You’re a journalist. I need you to help record the residents’ stories. Show the work we do here—how important it is. You’re good at that, and the residents need to socialise with someone they don’t see day in, day out.”

You hesitated, looking around again. The house had a strange, quiet pull to it. “You think they’ll open up?”

“They will.” Her smile softened, just enough to feel genuine. “They just need a reason to.”

Esmeralda gestured for you to follow her further into the house, her heels clicking rhythmically on the wooden floor. “I think you’ll find the residents are more varied than you might expect,” she said, her voice tinged with pride. “This place doesn’t just offer shelter—it’s a second chance for some, a lifeline for others. If we’re going to convince my associates to fund us, they need to see the real impact we’ve had.”

You nodded, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “You think their stories will do the trick?”

“They will,” she replied firmly. “Though it depends on how well you can connect with them. Some are easy to talk to. Others... less so.”

Before you could ask what that meant, a blur of movement caught your eye. A small figure came rushing down the hallway towards you, barefoot and clutching something to her chest.

The girl skidded to a stop just inches from colliding with you, her mossy green hair clinging damply to her face. Wide, watery grey eyes darted between you and Esmeralda, her pale cheeks flushing an earthy pink.

“Oh! I-I’m sorry!” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. She shifted nervously from foot to foot, clutching what looked like a shiny silver trinket against her chest. “I didn’t mean to... I wasn’t looking where I...”

“It’s alright,” you said, smiling to put her at ease. You crouched slightly, meeting her eye level. “No harm done. You all right?”

The girl nodded quickly but didn’t speak again. Esmeralda placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, her tone soft. “Maisie, this is the friend I told you about. She’s here to help us tell our stories.” She turns to me. “I thought you might like to start with Maisie?”

Maisie’s mossy hair swayed as she shook her head rapidly, eyes wide with alarm. “Oh, no, no. I wouldn’t know what to say.”

“Maisie’s an open book,” Esmeralda said to you, ignoring the girl’s protest. “Shy, but sweet as they come. Or,” she added with a hum, “you could start with Laurent and Olivier. They’re the oldest residents, so they have the most history to record.”

“Oldest?” you asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

Esmeralda nodded. “And the most stubborn. Olivier can chat for hours, but good luck getting Laurent to open up.”

Before you could respond, heavy footsteps thudded from the opposite direction, drawing your attention. Two towering figures appeared at the end of the hallway, their presence as imposing as it was magnetic. One was slightly darker in tone, his grey-green skin like moss-covered stone, his massive frame a wall of muscle. The other was a shade lighter, with a more angular build and sharp amber eyes.

“Maisie,” the darker one rumbled, his voice low and steady. “Give it back.”

The lighter one sighed, crossing his arms. “You know stealing isn’t a game, right?”

Maisie squeaked, thrusting the trinket forward. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it!”

Esmeralda leaned in. “Meet Olivier,” she said, nodding towards the lighter figure, “and his twin, Laurent.”

They strode closer, the hallway seeming to shrink under their sheer size. They were massive, nearly seven feet tall, with broad shoulders that seemed to stretch the very definition of imposing. Their skin, textured like weathered stone, shimmered faintly in the dim light.

Your gaze caught on Laurent first, the larger of the two. His face was broad, with a wide, squashed nose, sharp, heavy brows, and tusks that curved slightly from his lower jaw. The glow of his amber eyes cut through the shadows, steady and unreadable, but there was something about the way he carried himself—stiff, upright, every movement deliberate—that made your chest tighten.

He looked like he’d been carved from stone itself, all strength and immovable purpose, and yet the detail of him was captivating: the faint cracks across his forearms, the way his massive wings, folded tightly against his back, curved with a natural grace.

For a moment, you forgot to breathe. He was terrifying. He was magnificent.

He was staring right at you.

You forced yourself to focus on Olivier instead, who offered a crooked smile as he took the trinket from Maisie. His features were similar to Laurent’s—squashed and intimidating—but there was a softness to him, in the way his golden eyes glinted and the slight curve of his lips. “I hope we didn’t scare you too badly,” Olivier said, his tone teasing as he turned the trinket over in his claws.

You shook your head, managing a smile despite the fact that your pulse was still racing. “Not scared. Startled, maybe.”

Laurent’s low, rumbling voice cut in, deeper and rougher than Olivier’s. “You looked scared.”

The words hit like a challenge, his gaze boring into yours with a quiet intensity that made the air feel heavier. Your throat tightened as you tried to find your footing again. “First time meeting a gargoyle,” you said, keeping your tone light despite the unease creeping into your chest. “I wasn’t expecting statuesque giants in the hallway.”

Olivier’s laugh broke the tension, his grin widening. “Statuesque. We’ll take that as a compliment.”

Laurent’s expression didn’t shift, but something in the flicker of his eyes told you your attempt at humour had landed poorly. He glanced briefly at Esmeralda, then back at you. “We’re not statues, that’s a myth.”

It wasn’t quite defensive, but there was a weight to the statement, a quiet correction. Your cheeks warmed under his scrutiny, though you weren’t sure if it was embarrassment or something more disconcerting.

“Well,” Esmeralda interjected smoothly, her tone placating, “I think introductions are overdue. Laurent, Olivier, this is my friend. She’s here to help us with some important work.”

Laurent’s stare lingered for a moment longer before he turned his attention back to Maisie. “You need to stop taking our stuff.”

Maisie mumbled another apology, clutching her mossy hair nervously before darting down the hallway toward her room. Her bare feet barely made a sound as she vanished into the shadows. You watched her go, relieved that she seemed more embarrassed than upset.

Laurent and Olivier lingered for a moment longer. Olivier gave you a small, hesitant smile, the kind that seemed polite but guarded. “It was nice meeting you,” he said, his tone warm; but still laced with caution.

Laurent, on the other hand, didn’t bother with any pleasantries. His amber eyes flicked over you briefly, unreadable, before he turned and walked away. Olivier followed a moment later, the two of them moving in sync, their massive wings shifting slightly as they disappeared into the house.

You exhaled slowly, the tension in your chest easing now that they were gone.

“I’m sorry about Laurent,” Esmeralda said softly, drawing your attention back to her. Her dark eyes held a mix of amusement and sympathy. “He has... a way of putting people on edge.”

You crossed your arms, still feeling the weight of his gaze. “He’s intense - and intimidating. Is he always like that?”

Esmeralda tilted her head thoughtfully. “Most of the time, yes. Laurent is...” She paused, searching for the right words. “Complicated. Fiercely loyal, deeply protective, but also very guarded. He doesn’t trust easily, especially humans.” Her lips quirked into a small smile. “Don’t take it personally. It’s not you—it’s everyone.”

You raised an eyebrow, still curious. “Olivier? He seemed... nicer.”

“More approachable, certainly,” Esmeralda agreed. “Don’t let his smile fool you. Olivier is just as wary as his brother. The two of them are inseparable. They’ve been through too much together to let anyone else in easily.”

“Oh?”

Her tone shifted slightly, quieter, more serious. “I could tell you more, but it’s not my story to share. That’s for them to decide.” She gestured down the hallway, as if to indicate the direction the gargoyles had gone. “If you want to understand them, you’ll need to hear it from them. Separately.”

You frowned, puzzled. “Separately?”

Esmeralda nodded. “Laurent and Olivier rely on each other. That’s not a bad thing, but it’s... limiting. They rarely speak to anyone else, and I think it would do them good to branch out. Even if it’s just for this project, talking to you individually could be important for both of them.”

You hesitated, unsure if Laurent’s gruff demeanor was something you could break through. Still, there was something about him—and Olivier—that intrigued you. You wanted to understand why they were here, why they stayed when so many others seemed to move on.

Esmeralda smiled, her sharp features softening. “Take your time. They’ll open up eventually. Just be patient… and persistent.”

You nodded slowly, already thinking of how to approach them. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask,” she said warmly, motioning for you to follow her further down the hallway. “Now, let me show you where you’ll be staying.”

***

The room Esmeralda had set aside for you was beautiful, in a way that felt almost too much. The ceilings were impossibly high, the bed large enough to swallow you whole, its dark wooden frame heavy and ornate. A tall wardrobe sat in the corner, its doors slightly ajar, revealing neatly folded blankets that you didn’t need.

The entire space was cold; not freezing, but just enough to keep you shifting under the covers.

Then there was the snoring. It rumbled low and steady through the wall, like some great beast slumbering on the other side. You guessed it might be one of the residents—a werewolf, maybe? Whoever it was, they were sleeping far more soundly than you.

Frustrated, you kicked the blankets aside and padded over to the tall windows that opened onto the balcony. The latch creaked faintly as you slid it open, stepping out into the night. A chill breeze hit you immediately, raising goosebumps along your arms, but it was a relief after the oppressive stillness of the room.

The view was eerie. Beautiful. The sprawling grounds of the halfway house stretched out below, dark shapes of trees swaying in the faint wind. Above, the moon hung bright and full, casting everything in a silvery glow.

There, perched on the roof like a gargoyle carved into the building itself, was Laurent.

Your breath caught. He was perched on the very edge of the roofline, his wings partially unfurled, silhouetted against the moonlight. His massive frame was still, his head tilted slightly as though he were watching the horizon. He looked like part of the house, his dark skin blending into the stone.

You took a quick step back, hoping he hadn’t seen you. The last thing you wanted was to disturb him—or worse, have another uncomfortable interaction like earlier.

The faintest movement of his head confirmed he’d already noticed you. His glowing amber eyes locked onto yours, even from a distance. There was no going back now.

After a moment’s hesitation, you decided to take a leap of faith—literally. Climbing up onto the roof seemed like a terrible idea, but staying silent felt worse. You couldn’t explain it, but something about Laurent’s presence pulled at you. You grabbed the nearest part of the latticework and started to climb.

The wind picked up as you scrambled higher, the cold biting at your fingers. The angle was steeper than you’d thought, and halfway up, your foot slipped.

A startled gasp escaped you as you lost your balance. Before you could fall, a massive hand closed around your arm, pulling you up with startling strength. Laurent’s grip was solid and unyielding, his claws barely brushing your skin as he steadied you.

“Careful,” he rumbled, his voice low and rough. “You’ll get yourself killed.”

Your legs trembled as you clung to the edge of the roof, heart racing more from the near fall than anything else. “I-I wasn’t—”

“You’re scared,” he interrupted, his gaze sharp, almost accusing. “You shouldn’t have come up here if you’re afraid of me.”

“Afraid of falling,” you snapped, your voice steadier than you expected. “Not you.”

His expression flickered, surprise flashing across his heavy features before settling into something unreadable. Slowly, he pulled you fully onto the roof, setting you down with more care than you’d expected.

“Hmm,” he muttered, his deep voice more thoughtful now. “You’re braver than you look.”

You sat smiled and carefully, legs crossed, and your hands braced behind you for balance. The roof slanted enough to make your stomach churn if you looked down too long, so you fixed your gaze straight ahead instead. The cold stone beneath you seeped through your clothes, sharp and uncomfortable, but Laurent’s steady presence made the discomfort bearable.

He hadn’t moved far, crouched on the edge of the roof like he belonged there, his wings partially spread to balance himself. The moonlight outlined him in silver, catching on the rough texture of his mossy-green skin and the faint cracks that ran across his arms. His claws flexed once, idly, before going still again, his focus still somewhere in the distance.

The silence between you stretched, heavy and unfamiliar. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, watching the way his sharp, angled features caught the light. His face was undeniably strange—his nose wide and squashed, his jaw prominent and square. His glowing eyes were the most striking, unblinking as they reflected the faint light of the moon.

Odd, you thought. Odd, but not unattractive. Certainly unconventional, but there was something compelling about the strength in his features, the way his stillness made him seem carved from the roof itself.

When he finally turned his head to look at you, the weight of his gaze knocked the breath from your chest. He wasn’t just watching you—he was studying you, those amber eyes sharp and expectant.

You fumbled, sitting up straighter. “I—uh...” The words caught in your throat as his expression remained unreadable. “Esmeralda thought I should talk to you.”

His brow furrowed slightly, one of his wings shifting closer to his body. “Why?”

You rubbed at the back of your neck, feeling the cold bite of the wind there. “She’s... She’s hoping to get funding for the house. She thought that if I recorded the residents’ stories, it might help convince the people she’s reaching out to.”

For a moment, Laurent didn’t respond, his gaze sweeping back over the horizon. You wondered if he was ignoring you entirely when he finally said, “I know she’s been struggling.”

His voice was low, rough, but there was something softer beneath it. You tilted your head, surprised by his honesty. “You do?”

He nodded, still watching the trees sway in the distance. “She tries to keep it quiet, but it’s obvious if you pay attention. Fixes that don’t get finished. Rooms that stay empty longer than they used to.”

You swallowed, unsure of how to respond. He wasn’t wrong—Esmeralda’s determination to keep the house running sometimes masked just how precarious things had become.

“She thinks your story could help,” you said quietly.

Laurent’s jaw tightened at that, his claws flexing again. “I don’t tell my story.”

It wasn’t harsh, but it wasn’t exactly welcoming either. You braced yourself, determined not to retreat. “Maybe this time, you should.”

“No,” Laurent said flatly, his gaze cutting back to you.

The weight of the word hung in the air, as immovable as the gargoyle himself.

You hesitated, frustration bubbling under your skin. “I’m not asking you to bare your soul or anything,” you tried, keeping your tone even, calm. “It’s just—Esmeralda really believes this could help the house. You’re the oldest resident. Your story matters.”

“I said no.” His wings flared slightly, a restless motion that seemed involuntary, and his claws scraped faintly against the stone roof.

Your irritation flared, pushing past the unease in your chest. “Why; what are you so afraid of? Esmeralda has done so much for you, she deserves—”

“Enough!”

His voice cracked like thunder, louder than anything you’d heard from him before. It rolled over you, heavy and full of raw anger. Laurent turned toward you fully now, his massive frame towering in the moonlight.

“Do you ever shut up?” he growled, his tusks catching the faint light as his upper lip curled. “Take the hint and fuck off!”

The words hit like a slap, sharp and final. For the first time since arriving at the house, you felt real fear, a cold knot tightening in your stomach. The sheer size of him, his claws flexing at his sides, the tension radiating from every inch of him—it was overwhelming.

Your heart pounded as you scrambled to your feet, stepping back toward the edge of the roof. “I’m sorry,” you stammered, barely managing to get the words out. You turned, gripping the stone ledge as you clambered awkwardly down to the balcony.

When your feet finally hit solid ground, you turned back instinctively, catching sight of him still standing on the roof. The shadows draped over him like a second skin, his wings tucked tight against his back, but he didn’t look at you. He stared straight ahead, as if you’d already disappeared.

The knot in your stomach tightened further. You wanted to call up to him, to try again, but something stopped you. Maybe it was the flicker of guilt in his eyes, the one he tried to mask with cold indifference. Or maybe it was the sharp edge of your own fear.

You turned back to the hallway, your chest still tight as you opened the door quietly. You hadn’t made it far when a vaguely familiar voice stopped you.

“Are you alright?” Olivier stood just ahead, his expression a mix of concern and something softer. He glanced toward the balcony, his wings twitching faintly. “I was looking for Laurent. Did something happen?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “We talked. Or... tried to. He got angry. I pushed too hard, and he told me to leave.”

Olivier’s brows furrowed, and he stepped closer, his broad shoulders hunched slightly. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “My brother... he has his reasons for being the way he is. That’s not an excuse, but I hope you understand.”

You nodded, still rattled. “I didn’t mean to upset him.”

Olivier gave you a faint, apologetic smile. “He knows. He just... needs time.”

You smile awkwardly, trying to stuff down the flicker of guilt growing in your stomach. “Yeah, I know.”

***

The next few days passed in a blur of activity. You kept yourself busy, determined to avoid crossing paths with Laurent. If he didn’t want to talk, fine. There were plenty of other residents willing to share their stories, and you threw yourself into listening to them.

Maisie was the first. The young kelpie was painfully shy, her mossy hair dripping faintly as she sat across from you in the sunlit sitting room, her knees drawn to her chest. She’d come from a small loch in the Scottish Highlands, the last of her kind in that area. Her voice wavered as she explained how the world had changed too much for her kind to survive, her watery grey eyes filled with a sadness that seemed far older than her youthful appearance.

“Humans don’t leave offerings anymore,” she murmured, twisting a strand of mossy hair between her fingers. “They drain the lochs... build over everything. There’s nowhere left for us.”

Her words stayed with you long after she returned to her room.

Lucas was a different story entirely. The boisterous werewolf cornered you in the kitchen as you were grabbing a drink, pulling you into a sprawling conversation over a shared pot of coffee. He was charming and open in a way that felt effortless, leaning against the counter as he recounted his life before the halfway house.

“I used to live in the city,” he said, stirring sugar into his cup. “Worked construction, went out on weekends, the usual. Then I met someone—human, obviously—and things got... complicated.”

