#it's not even ''will he say or do something stupid''

[bluukive]

Eyes On You

summary - you finally decide to give the gym a go, getting yourself involved with a man who's dead set on pushing you to your limits

wc - 5.4k

content - MDNI, insecure!reader x gymowner!Sukuna, mentions of weight, Sukuna's harsh at first, eventual mutual pining, solo mast. (m + F, separate), 0ral (f receiving), face s;tting, handj0b, slight body worship, submissive reader, freaky in the gym shower (anyone could hear them...but no one does?), teasing, hella unrealistic, really amateur writing like please I'm cringing so hard

an - uhm I've never written a mini fic before !! please excuse the awkward writing

Lazily proofread by me mb

It took all the courage you had to even think about signing up to the gym that opened down the road, but the little voice in the back of your head was telling you to go. Just check it out, it said. Walk around a little, and then right back out. Shouldn’t be hard, right?

Right?

Wrong. How wrong you were. It was easier said than done in hindsight, but you didn’t expect the heavy thud of rock music to blare throughout the facility until you felt your bones tremble. Nor did you expect large gaggles of gym bros swarming around the equipment, a few heads turning the moment you pushed open the glass door. Sure, there were enough women there also, but not enough to deter you from yanking the drawstrings of your hoodie. Your vision became obstructed as the hood tightened around your face, whispered curses leaving your lips.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you muttered, eyes darting side to side as the social anxiety set in. You were close to turning around on your heel and out of this building, leg already twitching. But a low, gravelly voice called out to you from beside a water fountain you were unfortunately standing too close to. 

“Lost? Nervous? Which one is it, girl?”

You don’t know how you missed this giant of a man, especially when his cropped, pink hair made him stick out like a sore thumb. Some strands were plastered to his sweaty forehead and concealed the judgement of his stare. Barely. His tank top also did a poor job of hiding those hulking muscles, flexing slightly with full veins as he gripped his water bottle. Looks like you caught him mid-workout. Oh, and you’re gawking like an idiot.

Nice going. 

“Are you deaf or something? Speak up already,” the stranger clicked his tongue impatiently, and you internally panicked. You wondered whether manifestation was real and if you could will for the stranger to just explode. Actually, make it the entire room. An embarrassed grimace appeared on your face as you realised you had the attention of a couple of people on you.

“Uh, no. No, I’m not deaf. Just looking around,” you began to explain, undoing the drawstrings of your hoodie once you realised how utterly stupid you must have looked. But then the stranger gave you a grimace of his own, lips quirking up as his eyes landed on your dishevelled hair. You looked like a mess. 

Way to go. Now you can’t show your face in public. And yes, it really was that deep.

And so you smoothened your hair out and plastered an overly enthusiastic grin on your face to compensate for the fact you couldn’t socialise. “Where do I sign up?”

He snorted, a sceptical brow raised as he checked out your incredibly outdated attire. “You want to sign up?” 

You nodded. Fuck, you weren’t even meant to say that. The urge to slap a hand over your forehead grew tenfold, but you fought it.

A shaky breath left you as you gave in to that little voice reminding you that no, you didn’t fit into those jeans you’ve had your eyes on for a while. No, your mom hadn’t stopped making comments about your body and lack of love life. 

“...Yes, please,” you said after a beat of silence, and that was that. Sukuna, who was apparently a trainer, led you through the whole process. Sign this, read that, fork over some of your wage. You know, the typical procedure. The new you was coming very soon, you told yourself after internally crying over the money spent. You’ll buy those jeans in no time.

═══════★

“Sloppy fuckin’ form, girl. Sharpen up,” Sukuna barked, circling around you like a goddamn hawk. 

Oh, you swore you were going to quit that gym soon. He had been riding your ass for the past couple of weeks, pushing you further than you’ve ever pushed yourself. Sukuna called you out on your bullshit that first day when you tried hiding in the corner with your phone out, coaxing you onto a mat and making you stretch. Since then, Sukuna kept an eye on you, making sure you were red-faced by the end of the workout. 

A sharp click of his tongue brought you back from your thoughts. You groaned, raising your hips from the floor and spreading out your limbs. You were currently doing a plank, which appeared to be dissatisfactory in Sukuna’s eyes. 

“I’m doing it, I’m doing it,” you hissed, head tilting up as best as you could so that you may glare at your tormentor. A scoff left his lips.

“Yeah, you’re as intimidating as fuckin’ pebble right now. Head down.”

Your head dropped reluctantly. The quiet grunt you accidentally let out didn’t escape the trainer, but he wasn’t about to soften up. Neither were you out of sheer stubbornness. 

However, the burn in your thighs and arms became more noticeable. An ‘oof’ sound left your lips as your jellied arms buckled and you face-planted the floor. Another tut and more chuckles from the other members scattered in the gym. 

“Take five,” Sukuna couldn’t help but roll his eyes at you. 

A dismissive noise left you as you remained face-down on the floor, Sukuna’s fading footsteps and mutters of annoyance filling your reddening ears. Your face burned. 

Swallow your pride and quit, the voice in your head mocked. 

But two weeks in? You couldn’t. Not when you had stupidly formed a grudge against Sukuna for pushing you so hard too early on. You shook your head and got back into form, lower lip jutting out in sheer determination. You were completely unaware of the approving nod from the other end of the room.

═══════★

Walking was simply out of the question today. You threw the covers off and gritted your teeth at the way your legs throbbed with each shift of your body. 

It had been maybe five sessions since you had face-planted the floor in front of Sukuna. It didn't look like he'd ease up any time soon after that incident. In fact, he grew meaner. That apparently made you like him more.

The mere thought of him made you shrivel up in bed and grimace, but you couldn’t fight the slight inkling of attraction you felt towards him, slight being an understatement.

It was bound to happen eventually, right? You'd be stupid not to be attracted to him. Each muscle looked like it had been carved right out of stone. Hell, now that you think about it, it was probably also those unamused looks he was throwing your way that made you keep going back to that cursed gym. 

You were there now after hyping yourself up in the mirror back home. Not for too long, though. One look at your chest flailing around was enough to make you curl your lip and shrug on that tacky pair of sweats and hoodie you liked to work out in. You skipped breakfast and settled on a shitty cereal bar you found in your kitchen. It wasn't the best thing to do, but you were set on losing weight. 

The air reeked, to be frank. It was the first thing you noticed after walking into the gym. Testosterone and sweat mixed with a strong hit of regret. Regardless, you pushed through and continued shuffling on your boneless legs. You set your bag down in some lonely corner and mentally prepared yourself for Sukuna to berate you about God knows what. It was something new every time you came here. 

“Told your stubborn ass to stretch after the workout,” he drawled once he sauntered over, an amused look on his face. “Just had to stomp out like a little brat, didn’t you?”

“That's not true. I just wanted to go home and shower,” you scoffed in response. But Sukuna didn’t reply. Instead, he raised a brow that screamed oh, really? You could feel the back of your neck prickle with an uncomfortable heat as he stared you down. 

And then he walked off. Asshole.

“So fucking weird. I mean, who does that?” you rambled to no one, getting in form and raising your arms over your head as you stretched. The slight sting of your muscles being used was actually rather welcome for once. 

═══ Later ═══

By the time you were done, you were warm and sweaty. Sukuna hadn’t spoken to you much today, too busy chewing out a new member of the gym. Poor dude, you thought. But at least it wasn't you. 

This gave you time to look in the mirror, a poor habit of yours. Your eyes cast over your body agonisingly slow as you checked for any changes in physique. Little bursts of cool air hit your flushed skin when you lifted your t-shirt with one hand slightly to inspect yourself, the other hand fanning your face. You then sighed, running a hand over your hip. 

“The fuck are you doing?” 

A garbled yelp left you as you dropped your top and looked at Sukuna from the mirror without turning around. His red eyes were trained at your hip, and he looked almost disappointed at the fact that your clothes had covered again. You whizzed around and stood there stiff. A pause, and then you were wondering why the hell your mouth was starting to run. 

“Nothin’. None of your business,” you chuckled nervously, hands clenching at your sides. “Just checking progress.” 

“Yeah, ‘cus that’s the only reason why you cop a feel of your own body after every session looking like a kicked puppy,” Sukuna’s eyes remained lidded, flicking between the mirror and you. 

“Oh, cmon. I look nothing like a kicked puppy-”

“Yeah, you do. Every single time.”

“You're watching me like some perv-”

“And what?”

You paused and inhaled deeply, a stupid smirk appearing on Sukuna's lips as you grew increasingly frustrated with him. “Will you at least let me finish my sentence?”

“No can do. Wanna explain yourself?” He asked, beefy arms folding over his chest. You had to forcefully drag your eyes away from the slight jiggle of his pecs, your body reacting similarly to that of a Victorian male seeing an ankle for the first time. 

“Eyes up here. Talk to me,” Sukuna repeated, softer this time. Your hands fiddled with each other as you debated whether to open up to this hothead. It was likely that he'd a) make fun of you, or b) propose on the spot and fawn over how perfect you were (extremely unlikely, but a girl could dream).

Sukuna watched as your lips parted and the lie tumbled out of your mouth since it was easier than telling the truth.

“Just stretching.”

An unimpressed grunt rumbled in the man's chest. “Bullshit, but keep telling yourself that.”

“Tch. What else am I doing then?”

“Fuck knows, but quit it. That's not healthy,” a finger jabbed at your forehead, and you swatted his hand away without thinking. Your chest tightened slightly. Was that genuine concern?

Sukuna saw your reluctance to accept his words, making him shoot a deadpan look your way. “I'm being serious. Stop grabbing at yourself before I throw a dumbbell at the mirror,” he scolded, narrowed eyes boring into yours.

“I see you busting your ass every time you're here. You may not think I notice it, but I do. Trust me. Do you really think I’d push someone so hard if I didn’t see something in them?”

He was speaking to you like a trainer now, but you could hear some of his own personal feelings slip through the cracks. It made your throat feel tighter. 

“To be honest, I didn't think you'd see,” you mumbled, swallowing the lump in your throat and wiping your increasingly sweaty hands on your t-shirt.

“Well, I have. Now, stop touching your hips like that. They're fine,” he scolded. Sukuna didn't even wait for a reply as he walked off, probably to slap the back of someone's head again.

For the first time that day, your body felt less heavy. 

And you could confidently meet your eyes in the mirror again. 

═══════★

With your eyes fluttering shut, you shifted and lay on your back whilst reminiscing on Sukuna's words. Maybe it was your memory playing tricks on you, but you swore his eyes lingered on your body in an appreciative way. Maybe he saw more in you than you had ever seen in yourself. But realistically, maybe you were that attention deprived that you were making up scenarios to feel special. 

An exasperated groan left you as you rubbed your face in your hands, heat creeping up onto your cheeks yet again. Honestly? You couldn't remember the last time you felt so whipped over someone before. It had been just under a month since you joined that gym, and Sukuna was already plaguing your every thought. 

It's not like Sukuna was your teacher or anything. You were both legal adults. Yeah, maybe you were just some stubborn brat who frequented his gym. But that didn't mean you couldn't feel anything for him. 

But why did you feel guilty? Was it the way he was so uncaring yet so observant at the same time that made you feel this way? Or was it the fact that you saw yourself as unworthy of this arousal?

Regardless, you could feel your cunt beginning to ache. You tried relieving it by squeezing your thighs together, but it was useless. The muscles in your body still felt tight, and the effects of the gym lingered. God, why couldn’t you escape him?

Slick noises filled the bedroom not long after you began questioning your whole dynamic with Sukuna. Yes, it was deeply embarrassing and you’ll surely regret it later. But right now, the sensation of your fingers rubbing tight circles over your clit was too pleasurable to ignore. 

With each ashamed jerk of your hips as you lay there, the plush skin of your thighs shook as you raised it slightly and bent your knee. Even though you lived alone and no one was around to hear you, you bit into your fist to conceal the plethora of needy mewls and gasps falling from your lips. The towel had come undone, exposing the curves of your writhing body. The cool air contrasted deliciously with the wet heat between your parted legs. Now that your breasts were free, the hand at your mouth moved lower so that you lazily brush a couple fingers over a hardened nipple. 

But the moment you did that, existential dread crept over you and you withdrew your hand. Self-consciousness hit you like a ton of bricks and you sat up abruptly, face burning at the fact that you were getting off at the thought of some musclehead at the gym. Your eyes fluttered down, unfocused and blurry from denying yourself of an orgasm. You guessed it was time for another shower. Maybe that’d wash the shame off of you. 

═══════★

After a few days of ignoring the urge to go to the gym, you gave in and dragged yourself out of your home. There’s no way you could look at Sukuna in the eye now. That was one of the many thoughts whizzing round your head as you kept your eyes low and headed to your usual corner of the gym. You could smell the lecture coming from the pink-haired man from a mile away, and boy, you were right. 

You were barely done with your first warmup set when you heard his gruff voice cut through the blaring music. He was not amused. 

“You suuure took your sweet time coming back, Sick of working out already?”

And that’s when you froze. Your heart quite literally dropped to your ass once you managed to stand up straight, but your eyes remained on the mat below you both. 

“Was busy, that’s all,” which was a bold lie. He could tell.

“Hm,” Sukuna began. “Looks like you were too busy to even do your stretches properly.”

A thick set of fingers met your back, the digits pressing into your spine so that your posture was correct. An awkward noise left your lips at the contact.

“Straighten up. At this rate, you won’t even be able to workout because of body pains.”

But that was the least of your problems. Fantasies of his hands coaxing your thighs open and his tongue doing unspeakable things to you filled your mind, causing you to move back sharply. You cleared your throat, noticing again the displeased look on Sukuna’s face.

“I didn’t think you’d care if I turned up or not,” you admitted sheepishly, a bold assumption on your end.

A low, hum of laughter rumbled in his chest, which quite frankly did nothing to soothe the steady pulsing between your thighs. “Oh, I don’t. I just don’t want to be losing out on money through your absence.”

Ouch. 

Your head turned, and he saw the mildly offended look on your face. His words were just enough to make you forget about the heat of his body as he walked around slowly to stand in front of you. 

“I’m kidding, i'm kidding. Mostly," he borderline purred. "Is everything okay, though? You’ve been ignoring me more than you usually do,” Sukuna cocked his head to the side, and you wondered how he could sound both amused and irritated at the same time.

A short huff left your lips, almost sounding amused. If only he knew why you had been avoiding him.

“Nah, everything’s good. Just working out, y’know. Like a normal person would.”

Sukuna’s lip quirked up again, a stupidly attractive habit he had when he felt playful. “Riiiight. If that’s the case, stop lookin’ at me like I’ve fucked your life up or something.”