You tilted your head, intrigued. “Complicated how?”

Lucas’s grin faltered, his golden-brown eyes dimming slightly. “She found out. Couldn’t handle it. One night I shifted in front of her by accident, and that was that. She told people. I had to run.” He shrugged, a casual motion that didn’t quite mask the tension in his shoulders. “Esmeralda found me before things got worse.”

It struck you how casually he spoke about something that had likely upended his entire life. The ease in his tone felt practiced, a cover for something far deeper.

You wanted to press him further, to ask how he’d really felt when everything fell apart, but the slight twitch in his jaw warned you to tread lightly.

“Well,” you said instead, offering him a small smile. “It sounds like you’ve found a place here. Even if it’s... not what you planned.”

Lucas exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Yeah, it’s not bad. Esmeralda runs a tight ship, and the residents aren’t half as scary as they look.” His grin returned, broader this time. “Most of them, anyway.”

He didn’t say it outright, but you could hear the unspoken Laurent in his words. The conversation drifted to lighter topics after that, but even as Lucas returned to his usual charm, his story lingered with you.

Later that evening, as you wandered the hallways, you found yourself drawn to the little-used staircase that led to the third floor. You’d avoided it until now; Esmeralda had casually mentioned that only one resident stayed there, and even she hadn’t offered much detail.

The stairs creaked under your weight, the air growing cooler as you ascended. The third floor was darker, the faint scent of dust and something older curling in the still air. Shadows clung to the corners, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d imagined the faint movement flickering just out of sight.

Then a voice, low and whispery, broke the silence.

“You’re brave... or foolish.”

You froze, your breath catching. The shadows shifted ahead of you, curling and stretching until they coalesced into a shape—not quite solid, not quite human. A pair of faintly glowing eyes blinked into existence, and you realised you were face-to-face with something dark and shadowy.

“I heard you don’t like visitors,” you said carefully, your voice steady despite the prickling unease that crawled up your spine.

Rio’s shape rippled, his outline flickering like smoke caught in the wind. “Most of them don’t try to talk. They... avoid me.”

You took a tentative step closer, tilting your head. “Why’s that? You seem... well, intimidating, sure, but not terrible.”

A sound that might have been a chuckle escaped him, soft and dry like paper crumpling. “That’s... generous. What do you want?”

“I’m recording stories for Esmeralda,” you explained, watching the shadows shift around him. “About the residents, their lives. She said it might help the house.”

Rio was silent for a long moment, his glowing eyes narrowing slightly. “A human,” he murmured, almost to himself. “She sent a human.”

Despite the odd flicker of fear still clinging to your thoughts, you crossed your arms. “Are you going to let that stop you?”

His form seemed to grow taller, darker, before shrinking back again. “No. Ask.”

The exchange was brief, fragmented, but he answered you, his words drifting like smoke in the quiet hallway. When you eventually thanked him and left, you couldn’t shake the sense that you’d just glimpsed something rare, something no one else had seen.

Esmeralda’s delight later was almost infectious, but even as she praised you for managing to talk to Rio, your thoughts wandered. No matter how many stories you gathered, one glaring absence loomed in your mind.

Laurent still hadn’t spoken to you, and you were starting to wonder if he ever would.

***

Maisie sat cross-legged on the couch, her mossy hair draped over one shoulder as she carefully plaited it into thin, uneven braids. You were perched on the other end, notebook in hand, jotting down details of her story between her shy pauses.

“I suppose,” Maisie murmured, her voice as soft as the brush of water against stone, “I was lucky Esmeralda found me when she did. I didn’t... I didn’t know where to go.”

You glanced up, offering an encouraging smile. “You’ve been here a while now, though. Do you feel safe?”

Maisie nodded, her fingers still working through her damp hair. “Safe, aye, but it’s... different. Always worrying someone will notice something.” Her gaze dropped to her lap, her voice quieter now. “People don’t like what they don’t understand.”

Her words sat heavily between you, both of you lost in thought until the murmur of voices from the next room pulled you back.

Esmeralda’s voice, low and sharp, carried through the doorway. “You don’t think they’ve figured it out, do you?”

Maisie froze mid-braid, her watery grey eyes snapping to yours. You shook your head slightly, motioning for her to stay quiet as Lucas’s reply drifted through the air.

“It’s just talk, Esme,” Lucas said, his tone calm but edged with unease. “People in small towns gossip. It doesn’t mean they know anything.”

“What if they do?” Esmeralda shot back, her usual poise slipping. “What if someone’s realised what we are? You’ve heard the rumours as much as I have. Strange sounds. Lights at night. The halfway house full of strangers. They’re putting things together.”

Maisie’s hands trembled, her braid forgotten as she leaned closer to you, her voice a whisper. “Are they talking about us?”

You pressed a finger to your lips, trying to focus on the conversation.

“They’re always going to talk,” Lucas replied, though his voice sounded strained now, the usual easy charm missing. “It doesn’t mean we’re in danger. We’ve dealt with this kind of thing before.”

“This is different,” Esmeralda insisted. “I know when someone’s watching. I know when someone’s looking too closely.”

There was a pause, the kind that felt heavy with things unsaid. Then Lucas spoke again, softer this time. “If someone’s onto us, we’ll deal with it. We always do. You’ve been keeping this place running too long to let a few nosy villagers bring it down.”

The tension in Esmeralda’s voice didn’t ease. “I won’t let them hurt anyone. Not again.”

Your stomach tightened at her words, and you could see Maisie clutching her knees, her knuckles pale against her mossy skin. You wanted to tell her everything was fine, that it was just paranoia, but the edge in Esmeralda’s tone made it hard to believe even yourself.

Maisie’s whisper barely broke the silence. “Do you think... they’ll come here?”

You didn’t have an answer. Instead, you closed your notebook and gave her a reassuring smile you didn’t quite feel. “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” you said softly, though the uneasy knot in your chest told you you’d both heard enough to worry.

Maisie’s fingers fidgeted with her braid, unravelling it as quickly as she’d plaited it. Her watery grey eyes darted toward the doorway where Esmeralda and Lucas’s voices had been, their absence now replaced by an uncomfortable stillness.

“Maisie,” you said gently, closing your notebook and setting it aside. “We can pick this up another time, yeah?”

She blinked, her mouth forming a small o of surprise before she nodded quickly, her mossy hair swaying. “Aye, I—thank you,” she mumbled, standing so quickly that the hem of her long skirt caught on the couch. She tugged it free and all but darted out of the room, her bare feet silent against the hardwood floors.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you stood. You didn’t blame her. Whatever Esmeralda and Lucas had been talking about had set both your nerves and hers on edge. There was no use pushing her now.

Stepping into the hall, you nearly collided with someone solid—someone massive. Your heart skipped as you looked up to find both twins standing there, blocking most of the narrow hallway with their combined size.

Laurent, as always, looked like he’d been carved directly from the walls—stoic and unmoving—while Olivier’s brows rose slightly, his expression more open but just as unreadable.

“Sorry,” you said, stepping back and trying to gauge whether they’d heard the conversation too. From the way Olivier’s amber eyes flicked toward the sitting room door, it was clear they had. Neither of them said anything, and you felt the awkwardness thicken around you.

“So, uh,” you started, fumbling for something to say. “What brings you to this end of the house?”

Olivier gave a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just stretching our legs.”

Laurent, on the other hand, didn’t so much as blink. He stood there, his wings tucked close, a hulking silhouette against the dim light of the hallway.

You cleared your throat, glancing between them. “Well, nice to, um, bump into you. Again.”

Olivier’s smile widened just a fraction, but Laurent simply turned, his massive frame moving further down the hall. Olivier followed without another word.

Later, when sleep refused to come, you found yourself wandering into the kitchen. The faint hum of the refrigerator was the only sound at first, until a low, familiar voice startled you.

“You’re up late.”

Laurent was standing near the counter, his hulking frame somehow looking out of place amidst the cosy clutter of the kitchen. His wings shifted slightly as he turned, glancing at you with those glowing amber eyes.

“So are you,” you replied, leaning against the doorway.

For a moment, you thought that was the end of it. Then, awkwardly, he gestured toward the kettle. “Tea?”

The word was stilted, almost uncertain, and you blinked.

“Sure,” you said, your voice softer now.

Laurent reached for a small container, and your eyes widened as he set it on the counter. It had your name written neatly on the label.

“You knew where my tea was?”

He shrugged, the movement oddly stiff. “Esmeralda said it was yours. You leave it in the same spot.”

You stared, caught between surprise and something warmer. “I didn’t think you’d notice.”

His claws brushed the edge of the container as he opened it. “I notice everything.”

You didn’t comment, instead watching as he ambled about the kitchen.

Laurent moved with a quiet efficiency that seemed incongruous with his size. The kettle hissed softly as he poured the steaming water into two mismatched mugs, his massive hands surprisingly deft as he worked. His shoulders hunched slightly to accommodate the low cabinets above him, and every shift of his wings made the kitchen feel even smaller.

You watched him from your spot near the table, caught between awkward silence and an inexplicable pull you didn’t entirely understand. He seemed too big for the space, too solid, like the room itself might give way before he did.

Yet, there was something mesmerising about the precision of his movements, the quiet strength in the way he handled something as simple as making tea.

The air between you was heavy, uncomfortable. You wanted to say something—anything—but the words refused to come. Laurent didn’t seem inclined to break the silence either, his amber eyes focused on the mugs as he let the tea steep.

Your fingers tapped absently against the edge of the table, the tension stretching taut. “I, uh... I didn’t mean to push you before.” The words slipped out before you had time to second guess them. “When I first got here. I just… I was trying to help, and I think I overstepped.”

Laurent didn’t respond right away. Instead, he reached for the mugs, his claws brushing the handles as he turned to hand one to you. His eyes lingered on yours for a moment, the glow in them unreadable.

“I don’t like being pushed,” he said finally, his voice a low rumble that resonated through the small kitchen.

The sound sent a shiver down your spine, something deep and instinctive that wasn’t entirely fear. You nodded, fingers wrapping around the warm mug. “I get that. I just... wanted you to know I’m sorry.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, his tusks catching the faint light as his jaw shifted. “You meant well,” he said eventually, his tone gruff but not unkind. “It’s fine.”

The tension between you didn’t entirely dissipate, but something in the air felt different. You took a deep breath, lifting the mug to your lips—

A sudden crash from somewhere in the house shattered the quiet, the sound sharp and violent enough to make you jump. The mug slipped in your hands, hot tea splashing onto your fingers and sending a spark of pain through you.

Before you’d even registered it, Laurent was already moving. His wings flared slightly, casting shadows across the walls as he straightened to his full height.

“Stay here,” he said, his voice low and commanding.

Another sound followed—a muffled shout, unfamiliar voices carrying through the hallway. Laurent’s head snapped toward the doorway, his body tensing like a spring ready to release.

“Who the hell is that?” you whispered, your heart pounding as the voices grew louder. Laurent didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped toward the door, his massive frame blocking your view as the sound of heavy footsteps echoed closer.

[luv-y0urself]

18 headcanons for woon's 18th !

day 2 : professional woon . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

army officer!woon x fem nurse!reader , baseball player!woon x fem!reader , barista!woon x fem!reader ♫．genre : slice of life, a little bit of angst for baseball!woon... | wc : 1725 | warnings : third person pov ! usage of y/n, l/n, and noona (only for the barista one). woon is a high schooler in the baseball one, but all others he is an adult (at least 18). mentions of injuries ⏤ nothing specific except woon does receive a knee injury in the baseball one. 𖤐．second post of the series ! sorry this one is a little late; i got a little bit carried away with all of the headcanons :> make sure to let me know which one you guys like the most for the full fic on the seventh day ! more details on the masterlist linked below ↓

ᵔᴗᵔ﹕masterlist | the day before . . . [posted] ! | the next day . . . tba !

army officer woon

army officer x military nurse oh my GOD hear me out guys–

woon is a part of this regiment that often goes out on dangerous missions that often lead to many injuries, which is why the girl would know him so well.

they know each other so well to the point where if he walks in (if he’s walking in; sometime’s he’s on a stretcher with something sticking out from his leg) she recognizes his face and sighs.

“again, officer kim?”

“same ol’, same ol’, nurse l/n. fix me up so i can get out asap, yeah? i don’t like this place very much.”

“i could say the same for the field, officer kim – no need to be stingy about our workplaces.”

he merely laughs, shaking his head as he nearly collapses onto the hospital bed, clutching his wound. 

he’s in the medical room so often that she begins to speculate that he gets hurt on purpose so he can come in just to see her – and once she actually accuses him of doing so.

“officer kim,” she says.

“mm?” he has his arm over his eyes while the other is being treated; another gash from an incident that she didn’t want to know specifics about.

“do you get hurt on purpose on the field?”

he takes his arm off his eyes and looks at her like she’s crazy. “excuse me?”

“i mean, if i wasn’t as pretty as i was, i wouldn’t think so, but since i am this gorgeous, it would make sense that you would want to see me every chance you get– i… nevermind.”

he laughs heartily, looking at her with amused eyes. “oh, keep going, nurse l/n. you’re so gorgeous that what?”

“forget it.”

“oh, c’mon, don’t be like that!”

playful bickering – as all military officers do – becomes playful flirting, and before they know it, they fall in love w each other.

but there’s a big mission that’s been assigned to his unit, and he has to go. 

he pays one last visit to the medical room, and she rushes out from the supply room where she was checking inventories, her eyes conveying all the worries she has for him.

but officer kim is stoic when he says, “out of all of the worries you have right now, worries about me should be out of the question."

"i’ll be back.”

and he grabs her hand, nods his head to her, and leaves the room. her hand is heavy; she opens it up to find his dogtag with his name and birthdate written on it and a single tear falls from her eyes, praying that he comes back home safely and in one piece.

baseball player woon

i feel like woon would have been such a good baseball player… but unfortunate things have happened to him, causing his career to end early. too early, in fact.

he was on the youth national team and was so good that clubs were lining up to get ready to sign him as soon as his high school career was finished – but at the finals of his high school baseball games, a wild pitch struck him in the knee.

he had to go through surgery but his parents were often busy, which meant that his girlfriend was the one always waiting for him to come out. she had been friends with him ever since they were little, since she lived next door. his parents often told her to go back home, but she refused. she knew that he needed someone by his side, no matter how tough he might act in front of everybody else.

after his surgery ended and he was moved to his hospital room, she didn’t realize the tears that were falling from her cheeks. tears kept rolling down her cheeks as she stared at his leg, covered with bandages and all kinds of medical equipment beeping around her. she was worried – worried for his reaction to his situation, as all he ever knew about was baseball.

he was the one always pulling her out during the week to play catchball with him at the park. he was the one always begging to go to baseball games during the weekends. he was the one who had smiled the brightest when he had gotten a baseball uniform on the day he entered middle school, wearing it to sleep and placing it gently in a case that he kept in his room. 

when he wakes up from the anesthesia later in the day and sees his leg covered in all those bandages, i think it would frustrate him a lot – and scare him all at the same time.

i’ve done this for my entire life.

… but i don’t think i can do it anymore.

then what should i do?

what can i do?

“... woon–”

“i… w-why are my legs like this?”

“...”

“i can’t- i can’t move them–”

“woon…”

“it hurts, y/n, it hurts… what do i do? what am i supposed to do? can i not play baseball anymore?”

watching him break apart, crying and asking over and over again what he should do broke her heart. there was nothing she could say that would console him – there was nothing she could do that would make herself understand the pain that he was going through, because that was truly all he knew how to do.

— — —

“although your senses may not be fully restored and you may not be able to move well now, if you continue to rehabilitate and exercise, you should be able to go on with your daily life, but... i think it's better to think that you cannot play on the field anymore.”

“i can’t– i can’t play at all?”

“it seems impossible at this time.”

soon after recovering consciousness, woon’s baseball career was pronounced dead by the doctors who came by during the first rotation. woon had no choice but to accept the fact helplessly in front of the stern doctor, who told him it was impossible for him to continue playing at this stage.

— — —

“y/n.”

“mm?”

“do you think i can go to the college that you want to go to too if i started studying now?

“... of course! you can start now.”

“there has to be something i can do instead of baseball, right?”

“... of course.”

“right? …”

“you’ll be good at anything, woon. i know it.”

woon just stares blankly outside the window. 

she’s seen him for over a decade now… but she’s never seen his eyes look so empty.

barista woon

he's friends w this girl that comes to the cafe regularly during his shift – he's too shy to make a move first, but would prolly do it bc his bros told him to (probably myungjae LMFAO)

he would prob use the cup and say like a cheesy ass thing like 'ur cute can i hav ur #?' 

anywho. turns out this girl is older than him by a year or two, which makes him call her noona.

they're talking in the cafe during his free time (still platonic friends) but then the latte that she's drinking causes foam to stay on her upper lip. woon, obvi not thinking much of his actions, leans forward and brushes the foam off of her lip, his thumb warm and his touch soft. 

“noona, why're you so clumsy?” his smile is shown, and the girls heart goes crazy.

BUT the thing is that this gal already has a boyfriend!!! and she talks about him a lot w woon bc she thinks woon is a true friend :(( 

okay, but its a rainy day and woon is getting ready to close the shop. he's cleaning the tables at the cafe when he hears the all-too familiar shop bell ring behind him. 

he calls out to the person without looking: "the shop is closed right now." 

he can hear the footsteps of whoever just decided to come inside anyway and doesn’t turn around, guessing that they would just leave after a minute or two. the rain was pouring outside today, and the cafe was cozy from the heater that he had left on.

warm hands circle around his waist.

something soft falls on his shoulders, and woon freezes like a deer in headlights. he glances at the hands around his waist ⏤ female fingers? they look just like the nails that his noona had shown him a few days ago⏤

woon moves immediately, turning around in her arms, her face looking up at him. 

oh... she's drunk. 

he can smell the soju coming off of her body. how much had she drunken? woon checked the clock hung across the cafe. it was barely nine thirty... woon hurriedly pulled out a chair, gingerly helping her sit down while kneeling down in front of her. 

with his eyebrows knit tightly together, and his voice soft, he asked her calmly, "you okay?"

“woon, he…” a tear slipped down her cheek. “he broke up with me.”

woon narrowed his eyes to figure out who it was for a second before it all made sense. 

her boyfriend.

“noona, look, i…” woon pauses, watching her as she tries to stop the tears from falling before he continues to speak. “it’s okay to cry.”

almost immediately, she begins to cry, tears falling freely down her cheeks and her form crumbling. he awkwardly slides into the seat next to her and puts his arm around her, patting her back softly.

“sorry,” she began saying. “i shouldn’t be bothering you when it’s so late.”

“don’t be sorry; what are you sorry about? you’re absolutely fine.” woon watches her shaking form and his heart falls, using his warm hands to wipe the tears from her cheeks, trying to think of something that would make her feel better.

"... you know, noona, when i first saw you, i thought i fell in love," he said, reminiscing. "you were this really pretty, confident woman that lit up the room. you were never rude, and never overstepped someone's boundaries. heck, you didn't even find the note i wrote on the top of your drink weird," he added with a small chuckle.

“... see, what i'm trying to say is, basically, you're amazing. you're confident, kind, pretty, smart – you're everything a person could want from their significant other."

"it's his fault for not seeing that in you. don't blame yourself."

© luv-y0urself / 2024 | taglist : @onedoornet

[httpvomitello]

Hello! Can I request TMNT 2012 with Fem! Reader as Mitsuri Kanroji from Demon Slayer? Like how they are going to react to her unusual hair color, strength, appetite and her... Unusual taste of clothes?

If it wouldn't be too much can you also write how they are giving her the high socks like Obanai did with Mitsuri?

I am sorry if this request sound rude and if it's to much for you, you are free to ignore my request!!!! Have a good day/night

Hello, hello! No need to apologize for this request that ended up making me very happy to write. However, I didn't want to put all four in one part, so I decided to do it separately. And I have to admit, it's been a while since I've seen anything from Demon Slayer, but I hope you like it! ♡♡♡♡

Pretty Girls Fight Like This! *⁠.⁠✧

It was late one evening when Leonardo first met you, and needless to say, your presence caught him off guard.

You had come into their lives through April, who insisted that you’d be an asset to their team. At first, Leo didn’t understand what she meant. Then, he saw you take down a handful of Kraang droids with strength that rivaled Raph’s, all while laughing like it was a game.

You were... different. Not just because of your insane strength, but also because of your look. Your long hair was streaked with vibrant shades that seemed almost unnatural, your appetite could rival Mikey’s, and your outfit choices? Let’s just say they weren’t exactly “ninja stealth material.”

Leo first noticed your unusual strength during a sparring match in the lair. He had approached the fight like any other, underestimating you just slightly—not in a mean way, but because he wasn’t used to seeing someone as strong as Raph who didn’t have a temper to match.

But then you disarmed him with a single flick of your wrist and sent him sprawling to the ground.

“Oops! Sorry, Leo!” you said, crouching down to help him up, your cheerful smile shining brightly.

Leo stared up at you, dumbfounded. “How... how did you do that?”

You shrugged. “I guess I’ve always been strong. My family says it’s a blessing or something.”

From that moment on, Leo couldn’t help but be fascinated by you.

Then there was your appetite.

It was movie night, and Mikey had insisted on ordering enough pizza for an army. You happily joined in, grabbing slice after slice, keeping pace with Mikey without breaking a sweat.

Raph raised an eyebrow as you polished off your fourth slice. “You sure you’re not part turtle? 'Cause you’re puttin’ Mikey to shame.”

You laughed, wiping your mouth with a napkin. “I just love food! Besides, Mikey’s still the champ. I’m just warming up.”

Leo watched you with a small smile, amused by how effortlessly you fit in with his brothers.

What really threw Leo off, though, was your taste in clothes.

You often wore vibrant, eye-catching outfits that seemed more suited for a festival than sneaking around the shadows of New York. Today’s choice was no exception: a bright, pastel-colored ensemble that clashed hilariously with the lair’s dim lighting.

“Isn’t that outfit a little... Too much?” Leo asked, his tone carefully neutral.

You tilted your head, your hair falling over your shoulder like a ribbon. “I guess so,” you admitted, “but I like feeling cute, even when I’m fighting bad guys. It makes me happy!”

Leo didn’t know what to say to that, so he just nodded, silently wondering how someone could be so unapologetically themselves.

It wasn’t long before Leo found himself going out of his way to do small things for you.

Like when he noticed you always tugging at your socks during training because they kept slipping. At first, he didn’t think much of it, but then he overheard you complaining about it to April one day.

“They’re always falling down! It’s so annoying,” you said, huffing. “But I can’t find any that stay up!”

The next time Leo went topside, he kept an eye out for anything that might help. Eventually, he found a pair of long, durable socks in a shop window. They reminded him of something a samurai might wear—simple but sturdy—and he couldn’t help but think of you.

When he handed them to you a few days later, you were surprised, to say the least.

“Socks?” you said, holding them up.

“They’re supposed to stay up during activity,” Leo explained, rubbing the back of his neck. “I noticed yours kept slipping, so... I thought you might like these.”

Your eyes lit up, and you tackled him in a hug before he could react. “Leo, you’re the best!”

He froze for a moment, then slowly patted your back, his face heating up. “It’s... nothing. Really.”

But to you, it wasn’t nothing. It was thoughtful, and it made your feelings for him grow even more.

As time went on, Leo found himself admiring all the little things that made you... Well, you.

Your strength, your appetite, your eccentric clothes—all of it was part of the charm that made you stand out. And the more he got to know you, the more he realized that you weren’t just a colorful whirlwind in his life—you were a light he didn’t know he needed.

And for you, Leo’s quiet acts of kindness only made you fall for him harder. Whether it was a pair of socks or a word of encouragement during training, he always seemed to know just what you needed.

It wasn’t long before the two of you became inseparable, your bond growing stronger with each passing day. And as Leo watched you laugh with his brothers, bright and unapologetically yourself, he couldn’t help but feel grateful to have you by his side.

[darlingshane]

lavender haze

Julian Kaye x F!Reader

Summary: Julian needs to decompress and decides to take his friend's offer for a massage at one of her parlors.

CW: +18, explicit, sex work, reader is an escort, massage parlor, massage with happy ending, hand job, fingering, making out, cuddling.

Word Count: 4,7k

— Links: AO3 // Julian Masterlist

It used to be unthinkable to Julian to seek the kind of services he used to offer. He never thought he could relax enough to let someone else care for him the way he cared for his clients. But when push comes to shove, he has no other choice but to consider other options to get rid of all that tension that had been accumulating in his body.

Everything should've been easier once he was exonerated, but nothing is ever as simple. The second he was out of prison, the world seemed to turn on him once more. The past kept crawling back to ruining his life in ways he hadn't expected.

Now that messy chapter is closed, it's the perfect time for some self reflection and care before figuring out what to do with the rest of his life. And what better to clear his mind and gain some perspective than to take on his friend Diamond’s offer for a special treatment at her parlor with one of her best workers—you.

After careful consideration, he picks up the phone and sets up an appointment.

He never really thought of him as a rub and tug kind of guy, but he’s more than willing to try. Though as a client himself, he isn't sure of what he wants at the moment. All he knows is that he needs to decompress and relax.

In plain sight, between a clothing store and hair salon, sits Diamond's Den, his friend's place; one of the three different businesses she owns. This one in particular is her most recent venture that is reserved for a more upscale clientele. Unlike other illicit massage parlors, this one looks like a legit spa when he walks in—zen music, cucumber water, calming colors on the walls of the reception.

“Hi, how can I help you?” The lovely receptionist greets him when he approaches the desk.

“Hi, I'm Julian. I have an appointment at 5.”

She glances at the screen of her computer to confirm it in the schedule.

“Julian Kaye?”

“That's right.”

“Take a seat, please.” She gestures at the waiting area, two seats are already occupied by men in suits glued to their phones. “Someone will come get you in a moment. Do you want a drink? We have juice, coffee, tea, and water.”

He could use something stronger, to be honest, but he chooses for a cup of coffee to sooth the unexpected jitters in his stomach.

While he sips on his drink, he watches the receptionist make a call and a couple of minutes later, a different woman comes to fetch him, holding a folder in her arm.

“You're Diamond's friend, right?” She makes some small talk while she guides him down the hallway to one of the rooms.

“That's right.”

“Well, aren't you lucky?” She remarks with no sarcasm whatsoever as they come to a stop in front of door number nine.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“I mean that not many people get a Diamond discount right off the bat. She must really love you.” She produces a file from the folder she's holding. “Here's the girl she's picked for you, but if you want someone different, we have a couple of other people available. Men, women… whatever you're in the mood for.”

He opens the file to be greeted by a few pictures of you, all printed on one side of the sheet. From top to bottom, like a gradient, they go from you dressed in elegant clothes to lingerie to fully naked in the final row. According to your asking price, you're not just an escort, you're a high class escort, which is not something he's sure he can pay for at the moment.

“She's perfect,” he says timidly, without taking his stare from your picture. There's one in particular where you're laughing softly that catches his eye.

“But?”

“I can't afford this.”

“Julian, honey, I told you that you got a Diamond discount. That means you have an hour free of charge to do whatever you want. Then we’ll only charge extras if you go over that hour, okay? Didn't she tell you?”

He shakes his head. “No, she didn’t mention that.”

“Maybe she wanted to surprise you. How about we go inside, shall we?” She reaches for the handle and shows him into a deluxe room that carries the same colors of the reception and hallway. There’s a window covered by opaque blinds, the lighting is darker and warmer from the array of candles set up. There’s a bed neatly made up, a massage table in the middle of the room, a love seat under the window, a set of wooden cabinets with a tray holding a pitcher full of water and two glasses. On the side, there's a second door leading to an adjacent bathroom.

“Just sit and relax. We’ll take good care of you, hon. Okay?”

“Okay,” he smiles nervously as he hands the file back.

“Oh, there’s a form right there,” she points to a small table on the side of the couch. “Fill it out so she can have a picture of what you want, but you can always negotiate more later with her face to face.”

“Yeah, I know how it works.”

“Right. I’ll take this. Hot drinks are not allowed in the rooms.” She collects his almost emptied cup of coffee from his hand. “I'll send your girl right over.”

“Thanks.” Julian tucks his hands in the pockets of his blue slacks as she disappears, closing the door behind her.

He walks around the massage table twice, taking a good second look around the room before sitting on the love seat. From the side table, he picks up the clipboard and pen at hand. He reads every option and question on every page thoroughly. He starts with the questions that are meant to gather information about his health, STDs, allergies, etc., and others regarding his limits. Julian leaves that last one unanswered for now. Then, there's a list of standard massages that range from Swedish to Thai. He chooses the full body aromatherapy massage with a happy ending. After that, there's an extensive list of options, listed as extras, that are only available via tips. They go from something as mild as kissing to anal play to fantasies to very specific fetishes. It feels like picking toppings for a pizza, and he's not sure what he's in the mood to eat. But he ticks a few boxes–touching (the masseuse), kissing, nail raking, cuddling. He also gets to pick up the order. He puts massage first and cuddles at the end.

A soft knock on the door to announce your entrance pulls his stare away from the paper to see you entering the space with that same relaxed smile he saw on one of the pictures. You're wearing a satin, short robe in your favorite color that barely covers the top of your thighs, and a pair of stilettos that click on the wooden floor as you walk up to him. He's struck by your beauty as you get closer to him. The pictures really didn't show how stunning you look up close with minimal makeup.

“Hi, Julian, I'm—” you introduce yourself, offering one hand up. “How are you doing? Hope I didn't make you wait too long.”

He stands up and shakes your hand firmly. “I'm good, thanks. And you were right on time, I was just finishing with the form.”

“Oh, I'm glad.” You collect the clipboard to survey his choices. These are pretty tame compared to the filthy things you've done in this room, which is refreshing to see. You are hardly ever asked to cuddle a guy like Julian.

“Is there anything wrong, sweetheart?”

“No, everything's perfect, hon. You were pretty thorough.” You nod, quickly going over the form again, concocting a picture of what he wants in your mind. According to his answers, it looks like he just wants the girlfriend experience, and that’s what he’s going to get.

“Do you have any questions for me before we start?”

“Hm,” he pauses to think for a beat, tapping quickly the bridge of his nose with his pointer finger. “I was just wondering if you still get paid for this session even if I don't pay?”

It makes you smile to see how considerate he is. Diamond told you Julian was a dream of a guy with a big cock, but you thought she was overselling it. You stand corrected for now, you'll find out in a few minutes if she's right about his size as well.

“I am fully compensated. Don't worry about it. But to be fair, I wouldn't mind going pro bono for a guy like you.” You throw in a wink in his direction.

Flattered, he laughs softly, hanging his head down.

Once all the formalities are done, you ask him to go into the bathroom to freshen up and change, and that's what he does. There are a couple of hangers to hang his suit and shirt, and a robe and matching slippers for him to wear.

When Julian comes out of the bathroom, you've taken off your robe, and have set the lights to a dimmer shade. Your back is turned to him, and he can't help but admire your body hugged in a sexy lingerie set made of lace that leaves nothing to the imagination. It really highlights the beautiful shape of your body as you lean over the table, extending a clean towel on the surface. Then, you adjust the height of the table to the perfect reach for you to do your work before noticing he's come back into the room.

“Would you like some water?” you pick up the pitcher and fill up both glasses.

“Sure.”

You both take a good sip before getting right down to business.

As he faces the table, you stand behind him to take off his robe. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you undo the knot of the belt and gently peel it off him. He steps out of his slippers and lies on his front on the surface per your instructions. You miss an opportunity to get a peak of his front when you place his robe on the couch and produce a bottle of essential oils from the cabinet.

“Do you like lavender, honey?”

“Yeah, I like lavender.” He clears his throat as you watch him adjust his face in the hole at the head of the table.

“Would you like me to play some music?”

“No, I like it like this. I’d prefer to hear your voice.”

Smiling, you glance at the clock on the wall.

“Alright, your hour starts now.” you inform him, gently placing your palm on his shoulder. His skin is already warm at first touch, you can't help but let your fingers glide down his spine before pouring some oil into the mix. “If there’s any place you want me to focus, just tell me or direct my hand where you want, okay?”

“Okay.”

With practiced ease, you gently stroke his back with both your hands, spreading the oil across the breadth of his shoulders before kneading deeply his muscles that feel so firm but tense under your palms. You go down slowly from his upper back to the lower. You rake your nails here and there per his request. It’s no challenge for you to get the muscles in his back to slack gradually under your care.

Julian watches your feet as he looks down at the floor when you move to undo all the knots on his shoulders and arms. He finds himself grunting deep in his throat when you find a way to tame all that strain that nestling in his shoulders.

“Do you mind if I ask you to take off your shoes, sweetheart?” He mumbles under his breath in an attempt to bury one of those groans in his chest.

“You forgot to add foot fetish to your list?”

“No, nothing like that,” he scoffs. “I just want you to be comfortable, too.”

Aww.—You think as you free your feet from your high heels.

“You’re a big softy, you know that?”

“I try.” He smiles to himself as you change positions to go down his spine to take care of his lower back.

When you’re done with that area, you let your palms draw the curve of his firm ass. His skin is as smooth shaven as the rest of his body. You stroke his buttocks firmly before moving further down his legs. You can feel his body finally buzzing when you oil those terse muscles on the inside of his thighs. It’s known to be one of the most erogenous zones on the body that’s often overlooked, and almost every man who has laid on your table has had a similar reaction. Some might have even come in that position before feeling your hand around their dick, but you can tell Julian isn’t nearly there. You tuck your fingers higher up his groin and gently caress his balls that tighten up in your hold. You don’t go too strong yet, cause you don’t want him to promptly ejaculate like all those men that have no self-control whatsoever. There’s nothing that pleases you more than to make them enjoy themselves for as long as possible, but sometimes they don’t even give you the chance.