Your brows furrowed as you struggled to keep your eyes on him. The fuck did he know?! But that frantic look on your face didn’t stop him from running that mouth of his. 

“Oh, but who knows? I might have already. And in that case?” he let his voice drop down a couple of notches, leaning forward until you could practically taste his aftershave on your tongue. “You’re welcome, I guess.” He let his eyes drift down, pausing at your lips, and then down to the swell of your breasts through your t-shirt. 

Were you meant to ask him to look for longer, or slap him?

Once the realisation that maybe, just maybe Sukuna was attracted to you settled in your stomach like a heavy weight, he pulled back and walked away slowly, eyes on you until the last possible moment. You blinked once, then twice. 

You were dumbfounded, but also aroused. What the hell was going on with you both?

═══════★

Sukuna’s private office was…something. Low hanging fluorescent lights flickered periodically as he sat there in the busted chair, sun already having set outside. The occasional clang of metal reverberated around the gym outside of the private wall, and the air inside was heavy with dust, sweat, and intense longing. 

Sukuna’s eyes were screwed shut, unable to physically eat the half-chewed apple on his desk. His cock was aching in his sweats. It’s only been under a week since you came back to the gym, and he’s losing it. He’d be lying if he said you had caught his eye immediately. Sukuna remembers the day you came bumbling in like an idiot into his gym all wide-eyed like you’ve never seen a man before. 

But how wrong he was. You had a mouth on you under all that awkwardness. But most importantly, you were so reactive. He doesn’t know why he liked it so much, but seeing you stiffen up at his touches, push out your lower lip when he pissed you off… It really set him off. Not to mention the noises, God. Your soft pants after a workout, your low groans as you stretched those legs of yours.

Honestly? Sukuna didn’t understand why on earth you were so insecure. He had the urge to drag you away from the mirror every time he saw that disappointed look on your face after each workout session. He could spend ages running his hands across every soft inch of your body to show you that you were fine. There was no need for you to push yourself so hard. 

The mental imagery of burying his face deep into your pussy pained him. It was embarrassing, really, the way he was always ogling at you bent over the dumbbell racks or watching your throat bob with every gulp of water. Sukuna rubbed his face with his hands, groaning and manspreading further in his seat as his cock practically weeped to be freed. He could feel the front of his boxers dampen with his precum, which he had been trying to ignore for a while now. But it was useless. Sukuna may have felt like a hormonal idiot for freeing his length from the confinements of his sweatpants, but he saw no use in denying himself the pleasure of fantasising you on top of him. 

It wasn’t long before Sukuna had a large hand nestled deep in his pants, wrapped around his throbbing cock. He couldn’t be bothered taking it out, and something about ruining his clothes to the thought of you made it all the more thrilling. When he shut his eyes, he could see the full outline of your body underneath your clothes, the way the outline of your sports bra was visible due to sweat after vigorously exercising. 

His cock twitched in his hand and he finally began pumping his hand lazily. Sukuna could imagine you walking in on him, the frazzled look you’d shoot his way. He wanted you to see him like this, but unfortunately for him, you had gone home. 

“Fuckin’ hell, you’ve done it now. Messed me up all good and p-proper, huh?” His hand continued to move, wrist rolling expertly. Almost as if he was used to jerking off to the thought of you. Sukuna’s head tipped back as he pictured you on your knees, lips glossy with his cum and body eager to please him. Oh, you'd look so pretty with your tits pressed together as you sat their obediently.

The chair creaked once he started rutting into his hand frantically. His hips jerked once, then again as his orgasm hit him. It hit him hard. It was messy and the waves of shame hit him at the same time ropes of thick cum coated his fingers and the insides of his sweats. 

Uneven pants filled that small office, and Sukuna finally withdrew his fingers and wiped them clean with a nearby rag he kept nearby. He could feel his heart hammering in his throat, and he actively avoided looking down at the mess he made inside of his sweats. 

Maybe Sukuna felt ashamed. He definitely should have. But there was no way in hell Sukuna would ever stop thinking about you. 

═══════★

You should have gone home and showered there like you usually did. But the tension between you and Sukuna exactly two days later had you on edge. You weren’t thinking straight, water bottle empty and chest heaving from overexertion. Your aching feet dragged to the gym showers instead, where you stripped after setting up all of your belongings. That berry-scented body wash just screaming your name. 

Sukuna however, came with other plans. He was thanking the stars that the gym was mostly empty, and there was little to no chance of anyone walking in. Plot armour, one may call it. 

You were in the middle of washing your body, washcloth scrubbing at your chest and getting them all soapy. How odd Sukuna was acting today, you muttered to yourself, recalling how his stare never left you and how his jaw remained tightly clenched. You were almost afraid he’d break a tooth.

The obnoxious creak of the shower-room doors brought you out of your daydreams, and you were glad the curtains concealed you from the eyes of whoever had just walked in. You were thinking to yourself that gosh, they really should oil up the hinges, but the curtains opened. Your eyes landed on a very pent-up Sukuna, whose eyes were shamelessly ogling at your nude body. You merely blinked at him, brain trying to catch up with what was going on.

“So, hey! One person per shower!?” you practically shrieked, backing up when Sukuna entered the shower and shut the curtain behind him. He’s soaking in the sight, clothes becoming drenched as the hot water beat down on both of you. Sukuna’is breath met the steam as he exhaled heavily, finally forcing himself to speak. 

“Gonna tell me to fuck off any time soon? Say something, pretty girl,” he cooed raspily, head cocked slightly to the side as he hunched over you. You could only stare back up at him, blinking away the spray of water. But the way your pussy clenched around nothing told you all you needed to know. You were positive you wanted him, so you gave him a nod. 

That was enough of an invitation for Sukuna to capture your bottom lip with his teeth, sucking it lightly into his mouth as he initiated a kiss under the spraying showerhead. You wanted to kiss back, but everything about Sukuna screamed urgency. You could barely register the fact that he was nipping at your neck, sucking a nipple into his mouth as his greedy hands pawed at every inch of skin you had to offer. 

“R-ryo, please wait-”

“No waiting. Don’t you dare tell me to wait,” he gritted out, sinking onto the tiles and using his hands to maneuver you around so that your rear was in his face. You winced at the sensation of the cold tiles your breasts were pressed up against, but you had no time to complain about it when Sukuna used both hands to spread the supple fat of your ass apart. A sharp gasp ripped out of your throat and your head whipped behind you to check.

“What exactly do you think you’re doin-”

He doesn't allow you to finish your sentence. The fiend angled his head, flattened his tongue and licked a fat stripe from your pussy to ass. You shrieked, hands flailing as you tried to grip the tiles unsuccessfully. A sharp swat to your ass served as a reminder to keep quiet, so you slapped a hand over your kiss-bitten lips. Sukuna took this as a chance to grab one of your calves and lifted it to the side, allowing him to groan deeply at the way your pussy spread so nicely for him. The fact that he could do so with such ease had you positively shaking. 

Your foot slipped ever so slightly on the wet tiles, but Sukuna was there to grip you even tighter, digging his fingers into the ample layer of fat over your hip to steady you. He dove back in, mouth hot on the entirety of your cunt as he ate you out like a man possessed. A garbled cry left your lips as you let your hand leave the tile. Sukuna was beyond pleased when you twisted his short hair into your fist and tugged, beginning to practically ride his face. 

“Fucking starving today, y’know?” he huffed in between filthy slurps. “Acting all shy for what, when your body is this fuckin’ slutty. Think I wouldn’t notice, huh?”

He went on and on, pausing to languidly roll his thick tongue over your pulsing clit. Sukuna sucked it into his mouth, nose buried between the crevice of your ass. You couldn’t respond, rendered to stupidity as ragged breaths left your lungs. The only time the man under you pulled away was to spit directly onto your pussy before diving back in. 

“P-pull away, gah, pull away, Ryo. M’gonna-,” you whined before being rudely cut off. Sukuna chokes on a curse at the nickname you have for him, and he wraps his arms around your waist. You’re sitting on his face, spasming with a cry as he begins shaking his head to the best of his ability. He’s a certified munch for a reason, devouring you from the back as you release all over his face with a strangled cry. 

You wiped the water from your face and slumped against the tiles. A kiss was planted against your ass, and then another. 

“Fucking hell. Should have done this sooner. Much sooner,” he muttered as he eventually rose to his feet. Sukuna’s knees ached, but it was worth it. “Pussy tastes sweeter than anything I’ve ever had.”

You managed to focus your eyes on him, face undeniably flushed as you pushed yourself away from the tiles. It did something to you to see Sukuna so pussydrunk and hard in his boxers. Somewhere along the way, he had tossed his shorts aside, which was perfect. His erection was straining against the fabric, and you took that as an invitation to sling an arm over his bulky shoulder. Your other hand slid down his torso, dipping in every curve of muscle it could find. You left his pecs alone, deciding to squeeze them another day. 

“Oh, oh. You want this as much as I do?” he teased before stopping himself from speaking anymore once he saw the look in your hazy eyes. You didn’t want sex. Not today, at least. So you settled on timidly freeing his length from his underwear and brushing your thumb over the flushed tip. The larger man almost moaned aloud when you rested your forehead against his chest and looked down, a soft noise of awe escaping your mouth at how deliciously thick his cock was. All thoughts of covering the stretchmarks on your hips, the thickness of your thighs, all of it… they were long forgotten at that moment. You started stroking his length almost lovingly, and you heard the slight crack in his usually confident voice.

“Hahhh, s-shit. Got a reaaal sweet pair of hands on you, don’t you, pretty girl?” he simpered, raising your head with a hand and affectionately resting his warm forehead against yours. The way Sukuna praised you had you doubling your efforts, wrist twisting as you pumped him earnestly. 

The water kept running, but Sukuna could worry about the bill another day. A chorus of guttural growls left him, strokes growing increasingly slick with his precum. The periodic twitches spurred you on, your eyes lighting up the closer he came to orgasm. Your gaze broke away when Sukuna’s lips pressed against your temple in a feverish manner, aaall the way down until he could claim your lips once more. The slight musky taste of your own slick graced your mouth. You should’ve pulled away, but you enjoyed the way his saliva mixed with yours.

“W-woah, there. Steady, fuck. I’m about to cum-”

One last flick of the wrist and a sweet peck on the cheek was all Sukuna needed to cum all over your fingers with a final grunt of your name. His release was warm, ropes of it shooting up to his abs. The urge to pop your fingers into your mouth grew, but the water washed it away. Neither of you spoke for a minute, trying to gather your wits about the change in dynamic between you. The steam continued to swirl around you both, providing a more intimate cocoon for you to relax in.

“Let me wash you up, yeah? Can’t be going home half-cleaned,” Sukuna murmured after pulling back from your face, trying as gently as he could to wipe the sodden strands of hair off of your face. He’s made a mess of you, but you were a gorgeous mess. One he’d happily devour a million times over. 

“Ah, well. That’s your fault, no? I suppose you should be the one taking responsibility,” you laughed weakly, mild exhaustion setting in. The orgasm combined with the heat of the shower was getting unbearable, and you wanted to leave. Sukuna picked up on this, making quick work of cleaning you both up. 

“Is that so, hm? Let me take you out then. Properly,” he said, followed by a nip at your ear. Large hands rubbed at your skin, thumbing at the curve of your waist. A swat of your hand landed on his chest, but Sukuna didn’t pull away. Oh, he was deathly serious. 

“...Yes, please.”

divider creds - @cursed-carmine

[inseobts]

Captain

characters: luffy, law, shanks, kid and ace

inspired by: 'Captain' - Kang Seungyoon || spotify || youtube || apple music

a/n: hope this doesn't suck tbh

words count: around 1.0k - 1.5k each

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Luffy:

The sun is hot on your back as you lean over the Sunny’s railing. Waves crash below, sparkling like tiny stars in the ocean.

You sigh, but it’s not a sad sigh, just… tired.

Luffy’s jacket hangs off your shoulders, far too big, smelling faintly of salt and him. He’d dropped it on you earlier without a word, like he always did. Just something that happened now, the way you always saved the last bite of your food for him, or how he tucked your hair behind your ear when you weren’t paying attention.

“Oi! You’re making a weird face!”

You jump a little, turning around fast.

Luffy’s standing behind you, hands on his hips, grinning like he knows something you don’t. Which he usually does.

“I am not” you say.

“You are” he says “That’s your thinking-too-much face. I don’t like that one.”

You squint at him “You don’t like my face?”

Luffy laughs and walks up, grabbing your hand “Nah. I like your laughing face way better.”

Your heart does that stupid flip again. Luffy is always like this… saying small, silly things that hit you like cannonballs. You wonder if he even realizes what they do to you, or if he just lives like this, naturally, saying the exact thing you need to hear without trying.

He tugs your arm “Come eat meat with me.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You will be when you see Sanji’s new meatball thing. He said he made it just for me. That means it’s good.”

You don’t want to argue, so you follow him. His hand stays in yours as you walk. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t even think about it, like holding your hand is the most natural thing in the world.

And maybe it is. Maybe with him, all the strange, lovely things you thought you'd never have just… are.

The kitchen is loud. Usopp and Chopper are arguing about who can eat more. Sanji is yelling at Zoro to stop drinking straight from the soup pot. Nami rolls her eyes at everything. And through it all, Luffy’s hand stays in yours until he lets go just to sit.

Luffy sits down at the table and pats the spot next to him “Here. Sit.”

You sit.

Sanji brings over a plate with a small mountain of meatballs.

“Special recipe” he says, setting it down.

“Only for idiots who eat too fast and the people dumb enough to love them.”

“Yay!” Luffy cheers “That’s me!”

You raise an eyebrow at Sanji. He just smirks and walks off.

Luffy hands you a meatball. You take it. You chew slowly. He doesn’t. He shovels in three at once and nearly chokes. You thump his back.

“Maybe you shouldn’t eat too fast” you say.

“Too good,” he says between bites “Can’t stop.”

You laugh a little. He grins at you with his mouth full, face messy, eyes shining.

And somehow, in that moment, you feel more at home than you’ve ever felt on land. You bump your foot lightly against his under the table and don’t pull it away. He nudges back without missing a beat.

Later, when everyone’s tired and full, and the stars are peeking out, Luffy sits on the deck with you again. He lies down and folds his arms behind his head.

“Did you still have the weird face?”

“No” you say softly.

“Good.”

There’s a pause. The wind is gentle tonight. Your fingers inch toward his on the wooden deck until they touch. He doesn’t say anything, just shifts his pinky so it loops around yours.

You look at him and wonder if he knows. If he knows how much he saved you. If he knows that before this ship, before him, life felt so small.

“You’re thinking again” he says without opening his eyes.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be your captain forever, y’know.”

You blink “What?”

Luffy opens one eye and smiles at you.