Leaning over his body, you pepper some kisses along his spine at the same time, getting his skin to rise into goose flesh at the touch of your warm breath.

“God, sweetheart, that feels amazing.”

You hum against his skin as your lips reach the back of his neck.

When you release his scrotum, you finish the rest of his legs to the end of his feet. It’s then that you take a quick glance at the time to make sure you don’t either rush it or prolong it too much before getting to do all the things that he wanted. It’s been twenty minutes so far, which is perfect, you can spend another twenty on his front and the remaining time to make him come, if he hasn’t yet, and to bathe him with cuddles.

Per your asking, he flips over on the table where you can finally take a good look at how well he’s packing on the front. His semi hard gives you a generous half-mast salute from the carefully manscaped landing of his pubic hair.

You don’t usually salivate at the sight of a client's body or dick for that matter. They’re all the same to you, a business transaction, but there’s something special about Julian that makes you swallow at the thought of putting him in your mouth. Containing yourself from doing so, you draw a breath and start at the head of the table. You focus on the array of tattoos he has all over his torso and shoulders to concentrate on the job and not whatever is tingling between your legs.

“Close your eyes, honey,” you whisper, hovering over his head as you start massaging his temples down his face and neck. Your fingers softly stimulate the muscles of his features, and they can tell he has a good skin routine. Though he has a set of pockmarks on one of his cheekbones, they’re definitely well cared for.

As you reach under his chin, you lean closer to place a kiss on the bridge of his nose that is followed by another one at the tip. You feel his face tightening as his mouth draws a smile.

“I’m going to kiss you on the mouth now, are you okay with that?”

He put kissing on the form, but you rather ask permission again before doing something that could make him uncomfortable.

Julian’s eyes blink open as he says softly, “sure, sweetheart, go ahead.”

With your face upside down, like in that old Spider-Man movie, you delicately plant your lips on his, pressing your nose to his chin. It’s not an easy maneuver to kiss in that position, but you manage to pull it off with his help. His mouth opens, and you gently nibble his bottom for a moment before sticking your tongue out. He hums deliciously against your mouth when the tip of your tongue finds his. Slowly playing, you feel a shiver course down your spine that seems to run between your legs at its own volition to awaken your own arousal. You have a good self-restraint, you'd say, but sometimes you can't help it. In your line of work, it's bound to happen.

Julian tastes delicious in your mouth. As your tongues swirl gently together, you send your hands down his chest to massage his torso at the same time. His pecs are beautifully molded like valleys under your palms. His abs are sculptured to near perfection. And the lines that draw a deep V on his lower abdomen are something surreal.

When you part, you glance down to see that he's fully hard now. Pleased with your work, you move to the other side of the table and massage the front of his legs. It greatly excites you to have him under your spell like that. You slather some more oil in your hands and watch him lose his mind as you yet touch every inch of his body without paying attention to his swollen erection. When you look at his face, you capture the deep shade of pink that has taken over his lips. His brown eyes glow under the candlelight in ten different shades of lust. And when you glance down at his center, his dick twitches against his abdomen as you stimulate that muscle again in his inner thigh.

Your bare feet move closer to the middle of the table, and lean your hip on the edge of the table.

“I'm gonna touch your dick now,” you tell him. His head urgently nods as he mumbles a ‘please’ under a shallow breath.

You place your hand on his stomach and smooth down his skin before curling your fingers around his hardness. Keeping your gaze locked with his, you watch him struggle to keep his breathing even. He's a damn sight better to see him squirming on the table when you start ever so slowly to pump his length. He fills your fist very generously. It feels like a task for two hands instead of one, but you keep that option for later.

You use the drops of his pre-cum emerging from his slit to up the pace just a little. He has to brace his hands to the edge of the table to keep his orgasm at bay now. It's easy to tell by the way he throbs against your palm.

Focusing on him only, you ignore the impeding arousal staining the thin fabric of your underwear.

“Fuck,” he grunts, extending a hand to grip at your thigh. “Get on top of me, sweetheart.”

He doesn’t have to ask you again. You climb onto the table and straddle his lap without taking your hand off him. You place yourself as close as possible to his center, so the first curled around his cock grazes your panties as it goes up and down his shaft.

Bracing one hand to his chest, you bounce and up and down on top of him, as if you were fucking him, upping the pace a little more.

Julian grips your hips hard, helping your moves.

“Take off your bra for me,” he orders, and once again you obey to his wishes, using your free hand to undo the clasp at the front so it can fall down your shoulders and uncover your tits.

One of his arms hooks around your waist, pulling you closer to him. He tilts his head so he can suck your nipple between his teeth. You're practically grinding almost directly against him now, you can feel both your fist and the end of his dick pressing against your pussy.

You love the way he grunts and moans around your tit as you take him closer to bliss. He’s so close to the edge, you can feel it in the way he thrust wildly in your hold.

“Come for me, baby,” you moan as his teeth press harder around your nipple. The sensation makes your core scream from the inside, and you wish you could have your own release. But this is not about you. It’s only about him, you remind yourself, but it's your own excitement that carries him over the edge with the powerful force of your adamant pumping. His whole body trembles like an earthquake between your legs. The vicious grip of his teeth dig deeper on your tit, making you moan. And his hands are promptly clutched to your skin the moment his orgasm erupts to the surface, forcing all his seed to come out in hot spurts all over your hand and his abdomen.

You lean your forehead against his, as you exhale the warm breathing of his panting as he comes down slowly from that high. Your clean fingers caress his hair while his body goes limp on your table.

Once he can finally move, you clean your hand in the towel below and help him stand up to have him lay on the bed so you can cuddle him properly. He buries his head in your chest while you wrap your arms around him and keep playing softly with the hair at his nape.

“Shit, I'm so sorry I bit you,” he says once he comes to his senses, pulling his head slightly back to study the mark he's left around your nipple.

“It's okay, hon. I liked that. You better than anybody know that sex can be unpredictable, you can't negotiate every little thing beforehand. And believe me, I would have stopped you if I wanted to.”

“I'm sure you would've.” Grinning softly, he uses the tip of his finger to ease the mark of his teeth. Then, his stare goes up to look at you as he says, “you're gorgeous, you know that?”

“C'mere.” Cupping his face in your palms, you pull it closer so you can capture his mouth. Slowly, you savor the bittersweet taste of coffee lingering on his tongue while his limbs tangle with yours. He tucks his leg between your thighs, and you can't stop tour hips from grinding against his taut quads.

Upon him noticing your eagerness to rub yourself against him, he moves one hand to hold your ass, pressing you harder on his leg.

“Do you want me to make you come, sweetheart?” He parts slightly to ask.

“You don't have to, Julian.”

“I wanna,” he purrs over your lips. “Would you let me?”

“Okay.”

“How would you like me to do it?”

“Surprise me.”

“Yeah?” the corner of his mouth draws a mischievous grin as his hand invites itself under the lace of your panties.

Your folds are practically soaked when his fingers stroke your lips. He keeps his eyes fixed on yours to watch your face change when two of his fingers slip smoothly inside you. They're dexterous and determined on giving you a release. Your hips slant when they press a little harder on your g-spot, coaxing your juices to drip out of you as his thumb finds your clit. An obscene moan escapes your mouth as he suddenly up the pace of his thumb, glued to your clit.

“That's it, sweetheart. Show me what you got,” he glances down to observe your body wildly squirming, aching for a release.

You clutch your hands to his sides as a bubbling fire surges from your core when your orgasm scratches the surface. Your legs clamp, trapping his hand that has stopped moving as you ride up the unexpected tide of ecstasy that courses through your body. You close your eyes for a moment, basking in the aftershocks of your release as you come down from your orgasm.

Julian kisses your face sweetly before seizing your mouth. It's now him who's snuggling you, keeping you anchored as you recover.

You find your hands laced together, fingers playing softly on their own, as if you had done that a million times before. It's a strange feeling you've never felt in this room before. It's overwhelmingly sweet and confusing. This is how you're supposed to make clients feel, not the other way around, but Julian is not just like any other client, he has the same skills as you do, and you figure he tapped into those by default.

Relaxing in each other's arms, you stay in comfortable silence for a while, letting the shared touches do the talk. He figures out one of your favorite spots to be touched is the back of your nape, his fingers slide into your hair, and you almost melt at the nice massage he provides.

At some point, you start asking him about the array of tattoos that adorn his body, and he tells you each story behind them. It prompts a longer conversation, talking about life and business, and by the time you look at the clock again, you've gone almost a second hour over his time.

You don't charge him the extras, it feels like you've both serviced each other somehow, but he tips you anyway.

It's been a few days since he went to the parlor, and Julian hasn't been able to stop thinking about you. Maybe it's years of lack of affection, but he can swear there was a spark between you and him that he can't explain. He longs night after night; unable to get rid of the feeling of your hands on him, the shape of your smile, the sound of your voice in his ear, or the way that you sounded when he made you come. It's all condensed in a mystifying lavender haze that reminds him of the oil you used on him that clouds his better judgment.

Once it's clear he won't be able to move on unless he contacts you somehow, he decides to pay Diamond a visit. She's overseeing her other location at the motel, and they have lunch together in a small diner nearby.

“Are you going to tell me what we're doing here, J?”

“What? I can invite an old friend to lunch?”

“I'm not that old. And I'm not that dumb, either. I know something is going on. Are you in trouble again?”

“No, nothing like that,” he scoffs, and pauses to garner the courage to ask. “I was just wondering if you could give me her number.”

“Her number? You’ll have to be more specific.”

“You know, the girl you set me up with the other day.”

“Oh my God, you can't be serious. Tell me you're joking, Julian.”

“I'm not.” He shrugs. “Look, I just thought we had something and wanted to see her again.”

“Have you forgotten how this works? That's her job, to make you feel like you're the most special thing in the world. Why do you think I sent her?”

“Please, D? Do it for me.” He tilts his head like a puppy dog. “You don't have to believe me or understand it, but I need to know if she felt the way I did. Just one call. I won't bother her if she says no. You know me.”

“Don't look at me like that.” She leans back on her side of the booth, unable to deny his request. “Okay, fine. I'll ask her if I can give you her number, that's the best I can do. If she's okay with it, then you'll have your answer.”

“Thank you. You're the best.”

“Hm-hmm.” Diamond side eyes him as she pulls her phone from her bag to text you.

They finish their lunch and as they head out the door, her phone chimes. She casually glances at it and leaves him hanging for a moment as he walks her back to the motel.

“Was that her?”

“It was.”

“You like torturing me, don't you?”

“I don't like it, but I enjoy it sometimes.”

“So, are you going to tell me what she said or not?”

“She said you can call her. I'll send you the number.”

“She did, huh?”

“Don't act so surprised. You and I both know you can charm anyone. You’re dangerous, Julian Kaye.”

“Thank you. I owe you one.”

“You still owe me a foot rub, motherfucker.”

“Well, make that two,” he locks an arm around her and he kisses her cheek.

— credits: divider by @bernardsbendystraws

[beomcharms]

5:53 p.m - a time called you

pairings: yeonjun x reader

w/c: 2.5k

genre: high school au, strangers to friends to ???, angst (loads of it), idiots, friendship, romance

warnings: mentions of food, hugging (?)

read pt.1 - here

a/n: the way i totally forgot to post the second part of this fic😭, thanks to the lovely reader who reminded🤍. i’m slowly working on the third part.

taglist: @baekberrie @doumachi @b1ueboi-jjunie

(let me know if you wish to be added to the taglist)

“This is your house?” Yeonjun stands still in front of your gate.

“What? It doesn’t meet your expectations?” You ask. You were used to this question and you knew he would ask you the same.

You walk in as Yeonjun still stands by your gate, “Are you planning on coming in?”

“Yeah” he clears his throat and follows you inside as you unlock your door.

Yeonjuns brows knit themselves together into a frown as he walks in. He couldn’t figure how more than one person could live here. There is a small drawing room with a table and a green couch, books are kept in stacks on one side of the room and on the other side is a small kitchen. There is a little hallway leading to one room which he assumes to be a bedroom and what could be a bathroom opposite to it. Yeonjun feels something hardening in his chest.

You find him inspecting your house and for some reason you feel like laughing at his concerned expression.

“Where are your parents ?” He asks you quietly as you pull down a cushion and make yourself comfortable on the ground, placing your books on to the small round table.

“Not here” you reply “Come, sit down. You can sit on the couch if you want to”

“You live alone ?” he asks you incredulously.

“Mostly” you tell him “Done investigating, Officer?”

Yeonjun picks up the other cushion and sits opposite to you. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude” he tells you.

You nod your head “Let’s get started then. We will go over your grammar and then work on the chapters, yeah?”

“Okay, sounds good” Yeonjun replies. You can tell something in him has shifted, by his attitude towards you. Well, you were used to this and rarely felt embarrassed about your situation.

-.-

Time goes by quickly, the clock indicating that it was already seven at night. Yeonjun yawns and you close up your textbook. It had gone much more smoothly than you had expected. He didn’t seem as stuck up as before and some of his antics almost made you laugh out loud. Still, you couldn’t let yourself lower your walls to him.

“That’s enough for today” you tell him. You felt hungry and you are pretty sure he must be starving too.

“Aren’t you hungry?” you ask him, getting up and stretching.

“I’m alright” he tells you but the rumbles from his stomach tell you otherwise.

“I have ramyeon, have some before you go” you tell him walking over to your kitchen.

You turn on the stove, aware that he is watching you. You sigh, “Go ahead, ask me” you tell him waiting for the water to boil.

Yeonjun gets up and walks over to the kitchen, hopping up on the table top. To say he was surprised by today’s turn of events would be an understatement. He felt much more aware of you, like you were a real person instead of just someone he found interesting and was infatuated with.

Not that his feelings towards you suddenly changed, he could see you had a much more softer side to you than what you let on. But, after spending time at your house and with you he feels as though he has seen something that was meant to be a secret. You didn’t seem like you were trying to hide anything, in fact you seemed to welcome his questions, almost like a challenge.

“What happened to your parents ?” He asks you.

“Hmm, let’s see, Mom left me when I was 15, although that isn’t the first time she has walked off, no clue about who my Dad is or what happened to him” you reply as nonchantly as possible.

“How… how do you live like this?” He asks you softly, afraid of offending you.

“Part time jobs and She sends me an allowance every month” you tell him looking up at him finally. The noodles were nearly done and this is the closest you’ve ever let anyone get to you outside of Ryujin and Jin.

Yeonjun nods his head and looks at you giving you a small smile. Thoughts were racing through his mind, each trying to win him over but the one he felt the most was how foolish he had been to assume you were some girl he had to woo over.

“Why, did you expect a big mansion or something?” You ask him before turning off the stove.

“No. But I didn’t expect this either” he tells you picking up bowls and spoons as if it were natural to him.

You place the pot on the table and sit down on your cushion, slurping up the noddles immediately and Yeonjun follows suit.

You look over at him and he is smiling at you.

“You are kind off cool, you know?” He tells you.

“Oh for sure, poverty and absent parents indeed increases one’s coolness” you reply dryly and he laughs before diving back into his food.

-.-

Why do earphones insist on tangling up? You are untangling them and trying to plug them into your phone when you feel someone plop down next to you.

Yeonjun smiles at you, before taking a bite of his pizza slice. You raise your eyebrows at him.

“What are you doing here?” You ask him.

“Keeping you company?” he replies and you roll your eyes. You look around and notice half the people from your year staring at the both of you.

“It’s like having Princess Diana sit next to you” you mutter and Yeonjun chuckles. Taehyun and Soobin sit down opposite to you. They both give you awkward smiles and you smile back at them.

“What happened to your friend ?” Soobin asks.

“Oh… Ryujins visiting her grandmother” you reply putting your earphones back into your pocket and starting on your lunch.

“Are you guys studying today too?” Taehyun asks you.

“No” Yeonjun mumbles with his mouthful.

“I have work today” you add.

“Ahh… you work at Jins Diner don’t you?” Soobin asks you.

“Yeah… how do you know?” You ask him curiously.

“Beomgyu has told me about you” Soobin replies.

“Really and what-“

“Who is Beomgyu?” Yeonjun asks Soobin. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

“Is he supposed to inform you about everything ?” You question.

“Uh… he is a friend of mine, we used to go to the same school before” Soobin tells Yeonjun.

“And how does this Beomgyu know you?” Yeonjun asks you.

You raise your eyebrow at his tone and he coughs a little, “Obviously a coworker” you tell him.

“Ahh” Yeonjun says before going back to his food.

“Beomgyu tells me you are scary to work with” Soobin chuckles.

“Oh well, if he wasn’t so fucking clueless all the time maybe I’d be nicer to him” you huff out.

“That must be why you always look mad at Yeonjun too” Taehyun tells you in a matter of fact tone and you can’t help but smile

“Is it?” Yeonjun asks you with his mouthful.

“Very much so” you tell him and Yeonjun gives you a push while Taehyun and Soobin try to cover their smiles.

Maybe its not so bad. Having friends, you think.

-.-

Even though you hated to admit it you and Yeonjun had fallen into a routine. Even Ryujin seemed to have adopted Taehyun and Soobin as her own and more often than not you all had lunch together. It was the closest you ever had to something resembling a family.

Studying with Yeonjun also became easier, he would do whatever you told him to do and you would carry on with your assignments helping him out whenever. You could see how prejudiced you had been about him now.

Yeonjun looked intimidating and kind of had that bad-boy vibe but the more time you spend with him, the more you could see how much of a goofball he was. You felt bad for avoiding him for almost half of the year.

Yeonjun hadn’t felt this emotionally attached to anyone. Being with you, even sitting next to you and watching you puzzle over problems made him feel so much at ease.

People usually discarded him after getting what they wanted and he had people telling him that he was being childish and cringe when he was being himself, but with you it felt like he could just be. The most you’d do would be, roll your eyes or tell him a sarcastic comment, but usually you didn’t seem to mind him at all.

Yeonjun could see how hard you worked and he could only imagine how difficult your life had been up until this point, but despite your tough exterior he could see the softness the world had still not managed to harden over. He wished you’d let go sometimes and ease up but he knew it wasn’t that easy for you.

Yeonjun loved making you laugh. Seeing you laugh made him crack up too. He especially loved the moment where you would lean into him, unable to sit straight from your giggles. It was rare but he always tried to make it happen.

“I forgot to say, a funny thing happened today” you tell him, remembering the event at class and looking up at him. Yeonjun seemed distracted and was staring at you with a stupid grin on his face.

You wave a hand at him and he shakes himself out of his daze, “Uh… sorry, what happened”

“Yeah… Lia talked to me today” you tell him a smile playing on your lips. “You know Lia right?”

“Who doesn’t know her?” Yeonjun mutters.

“Uhuh she asked me if I could set her up with you” you tell him breaking off into unable to keep your smile contained. Yeonjun looks at you, not amused.

“And what did you tell her?” He asks you, his tone serious and you feel a bit intimidated.

“I said I’ll try” you reply shrugging your shoulders and going back to your work. You glance back at him and he is staring at you with an unreadable expression.

“What? It’s not like I’m actually going to set you up with her” you tell him and the intensity of his gaze drops a little.

“Why not?” Yeonjun asks you his tone a little playful.

“Like I have that kind of time to be doing match making” you scoff, “Maybe if she pays me I’d think about it” you joke.

“Fuck you” Yeonjun tells you in a small voice and you look at him again. He looks hurt.

And you are surprised that it makes you feel a little uncomfortable to see him like this.

“I- I’m sorry” you tell him and he looks at you, “I didn’t mean to offend you and you know bviously you are free to be with whoever you want to be with I was just playing with you, I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings” you add earnestly.

Yeonjun tsks at you, “That is not what I-“ a loud bout of thunder hits the sky, even rattling your windows a little. You get up and are about to close the windows when another one hits. The smell of rain hangs heavy in the air and you look outside to see that the sky has darkened over.

“I didn’t realise how much time has passed by” you say to Yeonjun closing the windows and turning to look at him. He sits rooted to his spot.

“Please don’t tell me you are afraid of thunder” you tell him, holding the bridge of your nose.

“Uh…” he tells you eyes wide with fear.

“Oh god” you mutter as another one hits and this time your house plunges into darkness, the electricity being cut. You fumble around for your phone when you feel long arms wrap around you.

“Wha-“ you start.

“Please… I’m scared” Yeonjun tells you hugging you tightly against him. You stand there in surprise as he buries his neck into your shoulder while the lightening lights up the sky outside, his hands around you while yours hang limply by your side.

Slowly you bring up yours, wrapping them around his torso and patting his back gently as thunder continues to rumble outside.

“Shh- it’s alright, it’s just thunder” you tell him softly.

“Mmhmm” Yeonjun murmurs into your neck and you have to hold yourself very still to not shiver at his touch. Yeonjun was all muscle and warmth and the way he hugged you made you feel like you were the most important person to him. You can’t remember the last time someone’s hugged you like this, always pushing away Ryujins attempts at affection. It was like learning how to breathe again.

“Uh… Jun, let me get the candles” you whisper to him, trying to loosen his hold on you.

“I’ll come along with you” he replies holding onto your waist and you resist your urge to laugh, afraid of hurting his feelings.

“Alright” you tell him and turn on your phones flashlight making your way to the kitchen as Yeonjun follows along, holding onto you like a koala.

You open up the cabinet above the sink while he rests his head on your shoulder picking up the candles.

“Got them” you inform him. You’d be lying if you said that his touches had no effect on you but you forced yourself to ignore them. You were terrified of the person you’d be if you lowered your walls to him. If you didn’t let yourself feel anything, nobody could hurt you right?

Yeonjun and you make your way over to the couch again and you light the candles while he continues to hover over your shoulder.

“All better now, no?” You ask him turning around in his hold.

Yeonjun nods his head and you hear the rain starting outside. He lets you go, grabbing hold of your hand and you both sit down on your couch. Yeonjun pulls you closer to him wrapping his arm around your shoulder as you watch the rain from your seat.

“It’s almost 7.30” you whisper to him, the atmosphere making you talk in hushed tones.

“Uhuh” Yeonjun replies and you turn to look at him.

“Let your mother know you’ll be late, she’ll be worried” you tell him.

“She is out of town” Yeonjun tells you, “It’s alright” he adds when he sees your expression.

“Oh” you say, fidgeting around his hold, not used to being so close to others.

“Y/N…” Yeonjun drawls out and you look at him again.

“Don’t set me up with other people” he mutters making you smile.

“I can’t set you up with others against your will” you remind him.

“No, but don’t try to” he tells you running his hands across your arms.

“Like you’d listen to me” you laugh.

“I will” he insists and something about the way he looks at you makes him believable.

“Also you are calling me Jun from now on”

-.-

🎧this is the end to part -2, hopefully you all liked this one. part 3 would be out sometime by the end of december (hopefully?). if you liked this fic please leave a comment/reblog/like it helps me out a lot and consider giving my other fics a read. xoxo🎧

-.-

[kawoala]

AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES . . . !? suna rintarou ; 3, part one.

╰ ⨳ word count ; .4k ( 452 )

╰ ⨳ content warning ; party scene 、 drinking 、 anxious! reader 、 blacking out 、 mention of vomit.

previous ; masterlist ; next.

you hate parties.

despite how many parties you went to during high school, or your freshman year of uni, despite the fact that you don’t hate drinking, despite the fact that you accepted the invitation to the party in the first place.

even as you were following rintarou into the house, stopping every so often so he could dap somebody up - he’s a popular guy, he says - you felt a deep sense of regret deep in your stomach, festering like a broken appliance; still functioning but in need of fixing.

you feel like your arms are permanently wrapped around your own body as you follow rintarou into the kitchen. it’s dimly lit, kind of dirty, but cozy. there are two men leaning on the corner, chatting away. rintarou introduces them as tatsuki and komori - the party hosts and his friends - and then immediately tells you to ignore all of komori’s attempts at flirting.

as you’re talking to the three boys about something random - komori had brought up his sports science class, which led rintarou to get on his ass about talking about school at a party, which somehow led to tatsuki bringing up their last party - a pair of arms wraps around your shoulders and squeezes.

you don’t have to turn around to know who it is. you turn around and return the grin that runa is giving you. “i thought you were supposed to be here before me?” you narrow your eyes playfully.

“ugh!” she lets out a dramatic groan, rolling her eyes. “i don’t even want to talk about it. hana takes seven years to get herself together.”

you laugh, and runa greets the three boys with a hug. you can see komori’s eyes light up as he hugs runa, then watch them go dull when she hugs tatsuki. you suspect this is why you should ignore all of his attempts. you glance over at rintarou, who raises his brows, making you giggle.

you don’t remember much after that. komori had pushed a red solo cup into your hand and, after confirming with runa that it was safe, you had downed it. you did the same with the next one he handed you. and the next one . . . and the next one.

you remember small things; sitting on the kitchen counter with the four of them, sitting on the living room floor - maybe playing spin the bottle, being rushed into a car and onto someone’s lap, subsequently throwing up in said car.

the last thing you remember is the yellow light of the bathroom at your new apartment. the smell of pine - cologne or shampoo, you’re not sure. soft hands ghosting across your skin. the taste of vomit in your mouth.

╰ ⨳ taglist ; @miiyas , @heartmaddie , @cherrysurf , @pookalicious-hq , @grassbutneo , @akaashislovee , @cvddlebug , @pardoffel , @ssabvln , @smiithys , @justagirlnamedkai , @sweetlyvibe , @hibiscy , @iluv-ace , @aozui , @anqelkoz , @dndjxkskcn .

[all4minnie]

thinking about a friends to lovers scernaio with denki kaminari… 👅 just a one shot but implied a long-term friendship beforehand btw

Sparks Between Us

PAIRING : gn!bestfriend!reader x denki kaminari

WARNINGS : slow-burn friends-to-lovers dynamic, fluff so sweet it might give you cavities, awkward but adorable confession lolz, excessive banter and playful teasing, brief moments of mutual pining frustration, denki being a lovable dork

THEME : fluff, one-shot friends-to-lovers, mutual pining, light humor, feel-good romance, warmth and comfort.

The movie on the TV had long since become background noise, its action sequences and dramatic dialogue ignored in favor of the playful back-and-forth happening between you and Denki Kaminari on the couch. The bowl of popcorn sat forgotten on the coffee table as he made a dramatic attempt to swipe the last handful you’d claimed for yourself.

“C’mon, I deserve it!” Denki whined, leaning closer to you, his golden eyes sparkling with mock determination. “I’ve been carrying this friendship for years—feeding me is the least you can do!”

You held the popcorn hostage, popping a piece into your mouth with exaggerated slowness. “Oh, you’ve been carrying this friendship? Last time I checked, I’m the one who drives your butt to late-night fast-food runs.”

“Emotional support!” he countered, grinning as he pointed at you. “You wouldn’t do it if you didn’t love me.”

The word “love” hung in the air for a moment too long, and you felt a flush creep up your neck. It wasn’t the first time he’d teased you like that, but it was getting harder to brush off—especially when you were already catching feelings for him.

“Well, someone has to make sure you don’t burn the city down with that brain of yours,” you retorted, hoping he didn’t notice the slight wobble in your voice.

Denki laughed, a sound that always managed to make your heart skip. He leaned back against the couch, his arm resting casually behind you. “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were deflecting. Got something to confess?”

You rolled your eyes, though your cheeks were still warm. “Please. If anyone has something to confess, it’s you, Mr. ‘I’m So Smooth But My Hands Shake When We High-Five.’”

His grin faltered for just a second, and you caught the faintest pink creeping onto his cheeks. He quickly covered it up with a dramatic gasp. “How dare you accuse me of such slander!”

But you saw it—something in his expression shifted, just slightly. He glanced at the TV, suddenly avoiding your eyes.

“Alright,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter, almost uncertain. “What if I do have something to confess?”

Your heart skipped again, this time painfully loud in your chest. You tried to keep your voice steady. “Like what? Finally admitting you’re the reason the microwave broke?”

He let out a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, that wasn’t my best moment, but… that’s not what I meant.”

You turned to face him fully, suddenly realizing how close you were. “Then what is it?”

Denki’s usual playful demeanor was gone, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. He took a deep breath, his golden eyes meeting yours.

“I, uh… I think I’ve been kind of…” He paused, the pit-pattering in his chest almost morse code of, ‘boy, if you don’t stfu.’ But that was the last thing he felt he could do in the moment, meeting your gaze again and something in his stomach churned at the way your pretty eyes sparkled, your eyelashes fluttering ever so beautifully. “F-Falling for you— Like, a lot,” he admitted, the words tumbling out in a rush. “And I know we’re friends— and I don’t wanna mess that up— but I had to say it because keeping it in was driving me crazy.”

You blinked, stunned for a moment. He winced, clearly bracing himself for rejection.

But instead of pulling away, you leaned in closer, your voice soft. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

His eyes widened. “Wait—what?”

You smiled, your own nerves melting away. “I’ve been falling for you too, Denki. For a while now.”

For a second, he just stared at you, processing your words. Then his face broke into the brightest grin you’d ever seen, his laughter bubbling out uncontrollably. “Are you serious? Oh my god, finally! I was starting to think I imagined all those moments between us!”

You couldn’t help but laugh too, the tension dissipating as he threw his arms around you, pulling you into the warmest, most electric hug.

“Well,” you said, your voice muffled against his shoulder, “guess you can finally stop pretending to steal my popcorn to get my attention.”

“Never,” he replied, holding you tighter. “But now, I’m stealing it as your boyfriend.”

do we like? heh… this is rushed and pretty crap but 🤷‍♀️ well i love it so

[1800naveen]

No because why did I see a post talking about it's racist to hate Rhysand/Cassian and like Tamlin or Eris?

You know how dumb that sounds, right?

Race doesn't change the fact that I find them annoying.

Like, there are a bunch of posts talking about the things that these two have done and none of them have their race listed. Amren is a Asian woman and I would punt that hobbit sized bitch to kingdom come.

If there is a character that people hate, it's because of their actions and not their identity.

I hate Mor, does that make me homophobic? Does it make me misogynistic?

Are you forgetting that Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel are racist towards Illyrians? Rhys quite literally insulted Nesta by calling her an Illyrian at heart? Do you ever stop and wonder what the actual fuck does that mean?

I'm not white either, I'm a black person. But if someone hates me, dislikes me, or finds me annoying, it's because I did something for them to think that way. You think I'm going to read about characters, see a character I don't like (who happens to be poc), and call them every slur in my head?

Half of the fandom doesn't even know what race they're based on, these guys are racially ambiguous as hell.

Bringing in race when it's not even fucking relevant? Both Tamlin and Rhysand treated Feyre badly but she still married Rhysand. The same guy who drugged her, broke her arm and twisted it, paraded her around like a whore, and almost got her killed when she was pregnant.

Do you think someone is going to write slurs towards them in every anti post they make? If people actually did hate them because they aren't white, you think they would call them the n word or something? Tell them to go back to Illyria?

Build a wall and make the Illyrians pay for it all? Make Velaris great again? Make the night court great again?

IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT YOUR RACE, ETHNICITY, OR NATIONALITY IS, YOU CAN STILL BE AN AWFUL PERSON. Both in fiction and real life.

I swear, the Rhys and Cassian dick gobblers share one brain cell when it comes to shit like this. Your high lord sexually assaulted Feyre, don't forget that. And Cassian gave Nesta tough love when she needed someone to be there for her. Made her hike on a mountain when she was suicidal and he didn't look back at her once? Laughed when she was on the stairs in the house of wind?

You can find the post from @stellariium since they reblogged it with an argument and how dumb it was, always need a person to call out the dumb shit when they see it.

[brightlight-dazzlingeyes]

you get what you give | franco colapinto

💾 synopsis: It’s 1997, and you’re in your last year of high school, working at Hot Topic, living in a one-sided feud with the boyish, too-charming Gap employee across the hall. Then the universe decides to ruin your life by making him your coworker. tags: kind-of-enemies-to-lovers, teen drama, 90s aesthetic, fluff (written in 2nd person but no mention of yn) | (around 3.7k words) | (nobody fact-check this, please, i was born in 2003, and i'm not american)

The first time you saw Franco, he was across the food court, leaning against the Gap counter like he was in a catalog. Some preppy kid with khakis that probably cost more than your entire paycheck, laughing at something a coworker said. Meanwhile, you were stuck behind the register at Hot Topic, trying to explain to a middle schooler that no, they couldn’t return their Metallica shirt just because their mom found it “too satanic.”

It wasn’t hate at first sight. Not exactly. It was more like… an allergy. Like every time you looked over at the Gap, there he was: Mr. Perfect Hair, smiling at customers like he actually liked them, folding sweaters like he loved his job. And every time he noticed you looking, he’d wave. Wave. Like you were best friends or something.

Alex, your coworker, thought it was hilarious. “Maybe he has a crush on you.”

“Or maybe he’s just annoying.”

“Both can be true.”

You ignored him, because whatever Franco’s deal was, you didn’t care. It’s not like Hot Topic and Gap were at war or anything, but they might as well have been. You sold fishnet tights and Slipknot hoodies. He sold pastel cardigans and golf hats. Oil and water. Cats and dogs. People who get the vibe and people who definitely don’t.

It became a thing, though. The waving. The smirking. The way he’d send clueless Gap customers to your store “because they seemed more… alternative.” You started sending preppy moms his way just to balance the universe.

But it all came to a head one Friday, right after you’d clocked in, when your manager pulled you into the back room.