“Even if you leave the crew. Even if you fly away like a bird. I’ll still be your captain. Okay?”

Your throat feels tight. You don’t say anything. You just nod and lie down next to him.

The stars look different from here. Brighter. Bigger.

Just like everything since you met him.

That night you have a nightmare... you often dream of fire.

It’s not real, not anymore. But the smoke curls around your chest when you wake up, and your heart races like you’re still running.

You sit up fast, hand on your chest. You're sweating.

The bed is warm beside you, a tangle of blankets and the faint imprint of Luffy’s sleeping form. He must’ve gone when he felt you stir.

Outside, the sea is calm. The ship creaks gently like it’s breathing.

You step outside the bedroom, careful not to wake anyone. The deck is dark, quiet. The kind of quiet that feels too loud when you’re carrying a storm inside.

You lean on the railing, gripping it hard. Trying to stop your hands from shaking.

You don’t hear Luffy approach. You never do.

“Bad dream?” he says softly.

You nod.

He doesn’t ask more. He just sits beside you on the wooden deck, cross-legged like a kid.

You look at him. He’s staring out at the ocean.

You whisper, “I wasn’t a good person before this. I did some things... things I can’t forget.”

Luffy shrugs “That’s okay.”

You blink “Okay?”

“You’re good now.”

Your breath catches “But—”

“I don’t care what you did. I care what you do now. You protect people. You laugh with us. You love this ship.”

You bite your lip “Sometimes I think I don’t deserve to be happy.”

Luffy’s head tilts “Why?”

“Because I hurt people. I made bad choices.”

He frowns, serious now “Everyone hurts people. Even me. You ever see me not punch someone?”

“That’s different.”

“Why?” he says “Because I’m the captain?”

You open your mouth, then close it.

He scoots closer, his leg bumping yours “Listen. I don’t pick people because they’re perfect. I pick people who need a place. You needed one. So I gave you mine.”

Your eyes sting.

“And if you’re scared sometimes... that’s fine. I’ll be scared with you.”

You let out a shaky laugh “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Luffy grins “Thanks.”

Then he does something rare.

He reaches out and pulls you into a hug.

It’s warm and a little awkward, his chin bumps your shoulder, but his arms are strong. Solid.

Safe.

You lean into him, just for a second. Just long enough to feel like maybe… maybe you can breathe again.

“I still got you,” he says “No matter what.”

The next morning, you’re quiet at breakfast.

Not sad, just full in a way that makes your chest feel warm. Luffy sits beside you like always, stealing half your toast without asking.

You don’t stop him. You just shake your head like you always do and let your knee rest against his under the table.

“Oi, Luffy, chew!” Sanji shouts from the stove “Don’t scare them off with your lizard face.”

Luffy puffs out his cheeks “I am chewing!”

You shake your head “Barely.”

He grins at you with crumbs on his lips “You finally smiled.”

“Huh?”

“You smiled at me,” he says, like it’s some great discovery “I like that.”

You feel your cheeks heat up.

Chopper climbs onto the bench next to you “You look different today,” he says thoughtfully “Lighter.”

“Maybe you finally slept” Nami adds, sipping her coffee.

“Maybe someone got a good hug last night...” Usopp says, wiggling his eyebrows.

You nearly choke on your juice.

Luffy doesn’t react “I give good hugs.”

Zoro snorts from across the table “Not with those rubbery arms.”

You stare down at your plate, smiling to yourself.

Later, you’re helping Robin tie down books in the library when Luffy finds you again. He peeks in like a kid looking for snacks.

“There you are!” he says “Come with me.”

You follow him without asking where. That’s just how it is with Luffy. You trust him.

He takes you to the upper deck where it’s quieter. The sea stretches out endlessly, sky blue and soft.

He sits on the edge and pats the spot next to him. You sit.

“I was thinking,” he says, picking at the brim of his hat “About last night.”

You look at him, curious.

“You said you didn’t deserve to be happy.”

Your chest tightens again.

He leans back on his hands “But you look happy now.”

You nod slowly “I am.”

He grins “Told you. I’m a good captain.”

You laugh a little “You are.”

Then, softly, you say it “This happiness I have right now… it was gained simply by listening to you and following your lead.”

Luffy tilts his head, eyes wide and bright “Really?”

You nod “You gave me a place. You didn’t even know me, and you still let me stay.”

“I knew enough,” he says “You were lost. I don’t leave lost people behind.”

You look down, fiddling with the seam of your shirt “I think I was scared to feel like this. Like I belong.”

“You do.”

You glance up. His face is open, honest—Luffy in his rare, still moments.

“You really think I belong here?” you whisper.

He nods “You belong with me.”

Your breath catches.

Not “with the crew”.

Not “on the ship”.

With him.

── .✦ Law:

The storm isn’t just outside.

It’s in the way Law walks the deck—slow, sharp steps, as if each one might cut the wood beneath his feet.

You watch from where you sit near the stairs, arms tucked around your knees. He hasn’t spoken in hours.

The sky above is black. Thunder grumbles like it’s trying to decide if it wants to scream.

He doesn’t flinch.

“Go inside” he says suddenly, without looking at you.

You stay where you are.

“I said—”

“I heard you.”

Silence again.

Then: “The wind’s picking up.”

“I’m fine.”

He turns his head just enough to glance at you, eyes narrowing “You’re stubborn.”

You shrug “You’re angry.”

“I’m thinking.”

“Loudly.”

He exhales through his nose—one of those short, sharp sounds that’s not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh.

You unfold your legs and stand, walking slowly until you’re beside him. Close, but not touching.

Close enough to feel the heat of him. Close enough that if you leaned in just slightly, your shoulder would brush his. But you don’t. Not yet.

“Is it about the intel?”

“No.”

“Then it’s about the crew.”

“No.”

“Then it’s about you.”

He says nothing.

The waves crash hard against the hull. Somewhere below deck, Bepo is probably pacing, waiting for the worst of the storm to pass.

But Law… Law doesn’t wait for anything. He carries storms inside him and tries to outpace them with silence.

You speak softly “Be at ease.”

He turns to look at you now, not annoyed, just… tired.

Your hand drifts to his arm, fingers barely grazing the fabric of his sleeve. You step in, gently, like approaching a wild thing. Like you’ve done this before—offering comfort without taking anything away.

“Let me watch your back now,” you continue, voice steady “My captain.”

His eyes search your face like he’s reading something in a language he forgot long ago.

“I don’t need—”

“I know.”

You take a step closer, your fingers brushing his coat sleeve.

“I’m not offering because you need it. I’m offering because you deserve it.”

His jaw tightens.

You shift your hand just enough to slide your fingers into his, letting them rest there—quiet and warm.

“Someone has to carry the weight when you can’t,” you add “Let it be me, even if it’s just tonight.”

For a long time, he doesn’t respond.

Then finally, he murmurs, “You talk too much.”

You smile “And yet you’re still listening.”

He doesn’t smile back but his shoulders drop, just slightly. And when the next gust of wind hits, he doesn’t flinch.

Because you’re there.

Because someone’s finally watching his back.

You lean in and press a kiss to his shoulder, not dramatic, just grounding. A promise. You feel him shift slightly toward you, almost imperceptibly.

The storm passes, but the cold stays.

You and Law sit under the overhang near the helm, out of the rain but not the wind. The ship creaks with each wave, but now it’s calmer. The kind of quiet that always feels like something is waiting.

He hasn’t spoken since you told him you’d watch his back.

But he’s still here.

You’re still here.

And that’s something.

You let your head rest lightly against his shoulder. His arm doesn’t move for a long moment, then slowly, tentatively, he curls it behind you, just enough that your bodies lean into one another.

“I thought you’d leave” he says at last, voice low.

You glance at him “When?”

“After Dressrosa. After the Doflamingo fight. Most people would’ve.”

“I’m not most people.”

He makes a soft sound in his throat, something between agreement and disbelief.

Then he says it.

“I didn’t expect you to stay this long.”

You blink “Did you want me to go?”

“No” he says too quickly. Then quieter “I just thought you would.”

You wrap your arms around your knees, watching the wet deck glisten under the moonlight.

“People leave you a lot, don’t they?”

He doesn’t answer.

You don’t need him to.

You reach over and take his hand again, threading your fingers through his with the same steady warmth you always give him. Your thumb traces soft circles over the back of his hand.

You take a slow breath and shift to face him more fully.

“You don’t always have to be the one doing the saving, Law.”

His head tilts, just slightly.

You lean forward but not too close, just enough to be clear.

“I’ll protect you now.”

The wind blows your hair into your face. You don’t move it.

He’s staring at you like he doesn’t understand the words. Like no one’s ever said them to him before and meant it.

“You think I need protection?” he asks, but there’s no bite in it. No challenge.

You smile “I think you’re tired of carrying everything alone.”

For a second, just a second, his expression softens.

Not in a dramatic way. Not like in the stories.

But his eyes lose that sharp edge.

He leans back against the wood behind him, shoulders dropping just a bit more than before. As if, maybe, he’s letting the idea settle.

Letting you settle.

You shift closer again and kiss his cheek, soft and slow, just near the corner of his mouth. He closes his eyes like he’s soaking in the quiet.

You don’t push it. You just sit with him, in the silence, your presence a quiet promise:

He’s not alone anymore.

The cold settles around you both like a second skin, but here, pressed close, there’s a different kind of warmth.

You lean into him slowly, head resting against his chest this time, right where you can hear his heartbeat. At first, he’s stiff. Not resisting, but still wired tight, like his body doesn’t quite remember how to relax.

You wrap your arms around his middle, pulling him into a soft, secure hold.

He lets out a breath against your hair. It’s quiet. Almost disbelieving.

“You don’t have to be alone anymore,” you murmur into his coat “Not with me.”

You feel it when something in him finally begins to loosen. Not all at once. Not dramatically. But like a knot unspooling deep inside.

His hand comes up, hesitant at first, then rests on the back of your head. His fingers thread gently into your hair, and you close your eyes at the feeling.

He doesn’t speak.

You tilt your face up toward him.

His gaze meets yours, wary, but no longer guarded. He’s let you in. At least a little. Enough.

You smile softly “Come here.”

And before he can argue, before he can overthink it, you press your lips to his.

One kiss.

Then another. Then another.

Soft and fast, like raindrops. Like a flurry of promises falling out of you all at once, impossible to hold back.

You kiss the corner of his mouth, his top lip, the edge of his jaw, then back to his mouth again.

With each kiss, you whisper:

“I will protect you now”

“My boss”

“My leader”

“My hero”

“My captain”

“My love.”

And something in him just… gives.

His breath hitches. His hands tighten around you, not pulling you away, but drawing you in. Letting you have him like this.

He exhales like surrender. His voice is barely above a whisper.

“…Fine. Do whatever you want.”

You press your forehead to his, smiling against his skin.

“I already am.”

And he doesn’t push you away. He doesn’t retreat behind silence.

He stays.

Wrapped up in your arms. Your warmth. Your words. Your kisses.

For once, Law lets himself be held.

── .✦ Shanks:

The first time you see him, it’s not on purpose.

You’re in a quiet port town, just passing through. Hiding, really. The kind of hiding that doesn’t involve running, it just means standing still long enough for the world to forget you.

Then the bar door opens.

And he walks in like he owns the ocean.

Red hair. Wide grin. A laugh that fills the room before he even speaks.

“Oi, Benn! I told you I could smell meat from a mile off!”

You glance up once and then away. You know who he is. Of course you do. Red-Haired Shanks. One of the Four Emperors. A name that carries storms.

You sip your drink and try not to look again.

It doesn’t work.

He notices.

You end up at the same table, somehow. He’s charming like that, pulls people in like the tide.

“What’s your story?” he asks casually, swirling his drink.

You shake your head “No story.”

“Everyone has one.”

“Not me.”

He smiles “You’re a terrible liar.”

You laugh despite yourself. It’s small. But he hears it.

“You’ve been drifting,” he says “I can tell.”

You pause “That obvious?”

He shrugs “Only to someone who’s done the same.”

Later, you’re sitting with him by the docks, the sea stretching out like a painting. He’s quieter now. Thoughtful.

You speak without meaning to.

“On a sea called loneliness… I’d come to lose my way.”

He turns toward you slowly, listening.

“My vision was dark. I didn’t know where I was going. I didn’t even know what I was looking for.”

Shanks doesn’t interrupt.

“But a single sailboat came close.”

He smiles faintly.

“And that happy ending became our story.”

He chuckles under his breath “You’re poetic when you’ve had rum.”

You smile, but it doesn’t fade.

“You’re the first person who didn’t ask me to explain why I left. Or who I used to be.”

“I don’t care who you were,” he says gently “Only who you are when you’re with me.”

The sea breeze lifts your hair. His eyes flick to it, and stay there a moment too long.

You don’t speak again for a while. There’s no need.

Two drifters. One sailboat. And, maybe, the start of something that doesn’t have to end in loneliness.

Years Later

The sun hangs low, golden and lazy, casting soft light across the deck of the Red Force.

Shanks is half-asleep in a chair near the railing, hat pulled down over his eyes. You’re sitting not far, feet propped up, notebook balanced on your knee. You don’t write often, at least not like this, but today feels different.

You glance at him. He’s relaxed, arms crossed loosely, the breeze playing with the hem of his coat.

Years ago, he was chaos walking. A whirlwind with a smile.

Now?

He’s still chaos. But he’s yours.

You smile and press your pen to the page.

“On a sea called L-O-V-E,

The sunlight dazzles as it reflects upon the water.

On that sailboat over there, are two people—

Just a captain and a sailor.

And that happy ending is our story.”

You pause.

Then close the notebook, leave it on the small table beside him, and go below deck. You don’t say anything. You don’t need to.

Later, just before dinner, he finds you in the galley. One arm wraps lazily around your waist from behind, pulling you in.

“I read what you wrote” he murmurs near your ear.

“Oh?”

“It was missing one thing.”

You raise a brow, glancing back at him “Yeah?”

He presses his forehead to yours “The part where the sailor becomes captain of the captain.”

You laugh, soft and full.

“In your dreams maybe” you tease.

“In our story” he corrects, grinning.

You shake your head and kiss him anyway.

It’s meant to be quick, teasing, familiar.

But Shanks doesn’t let go. His hand cups the back of your neck, thumb brushing the edge of your jaw as he kisses you again, slower this time. Deeper. Like he’s been waiting all day for this one quiet moment.

You melt into him. The galley fades, the ship fades, even the sea feels quieter.

When you finally pull apart, your forehead rests against his. Neither of you speaks right away. You don’t need to.

He closes his eye, brushing his nose against yours “You still take my breath away, you know that?”

You smile against his lips “Even when I’m just trying to steal your coat?”

“Especially then.”

He leans back, just enough to reach into his coat pocket and pulls out something small, wrapped in an old cloth. He unwraps it with care, revealing a silver ring etched with faint waves.

“Was gonna wait,” he says softly, “but then I read what you wrote.”

Your breath catches.

“It’s not a proposal, not exactly,” he continues, “but it’s a promise. That whatever seas we sail, whatever storm hits… I’m yours. No matter what.”

You stare at the ring, heart swelling in your chest “Shanks…”

He slides it onto your finger, his touch feather-light “You don’t need to wear it if you don’t want. I just... I just wanted you to have something that says what I can’t always say.”

You take his hand in yours, kissing his knuckles “You already say it. Every time you look at me like I’m not just part of your crew, but like I'm part of you.”

He chuckles, a little unsteady “You are.”

The kiss you give him now isn’t playful. It’s reverent. Grateful. Fierce and fragile all at once.

Afterward, you whisper, “My captain. My anchor.”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then your forehead, murmuring between each one:

“My light. My home. My heart.”

Later, beneath a sky dusted with stars, you lie curled in the hammock together—his coat draped over both your shoulders, his hand resting over yours, thumb absently brushing the ring now on your finger.

He presses a kiss to your temple and murmurs, “I used to chase the horizon. But then I found you.”

You smile into his chest.

“I’ll chase it with you,” you say softly “As long as you want.”

He holds you tighter.

“Forever sounds good to me.”

And with the steady lull of the sea beneath you and the warmth of him around you, you sleep in the safest place you’ve ever known.

── .✦ Kid:

The ship is on fire.

Well, not literally. But that’s what it feels like after the ambush.

Scorched sails. Blood on the deck. Your ribs ache, bruised or maybe cracked, and Killer’s bleeding from his arm, trying to stop Heat from collapsing.

Kid is in the middle of it all, rage and metal, torn coat, growling orders no one can follow fast enough.

“Damn it, where’s WIRE?!”

“Dead if we don’t patch him now!” you shout back, dragging your half-burned jacket off to wrap someone else’s wound.

He doesn’t answer. His jaw is clenched tight, eyes scanning everything like he’s trying to hold the whole crew together with nothing but anger and magnets.

But you’re not afraid.

You’ve seen him like this before. Broken knuckles. Cracked teeth. And still standing. Still fighting.

Still trying.

He doesn’t realize you’re next to him until your hand grabs his shoulder.

“Kid.”

He glances at you, blood across his cheek, chest rising like a storm trying not to explode.

“We’re not dead,” you say “We’re still here.”

He scoffs “Barely.”

You shake your head “You always think surviving means losing.”

“Because it is,” he snarls “Every fight takes something from us.”

“Now just breath” you snap, stepping closer “Look at me.”

His eyes go wide.

You don’t blink.

“I’ll follow you. I’ll follow you ‘til the end of my days.”

The words hit the air like thunder, loud, real, and permanent.

You lift your chin with your biggest smile.

“YES, SIR.”

Something shifts in his face, not softness, not yet. But a crack. A flicker. The kind of look someone gets when they realize they’re not alone.

His voice is low.

“You’re not scared of me?”

You grin.

“I was.”

“And now?”

“I’m yours.”

And for once, Kid doesn’t argue.

He just takes your hand, calloused and shaking, and holds on like it might be the only thing left that doesn’t burn.

The ship’s quiet now.

Not peaceful but quiet. The kind of silence that settles after screaming, after gunfire, after the medics say “He’s gonna make it” and you finally let yourself breathe.

You check on everyone first. Heat’s stable. Killer’s stitches are clean. Wire’s conscious.

Only after you’ve made sure the others are resting you walk down the hall to his door.

It’s half open.

You knock once anyway.

“…It’s open” Kid’s voice grunts from inside.

You step in.

He’s sitting on the edge of his bunk, shirt off, fresh bandages wrapping his torso and arm. His metal hand is still twitching from leftover stress—little sparks crackling at the edges.

He doesn’t look at you at first.

But he doesn’t tell you to leave.

You shut the door and walk over, slow and calm, like approaching a wild thing that might still bite.

“You good?” you ask softly.

“Peachy” he mutters, eyes on the floor.

You eye the bruise on his jaw “Looks like it.”

He grunts, but says nothing more.

You stand there for a few long seconds. Then you exhale, toss your jacket to the side, and without asking, climb onto his lap, straddling him gently.

He stiffens a little “The hell are you—?”

“Shut up.”

He blinks. You settle your weight down, arms looped around his neck, foreheads almost touching.

His breath slows.

“…You’re gonna make me soft” he mutters, voice rough.

“You are soft” you say, brushing his hair back from his face.

He huffs “Right.”

You smile.

Then, quietly, honestly, you speak “My hero.”

His jaw tenses.

“My captain.”

He doesn’t meet your eyes.

“Every day in this world feels like a battle… but you’re the captain who brought me to my victory.”

He looks up at that.

There’s a flicker of pain, disbelief, maybe guilt. He shakes his head.

“We lost.”

You don’t flinch. You bring a hand to his cheek, cupping it firmly.

“We all survived.” You lean in, eyes locked with his “Is it really a loss?”

The words hang between you, heavy and warm.

He stares at you for a long, long moment. Then finally, his voice low, almost gravel, he says “…No.”

You nod.

“Good,” you whisper “Now let me hold you until your stupid brain believes it.”

He lets you.

He even wraps his arms around you, tentative at first, then tight, like maybe you’re the anchor he didn’t know he needed until tonight.

You rest your forehead against his, feeling the tension bleeding out of him inch by inch.

His metal hand settles at your back, warmer than it should be. Steady.

“You always this bossy?” he grumbles, voice low but not annoyed. Almost… fond.

You grin “Only when you’re being dramatic.”

“Dramatic? I got impaled.”

“And still talking,” you say sweetly, brushing your nose against his “Clearly not fatal.”

A quiet sound escapes him, not quite a laugh, but really close. He pulls you closer, jaw pressing to your shoulder, voice muffled against your skin.

“You scare the hell out of me sometimes.”

You smile “Good. Keeps you on your toes.”

You shift slightly, just enough to ghost a kiss across his cheekbone. Then another, soft at the corner of his mouth. Then one more right on his lips, softer and a bit longer.

He exhales, like you’ve stolen all the fire out of him with that one simple touch.

You whisper against his mouth, “I meant what I said.”

“I know.”

“My hero.”

He groans lightly “You’re gonna kill me with that shit.”

“My captain” you say again, this time planting a kiss under his jaw.

“I’ll throw you overboard” he warns half-heartedly, pulling you tighter.

“No you won’t.”

He doesn’t argue.

You rest your head against his chest, listening to the slow thump of his heart, and he buries his fingers in your hair like it’s the only thing grounding him.

“You’re the only thing that makes this worth it” he mumbles after a while.

You grin again, eyes closed “Took you long enough.”

“Shut up.”

You don’t.

You just nuzzle in closer, his warmth surrounding you, his heartbeat steady against yours, and for once, even on a ship held together by bolts and scars and sheer, everything feels unshakably, impossibly whole.

── .✦ Ace:

The waves crash steady against the ship, stars scattered across the sea like someone spilled the sky.

You’re sitting on the edge of the deck, legs swinging over the side, the ocean dark beneath you. Most of the crew’s asleep. Only you and him are still awake.

Ace drops down beside you, barefoot and shirtless, sea breeze ruffling his hair. He smells like smoke and salt and freedom.

"You're gonna fall in one day" he says, nudging your leg with his knee.

You glance over "Then you better be ready to dive in after me. Oh wait, you can't even swim anymore!"

He grins "I'd like to see you try drowning."

You bump your shoulder into his "I did once, remember? Before you even formed this crew... That's how we met."

He goes quiet.

You weren’t joking.

Neither was he, when he dragged you back to the ship half-dead, coughing seawater, chest heaving as he yelled your name like it was the last thing keeping him afloat.

That was the first time he held you like something fragile.

And the first time you knew he’d never let go.

You look out at the sea again "You saved me."

"Hm?"

"Back then. And now. All the time, really."

He leans back on his hands "You act like I’m some hero."

You shake your head "No. You're not a hero."

He laughs "Gee, thanks."

You turn to him, steady “I'm your sailor. You're the captain. You saved me from drifting.”

He blinks. His grin fades, not in a bad way, just... softer. More real.

“I never saved anyone” he says after a second.

“You did, and I'm not talking about that time...” you whisper “You just don't realise it.”

He doesn’t speak, but you feel his hand brush yours, fingers grazing yours like he wants to hold on, but doesn’t know how.

So you do it first.

You intertwine your fingers with his, firm and warm.

“I didn’t follow you ‘cause you saved me that day” you murmur “I followed you ‘cause I finally felt seen.”

He swallows hard.

Then says your name... just your name, but it sounds like a promise.

Not grand. Not dramatic.

Just true.

And that’s all you ever needed.

Years Later

For once, everything’s quiet. No Marines, no missions. Just you, a sleepy harbor, and one very shirtless fire-user leaning against the rail with a half-eaten orange in hand.

You step outside, towel-drying your hair from the bath, and lean beside him.

He grins at you like always, like you’re his favorite sight in the world.

You smirk.

“Hey, Captain.”

Ace groans immediately, tossing the orange peel at your feet.

“You still call me that?” he says, exasperated “It’s been years since I stopped being a captain, Y/N. Drop it already…”

You shrug innocently “But it suits you.”

Before he can roll his eyes harder, you lean in and plant a quick, soft kiss on his lips.

Then whisper, just close enough for him to feel your breath “My boss. My leader. My hero. My captain.”

Ace exhales like you’ve just made his heart do a backflip, but he plays it cool... barely.

“Ugh,” he groans dramatically, gently pushing your face away with one hand “Can’t you just be a cute lover and call me… I don’t know, boyfriend? Honey? My love?”

You blink at him, lips twitching, then smirk.

“Alright, sure. How about... Flamey Hot Dumbass Supreme?”

He stares at you.

“...That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

You grin wider “What? It’s affectionate.”

Ace covers his face with one hand, groaning “What was I even thinking that day I confessed to you and kissed you...”

You press a kiss to his cheek “That I was the only person who could make your life this fun.”

He huffs but he doesn’t argue.

He just pulls you closer, tucking you under his arm, and lets the sunset burn quietly around you both.

The laughter fades slowly.

Ace still has his arm around your shoulders, thumb brushing slow circles on your upper arm. You rest your head against his bare chest, listening to the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat.

The orange-sweet breeze brushes past. The sun’s dipped lower now, gold turning to pink.

He doesn’t speak for a long while.

And then softly, without teasing “You’ve been sitting next to me all this time…”

You glance up, and there’s something in his eyes that makes your chest squeeze.

“Yeah” you whisper “Where else would I go?”

Ace lets out a breath that almost sounds like disbelief. His fingers move up to touch your cheek, warm and careful.

“I was so busy back then. Fighting. Running. Trying to prove something. I didn’t even see it at first.”

“See what?”

“You” he says “Of course.”

You smile, nudging his nose with yours “Took you long enough.”

His other hand finds your waist, pulling you gently closer until your knees are nearly in his lap. His voice drops “I love you.”

You blink, heart thudding.

He’s said it before, during arguments, in bed, drunk off sake. But this time? This time it’s bare, and slow, and steady.

You wrap your arms around his neck and whisper against his lips:

“I love you too, firebrain.”

You’re both smiling into the kiss when—

“Yo.”

You freeze.

Ace groans out loud, forehead thudding against your shoulder as Marco’s voice cuts you.

You both turn, Ace’s hand still on your thigh, your face flushed, as Marco stands with a completely deadpan expression.

“Am I interrupting?”

Ace doesn’t even lift his head “You think?”

Marco shrugs “Well, you're not in your room, you know? That’s basically an invitation.”

You’re trying not to laugh as Ace flips him off without looking.

“Five minutes, Marco” you plead.

Marco holds up his hands, already walking off “Sure, sure. Just letting you know dinner’s ready... lovebirds.”

Ace groans again, shoving his face into your neck as you laugh harder.

“I swear I’m gonna set that pineapple on fire.”

“Sure you are, Captain.”

“…Don’t start.”

[cumironi]

HII!!! the fic where they realize you like praise is TOOOO good! i was wondering if you could do a sort of part two but where they realize you like being degraded instead of praised? 🫶🫶

ARE YOU A FILTHY GIRL? jjk men.

feat. gojo, geto, nanami, toji, sukuna, shiu, higuruma

summary. “he calls you his good girl, then his whore.” seems like your boyfriend couldn’t even decide what you really are, no? even after they know about you and the whole degrading things? will they ruin your life after that discovery? oh, definitely.

warning. non-sorcerer! jjk au, college au!, 23 you & 31 them, degrading kink, praise kink, filthy, some of them are so meannn, hair-pulling,

GOJO SATORU

the sheets are a mess. the air is thick with heat, musk, and the obscene sound of skin slapping skin. you can’t even tell what time it is anymore — not that it matters. satoru’s late-night visits always have a way of warping time, bending reality until the only thing that exists is you beneath him, delirious, overstimulated, and stupidly in love.

he’s still in his dress shirt, unbuttoned just enough for you to see the tattoo on his chest (it’s stupid. it says limitless, because of course it does). the tie is hanging off his neck like it’s purely ornamental, swinging as he fucks into you like he’s trying to make you forget your name.

"mmh—look at you, baby," he pants, eyes bright with sweat and sin, his lips wet from where he kissed down your stomach just minutes ago. "so pretty when you’re ruined like this. my sweet college girl, letting her old man fuck her brains out between classes.”

“you’re not old,” you gasp, nails dragging down his back. “just—just a pervert—”

“correction,” he huffs a laugh. “i’m your pervert. certified, licensed, and addicted to the way you moan my name like it’s your fucking major.”

his pace slows for just a moment, giving you that signature smirk. the one that always gets you in trouble. the one that says i know something you don’t.

“god,” he groans, rolling his hips deeper, letting your whimper melt into the air. “you’re so fucking good like this. eyes all glassy, mouth open, like a good little—”

you moan, louder than you meant to.

he freezes.

“…wait.”

your breath hitches.

he blinks. leans in real close.

“do that again,” he whispers. “what did you just react to, sweetheart?”

your face burns. “i—I didn’t—”

"no no no," he grins like a shark with a credit score of 850. "don’t get shy on me now. that sound you made? the whiny little oh satoru please ruin me noise? yeah, that wasn’t just because of the angle, was it?"

“satoru—”

he pulls his cock out.

you make a noise of protest — a whimper, a whine, a borderline sob — and he raises a perfect white brow.