“Got some news,” she said, all chipper like it wasn’t going to ruin your day.

“What?”

“We’re short-staffed, so I hired someone. He’s got retail experience, great attitude –”

And then, like the universe had it out for you, Franco walked in.

“Hey!” he said, all teeth and dimples, like this was some meet-cute and not a complete disaster.

You just stared.

It’s not every day your entire worldview gets flipped upside down, but here you are, staring at Franco in the Hot Topic break room like he’s some alien who crash-landed in the wrong parking lot. He’s got that same stupid perfect smile on his face, like this is totally normal. Like he belongs here. Spoiler: he absolutely does not.

“Hey,” he says, like it’s a regular Friday and not the start of your personal hell. “Guess we’re coworkers now.”

Coworkers.

Coworkers?!

You whip around to face your manager, who’s calmly flipping through a clipboard, completely oblivious to the emotional collapse happening two feet away.

“Is this a joke?” you ask, pointing at Franco. Like maybe someone’s about to jump out with a camera and yell: Gotcha!

“No joke,” your manager chirps. “Franco has retail experience, and he really impressed me in the interview.”

You look back at him. He’s still smiling. Why is he still smiling?

“You interviewed him?”

“Of course! We’re short-staffed, and Franco’s going to be a great addition to the team.”

You don’t even know where to start. The khakis. The tucked-in polo. The fact that he probably doesn’t know the difference between Nirvana and Nine Inch Nails. This guy is going to sell chokers?

“You’re kidding,” you mutter, but no one’s listening.

Franco finally speaks up, still with that ridiculous, infuriating charm.

“Don’t worry, I’ll fit right in. I mean, how hard can it be?”

Oh, he’ll fit right in, all right. About as well as a cat fits in a mosh pit.

It starts with the name tag.

Franco’s first obstacle as a Hot Topic employee isn’t even a customer – it’s the little plastic rectangle that refuses to clip onto his perfectly pressed shirt. After a solid minute of fumbling, he finally slaps it onto his chest, crooked, looking way too proud of himself for such a small win.

You, meanwhile, are trying to decide if it’s worth quitting your job just to avoid this nightmare.

“Maybe untuck your shirt,” you suggest, glaring at him. “You look like you’re about to sell Bibles.”

He looks down, confused. “But isn’t this the uniform?”

“No. The uniform is not looking like you have a trust fund.”

He untucks the shirt, but it doesn’t help much. He still stands out like a Gap model in a Halloween store.

And then the customers start rolling in.

The first one is easy: a kid looking for a Blink-182 tee. You grab it from the shelf, hand it over, and move on. Franco watches like he’s taking notes for a science experiment.

The second one? Not so easy.

It’s a girl with jet-black lipstick, multiple nose rings, and an attitude. She narrows her eyes at Franco, who’s manning the register for the first time.

“Do you have this in an extra small?” she asks, holding up a spiked belt.

Franco looks at the belt like it’s a snake. “Uh… let me check in the back?”

“There is no back,” you hiss from across the counter.

“Oh. Right. Um…” He flashes the customer his best smile. “We don’t have it in extra small, but maybe a small could work?”

The girl rolls her eyes so hard you’re worried they might get stuck. “Forget it,” she snaps, storming out.

Franco turns to you, bewildered. “Was it something I said?”

“It was everything you said.”

But it doesn’t stop there.

Later, he mispronounces Misfits as The Misfits. Then he spends five minutes explaining the return policy to a guy who clearly just wanted to buy a patch and leave. By the time someone asks him about gauges, he’s looking at you like he’s about to beg for help.

“Are you sure there’s no training manual?” he asks.

“This is the training,” you shoot back. “Sink or swim.”

But the thing is, he doesn’t sink. Not completely, anyway. Somehow, between the awkward stumbles and clueless questions, he manages to charm almost every customer. Even the goth kids seem to tolerate him, if only because he’s so obviously out of his depth.

And when your manager comes by to check on him, he’s suddenly the picture of professionalism, rattling off sales numbers like he’s been working there for years.

You glare at him as she leaves, impressed.

“What?” he says, grinning. “I’m a fast learner.”

You groan.

It’s halfway through Franco’s second shift when the universe decides to really test your patience. You’re at the register, ringing up a pair of fishnet gloves for a kid who can’t be older than twelve, when you hear the sound of trouble brewing near the band tees.

“Oh, my God,” someone laughs, loud and mean. “Do you even know who that is?”

You look up and see them: a group of older teens, all decked out in leather jackets and studded belts, surrounding Franco like a pack of hyenas. He’s holding up a Black Sabbath shirt, looking a little like a deer caught in headlights.

“Uh…” Franco starts, clearly scrambling. “Yeah, of course I do. It’s… uh… classic rock, right?”

The tallest guy in the group snorts. “Classic rock? Bro, this is Sabbath. Tell me you’re joking.”

You can see Franco’s face turn red from across the store. You should probably step in, but there’s a part of you that kind of wants to see him squirm. He’s always so confident, so perfect. It’s nice to see him stumble for once.

But then one of the girls pipes up, flipping her bright purple hair over her shoulder. “I don’t know why they even hired you. You don’t belong here.”

That hits a nerve. You shove the cash drawer closed and storm over before you can think twice.

“He belongs here more than you do,” you snap, stepping between Franco and the group. “Unless you’re planning on buying something, get out.”

The tall guy raises an eyebrow. “What’s your problem?”

“My problem is you harassing my coworker. Go be a jerk somewhere else.”

There’s a tense pause, but eventually, they back off, muttering insults as they leave the store.

When they’re gone, you turn to Franco. He’s staring at you like you just pulled him out of a burning building.

“Uh, thanks,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, well…” You shrug, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Can’t let them scare off the new guy.”

He grins, that same easy, infuriating grin. “So you don’t hate me?”

“Don’t push it.”

You turn to walk back to the register, but you can feel him watching you, and for the first time, it doesn’t feel annoying.

It’s after the dinner rush, which is mostly just bored teenagers roaming the mall with nothing better to do than browse graphic tees they can’t afford, when Franco starts humming. It’s faint at first, just a couple of notes, but it’s enough to get under your skin.

You lean over the counter, glaring at him while he pretends to be absorbed in folding a pile of shirts he definitely refolded twice already. “Are you seriously humming The Cure right now?”

He looks up, wide-eyed, like you caught him committing a crime. “Uh, maybe?”

“You’re kidding.”

“Why?” He shrugs, all innocent. “What’s wrong with The Cure?”

“Nothing.” You grab a stack of bandanas and toss them onto the shelf. “Just didn’t peg you as a fan.”

“Well, I’m full of surprises.” He grins, that boyish, can’t-you-just-love-me grin that’s probably charmed a hundred Gap moms into buying extra polos. It makes you want to throw a mannequin at him.

But then he says, “You know, my mom hated this kind of music. She used to blast Hanson in the car and call it ‘family bonding.’”

You freeze mid-fold, staring at him. “No. Not Hanson.”

“Yep.” He leans against the counter, totally unashamed. “Full-on MMMBop era. It was brutal.”

You snort before you can stop yourself. “That’s horrifying.”

“Tell me about it.” He shakes his head like he’s reliving some great tragedy. 

And now you’re laughing, actually laughing, and you hate how easy it feels. It’s not supposed to be easy with Franco. He’s supposed to be the enemy, the preppy intruder in your kingdom of chains and leather. 

The store quiets down again, the hum of fluorescent lights filling the silence between customers. You’re at the counter, sorting through returns, when Franco asks, “So, how long have you been working here?”

You don’t even look up. “Too long.”

“Like… since it opened?”

“Not that long.”

He chuckles. “You just seem like you’re good at it. Like, you know exactly where everything goes, how to deal with customers, all of it.”

You pause, caught off guard by the compliment. “Uh, thanks, I guess.”

“I’m serious.” He leans against the counter, closer than he needs to be. “It’s cool. You make it look easy.”

For a second, you don’t know what to say. You’re not used to this version of him – the one who’s not joking or smirking or trying to win people over.

“Well,” you mutter, focusing way too hard on a stray thread on your sleeve, “someone has to hold this place together.”

“Guess that makes you the boss, huh?”

You look up, and he’s smiling again, but it’s softer this time, less Gap-commercial and more… real.

“Yeah,” you say, meeting his eyes for a second longer than you mean to. “Guess it does.”

And just like that, you’re back to folding shirts, pretending your face isn’t warm, pretending you’re not replaying the way he said it in your head.

“Hey,” Franco says after a minute, breaking the silence. “Thanks for not letting me completely crash and burn today.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

But he just laughs

A few days later, you’re mid-shift, reorganizing the clearance rack and silently judging whoever thought mixing Korn and Nirvana shirts was a good idea, when you hear Franco call your name.

“Hey!” He’s jogging over, holding a black eyeliner pencil in one hand and a spiked cuff in the other. “Okay, hear me out.”

You look up, already regretting your decision to give him the time of day. “What.”

“I was thinking.” He plops the cuff down on the counter like it’s Exhibit A in a trial. “Maybe I need a vibe adjustment. You know, to fit in better.”

You stare at him, waiting for the punchline. When it doesn’t come, you burst out laughing. “You? Adjust your vibe? You are the Gap vibe.”

“Exactly,” he says, unbothered by your mockery. “Which is why I need to commit if I’m going to survive here.”

You shake your head, going back to your rack. “You’re insane.”

“I’m serious!” He grabs your arm, dragging you toward the accessories wall. “Help me out here. What do I need? Eyeliner? A chain wallet? Should I dye my hair black? What screams ‘Hot Topic employee’ to you?”

You yank your arm back, glaring. “First of all, no one dyes their hair black on a whim. Second of all, even if you doused yourself in black nail polish and combat boots, you’d still look like a golden retriever.”

He blinks at you, confused. “A… golden retriever?”

“You know what I mean.” You gesture at him like he’s Exhibit A now. “You’re too happy. Too friendly. Even if you dressed the part, you’d still give off this, like, boy-next-door energy.”

“Wow.” He folds his arms, smirking. “Didn’t realize you’d been analyzing my vibe so much.”

You groan, shoving past him to grab a random shirt off the rack. “Fine. You want help? Put this on.”

He takes the shirt, holding it up with a frown. It’s oversized, black, and has some vaguely satanic-looking band logo on it. “This is… a lot.”

“Exactly.” You throw a studded belt at him for good measure. “Now go try it on.”

To your surprise, he doesn’t argue. He just shrugs and disappears into the fitting room, leaving you to wonder if you’ve actually broken him.

When he finally comes out, you almost choke. The shirt hangs loose over his frame, the belt is slung low around his waist, and he’s added the spiked cuff for good measure. He looks ridiculous.

“Well?” he says, holding his arms out like he’s presenting a masterpiece. “What do you think?”

You tilt your head, trying to suppress a laugh. “You look like a lost theater kid trying to go goth for Halloween.”

He grins, completely unoffended. “So… nailed it?”

“Sure.” You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “Except for the part where no one here is going to believe you’ve ever listened to anything darker than Matchbox Twenty.”

“Ouch.” He puts a hand over his heart, pretending to be wounded. “You’re brutal.”

“And you’re hopeless.”

But as he stands there, grinning like he’s actually proud of himself, you realize something weird. He looks kind of cute.

“Alright, fine,” you say, tossing a pack of black nail polish at him. “You want the full experience? You’re painting your nails next.”

He catches it easily, still smiling. “Whatever you say, boss.”

It’s the end of the night, and the mall feels like a ghost town. The food court’s shut down, the arcade’s lights are dimmed, and you’re counting down the minutes until you can lock up and go home. Franco’s behind the counter, you’re halfheartedly restocking chokers when he says, “Hey, can I ask you something?”

You look over your shoulder. He looks serious, which is rare for him. Too rare. “What? You need me to explain the difference between Slipknot and Korn again?”

“Ha-ha.” He leans on the counter, “I’m being serious.”

You roll your eyes but put down the chokers. “Fine. Ask away.”

There’s a pause. He’s tapping his fingers on the counter, like he’s working up the nerve. Finally, he says, “Why do you hate me so much?”

You blink at him, trying to figure out if this is some kind of joke, but his face is all earnest curiosity.

“I don’t –” You stop, because of course you do, or at least you did. But now? You’re not so sure.

He’s still looking at you, waiting, and for once, you don’t have a snarky comeback. You just shrug. “I don’t hate you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he says, but there’s no edge to it. “When I first started here, you looked like you wanted to set me on fire.”

“Yeah, well, you kind of deserved it.”

He laughs, and the sound fills the empty store in a way that makes your chest feel weird. “Fair. But… why?”

You chew on your lip, debating whether or not to tell him the truth. But something about the way he’s looking at you – like he actually cares about your answer – makes you cave.

“Because you’re you.”

“Wow.” He raises an eyebrow. “Great explanation. Totally clears it up.”

You groan, leaning back against the wall. “Fine. Because you walked in here all… perfect. Perfect smile, perfect attitude, perfect everything. And this place? It’s not supposed to be perfect. It’s messy, and weird, and full of people who don’t fit in anywhere else. You showing up felt like…”

“Like I didn’t belong.”

“Yeah.” You exhale, relieved he said it so you didn’t have to. “Exactly.”

He’s quiet for a second, and you’re about to make a joke to fill the silence when he says, “You know, I’ve never felt like I belonged anywhere.”

That shuts you up.

“Not at Gap, not at school, not even at home half the time,” he continues, voice softer now. “But here? I don’t know. It’s different. And it’s not just because of the music or the clothes or whatever. It’s… you.”

Your heart skips, and you hate how easily he can do that to you. “Me?”

“Yeah.” He looks up, meeting your eyes, and suddenly it feels like there’s no space left in the room. “You make it feel like it’s okay to not be perfect. Like it’s okay to just… be.”

You don’t know what to say to that. Words are stuck somewhere in your throat, and all you can do is stare at him like he’s said something impossible.

“I probably sound like an idiot,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I mean it. And if I have to spend every shift here proving that I belong, I will. Because, honestly? This is the first place that I've ever felt comfortable in.”

Your chest feels tight, and you’re suddenly very aware of how close he’s standing. Too close. Not close enough.

“Franco…” You’re not even sure what you’re about to say, but he cuts you off.

“I know. I’ll shut up now.” He steps back, flashing that same boyish grin that used to drive you insane. “Just thought you should know.”

And before you can respond, the store phone rings, breaking the moment.

You grab it, mumbling something about it probably being the mall office, but your hands are shaking as you pick up.

When you hang up, Franco’s already by the door, keys in hand, waiting to lock up. “Ready to call it a night?”

You nod, swallowing hard.

“Cool. See you tomorrow, boss.” He winks, pushing open the door and stepping out into the empty mall.

You watch him go, your heart still racing.

It’s been a few weeks since The Conversation. You and Franco have been in this weird limbo ever since – like you’re both too scared to bring it up again but also too aware of each other to act normal. He still grins at you like he knows a secret, and you still pretend it doesn’t make your heart race.

But tonight, something feels different. The shift was slow, the music quieter than usual, and now the two of you are the last ones left, locking up the store.

Franco leans against the gate, twirling the keys around his finger like he’s in a teen movie. “So,” he says, breaking the silence, “what’s your excuse for staying late tonight? Organizing the chokers by shade again?”

You shove the gate into place and glare at him, though there’s no real anger behind it. “What’s your excuse? Waiting for me to do all the work as usual?”

“Obviously.” He flashes that stupid grin, but this time there’s a bit of anxiety behind it.

You should brush it off, make some sarcastic comment and walk away, but instead, you lean against the counter and cross your arms. “You’ve been acting weird.”

“Me?” He feigns innocence, pointing at himself. “I’m not the one who’s been dodging eye contact for three weeks.”

“Yeah, because you’ve been staring at me like a creep,” you shoot back, but your voice is softer than you mean it to be.

He doesn’t deny it. Instead, he tilts his head, studying you in that way that makes you feel like you’re under a spotlight. “So… are we gonna talk about it?”

“About what?” You know exactly what he means, but you’re not making this easy for him.

“About this.” He gestures vaguely between the two of you. “Whatever this is.”

You shrug, trying to play it cool. “What’s there to talk about? You’re annoying, I tolerate you, the end.”

“Uh-huh.” He steps closer, his grin turning softer, almost shy. “And that’s why you blush every time I call you boss?”

“I do not blush.”

“You so do.”

You groan, turning to fiddle with the register just to give your hands something to do. “Why are you like this?”

“Because you like it.”

Your head snaps up, ready to argue, but suddenly you’re tired of pretending.

“Okay, fine,” you say, throwing up your hands. “Maybe I don’t hate you. Maybe I even… like you a little. Happy now?”

He blinks, like he wasn’t expecting you to actually admit it. “Wait, really?”

“Oh my god.” You bury your face in your hands. “Don’t make me say it again.”

He laughs, soft and disbelieving, and when you peek through your fingers, he’s standing right in front of you.