“look at you. desperate already?” he hums. “and here i thought you liked being treated like my precious little angel. but now…”

he runs two fingers down your spit-slick chin, thumbing your bottom lip as his tone drops to something dark and thrilling.

“…now i’m wondering if my baby likes being treated like a dumb little fucktoy instead.”

your thighs twitch. your eyes roll back just slightly.

he laughs. oh, he fucking laughs.

“no way.”

“shut up—”

“no fucking way. you’re telling me…” he leans down, pressing a filthy kiss to your lips, “…you’ve been getting off on me being a little mean to you this whole time?”

his voice is pure sin now. a low rasp in your ear as he slides his cock back in, slow and deep and deliberate.

“you like when i call you a dumb slut, huh? when i make fun of you for being all brain-dead and cockdrunk on a school night?” he groans, moving faster again. “fuck. no wonder you tighten up every time i tease you. you’ve been hiding this from me?”

you nod, barely able to think, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

“god, that’s why you blush so hard when i tell you to shut up and drool. i thought you were just shy—no, you were getting off on it.”

he presses his forehead to yours, eyes wild and affectionate and unhinged.

“baby,” he whispers sweetly. “you’re so fucked in the head. and i love that for us.”

you whimper his name, breath hitching, and he slams into you harder, making the headboard crack against the wall.

“you’re my stupid baby, aren’t you?” he groans. “my filthy girl with her brain between her legs—”

your whole body trembles. he can feel it.

"oh fuck, you came on that?" he groans. “jesus. i didn’t know i was dating such a nasty girl. i’m gonna have so much fun with you.”

and yet — for all the filth and teasing and dirty, obscene words — he kisses you like you’re made of stars. he holds you close like you’re the most important thing in the world.

“my dumb little angel,” he murmurs against your lips, heart hammering against yours. “mine. only mine. gonna keep you all fucked out and smiling forever.”

GETO SUGURU

“look at you,” he sneers above you, hand fisted in your hair, making you arch back. “acting like a needy little bitch in heat the second i call you a slut.”

you’re moaning, gasping, incoherent — barely hanging on to the frayed edge of your sanity. and he’s not even giving you a break. not slowing down, not letting up, not giving you one second to recover.

because he knows now.

he knows.

you like it when he’s mean.

“so that’s what gets you off,” he growls, slapping your cheek with a sharp little tap, just enough to make you blink and whimper. “not my sweet words, not the nice shit i say to make you feel loved. no. you wanna be put in your fucking place, don’t you?”

he laughs. it’s low. cruel.

“you’re disgusting.”

his cock slams back in. deep. hard. like he’s trying to make you feel it in your throat.

you sob, a broken moan twisting into something animal.

“you like this,” he bites out, hand gripping your jaw to force you to look at him. “fuck. you’re dripping down your thighs, making a goddamn mess of my sheets. and for what? getting called a dumb little fucktoy?”

you nod. you nod. you’re too far gone to pretend anymore.

“you’re unbelievable,” he groans, voice rough with heat and hunger. “i’ve been treating you like a fucking goddess. and the whole time? this is what you wanted? to be used? to be broken down and ruined?”

he slaps your thigh, grinning when you jolt.

“go on, tell me what you are.”

you hesitate, panting, teary-eyed. and that pisses him off.

“say it.”

his hand wraps around your throat, his hips never missing a beat. he’s fucking you fast now — brutal, relentless, like he wants you hoarse and mindless by the end of this.

“say it, or i’ll stop right now.”

“i’m your—your dumb little whore,” you sob out. “fuck, suguru—i’m your fucktoy—!”

he moans. actually moans. like he just got handed the key to his own personal heaven.

“that’s right. my dumb little slut. no thoughts in that pretty head except cock and cum. pathetic.”

he spits on your chest. drags two fingers through it, then shoves them in your mouth.

“suck. maybe if you’re good, i’ll let you come.”

you do. immediately. desperate. like the perfect little pet he just unlocked.

he watches you with dark, gleaming eyes, like he’s thrilled by the monster he’s unleashed.

“you think i’m ever gonna be gentle with you again?” he breathes, mouth brushing your ear. “you think i’m gonna let you forget this?”

another thrust, hard enough to knock the wind from your lungs.

“nah, baby. you’re fucked now. you just told me exactly what you are.”

he grabs your face, forces your eyes up to his.

“and now you’re mine to break.”

NANAMI KENTO

“you were so proud of yourself earlier.”

his voice is calm. deadly calm. too calm for the way he’s got you bent over his kitchen counter, pants bunched at your knees, panties torn and hanging off one thigh. his belt’s undone, hanging from one hand. his other hand? buried in your hair, gripping tight.

“you walked in here all smug, all talk—acting like you’re some well-behaved little student who knows everything.”

he yanks your head back just a little, just enough to make your back arch.

“and now look at you.”

he slaps your ass once, loud and sharp, just to hear the sound of it echo off the marble.

you moan.

and that’s when he knows.

“…you liked that.”

you freeze.

and nanami, ever the gentleman, laughs—slow and dangerous.

“oh. i see now.” he tsks, voice low, amused and cruel. “so that’s what this is. you pretend to be my sweet, smart girl—taking notes, asking questions, playing innocent. but the moment i get you alone, all you want is to be treated like a brainless fuckdoll.”

your cheeks burn. you try to shake your head, to explain—but your mouth won’t work.

nanami chuckles.

“don’t try to deny it. i’ve been fucking you for almost a year. and not once have you sounded like this.”

he leans in, presses his lips to your ear.

“you want me to talk down to you. degrade you.”

he grabs your jaw, turns your face to look at him over your shoulder.

“say it.”

you squirm, gasping, dripping onto his cock that’s barely pressed between your thighs.

“s-say what—?”

his grip tightens. “say what you are.”

“i’m—” you hesitate. but he waits, patient and devastating.

“i’m your dumb little fucktoy,” you whisper.

he groans, low and broken. “god. you really are disgusting.”

his cock slides in without warning, thick and deep, and you cry out so loud it makes your knees buckle.

“is this what you wanted?” he snarls against your neck. “to be bent over like a filthy little whore, drooling on my counter, so cockdrunk you can’t even remember your own name?”

you’re sobbing. nodding. cumming—maybe. you don’t even know anymore.

“pathetic,” he breathes, thrusting into you harder, faster, one hand on your hip, the other around your throat. “all that education, all that ambition—and this is what you really want. to be treated like trash. like nothing more than a wet, willing hole for me to use.”

you moan at every word. filthy. desperate.

and then he softens. just a little. lips brushing your temple, his voice like velvet over razors.

“don’t worry, darling.”

he kisses your cheek. tender. almost cruel in its contrast.

“if that’s what you want…”

he pulls your head back again, growling against your jaw.

“then that’s what i’ll give you.”

TOJI FUSHIGURO

“fuckin’ knew it,” toji laughs, dragging your panties down your thighs with one hand while the other shoves you down flat into his mattress. “knew from the second you started giving me attitude you were all bark and no bite. nothin’ but a needy little slut underneath.”

he watches you struggle — watches you try to act tough while your legs shake and your soaked cunt practically begs for his cock. he’s grinning like the smug bastard he is.

“mm? where’s that sass now, princess?”

you whimper.

wrong answer.

he slaps your ass, hard, making your whole body jerk forward.

“use your words.”

“i-i’m your slut,” you gasp, voice trembling. “please—”

he cuts you off with a sharp tug of your hair, dragging your head back to make you look at him. “oh, no. no, no, no. don’t go beggin’ now. you’ve been mouthing off for weeks. actin’ like you’re too good for me.”

he nudges the thick head of his cock between your folds, slow, teasing, not pushing in just yet.

“but you dress like that around me? bend over every chance you get? call me ‘mr. fushiguro’ in that sweet little voice like you don’t know exactly what you’re doin’?”

he slaps your ass again.

“you wanted this, didn’t you?”

you nod, choking on a sob. “yes, sir—”

he fucking moans.

“ohh. sir, huh? god, you’re disgusting.”

he finally pushes in. one deep, thick stroke that makes your whole world shatter. and then another. and another. ruthless. like he’s trying to fuck the brat right out of you.

“you hear yourself?” he grits out, fucking you hard enough to bounce the bed. “making all these pathetic little sounds like a dog in heat. bet your professors would love to hear what kind of slut their top student really is.”

you sob into the sheets.

“don’t cry now,” he smirks, leaning in close to growl against your ear. “you wanted to be used, right? wanted me to ruin you?”

his hand wraps around your throat, squeezing just enough to make you gasp.

“wanted to be nothing but a dumb little hole for me to fuck whenever i want.”

he’s grinning. cruel, condescending, eyes gleaming with heat.

“well, sweetheart—congrats.”

another brutal thrust.

“you got it.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA

“you like that?”

his voice is low. dark. teasing.

you’re on your knees, drool smeared down your chin, eyes glassy, lip trembling as you look up at him. your clothes are somewhere behind you, discarded in the haze of him manhandling you onto the bed like a toy. his cock is resting against your cheek, thick and twitching, the skin flushed. and you’re already a mess.

but that grin—

that wicked, sharp-toothed, smug fucking grin stretches across his face when he sees the way your thighs press together from just that one sentence.

“ohhh,” he laughs, dragging his thumb across your bottom lip. “so that’s what it is.”

you flinch.

he grips your chin, hard, forcing you to look him in the eye.

“all this time, you acted like you were scared of me. like you were just some shy little college girl who didn’t know what she was doing.”

he leans in, mouth by your ear.

“but deep down—you’re just a filthy, depraved little fucktoy, aren’t you?”

you whimper. your thighs tremble.

his smile widens. cruel.

“look at you. shaking. moaning. fuck—your cunt’s probably soaked already, isn’t it?”

he shoves you backward without warning, watches you fall against the bed, spread out and breathless. he drags his cock along your folds, not even pushing in, just letting it sit there—heavy and taunting.

“you like being talked down to? degraded? used like a worthless little hole?”

you nod quickly, like it’s the only thing you know how to do.

“then open your fucking mouth and beg for it.”

your lips part—eager, desperate.

but he pauses.

“no. wait. i changed my mind.”

you blink, confused, until you hear him laugh again, darker this time.

“i’m not gonna fuck your mouth, princess. not yet.”

his cock slams into you in one brutal thrust and your scream is instant.

“i want you to feel it when i ruin you.”

his pace is unrelenting. his grip on your hips? bruising. and his words?

they never stop.

“you really thought someone like me would take it easy on you? someone like you? you’re nothing but a dumb little plaything. just a wet hole for me to use whenever i feel like it.”

he leans over you, one hand around your throat, the other pressing your knees up against your chest.

“say thank you.”

you’re barely coherent. moaning. gasping. totally gone.

he slaps your thigh. “i said say it.”

“t-thank you—thank you, sukuna—!”

he laughs, proud and cruel, kissing your temple with mock sweetness.

“that’s my good little fuckdoll.”

SHIU KONG

you’re bent over his desk, face pressed against cold wood, wrists pinned behind your back with one of his silk ties.

your thighs are trembling. lips parted. eyes glazed.

his cock is buried inside you, deep and slow, dragging along every sensitive inch until you’re whimpering from just the stretch.

and he’s still dressed.

not even a button undone.

just his sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened—like this is just another part of his shift.

“you’re lucky i’m even touching you,” he says coolly, glancing down at the wet ring your cunt’s leaving on his cock. “filthy little dropout like you.”

you whimper. he laughs—mean.

“you think any real man would keep you? spoiled brat with a mouth that won’t shut and a cunt that clenches when i call her a fucking toy?”

he leans down, lips brushing your ear.

“that’s what you are. a toy.”

his hips roll, slow and grinding, and your moan catches in your throat.

“a warm, wet, stupid little thing i use between meetings.”

his hand slips down, fingers flicking over your clit once—twice—and you sob, hips twitching.

“oh?” he coos mockingly. “are you close already? pathetic. i’ve barely done anything.”

and you’re gasping, begging under your breath, “please, please, please—”

he cuts you off with a sharp slap to your ass.

“what did i say about whining in my office?”

you go quiet, biting your lip.

“good girl.”

he slams into you—once, twice, hard—and you wail.

“you should be grateful,” he growls. “i could’ve left you dripping and untouched. instead, i’m wasting my time fucking you through the desk like some cheap little fuckdoll.”

he leans back just enough to see your reflection in the glass cabinet ahead. the way your mascara’s smudging, your mouth falling open with every thrust, your body wrecked and desperate and completely his.

he grabs your face, turns it toward your own reflection.

“look at yourself.”

you do—and you whimper.

“look at what i’ve turned you into.”

he grins, low and dangerous.

“and say thank you.”

you moan. “thank you, shiu—thank you—!”

his breath hitches.

“that’s right.”

his hand closes over your throat again.

“now take it.”

and he fucks you so deep, so rough, you’ll be limping back to campus in his spare dress shirt because your clothes are ripped to shreds.

HIGURUMA HIROMI

he’s always been so polite.

held your hand across the table, remembered your coffee order, adjusted your jacket when it slipped off your shoulder. he’s older, calm, grounded—your quiet man in the storm of your busy, chaotic little college life.

but not now.

not when he has you sprawled out on the soft leather couch in his office, legs over his shoulders, face flushed, breath ragged, hands trembling as you cling to the lapels of his suit jacket—like you can hold on to any sense of composure when he’s pounding into you.

“what did you say?” he asks, breathless, low, eyes burning into yours.

you can’t even remember what you said. everything’s fuzzy. everything’s hot.

he slows, hips dragging back, his cock sliding against every hypersensitive inch of your soaked, fluttering cunt.

“you said you were nothing, didn’t you?”

you flinch.

“that you like being talked to like you’re beneath me?”

your lips part—barely a nod—and his jaw clenches.

“fuck.”

his pace shifts, rougher now. mean. and it’s like something in him shatters—all that calm gone, replaced by low, filthy groans and sharp thrusts that make you scream.

“you want to be treated like a good girl?” he pants, hand curling under your thigh, keeping you wide open.

you nod, whining.

“then why are you dripping like a whore when i call you worthless?”

your whole body jerks at that word. he notices.

and now you’re done for.

his grip tightens. his voice drops to a gravelly whisper against your ear:

“you like that? being called a whore?”

you gasp, clutching his sleeves.

“my sweet little honors student,” he snarls. “always so smart. so well-behaved. and yet here you are, soaking my cock just because i called you fucking pathetic.”

his hand snakes down, fingers circling your clit.

“you’re disgusting.”

you clench around him and he groans.

“god. you really like that. my perfect little doll’s a filthy, degrading-obsessed slut.”

he leans in close, mouth hovering over yours.

“say it.”

you blink up at him, dazed.

“say what you are.”

you whisper it, shameful, breathless.

“…i’m a slut.”

he smiles—mean, but affectionate. a kiss drops to your cheek.

“good girl.”

and then?

he ruins you.

[madamechrissy]

Baby You're a Star- chap four preview

Preview for the coming chapter- est some time this weekend <3

Pairings- Pornstar! Satoru x shy/demi f!reader

Warnings - Mentions of sex, teasing you at work, Satoru being a JEALOUS lil mf, obsessed w/you - lots of tension, prepare for the mess aha

“You’re very quiet, sweetheart, what’s on that smart mind of yours?” You look back over, his hand is back on your knee, he’s tilting his head just a bit, heartbreakingly handsome face watching you.

“Sorry just a lot of thoughts in my head today, also I am a pretty quiet person at work especially,” you put a hand on his, squeezing gently and earning a quirk of his pouty lips. “With you I’m a little more open than usual.”

“I like that, you opening for me,” his murmur is too fucking seductive, and you’re sure he knows it as he studies the color dancing across your cheeks. “You open up so good for me too.”

“Do I?” His words are met with fingers slipping up between your thighs, you bite back a gasp as he touches you over the already damp cotton of your panties, thighs trapping his hand there involuntarily.

“Mmhmm, you’re a good girl, just look at you,” his words are like silky, snowy lashes low over dilated eyes as he sighs just a bit, feeling your slick coat his fingertips. “Did she miss me already?”

“Did you miss me?” Your counter question makes him pause because fuck he missed you - but it terrifies him that it’s not just the sexual need, the desire, it’s so much more than that.

He did miss you in just a few days, your smile and your scent, your sweet little giggle and the way you pressed your glasses up your nose. The very energy near him that emanates from you, the way you look up at him like that, the way he feels near you. He craves it like no drug he’s ever tried, your taste and the way your skin feels, the cute little sighs you make.

He’s fighting the inevitable fact that you’ve already sunk deep, that he’s becoming obsessed with you, and he’s not sure you feel the same. Clearly you enjoy him too, but you’re no where near his level, you’re not looking his workplace up and finding him like he just did, no Satoru doesn’t even know what the fuck in possessing him lately.

All he knows is he needs you around him, near him, on him…

Wants to bury inside you but that’s not even enough.

A quiet knock sounds on the door as Nanami walks in with a silver tablet, smiling as he walks inside, barely acknowledging Satoru then. “Hey darling,"- Hey Darling - he's gonna hey darling his fucking face - "Could you check this one for me, I’d love your opinion.”

“Of course I can.” Satoru’s hand falls and his fists clench at his sides, as you lean over the desk, and your breasts spill just a bit from your neckline, he sees the hazel eyes darting down and up quickly, wanting to smack him for even looking at you. “Oh Kento, it’s so good!”

“Kento?” Satoru asks softly, and Nanami clears his throat, smiling over at him like an annoyance.

“That’s my first name,” he says, Satoru glares over at you now, and you tilt your head curiously. “Something wrong?”

You call him Kento.

Satoru does not like that.

“No, no, sorry, go ahead sweetheart, I’ll wait.” He purrs those words, winking up at you, scrolling back through his phone, zooming right in on the picture he took, his favorite, where you have cum painted all over your ass and pussy.

Kento would never fucking have that from his darling.

“Your designs are so good,” he says, shoulder to shoulder with you now as the two of you peer at some of your work. “You need to give me a little advice.”

“What, no you’re so good at everything! You’re just being sweet,” your teasing giggle infuriates him, he wants to snatch you up and show who the fuck you are under, who gets to be inside you - but he holds it in.

It’s absurd.

He’s being so stupid and the worst part is he knows, but when Nanami’s big hand brushes against your back, leaning closer and murmuring something, it takes everything in him not to crash the fuck out. He tries to remember what you two are - but what the fuck even are you both?

You’d probably want someone like this Kento dude, wouldn’t you? You’d want someone with a career like yours, who clearly wants something serious, some ‘gentleman’ or so he seems. Even though Satoru is pretty fucking sure dude is not a gentleman, judging by the way his fingertips slip down your spine before his hand falls finally.

That’s when Satoru realizes he’s been holding his fucking breath.

“Are we still on for tonight?” He asks then, and Satoru’s stomach twists in knots as he watches you, shifting a bit, your weight on one foot, you look at him for a moment, eyes unreadable.

Say something, Satoru.

More jealousy and pining and more of them being IDIOTS, I hope you didn't think we were anywhere close to a resolution LMAO <3

perm tags- @alt--er--love @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @indiewritesxoxo @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @satoao-main @fairygardenprincesss @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff @ibreathesmut @s777athv @twinklywinkly @akiii143 @squeezyvalkyrie @cookielovesbook-akie @oinksa @grignardsreagent @shokosbunny

[venusveil]

Random astrology observations.

(My personal observations what I think)

✎ Taurus Moons be like Comfort > everything else.

✎ A Gemini Has 25 group chats but can’t reply to a single text you sent two weeks ago.

✎ Venus in Sagittarius Can love you from afar but don’t suffocate them or they’re gone.

✎ one think I noticed that Scorpio Sun with Sagittarius Venus is like they'll cling to you when they're feeling spicy but when that's over "who are you?"

✎ Never met a Pisces who doesn't have a issue with sleep. Either sleeps all day and night or no sleep at night. wakes up at 2 or 3 pm.

✎ Moon in Scorpio craves deep emotional (and physical) intimacy. Casual flings leave them feeling empty but they’ll never admit it.

✎You think you had the worse break up. Until your ex and you have 8th house synastry. And if you survived that? My strong babe you can do anything in life.

✎ by the way 8th house synastry reminds me of bad romance - lady gaga.

✎ My 8th house is in Taurus and I realized I can't be friends with a Taurus male. It's either we're a love/hate couple or nothing. No in between.

✎ Leo Needs constant admiration but pretens they hate being the center of attention (yeah right).

✎ I never wanna pick a fight with a Gemini Mars. I'll end up crying screaming vomiting. They'll hit you with words. will make you lose your sleep doubting your own intelligence.

✎ Sagittarius Mercury be like "let me teach you something" while offending you. "Why are you so stupid?" Probably gives (unwanted, nobody asked for) advice like It's a love language.

✎ 12th house Venus / Mars may attract people by accident then blame them for falling for them.

✎ One time I tried telling a Pisces Mars they're wrong. And he straight up was like "yeah I know I'm a bad person" ok? Thanks for knowing that.

✎ Aries Venus wants the hottest person in the room, the one looks hard to attract but when they do, They'll get bored before the 2nd date.

✎ Does Capricorn moon even cry? Once a year?

✎ Arguing with a Taurus Mercury in the 3rd house is like screaming at a brick wall. You'll be tired by the time they change their mind.

✎ Sun in Pisces/6th house is like you think working 9-10 is death. Also cries if there's no routine.

✎ I love people with Jupiter in Gemini or 9th house Jupiter. They knows a little about everything won't shut up.

✎ Sagittarius Mercury as a child I was a chatterbox talking non stop. And I've my big cousin sister (she's a Capricorn) telling me to stfu.

✎ Pluto in the 1st house : you walk into a room triggering at least 5 people's childhood trauma.

✎ Neptune in the 7th house attracts emotionally unavailable people.

✎ Jupiter in Scorpio people talks like a sexy cult leader. Can convince you to ruin your life in seconds.

✎ Neptune in the 4th house thinks their childhood was either a fairy tail or a horror movie - no in between.

✎ Mars in Scorpio knows exactly how to ruin you emotionally also sexually. And they will.

✎ Mars in the 4th house fights in the kitchen brings up childhood trauma mid-argument.

✎ You're not dating a Scorpio Venus you made a deal with the devil. Good luck moving on. Probably casting a spell to make you obsessed.

✎ Chiron in Scorpio heals people but breaks them first.

✎ Pluto in the 12th house knows the vibe is off 3 weeks ago

✎ Pluto in the 3rd house can destroy someone’s sense of self in a paragraph… and then say “I was just being honest.”

[merakiui]

coastal conversation.

yandere!floyd leech x (female) reader cw: (soft/subtle) yandere, nsfw, breeding, obsession, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, slight delusion, floyd's kind of a pervert in this one note - everything is in bloom in spring: the plants, the incessant rain, romance… for floyd, it means mating season.

In the most unfiltered way, Floyd feels like utter shit. 

He tossed and turned all throughout the night, drowning in an ocean of his own sweat. One minute, he was hot all over, thus the blankets were cast off, and the next he was chilled to his marrow so badly he had to cocoon himself in those same drenched sheets. Even though it’s early spring and the unpredictable forecast has hammered NRC’s campus with floods of cool rain, Octavinelle Dorm is kept at suitable temperatures for its residents.

Therefore, it shouldn’t be much of an issue. He’ll regulate and bounce back…or whatever it is human bodies do when throttled with wild weather.

Floyd has an innate sensitivity to everything, so it’s no surprise he’s able to immediately zero in on it—the creeping suspicion that something’s wrong. He knows he’s falling ill, but there are way too many human ailments for him to recall and some of them aren’t even worth pitching a fit over. He takes pride in his human immune system, which the doctors have observed is healthy every year he’s had to sit for his medical exams, so, really, he has no reason to fret.

And he’s not. It’s more inconvenient than anything. He has plans today—plans he’s not exactly thrilled about—but plans nonetheless. This mounting sickness is the perfect excuse to ditch them and sleep the weekend away. If he believed in all that universe-speaking-through-signs crap, he’d say fate is on his side. It’s destiny telling him not to go on this blind date.

That’s right. A blind date. Those are the plans.

He’s not even sure why he agreed to it in the first place. Maybe because it sounded interesting at the time it was proposed, but now he has to actually execute everything he once marveled at in theory. And dates are so much work, even more so when you’re not feeling it.

But Jade—the professional provocateur that he is—went and blabbed about this development to their mother, who was so thrilled on Floyd’s behalf and wished him all the best. If she wasn’t stuck in the sea with her own business to handle, she’d come up there to visit and cheer him on—something Floyd was quick to veto. He loves his mama, but sometimes she can be excessive in her affections. Any other day he’d be pleased to bask in it, but not when he’s feeling so volatile. It’s like the four seasons are at constant war within his body, each one battling for sole control over his temperament.

Still, he’s a little curious.

He’s never been on a blind date before. It was arranged through an app he’d downloaded for the sake of slaking his boredom. Find your next Charming Darling. That’s what the app advertised—purely fairy-tale experiences. True love and princesses and all kinds of lovey-dovey stuff Floyd scrunched his nose at. Azul had said the app itself seemed “dubious at best, but most certainly a scam,” as it worked only by pairing two anonymous users together for online chatting. It was a location thing, apparently. You wouldn’t know who you were talking to and neither would the other person—each profile kept private for suspense or some other stupid reason—but you’d both know where the other was in proximity to you. 

And it just so happened that Floyd’s Charming Darling was close. On campus close. 

He wondered which small fry had matched with him, and it was his theorizing that convinced him to melt out of bed and into clothes for the day. He can handle a few hours in town. He needs to pick up some things anyway, so if the date is a bust the trip won’t have been for nothing.

After confirming the meeting place with his so-called ‘darling’, he pulls his sneakers on, stuffs his wallet in his pocket, and then sets off to catch the bus into town. 

Even though the sun is high in the sky, the would-be heat is chilled by the gentle breeze rolling in from the coast. His head is pounding and stuffed full of crackling static and wires, and he feels an impossible itch deep beneath his skin. But the pleasant weather manages to lift his spirits enough for him to let his date know he’s arrived at the café. He finds a table outside and plops down, content to wait after receiving an enthusiastic almost there text.

He smells you before he sees you.

Suddenly, the sticky-sweet aroma of candy and pastries and every other saccharine thing invades his senses. It’s thrilling like blood in the water, widening his pupils until his eyes are nearly twin pools of the deepest black, but instead of iron and injury he catches the floral notes of arousal. Or maybe it’s a scarily strong perfume.

Either way, it has his hunting instincts switched on, that predatory hindbrain of his prickling with the urge to chase and capture prey.  

Just before he can sift through the other scents slamming his nose and narrow in on that very specific one, someone speaks up.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. You’re my Prince Charming?”

Oh, he knows that voice. Immediately, whatever bad mood was sitting on simmer in the back of his head shuts off and is replaced with a burst of positive energy. A malicious smile curls on his lips, one he’s all too eager to flash at you when he turns around in his seat.

He almost falls out of it.

You look different. It’s a good sort of different. In your pretty blouse and skirt, stockings pulled up to your knees, you look ready for a date. You’ve even styled your hair and done your makeup to match your outfit. It’s a stark contrast to how you normally look at school: perpetually exhausted, too lazy to do anything more than simply pull your uniform on and attempt a semi-presentable attitude. Enough to get through the day. But this… This is a genuine effort.

You got all dressed up for this little date. Even put on a pretty scent.

All for him.

Cute.

If this was the sea, you’d attract all sorts of predators.

Thankfully, your scowl is evidence enough that you’re too miffed to notice his uncharacteristic silence. He beams up at you, the picture of innocence.

“Heya, Shrimpy. Looks like you’re the one I’m s’posed to meet.” To prove it, he holds his phone up for you to see. The chat log glints back at you.

“Unfortunately.” You fix your purse strap and eye the surrounding area with a frown. Floyd can tell you’re searching for your real date because you don’t believe it could be him. When you check your phone for confirmation, your expression sours. “So it really is you.”

“In the flesh. Sooo. You gonna sit?”

“I guess. I already made the trip here, might as well.” You slide into the seat across from him.

“Ya look good.”

“And you look like you just crawled out of a cave.”

“Nope, not a cave.” He rests his elbows on the table and leans in, a giggle tickling the back of his throat. “Bed.”

“Yeah, that sounds like you.”

“If I’d known it was gonna be you, I woulda wore somethin’ nice.”

“Can’t get much nicer than this.” You gesture at him vaguely and he laughs. He’s glad he didn’t miss this. “Whatever. I’ll just get some cake to go and be on my way.”

“Whaaat? That’s lame. Aren’t ya gonna stay a bit?”

I’ll make it fun, so don’t go.

“Why? Are you?”

He nods.

“You don’t even like me. Why would I make myself—and you—even more miserable by staying?”

“Cuz,” he replies with a noncommittal shrug, like that answers it.

Instead of offering him a response, you pry the menu open and hide behind the flaps.

“Didn’t think you were the dating app type,” he tries, aiming for small talk.

You lower your menu to look at him. “Tell me, Floyd. What’s the ‘dating app type’ supposed to look like?”

He leans back in his seat, amused by your annoyance. “Dunno.” And then, before you can recover, a rapid-fire question: “Who were you hopin’ to meet today?”