“For the record,” he says, voice quieter now, “I like you too. More than a little.”

Your heart does this stupid flip, and before you can chicken out, you grab the lanyard around his neck and pull him into a kiss. It’s quick, clumsy, and absolutely perfect.

“Wow,” he says, breathless. 

“Shut up.”

But you’re smiling, and so is he.

“Okay,” he says after a beat, grinning like an idiot. “But just so you know, I’m totally telling everyone you kissed me first.”

You groan, shoving him playfully. “Don’t push your luck.”

He laughs, grabbing your hand before you can pull away completely. “Too late."

[cursedfortune]

Mortem laughed lightly at the thought of his boredom leading him to harass the Heavens. She'd love to be a fly on the wall for that. Upsetting deities was a respectable hobby, in her opinion. Though, given his reputation, she was sure it would cause quite the stir.

"But I see your meaning. I've had plenty come to my home demanding the same. Or not even having the courtesy to ask - sometimes they go straight for the jugular under their own assumptions." Mortem lamented playfully. She wasn't really that bothered, it kept life semi-interesting. At least, when someone worth the interest came along. But even when it wasn't someone of interest, at least the corpses could make for good fertilizer for her gardens.

Despite the audacity the deities had, she supposed it was nice they recognized his power enough to talk first instead of trying to attack. Showed a bit of wisdom on their behalf, also meant his mountain wasn't constantly getting banged up or worse. Unlike her cabin. The enchantments she had to place upon it to cease fixing it constantly was a bit ridiculous - if not a bit sad.

His opinion of the festival was one she was amused by. It was rather quaint they upheld such a tradition, especially in an age where harvests weren't a thing mortals struggled with any longer. Still, appreciating the trials of the past was something that would always garner her respect. The importance of history, the value and relevancy it had - setting a foundation for the present, as the present set a foundation for the future... it was all of value. She worked hard to ensure history would not be forgotten, regardless of where in the world it could happen.

"If you'd like to attend a festival that celebrates a great battle that was overcome, I certainly know of a place back home. You ought to come visit at the end of spring." She invited. The capital city and high kingdom that unified all the others often held a celebration. A remembrance. It was a bittersweet event, but it possessed a reminder of their history - the value of keeping that knowledge alive was important beyond words. And hearing people speak so fondly, so admirably of the people she knew so longer ago still... It was always worth attending for that alone.

As they walked, she observed the passing people - the happy children, smelled the various foods in the air. All before she noticed his hand signaling her to pause. Curiously, the witch followed - wondering just what caught his eye.

How unexpected... an appreciation for stained glass? He'd really like the festival in her capital, then. Those from the neighboring desert always brought with them sand-blown glass. Wind chimes, vases, art of all kinds with such beautiful craftsmanship.

The chime of it was pretty, no wonder he was drawn to it. Mortem observed the way it swayed, the hum of its chimes, the way the light caught the glass.

"This would look nice upon a mountain, I'd think." She took her chin between her fingers after a moment, "I can imagine the sunlight catching the glass - the breeze making pleasant music." She considered aloud, totally encouraging and enabling him without an ounce of shame. To see such wonder and appreciation from Wukong, well, how could she not suggest such when it clearly made him so happy to see and hear?

From her pouch, she pulled out a coin that would suffice in its payment. It idly rolled across the back of her knuckles before she set it down on the counter before Wukong as a gift - unsure if her new friend had the currency for this country or not. Not wanting him to feel put on the spot to buy it or not, or possibly regarding whether he had the currency or not, the witch walked away to let him decide what he wanted to do. She opted to meander down the tables, admiring the glasswork as she flicked a bell from another wind chime along the way.

Money meant nothing to someone as old as she. What was priceless was seeing the little joys that adorned another's face. Especially the face of someone whose company she was enjoying.

The sounds of children, people talking among one another, of animals and who knows what else, Sun was starting to be glad he had the correct number of ears. He wondered, idly, how Macaque would deal with this much sound; if he’d get overwhelmed, or would simply ‘turn off’ his ears in favour of whichever company he tended to keep in this day and age. Sun knew he wouldn’t be part of said company, but he couldn’t help but to wonder about his fellow Stone Monkey during celebrations.

❝Well, you’d be happy to know that I’ve been bored lately. So perhaps the Heavens will get a visitor some time soon.❞ The Monkey had said, grinning, as if he was already scheming away; making plans and ideas to cause as much havoc as he could.

Or, perhaps, he’ll simply visit; cause them more anxiety knowing that the Monkey King was simply around and doing not a thing to disturb their holy lands. He knew that’ll cause the most trouble, to do nothing and simply grin – a prologue to the schemes he could be planning, and the anxieties that came with him.

Yes, the Heavens were nothing but peaceful; there was barely a ruckus to happen, unless one of the many Deities decided to do something. The last he heard, Nezha had a position of high respect – the kid, he remembered, being a thorn in his side when they last fought. He was glad the boy grew up into such a role, and he wondered if the Bull Demon’s son was still underneath the Goddess’ control, or if they were back together with their family. . .

. . . Although, he did piss off the Bull Demon in his later life; causing a rift in their brotherhood. It didn’t matter to Sun either way.

If the Bull Demon wanted to hate him over actions beyond his control, then so be it.

❝It’s nice, yes, to be checked up on but. . . Don’t you think most people would have more tack? Instead of coming to my home, and demanding to know what I’m up too.❞ He complained, although from his tone it was obvious it was nothing to be upset about. In fact, he seemed to miss it – a longing was in his voice, as if wishing for more intrusion from the Heavens would do him some good.

For a moment, the Monkey King wondered how it’d go if he was to have a visitor to his mountain whilst he was out; no doubt, it’ll cause a commotion in the Heavens.

Where did the Monkey King go, away from his people and mountain?

As children and people ran about – slipping by people without a second thought, still as agile as ever even with his tail wrapped around his waist – Sun couldn’t help but to hum out at the Witch’s explanation.

❝A, a festival of a bountiful harvest! How kind of them, to still celebrate such things.❞ He said, golden eyes everywhere but at the company he had besides him; falling on the booths of trinkets and novelistic goods. He was interested, certainly, but not enough to buy.

He had enough treasure and goods at home within his mountain; far more than he know what to do with, trinkets and do-da’s that even the Hells would get upset of him having. One of the most dangerous must’ve been the ink scroll he had hidden away, but hidden exactly he didn’t know. He needed to keep that protect the most, for it held. . .

❝Here I had hope this was a festival celebrating a win of sorts; although I doubt most would hold such events for such things now a days. Most ‘wins’ in the world these days tend to be celebrated at one’s home instead.❞ If this city was at war before, Sun couldn’t tell now; it’s people were cheerful, and unharmed by what war could do to a population.

There was no tired warriors walking about, longing for today to be over so they could go home to their families, nor was there a chorus of people celebrating a victory. It was as Mortem had said:

A festival of harvest.

One thing finally caught his attention for it shined in the light – catching his bright eyes with a refraction of light. He paused, bringing his hand up to tell her to pause, as he went to look. Hanging from a booth, from a vendor far too old to be handling a busy table at such a festival, was a stain glass wind chime of sorts, it gentle chime also causing the Monkey’s ears.

It was gorgeous as gorgeous could be; it’s stain glass of purples and blues and greens and teals caught the sun’s light and shined it colours about. With such child-like amazement. He was bewitched, it seemed, by it.

[hxlcyon]

the high of making the people i cherish happy but also concernedly confused

[tonycries]

Cause, I Love Freaks!

Synopsis. The question isn’t whether he can make you squírt - it’s how and where.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, established relationship, squírting, unprotected, creampíe, exhíbitionism (Sukuna’s and Choso’s), bréeding, Shiu cameo, messy, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, Sukuna’s thigh tattoos, thigh ríding chokíng, overstím, finger suckíng, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.1k

A/N. I think I’m in some early ovulation week because…

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Prove it.

Now, does Toji know he’s the best you’ve ever had in bed? Of course.

Is he proud of how he’s done everything and anything - had you folded in half underneath him, stuffed from all ends, and cumming harder than any other loser before him did? Hell yeah. 

Does it bother him when Shiu makes some off-hand comment about how he’s able to make someone squirt? Well, it was hard not to when the man just laughs right in Toji’s dumbfounded face, saying something about how your pretty pussy is “missing out” and to come to Shiu if you want to have a good time.

Surely, that stupid conversation doesn’t bother him, right? Right?

Wrong. 

He was going to prove that bastard Shiu wrong. 

“Damn. Not that one either.”

If you could, you’d probably let out a sob - but right now, you’re too cockdrunk to even think let alone cry. Unsure if you’re even breathing as Toji wrestles your limp body - still twitching and sensitive from your nth high - upright on his lap. Whispering a ragged, “Guess we just hafta try again. Right, doll?”

“Please!” you let out a strangled yelp as Toji’s big hands snake down to steady your hips, all stuttering and messily sucking up his aching cock. Again. “I-I don’t think I can- ah-”

Whatever plea on the tip of your tongue is shut up by Toji pulling your teary face towards his, kissing your swollen lips so softly. Reverent, even. 

The complete opposite of his hips down below, not even bothering to move anymore, hands on your ass just dragging your sloppy pussy up and down his swollen dick. Up and down up and down up and-

“Toji–”

“Aww, c’mon, pretty.” Toji groans, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he spreads your puffy folds further, bullying his cock so impossibly deep. “G-gotta prove it to that f-fucker that I’m the best, right?”

Ah, there it was - if you were in any better state of mind you’d have cursed out Shiu already. Taunting your boyfriend into this stupid little challenge that had him storming into your apartment and ripping off your poor panties. And you split apart on his cock and cumming over and over again like he wouldn’t - couldn’t - stop until you squirted. Like it killed him to make you miss out on this little thing. 

“Now now, doll.” you jolt as he gives your sopping pussy a little smack! Grinning at your nails digging into his thick shoulders, “Focus. Hah- we gotta have her squirtin’ all over me now, right?”

You really can’t help the way you’re giving him a delirious little nod. Hips bouncing back pathetically in an attempt to meet the way Toji was bouncing you so sinfully on his cock like his favorite toy. And it’s so cute that Toji’s murmuring a low, “Use your words, doll.”

“I- ngh-”

Not like he was giving you a chance to, rolling your ravaged clit between his fingers, teeth ghosting over your racing pulse. “Louder.”

“Gonna- gonna squirt for you, Toji…”

If he was any lesser man (Shiu) Toji thinks he might’ve just cum in your snug pussy right then and there. Filled you up till you’re bloated and forgetting any promise of squirting - but no, that’s for later. 

Right now, he’s flattening his feet on the mattress, falling onto his back - two big arms pulling your overstimulated body to rest against his muscles. Not even wasting a second before fucking up into your tight cunt like such an animal.

Sloppy - so, so desperate. 

Just rough, jagged movements of his hips because shit if Toji doesn’t make you squirt this time then he’s gonna lose his sanity. Might’ve already lost it, actually, with each adorable ah! ah! ah! falling from your kiss-bitten lips each time he hits that one spot so easily. 

“Bit- bit more-” he grits out, feeling that familiar way your plushy walls were trying to squeeze him dry. Your cunt too heavenly. The stimulation too much. “Jus’ a bit more, pretty.”

“Oh my god- Toji- ah- Toji Toji Toji-” It’s all you can do to whine, writhing as he holds your hips still, rocking harder into you. Clawing at the soaked sheets, his shoulders, his hair - anything to try and hold onto whatever semblance of control you had left. “M’so- close-”

“Yeah?” And Toji sounds so utterly wrecked already, looking up at you with glassy, half-lidded eyes. Voice strained, awe-struck like he couldn’t even believe it. His pretty girl - cumming for him again. “Squirt f’me, doll.”

You don’t even realize it when you are at first - just that something snaps and suddenly you’re soaking Toji’s cock in all your sweet sweet juices. Until it was dripping down the side, onto the mattress. 

So messy and sinful - gummy walls squeezing his dick so fucking tight it almost hurt, covering his abs till they were glistening. Toji can’t bring himself to do anything but watch, for once in his life actually grateful that Shiu goaded him into doing something. Jaw-dropped at the way you’re gushing all around him - like you couldn’t stop. Again and again and-

“S-see? Fuck- What- oh shit, doll. All f’me? Good girl.” Eyeing that phone propped up by the bedside, Shiu’s face watching over the obscene mess on the bed. “What did I tell ya?”

“Heh, well whatever. Can ya make her do it twice?”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Love is blind

Now, it’s not often that Nanami Kento took off his glasses. Rarely when he cuddled, not usually when he was kissing you - his pretty lil’ wife. And never when it was your lips down below that he was making out with.

“So messy.” Nanami mutters, muffled around your puffy folds. Each word making you arch against the soft mattress. “Are you this messy just f’me? M’so lucky, my love.”

It’s all you can do to yelp as Nanami slides his tongue warningly between your folds, flicking at your swollen clit just enough to have you gripping so tightly at his blond strands. Pulling Nanami’s face up from between your thighs with a strained groan.

And oh you assumed he was exaggerating, but it was so fucking difficult to look at Nanami, too. Glasses slightly foggy, cheeks flushed. Your sweet juices glossing his lips so prettily, dripping all the way down his jaw. Head tilting back ever-so-slightly to let it slide down his throat.

Making your head spin as he reaches over to press a chaste, wet peck to your lips. “Jus’ let me take care of it.”

And take care of it he does. Immediately taking his favorite place in-between your legs, stuffing his face nose-deep into your dripping cunt. Hot tongue giving one, long lick up your folds, just barely dipping between them. The slow torture was delicious. 

“Kento-.” you let out a pouty little whine, one that goes straight to Nanami’s aching cock. Ankles hooking around his broad shoulders to pull him impossibly closer, “D-don’t tease.”

He’s letting out such a dark chuckle, hot against your sloppy hole. Awe-struck at the way you’re glistening and clenching around nothing - so much so that Nanami almost considers taking off those tinted glasses to see this heavenly view better. 

But no, instead, he’s breathing out a little, “Fine.” Interrupting your soft sigh of relief to continue, “But you better not get my hah- glasses dirty, darling.”

Nanami doesn’t wait for your response - he doesn’t have to. Already knowing that you’ll be giving him a delirious little nod in agreement. So he’s digging his neat fingernails into your hips, pulling you closer to spread your lips with his tongue. Lapping so obscenely at the slick beading at your cunt over and over and-

It wasn’t enough.

“Shit. Fuck-” you flinch - maybe from those depraved little profanities hissed into your cunt. Maybe from the cold metal of his glasses hitting your heated core. Probably from the way Nanami was bullying his soft tongue into your tight pussy.

Pushing past that feeble resistance, one hand reaching behind to arch your deeper into his mouth. The other toying with your sensitive clit. Rolling the nub between two long fingers while he dips in and out of your hole at such a ruthless pace. In and out in and out in and-

“Oh- fuck fuck fuck, Kento-” you’re grabbing at the expensive sheets so hard you worry they might tear. Thighs shaking and sliding off his shoulders. “S’too much- too deep.”

And ah, for how much Nanami pretends to be annoyed as he wraps your legs back around his head - it sends all the blood in his body rushing straight to his cock at how wrecked his cute wife was.

Moaning around your entrance, “Remember what I mm- said.” Your juices starting to drip down the corners of his mouth now. “Get it dirty and-”

“Kento! Oh my god-” You buck wildly as he starts drawing lewd little circles on your clit. Nanami’s little warnings the last thing on your mind as you feel yourself losing more and more of your sanity with each drip! drip! drip! of your slick down onto the mattress below. 

Glasses completely fogged now, he makes out with your cunt through pure, feral need. Tongue matching in time with each yelp of his name leaving your mouth. 

“F-fuck.” Nanami’s smacking his lips against your own. “You taste so good. So heavenly.” Your gummy walls sucking him up so sinfully that it was almost difficult to move faster, more erratic. “Gonna make a mess f’me now? Gonna hah-” 

And, well, you did always manage to surprise him.

Because Nanami doesn’t even get to finish his sentence, before your slutty pussy is gushing all around him. 

Everywhere. Making such a mess as he tonguefucks you through your high, letting you use and angle his mouth all you wanted. So so sloppy with the way you’re soaking him in all your juices - down his chin, his tongue, all the way up to his sharp cheekbones and even-

“My glasses.” Head so fucked-out already, you almost miss Nanami’s dangerous little mutter. Raising your eyes to meet his and oh. Shit. “You dirtied my glasses.”

As if to prove his point, Nanami them off, running a long finger down his frames. Slowly. Agonizingly. Pooling all your sweet slick on his fingertips, so tauntingly inspecting it in the dim lighting. 

In a split-second, those dripping wet glasses are resting on the bridge of your nose, forcing you to peer over them at a dangerously looming Nanami.

“Told ya not to dirty my glasses, my love.” Smiling so dangerously, “Think this naught cunt of yours should be taught a lesson for that.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Favorite part

Geto thinks that this might be his favorite part, whispering a ragged little, “God, do you know how pretty you hah- look right now?”