Tell me so I can beat ’em into the ground.

He snaps out of the sudden territorial jealousy and, like the waves, feels the violent urge ebb away. 

Weird. He’s not looking to start a fight today. So then why is he so…restless?

“Not you. You’re the furthest thing from my ideal Prince Charming.”

And he’s back in the ring, ready to swap verbal vitriol until someone succumbs to the blow. “Well, what’s your perfect, li’l prince look like?”

“I don’t know.” You huff and retreat behind the menu, and right then he knows he has you cornered. “Anyone but you.”

“Aww. C’mon, Shrimpy, ya gotta have an image of ’em, at least. If you’ve spent so much time thinkin’ about it—” and he knows you have because he was present for all of those midnight text exchanges, trading details on future partners like they were cards— “then you’ve gotta have an idea.”

“It’ll never be you, so I don’t see why you’re so interested.” But then you slam your fist against your palm. “Oh, I get it. You just want dirt on me.”

“What? No way. That’s boring.” He pulls a disgusted face. He’s not the type to rely on psychological warfare and mental manipulation. So not his style.

“Isn’t that your whole angle?”

His mood promptly nosedives. “Just cuz I’m in Octavinelle and I hang with Jade and Azul doesn’t mean I follow their flow by the letter,” he snaps.

Rather than flinch back, his irritated tone seems to smooth out your stiffness and he watches you visibly relax. He thinks that’s strange. Why aren’t you scared? Not that it’s his intention to frighten you. The last thing he wants is to chase you off. He’s waited so long for a moment like this one; he isn’t going to ruin it.

That’s why he’s so thrilled you’re you. The other small fry would just quiver like a bunch of babies, but you’re different. You meet his mood swings head-on, unflinching and unbothered. Patient, that’s what he’d call it. You’re patient. Not surgically so like Jade and definitely not meticulously like Azul. Your patience is like a tide pool. Calm and transparent. No ulterior motives. 

It’s just you. That’s why he likes you so much. No elaboration needed.

“In that case, I could turn the question on you,” you continue, idly scanning the menu. “What does Floyd Leech’s ideal partner look like?”

Fuck. He wants you to say his name again. It pokes at some dormant part in his brain, the one that’s just starting to wake, humming with a queasy sort of desire. He fidgets with the menu, more focused on the extensive list of treats than the contents of your question.

He could say his ideal partner is you, but you probably wouldn’t believe him. And because of that it’s not worth using as a shock factor. Too predictable.

“Someone fun,” he says after a beat of quiet.

“So it was you… I can’t believe I didn’t realize that while we were texting.”

“Wasn’t obvious for me either. You talk so casually over text. It’s like a completely different Shrimpy.”

Equipped with this new information, it drapes another layer of context over your conversations. Because now he can associate your face with all of those flustered messages. He’s proud of that—of teasing you and eliciting such sweet reactions. To think it was you on the other end this entire time. He wonders if he made your heart skip a beat. Or maybe you stuffed your face in a pillow to hide your embarrassment. He pictures you holed up in Ramshackle, vibrating with nervous excitement.

Cute, cute, cute.

Refusing to dignify that with a proper retort, you fold your menu, pass it to the waiter, and voice your order. Floyd follows your lead, rattling off the name of the first dessert that caught his eye. 

Just beyond the umbrella shielding both of you from the sun’s searing gaze, storm clouds begin to darken the pastel sky. 

To shake off the ache that’s beginning to brew behind his eyes, he asks you about your plans for spring break. He must have won the small talk lottery because the suspicion in your stare disappears and you launch into a full-blown lecture about all the things you plan to get done. A whole grocery list. You’re going to be one busy Shrimpy come next week. A shame he won’t be around to witness it.

He’s keen to listen because it’s really all he can do with his waning focus. Your voice reels him in when his attention drifts. He doesn’t realize he’s admiring your mouth as it sounds out syllables he can only just register. Suddenly, it’s like he can’t even parse human speech. You’re looking through him, brows furrowed.

He’s always thought about kissing you. It’s in a moray’s nature to lie in wait, shrouded in the shadows, patiently waiting for the opportune moment. He doesn’t have anything to hide behind now, though. And if he kissed you here he thinks you might slap him. That would be invigorating.

Something stirs in him. 

No. Actually, it’s…

The world.

The world is being stirred. Someone’s stuffed a spatula into the fluffy mixture and given it a steady whirl, and now everything’s a blurry mess of shapes and colors. He blinks rapidly to clear his vision.

It’s too hot. He needs to peel himself out of his skin and soak in the abyssopelagic zone.

Is he sweating? He must be. He’d lick at the liquid gathering between his armpits to determine that, but he’s on a date with you and human courtship dictates that he must impress you. So he can’t do things humans consider ‘gross’ or ‘indecent’. He has to leave a nice impression. He has to prove to you he’s just as good, if not better, than your lousy Prince Charming.

So he wipes his palms on his pants. Not that he’ll hold your hand. He thinks you’d sooner chop your own hands off than willingly reach for him, and the image of this extreme aversion is too funny to offend him. 

Floyd swallows thickly. Your smell is so strong. Have you always smelled like this? Now that he’s looking at you, you appear…softer. He can’t explain it. Your skin looks healthier. The darkness sitting under your eyes isn’t nearly as sunken in as it usually is. Your lips shimmer with a beautiful shade of pink-red. It’s almost like you’re glowing.

If you were a mer, he thinks you’d be an ornamental fish. A pretty thing kept pampered, fins flowing like skirts, scales bright like individual chips of glass. A beguiling beauty who is just as fierce as she is stunning. 

Maybe, he wonders, his gaze trailing down to your chest, you have eggs. Maybe that’s why you look softer. 

“oyd… Floyd!”

He snaps back to himself. “Hmm?”

“Are you listening?”

“What part?” he asks without missing a beat, still smiling even though it hurts to do anything more than simply breathe. “Shrimpy’s got lotsa plans. You’re gonna be all diligent and hardworking. Hey, you should stay over at Octavinelle. We’ll keep ya nice and busy there.” 

You roll your eyes. “Keep dreaming.”

He giggles. Oh, if only you knew of all the things he dreams about. Nothing can compare to the real Shrimpy, though. The one who glares at him like he’s an insect. The one who puffs up like a pufferfish when upset or angry. The one who always has such fun reactions to his teasing. How could he possibly stay away?

Just then, the desserts arrive. Floyd can’t find the appetite and is instead satisfied watching you eagerly receive your fruity drink and cake. He scoops a bite of pudding on his spoon and holds it out to you. Unsurprisingly, you scowl at it.

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s a date, ain’t it? Gotta live up to your expectations.” And then, because he’s itching for your hands on him, whether to hit him or choke him out, he adds, “Shrimpy’s got some reeeal high standards.”

“Ugh. Gross. You’re the last person I’d want to feed me. And I’ve got my own food, thank you.”

“Ya sure? Should I manta it?”

“Should you what?” You fix him with a critical look, but he can see the interest bubbling beneath the thin veil of confusion.

“Y’know, manta it. Like this.” He moves his arm so that the spoon glides along an invisible current, moving smoothly like a manta ray. “Mama used to do that all the time when I didn’t wanna eat somethin’.”

“So the fish version of the airplane.”

“Eeh? That’s what humans do?”

You shrug. “It works.”

Floyd thinks he still prefers the manta. “Sooo. Wanna give it a try?” He’s itching to prove he can provide for you, even if it’s just pudding and not heaps and heaps of fish or an entire shark carcass. 

You eye his spoon​​ warily. “What flavor is it?”

“Secret,” he hums, delighted. 

“Fine. Just one bite.” You reach to grab it, but he moves his arm up and away. 

“Nuh-uh. You gotta let me do it. Defeats the whole purpose if you do it yourself.”

You submit, albeit with a stubborn pout. 

“Now say ‘aah’,” he prompts, thinking you might really swing your fist. 

Begrudgingly, you lean in and open your mouth wide. “Aah.”

Floyd straightens up in his seat, his eyes the size of plates. He swallows thickly, curling his free hand into a fist. He feels his nails pierce his palm, sharpened points drawing the tiniest pricks of blood. You crack an eye open, all while your wide, impatient mouth gapes back at him.

“Never mind,” he mutters, stabbing the spoon into the pudding and shoving the dish at you. He avoids your searching eyes and instead burns quietly in the flames of his own embarrassed arousal.

“Ugh. I can’t believe I fell for such an obvious trick,” you scoff around a dainty bite of cake. “Honestly… Life was so much better before I found out you were my match.”

Awkwardly, he rubs the back of his neck. He could make dozens of home runs out of the depravity that’s become his thoughts, what with how frequently he’s batting them away. When he looks at his hand, he finds a thin membrane webbing between each of his fingers.

That can’t be good.

“You can have mine,” he blurts, nudging the pudding towards you. “’m not hungry.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “I don’t suppose you want something in return for your generosity?”

“What do ya have to offer?” he asks, swallowing the bucket of saliva pooling on his tongue. It coats his dry throat on the way down. He can’t think like this. Maybe he really is sick because you’re all he can smell right now. It’s like he’s zoned in on it, a shark drawn to blood. Nothing else matters. You’re the only Shrimpy in his sea.

Predators, he remembers, the reminder tacked onto his mental bulletin like an afterthought. 

Restlessly, he glances about. He flexes his fingers, curling and uncurling them. Deep down he’s aware this doesn’t mean anything. You’re not his mate, but he wants to protect you anyway. That’s probably the last thing you want, though. You’re a capable Shrimpy. It’s one of your many strengths. 

Still… It’s nice to pretend, if only for the moment.

“An actual date,” you say, sipping at your drink. 

The way your lips close around the straw is so unintentionally erotic it brings him back to a few minutes ago, when you opened your mouth at him. He should’ve reciprocated, but then it wouldn’t have meant anything. Not to you, anyway.

To clear his head and hopefully cool his boiling temperature, he stuffs a spoonful of pudding in his mouth. It’s sugary but not nearly as much as he’s certain you are. If he licked a stripe up your neck, perhaps he’d know your taste for sure.

“Since we’re here, we might as well, right?” you add and he’s brought back to the present. “And then after that we never have to see each other again.”

“Uh-huh…”

He remains unconvinced. No matter how much you push him away, he’ll still be there to pop up and surprise you on campus.

He’s a bother, and you—sitting beautiful and shimmering in the glow of spring courtship—are everything he’s ever dreamed of.

So it’s definitely eggs, he decides, his mind made up. How else can he explain the smell and the softness, all tell-tale signs of a mate in waiting?

Floyd has never been one to pursue smooth seas, preferring the euphoria of a hard-earned success. But Sea Witch below does he wish today wasn’t so challenging. How is he supposed to express everything in his heart if you can’t even read his body language? He’s not even sure if he can gauge yours. Do you want to mate with him? That’s why you prettied up your fins and…

No.

No, no, no.

He has to remember this is a blind date. You had no idea it was going to be him and neither did he. He wants to come out and say it because the complexities of moray courtship are struggling to get through the muddiness of your own human signs.

It occurs to Floyd he could just cast a spell so that his thoughts are broadcasted to you and he can read yours. But that’s a dirty trick, one that would be heavily frowned upon in the sea and perhaps even on land as well. It’s all so complex. He doesn’t have the energy for all of this thinking.

With a petulant whine, he melts onto the table in a puddle of pouty Floyd. 

You raise a questioning brow and finish off the rest of your cake. “I’m eating your pudding so it doesn’t go to waste.”

He waves you off. “Don’t got much of an appetite for it anyway.”

“Suit yourself.” Shrugging, you take a bite and hum in delight. The tiny smile that traces your lips stuns him.

Oh.

He’s never seen you smile like that before… Usually, if you’re smiling, it’s one of malice—directed at him and accompanied with the threat of a clenched fist.

From where his head rests against the table, he’s free to admire you and your gluttony. Will this be enough? If you have eggs, you need to eat so much more than a measly slice of cake and some pudding. 

But before he can call the waiter over to order everything on the menu, there’s a loud tearing sound and then a heavy flop. He glances behind him and finds his tail is protruding from his lower back like a thick, winding snake. It thumps against the ground in anticipation, almost as if it’s wagging.

That’s fun!

“So,” he starts, lifting his head to look at you properly. He remembers something you told him over text, when it was well past midnight and the both of you had strayed into more private discussions. “Shrimpy’s never had her first kiss, hm?”

“And it’s not going to be with you, so don’t even try,” is your scathing comeback.

Fuck, he wants you.

A wild grin breaks out on his face, sharpening in time with the fins that pop out from his ears. Crisp sounds rush in all at once, as if the cotton has been tugged out. Traffic, nearby conversations, the shush-shush of the waves crashing against the rocks. He pulls a face at the cacophony assaulting his hyper-sensitive ear-fins.

You stare at him. “You’re…green.”

“Huh?”

But then his fins shred through his sleeves and it becomes apparent his mer features are starting to poke through his human disguise. Teal flashes across his skin in speckled patches, swallowing up what’s left of his previously pale coloration. 

This is odd because, as much as he despises it, he choked back that nasty potion just a few days ago to avoid this exact scenario. What gives?

It’s in this transitional stage, the space between half-human, half-mer, that the haze really settles in. Floyd staggers to his feet, rifling around for his wallet, and slams a fistful of bills down. It’s getting bad. He needs something he can’t have, and if he spends any more time here…

“We should go,” you say before he can, already out of your chair. “You need to get back to school or… Well, I guess if it comes down to it we can go to Craneport and throw you in the water there. It’s not too far from here.”

“Aww. Worried I’m gonna dry out?” He manages a casual tone despite the heat bubbling in his blood.

“As if. I just don’t want to haul your heavy eel ass around.” Scoffing, you step out from under the shade of the umbrella.

Just in time for the first few droplets of rain to come pattering down. You and Floyd glance skyward before sharing a quiet look. He extends his hand to catch a few drops on his palm.

“Look at that. The weather wants us to stay together,” he remarks, delirious.

“Even the universe wants us to split,” you speak over him.

“Hee-hee. The universe’s gonna hafta try harder than that. This is nothin’.”

As if in response to his challenge, lightning flashes across the sky in a crackling arc. It’s quickly followed by deep, rumbling thunder. Again, you and Floyd eye each other. His wide, toothy grin makes you frown. But that becomes the least of your worries when a smattering of rain comes pouring down on both of you. 

You gasp, your hands flying up to protect yourself. “My clothes! My hair!”

Floyd watches you fall into a panicked sprint, his tail swishing to and fro. He doesn’t care about the many stares he’s starting to draw when he takes off after you, his obnoxious laughter echoing down the path. His clothes are already ruined. A rainstorm isn’t going to make any difference. 