You didn’t - and it’s all you can do to even try and understand what your boyfriend was even cooing from behind. Too caught up in the way your legs were so pathetically trembling with the need to bounce back on his swollen cock. 

“Hngh- f-fuck Sugu- I-”

Sure to leave such lewd little marks for Geto to ogle at tomorrow, his toned pelvis against your ass, heavy balls on your clit, fingers on your hips to steady your fucked-out self. Sloppy - bruising, even. 

So it only made sense that your high was the same - and he can only watch, eyes half-lidded, pupils blown, jaw falling slack in disbelief at the way your cunt was just gushing all around him. Fucking him over and over through your high. 

“Shit- shit shit shit.” you hear him breathe, fingers toying with your pretty clit desperately. “Jus’ like that. Good girl.”

Your sweet sweet juices soaking his painfully hard cock, dripping down, down, down his heavy balls, glistening against his thighs. Squirting so obscenely around his twitching cock and shit- he just can’t help but go over the edge as well. 

“Oh- oh god.” Geto throws his head back, giving you one, harsh thrust before he’s spilling all into your quivering cunt. Coating your walls such an obscene white, “This pussy is ngh- magic, gorgeous. Fucking love her.”

Loved how you were squeezing him so tight. 

Loved how you were so messy. 

Loved how it made him think that you could squirt all over his dick again. 

And he can’t stop - couldn’t, even if he wanted to. Hips still moving in quick, ragged jabs to your poor cervix, eyeing the way your poor, abused pussy was still drooling all around him. A lewd little mess of slick and cum, forming a pool on the sheets below. 

And Geto can’t even think to bring himself to be disgusted - why would he? After all, this was his favorite part, right? 

“You can mm- gimme another one, right?” You shiver as he flattens his feet on the damp mattress, kissing up your arched spine. Keening at the change in angle as his cock bullies impossibly deeper. Stars behind your eyes at how unfairly easily he finds that one spot. “Your slutty pussy’s gonna s-squirt all over me again?” Fat head hitting it over and over and-

“Suguru!” you squeal, and Geto raises his brows. Knowing you were absolutely fucking wrecked already - you never called him by his full name until you were fucked so dumb you couldn’t remember his nickname. “S’too- much. M’too ngh- sensitive.”

Your hands reach out to grab for the headboard - nails digging into the wood. Geto’s throbbing cock massaging your gummy walls so agonizingly that you almost miss him mutter a quiet, “Now, that won’t do.”

And before you know it, his big hands are prying yours off the bed, intertwining them so gently with his. Romantic - but you knew better, Geto just didn’t want his pretty girl to run away. 

Not when he knew you were so close - could tell by that breathy little ah! ah! ah! leaving your lips. 

“Please-”

Huffing in amusement, “Please what?”

And you don’t even know what you’re begging for - maybe for mercy? For Geto to let you fucking breathe? His cock too bruising against your cunt, drawing out incoherent whines with each drag of his tip down all the right spots. Trying so desperately to fuck that second orgasm out of you. 

“Heh, can’t even fuck- talk.” And it’s so dizzing how he’s puncturing each word with such a rough ram of his cock. So mean with the way he dips a hand lower to graze a long finger down your sensitive cunt - so messy and sensitive. Chuckling at your cute lil’ whines - at the way they’re suddenly cut short when Geto shoves his dripping wet fingers between your lips. “Ngh- well, if you don’t wanna talk…”

Close. Too close. 

You mewl at the way he was pressing right at the back of your tongue, feeling the lewd little taste of him and you and him. “Mmmpf- what are you-” 

“At least don’t try to escape, gorgeous.” he leans in close - so close. Long inky hair tickling your spine, breath hot against your ear, lips grazing yours. You think you could just pass out right then and there as his soft tongue darts out to lick at the mess he’s smeared across your glossy lips. 

Grinning at the taste, at that look in your eyes that told him your cute cunt was about to give him another show, “Cuz this is my favorite part.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Hair tie

If anyone found out why Choso Kamo was never seen without that black hair tie around his wrist, they’d laugh in your face and tell you what a great joke that was. 

That inconspicuous little thing he’d take around everywhere, whether he had his hair up or not. It’s not like he exactly needed it, and most just assumed it was a fashion statement. 

Only you knew what it meant to have Choso thumbing that little red imprint in public. Hooking a finger underneath, pulling back ever-so-slightly to let it snap! against his skin. Looking you right in the eyes as he does. Something dangerous. Subtle. Something that has you pressing your thighs together. 

Something that has him pulling you to the nearest changing room in this crowded shopping mall, one hand covering your mouth, muffling your sweet sweet moans. The other, knuckle-deep in your dripping cunt.  

“Sorry, baby.” he gasps, kissing your forehead so mockingly gently. “You just looked so fuckin’ pretty in that skirt. Needed you so- hah- bad.”

The skirt that was currently bunched at your waist, crumpling at Choso pushes you harder against the cool wall. 

But Choso couldn’t give a fuck about that right now, not as he shoves a knee between your trembling legs. He couldn’t have his girl falling now, right? Long fingertips so desperately massaging your plushy walls, searching for that one-

“Mmpfh! Hngh-”

Found it.

Without another word, he’s reeling two fingers back - all the way until they were barely kissing your sloppy hole. Plunging back in, hitting that spot over and over like he was addicted to the way your cunt was trying to suck him up so good. High off of every cute lil’ whine that escapes through his palm. 

“Shit, so fuckin’ gorgeous.” Breath hot against your ear, “Look.” 

You barely even realize it before you are, gasping at the obscene sight below. Your drenched panties pulled so lazily to the side. Sloppy. 

“Can’t get enough. Shit-” Pulling back to show off your slick glistening on his fingers, dripping down, down, down to that sinful hair tie. “Fuuuck, baby. Need you to cum on my fingers. Please. Please-” Puffy folds milking Choso’s fingers so hard that you wonder whether it didn’t hurt - whether his wrist wasn’t cramping up now, fingers sore. 

And if they were, then, Choso didn’t show it. Instead, he’s bullying a third finger inside your poor cunt, the stretch too much that you can’t help but squeal. So fucking loud. 

Knock! Knock! Knock! 

“Is everything alright in there, ma’am?”

Oh if the way your heavenly cunt was clenching around him was anything to go by, then Choso wished he did this sooner. 

So entranced that he almost missed the concerned, “Ma’am?” from outside. 

“Wh-what’s the matter, baby?” he whispers lowly, biting down teasingly at your earlobe. Fingers still relentless, speeding up, even. And you could only pray the employee outside couldn’t hear the lewd squelches as he did. “Shy? Answer the hah- question.”

And shit, you could cry as he wrenches his hand away from your mouth. Grinning as you let out a broken little, “Y-yeah.” Cringing at how unconvincing you sound, “I’m jus-”

Whatever stupid excuse that was to come out of your mouth dies in your throat as Choso runs his thumb over your throbbing clit. 

“I-I’m al-right.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

And it’s as if he takes that up as a challenge to prove you’re so utterly not. 

Not when Choso’s drawing tight little circles in time with the way he’s hitting that one spot, arching you like such a slut into his touch. Ignoring the concerned remarks from outside as he speeds up his pace, not even bothering to cover your mouth this time because he wanted to hear all your pretty moans. 

So much so that you’re mentally preparing to get caught - maybe even arrested. 

But still you’re so close. 

Halfway through imagining how Choso would snap his hair tie during the trial when that voice speaks up again. “Well…please let us know if you need any help.”

Those footsteps from outside barely even heading away before he’s sighing, “She’s gone now.” he bites down on your lower lip. “Y’can hah- cum f’me, y’know? Make a mess?” Grinding down his rock-hard erection on your thigh, already so damp through his pants. “Fucking cover me in it.”

And then you are - all over Choso’s hand. Kissing him hard, to stop yourself from screaming as he quirks his fingers just right. Fucking you through your high as you drench him in all your juices, soaking his hair tie, trailing onto the floor in a lewd drip! drip! drip! 

Obscene. Exactly the way he wanted it. 

So fucking pretty with the way you’re squirting all over his hand, thighs trembling, lips wobbling. That new skirt of yours so filthy now that Choso can’t help but eye the pile of clothes right next to you. Gritting out a ragged, “We got so many more clothes to try on.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - X marks the spot

“You’re going to cum f’me just like this, okay, brat?”

Maybe it’s the way you’re sat so prettily on Sukuna’s muscular thigh, squirming ever-so-slightly as he starts bouncing his leg to the beat of the thumping music. Maybe it’s the way you can’t do anything but let out a stifled gasp, desperately trying not to attract any attention towards the two of you in the dimly-lit VIP area of this overcrowded club.

But Sukuna just can’t help but tease you. 

Can’t help but trail a finger along your thigh, goosebumps rising so deliciously at the scrape of his nail. Up, up, up to confirm his suspicious and oh- 

He was right. No panties.

“Heh, such a naughty little minx, aren’t ya?” he can’t help the surprise that bleeds into his voice, pulling your back flush against his chest. Cradling your neck into his pecs, “Acting all innocent but you’re just begging to be used like such a slut, huh?”

The clink of a belt, and suddenly you’re feeling a sliver of skin - warm. Soft, sat right above where you knew he had that sinful little tattoo. 

“B-but Kuna-” you flinch as the cold air hits you before you know it. Looking over your shoulder to catch that fucking smug smirk as Sukuna flips your flimsy skirt to rest your dripping cunt on his bare thigh. And to anyone else, it would probably just look like you’re just seated on his lap. But you gasp, “Here?”

“Why not?”

If anyone heard your broken whine, then you didn’t have the courage to raise your head and look. Hazy eyes locked with Sukuna’s as he starts rocking you on his thigh. Fingers digging into your hips, dragging your sloppy pussy. Grip tight, bruising almost - like he was trying to hold himself back from doing anything more. 

“Aww, my messy girl.” And fuck if it wasn’t difficult to not just fuck you right then and there with the way your puffy folds were spread on his thigh. Drooling all the way down to the gaudy couch below. “Who’re you this wet for?”

But Sukuna’s skin against your was so hot. Your brain too foggy. His words too mean. And you can’t help but let out some incoherent babble.

One that has him wrapping a hand around your neck, nails positioned right above your racing pulse, forcing you to blink tearily up at him. “Sorry, pretty. Can’t hear you above this fuckin’ music.” Biting down on your earlobe - just a little punishment, “What were you sayin’?”

“Ngh- f-fuck-” you moan, clit catching on the curves and dips of his muscles, rippling as he bounces you faster in time with your slutty lil’ movements. “Only for ngh- you.”

Voice such a low purr in your ear now, “Who?”

“Y-you, Kuna-”

“Yeahhhh, fuck.” he grunts, angling his head just right to better take in the fucking heavenly view. Back arching, swollen folds spread so shamefully as you hump him like some bitch in heat. Making such a mess all over his thigh tattoo in a way that makes Sukuna so fucking glad he got it. “S’exactly what I like to hear.”

And God, he didn’t even have to tell you for you to realize. Because you could feel the way his rock-hard cock jumps against his boxers - so rock-hard and pressing up against your ass in a damp patch. 

One hand tightening around your throat, the other dipping below to draw urgent, messy little circles on your clit. Over and over. 

You dare to crack an eye open and look at the room around you, hips still grinding down so pathetically on his thigh. Clenching down so hard on nothing as you wonder how someone - anyone - could see the two of you and-

“Oi, look at me, brat.” he’s tugging your head up to his again. Hands getting more erratic - like he wanted to distract you from anything but him him him. “Focus on me. On how fucking good this pretty pussy is feeling.”

As if you could do anything but.

Bucking softly into his angry erection, causing Sukuna to let out a low, drawn-out hiss. “Evil lil’ thing.” he drags his lips down your sensitive neck. Pulling your hips harder against that tattoo. “Guess it ngh- makes sense though because…” you blink up tearily at him as he trails off. Barely noticing the trembling in his fingers, both your rhythms getting so sloppy. Untimed. As rough as the look in Sukuna’s eyes as he whispers, “-because you’re mine.”

And then he spits - right into yout waiting mouth. Once. Twice. 

Loud enough that it definitely makes a few stray onlookers glance, faces immediately burning at the sight of Sukuna kissing you. Just a messy clash of lips and teeth and tears.

Tears as you cum with a strangled gasp, drunk up so greedily by Sukuna as you squirt all over his thigh. So fucking messy. Seeping into his pants, all the way down to the couch below, but especially his tattoo. That ring of ink soaked in your juices - right where Sukuna wanted.

And if you were in any better state of mind you’d have been embarrassed - shy, even.

Instead, you’re glancing down at the way his thigh was glistening in the dim light, delicate strings of slick snapping as you lean back closer. 

“Don’t you have- hah- the same tattoo on your cock, too, Kuna?”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Sweeter this way

“Such a filthy cunt on my sweet, sweet girl.” Gojo has the audacity to throw his head back and laugh - laugh - at how breathless and fucked out you were on top of him already. “C’mon, what ngh- happened to taking control?”

Ah, right - you bat your lashes lazily, blinking away the tears in your eyes to be met with that fucking smug smirk on your boyfriend’s face. So much for taking control tonight.

“Y-you’re a ngh- cheater, Toru.” you hiss, but you can’t stop your hips from grinding down so pathetically to meet with his rough pace. Jolting every time his leaking tip hit that one spot. “It was s’pposed to be hah- m-my turn to take charge.”

And oh how you had the strongest whining underneath you, two big arms looping around your waist to pull you against his toned chest. 

“But, sweetheart~” Craning his neck to graze his lips against your bruised ones - so fleeting, gentle. Exactly what his hips weren’t. “Isn’t it s-so much sweeter this way?”

You don’t know what it is about it - maybe at the dangerous little tone dripping from Gojo’s words. Maybe at the way each one was punctured by a messy, harsh thrust into your tight pussy. But it has shivers running down your spine - all the way to your bulging cunt, so stuffed and ravaged by his cock. 

Words a bit more breathless than you’d have liked as you mutter, “W-what do you oh fuck- Toru. What do you mean ‘sweet’?”

The only response you get is one hand pushing the hair out of his eyes, the other just bruising on your hips. Pulling you up, up, up on Gojo’s swollen cock like you were weightless, the arms in his biceps rippling when Gojo slams you down. Hard. 

Toned pelvis hitting your ass as he rams his cock into you. Again. And again. And again and again and-

“M’gonna show ya.” he grins, free hand roling your poor clit between two fingers. “Gonna show ya how much sweeter fuck-” Gojo’s eyes fly open as you clench so hard around him. On purpose - a warning. “Hah, feisty. But just you wait. M’gonna show ya.”

Having you feeling more and more like some curse he’s out to vanquish with the way he’s fucking you so merciless.

“Merciless?” Gojo cocks his head in a way that almost makes you forget to realize that oh, shit you said that out loud. “Mhm, sure did.” he hums, in a tone that was way too proud of himself. “N’ you h-haven’t even seen the ngh- best of it.”

You were getting impatient now - and so was Gojo. 

For all his talk, letting you grind your hips down to meet his rough cadence. So difficult with the way the man was getting impossibly faster. Sloppier. 

The look in his eyes is so feral. His hands so unforgiving, pushing your knees further apart. So erratic on your clit, drawing quick, messy little patterns in a way that has you wondering whether this is more for you or himself. 

He’s whispering, like a mantra now. “Gonna show ya- gonna show hah- fuck- m’gonna.” Running only on this and the way you were sucking him up so obscenely. Clit throbbing so fast under his thumb in a way he knew that it was about to be- “Now.”

As if on command, you cum. And not just any orgasm - no, when Gojo Satoru is out to prove a point, he will prove it five times over. Which is why he has you squirting like such a slut all over his rock-hard cock. 

“Oh- f-oh my god. Toru!”

Gojo’s own orgasm just a quick, sharp spike of pleasure, coating your puffy walls an obscene white before he’s pushing your limp body further back to get a better view and shit- 

That only has you gushing around him harder. So animalistically. Dick twitching wildly at the slick glistening all over Gojo’s abs, dribbling down, down, down to those tufts of white at his base. Some reaching his parted lips, and fuck if Gojo can stop himself from running his tongue along them.

Running a finger at the lewd pool on his abs before bringing them up to his mouth, “Oh, baby.” Eyes half-lidded, miles away yet still boring right into yours as he licks up his dripping wet index with a lewd groan. Pooling your sinful juices on his tongue. Heady. Addictive. “See? Sweeter this way.”

Your jaw drops into a soft oh! as Gojo pulls away with a lewd pop! looking like it fucking killed him to do so. 

Strings of slick connecting to those pretty pink lips, snapping ever so slightly as he murmurs a dark, “Wonder if it’ll be twice as sweet if I cum twice in your pretty pussy, hm?”

A/N. Hope y’all have a good day.

Plagiarism not authorized.