You take shelter in an alley, beneath an awning shared by conjoined buildings. Just beyond, a steady curtain of rain falls. Floyd marvels at it with a whistle. What a downpour… The forecast didn’t say anything about rain, but then he supposes that’s normal for springtime on land.

“As if this day couldn’t get any worse,” he hears you mutter. Floyd’s gaze pans from the slick street to you and finds you’re shivering. Your arms are wrapped around yourself and his mismatched eyes travel down, down, down.

Your blouse is clinging to your body and through the sopping fabric he can see the frilly outline of your bra. Unconsciously, his tongue darts out to wet his lips. He tastes sweat-tinged rain as it trails down his face in salty streaks. When he brushes his matted hair out of his eyes—and it feels more like he’s draped a mop of seaweed over his head—he finds you’ve lowered your arms and are now attempting to check your makeup with a pocket mirror.

“Nooo. I spent so much time on it, too…”

Can you get any cuter? If he could afford just the smallest peek, maybe he’d see what type of panties you’re wearing. Are they as lacy as your bra? Are they thin like it, too, allowing him to see the pebbled peaks of your nipples poking through?

Damn it all to the deepest trench! Floyd can’t take it anymore! He needs to know.

“How big is it?” he blurts, grabbing your shoulders. He’s careful not to dig his claws into you, even though his instincts are telling him to shred that silky blouse to ribbons, snap through the strap of your bra with a voracious chomp, and make you his. But you’re precious, not prey, and so he’ll try to exercise some restraint. 

You blink back at him in bewilderment. “What are you talking about?”

“You know…” he trails off in hopes that you’ll fill in the empty space.

“No, I don’t.” You shake him off, but he’s quick to latch onto your wrists next. “Seriously, I don’t! What’s gotten into you? You’re acting weird.”

Floyd inhales through his nose. A bad move because your pheromones or perfume—whatever the fuck it is—invade his senses all over again. He can’t keep swatting the inevitable away. It’s only a matter of time before his biology incapacitates him. But while he’s still semi-coherent he’s going to take this opportunity to tell you everything that’s been on his mind ever since he first saw you. 

That’s the plan, at least. How much of it he intends to follow, good question. 

You’re staring at him like he’s lost his mind and maybe he has, drenched and looking like a teal Godzilla. He pulls back to rake his hands through his soaked hair. 

“Y-Your clutch,” he mutters. “Can never tell in human form.”

“My…clutch. You want to know how big my clutch is. As in, like, eggs?” 

“Mhm.”

He avoids looking at you out of sheer embarrassment—this sort of thing requires tact and sly communication, not direct fumbling that could be borderline begging—so he can’t imagine what expression you might be making. There’s a long, drawn out silence. He prepares himself to be slapped or berated—maybe both.

You touch his arm gingerly. He peers at you. 

“If you were struggling, say so. Gosh, you’re so stubborn.”

Warmth and concern are hidden in those criticizing eyes. Even though your tone feels more like a scolding, it lifts his mood to know you care. He’d tease you for it, but he’s just not feeling it right now.

Floyd shakes off his reservations like a dog drying itself. For once, he doesn’t know what to say or do as he watches you through lidded eyes.

“I don’t really understand what’s going on, but you don’t feel good, right?” At that, he offers a small nod. “You were forcing yourself this entire time. Why didn’t you just leave? Why stick around and suffer?”

“Cuz Shrimpy was really lookin’ forward to this. Didn’t wanna disappoint ya.”

He wanted to impress you, show you that he’s a worthy mate, but that feels impossible now. With his back to the wall, he slides down until he’s sitting on the wet pavement. He’ll probably change back into a moray mer soon. Maybe the rain is delaying it. Maybe it’s the magical properties of the potion regulating what’s left of his human form.

You step into his line of sight then. His gaze travels up your stocking-clad legs. Before he can picture what’s beneath your skirt, you’re crouching down to view him. “I don’t think it matters whether you disappoint me or not.”

Yeah, it does. It matters cuz I like ya and want ya to have a good time.

“So you don’t have eggs,” he says, switching topics.

You sigh. “Yes, Floyd, I don’t have eggs. I’ve never had eggs. Not in the way you’re thinking. Humans don’t lay eggs.”

He knew that. Learned it in land boot camp. A shame. You’d look adorable saddled with a clutch or two.

But if that’s not the case, what’s with your smell? It can’t be perfume. Even the strongest of scents can’t compare to this. This is a sweetness that’s coming from between your legs, he’s sure of it. 

You’re reaching into your purse now. “What’s Azul’s number? I’ll give him a call. Don’t push yourself.”

His tail moves without thinking, coiling around your waist to drag you closer. The force of it knocks you forward. With a startled yelp, you shoot your arms out to brace yourself against the wall, unintentionally caging him in. He gazes up at you, an unfocused stare that you hold with newfound intensity.

“Floyd,” you breathe, and he can see you’re scanning his face for answers.

Gently, you run your fingers over the dark swirls on his cheekbones. He gives a full-body shudder in response, biting back an enthusiastic trill when your touches trail to his ear-fins. He flexes his tail and squeezes your waist. He shouldn’t let it go further than this.

But if he does he could finally have you.

“I’ll help. Whatever this is, I’ll…do my best.”

Now it’s his turn to be confused. “You sure?”

You glance at his lap. Floyd follows your line of sight to find his cock pressed prominently against his pants. You swipe his hair back and hold your hand to his forehead.

“You’re burning up! Why would you even come out in the first place if you’re so sick?”

“Didn’t think it’d get this bad.”

You huff. “You’re unbelievable. Aren’t you scared?”

“Course not. How can I be when Nurse Shrimpy is takin’ good care of me?” He tries a playful smirk, but it falls short into a grimace.

“Whatever.” A serious look passes over your face next. “I’m not sure what to do, but… But I think it’s safe to…to do it. That’s what you need, isn’t it?”

Floyd drags you into his lap. “More or less, yeah.”

He doesn’t have to get into the details. That’s for future Floyd to explain…or not.

“Okay. Then… Hurry up and get it over with. The rain’s cold.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll warm ya up.”

“If I get sick from this, I’ll kill you.”

“Hee-hee.”

You shift awkwardly, searching for the right rhythm when you press down against his erection. Floyd hisses through his teeth. It almost doesn’t seem real. He thinks he can feel your pussy through your panties, and he wonders if they’re just wet from the rain or from something else. While you roll your hips, his hands move up to fiddle with the buttons on your blouse. It’s significantly harder to undo them when his claws are long and curved, and in a fit of impatience he grabs hold of the fabric and yanks it open. It comes away with a rip, buttons popping off and exposing your rain-slick skin and bra, much to his minacious delight.

“Floyd!” You yelp as he tips you backwards, pressing you against the cobbled ground. This new position allows him to slot himself between your legs, where he ruts like a mindless animal.

“I’ll get you a new one,” he promises, his mouth laving over your neck.

He just barely remembers to tug his pants and boxers down enough to free his cock, now more moray in structure, the shaft tinted teal and peppered with dozens of nubs. He nearly shreds through his underwear when his claws catch on the waistband. All you can manage is an aggrieved whine, which soon tapers off into a low moan when the head of his cock bumps against your clit.

“Off.”

“Wait, wait! I’ll do it. This is my nicest pair—don’t you dare ruin them.”

He’s sure they’re nice, but right now he doesn’t have time to appreciate them in full. He needs to be inside you or else he’ll pass out. The want is unbearable. Fuck, he wishes this was the sea. It would be easier to entice you there, with colors and scents and shows of strength. It’s way too complicated on land.

Your panties aren’t even halfway down your legs before he’s burrowing himself between your soft folds. It feels better than anything he’s ever known before. You’re warm and gooey inside, squeezing him like you’re intent on snapping his dick in half. And suddenly he can’t think or speak. Everything is blank as he grabs your hips and pulls you down. Your pussy swallows him up in one reckless thrust, and you squeak in surprise when it knocks against your deepest part. He feels your arms wrap around his neck, your legs twisting around his waist, and you cling to him like you’re afraid the storm will sweep you away. 

He can’t muster another second of patience or restraint, so he slams in and out of you at an erratic pace, chasing the euphoric bliss that’ll finally satisfy every instinct buzzing beneath his skin. 

“S-Slow down, Floyd! I ca—aah—can’t! S’too much,” you babble and dig your nails into his back, which only serves to embolden the brutal snap of his hips against yours.

“Shorry,” he rasps against your skin, his mouth watering with so much drool it drips in fat, warm drops and puddles in the slope between shoulder and neck.

He’s a pathetic moray. He can’t even offer you a nice cave to curl up in. He can’t even manage the patience to prepare you, to work you up until you’re glistening with desire. The best he can do is this filthy alley during the worst weather ever, and even then it’s far from romantic. 

To offer you a modicum of comfort, he slides his tail beneath you to raise your ass for a better angle and provide a pillow for your head. You cry out a string of incoherent words. He pants against your pulse, the little heartbeat pounding in time with his own. 

It’s wet and filthy and desperate. He’s not even sure if he’s breathing. All he knows is that he needs to fill you until you’re heavy with his seed, until your pussy weeps nothing but cum. You can’t walk around with your fins all prettied up, smelling like a sweet treat, attracting the worst kinds of predators with each step. If you smell more like him—if every inch of you is marked by him—no one else would dare to approach you. He’ll make damn sure of it.

Oh, that’s what this is.

Mating season.

Perhaps he could’ve gotten it out of his system if he stayed on campus and swam laps in Octavinelle’s special pool. He’s not used to feeling it in spring, but then his cycle has never followed any set schedule. It’s only this bad because he saw you—because he caught your scent and it flipped the switch in his brain, the one that’s screaming at him to breed his mate.

Because that’s what you are, even if you don’t know it yet.

That’s what you’re going to be. Biology won’t give you a choice.

Floyd grits his teeth, his pace mostly uneven now. He won’t bite. He’s not sure he can control his strength, and if he sinks his teeth into you what’s stopping him from tearing the flesh from your bones? Instead, he presses sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to the space above your heart. His arms twist tightly around you to keep you trapped in place.

It’s fine if you think he’s scum or the worst moray in the Coral Sea. 

Nothing is more titillating than a challenge.

Wrapped up in you and your hypnotic scent, your breathless voice in his ears, he cums so hard his vision whites out. You seem to have done the same, for your pussy clenches like a vise, rendering you boneless beneath him.

The haze in his head is dizzying. He blinks until color returns and that’s when he tugs your skirt up to see where you’re connected. He’s buried snugly inside, keeping all of his cum plugged deep. Your chest rises and falls with every wheezing gasp, and in this moment you are so fragile he thinks you might shatter if he fucks into you without warning again.

A feral smile widens on his lips. 

“Hey, Shrimpy.” He nudges your cheek until your head lolls to the side. He knows you’re still conscious because your eyes, ringed with ruined eyeliner, find his. “There you are. Don’t fall asleep on me, ’kay?”

Thunder rumbles in the distance. 

He leans in close. “Didja know? You came to this li’l date smellin’ suuuper sweet and I came sick.”

It takes a moment for you to register his words, but when you do all you can provide is an intelligent: “Huh?”

His hands settle on your spread legs, claws digging shallowly into the meat of your thighs. “Isn’t that funny?”

“Wha… I don’t…” You shake your head. “Don’t get it.”

“Hee-hee. Did I fuck all the brains outta ya? Oops. Guess you’ll figure it out later then.”

We’re each other’s cure, he thinks, his form shadowing yours.

And now a mated pair.

[moonstruckme]

okay so i just read your requests rules and im not sure if this falls under a no no, so im just gonna ask.

would you write about reader getting emotional after remus just being really nice to her and sticking up for her bc she has trauma from like bullying or just not nice experiences regarding people being not nice or making fun of her (maybe in the adult sense it could be coworkers. like new girl at the the office au for example)?

i know your guidelines say no bullying but specifically like asking out as a prank is what is the example is so i am unsure if this is toeing a line or not. i feel like it’s not but better to be safe then sorry. thanks lovely 🩵🩵

You’re good sweetheart! That rule only really applies when like the love interest is the one being a bully. Thanks for your request <3

cw: service work rudeness

barista!Remus x barista!reader ♡ 854 words

Your work is loud enough that everyone needs to shout a little to be heard. You’re trying not to feel personally attacked by it.

“The cookie crumble latte,” the woman standing on the other side of the counter from you enunciates, over the sounds of whirring coffee machines and the customers chatting behind her.

“Perfect.” You start punching in her order. “And what size would you like?”

“Medium.”

“Lovely, got it…” Her total comes on-screen, but something dawns on you. “Oh. I’m sorry, we’re out of the crumble topping.”

The woman’s face screws up into an expression you can’t confidently interpret. It’s either bemusement or utter disdain. “What?”

“The crumble topping we put on top of the latte,” you try to explain. “We’re out of stock.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?”

“Would you like to try it without the topping?” you try.

“No.” Definitely disdain now. Your heart begins to pitter like a rabbit’s. “I want what I ordered.”

“Yes, I’m very sorry. Is…is there anything else on the menu you’d fancy?”

“You’re really out of the crumble.” She narrows her eyes at you.

“We are, yes.”

“The cookie topping that all the lattes come with?”

You think she’s trying to make you feel stupid. Not all of your lattes even come with that, only the one she’s ordered. “Yes,” you say anyway, hoping to pacify her by agreement.

The woman cocks her hip. Behind her, a few customers in line are looking over, wondering what’s taking so long. You feel the too-familiar heat of having a crowd’s irritation centered on you.

“I find it difficult to believe that you’re all of a sudden out of the ingredient for your most popular drink,” she says slowly. “Have you gone and looked in the back?”

Stupidly, your throat is starting to tighten. You keep your eyes on the screen in front of you to avoid looking her in the eye. “No,” you say quietly.

“Well, why don’t we give that a try?”

“Excuse me.” Skin brushes softly against yours as Remus steps in next to you at the till. “Is something the matter?”

“Possibly.” Your customer smiles at him. It’s sharp-edged and doesn’t reach her eyes. “Are you out of the topping for the cookie crumble lattes?”

“We are,” he confirms without missing a beat.

“And have either of you been to the back to verify that?”

“I do inventory every morning,” Remus says evenly. “We ran out of the crumble topping yesterday. Is there something else we can help you with?”

“Well, I was really looking forward to having it—”

“Then you’re welcome to try another of our locations and see if it’s available. Next.” He waves the customer behind her forward, at the same time motioning for your coworker to come take over. “Nik, can you please…? Thanks.”

You don’t look up to see the first customer’s reaction. You’re shepherded away, through the swinging door and into the relative darkness of the back room, Remus’ arm around your shoulders.

“Hey,” he says in a low voice, head bent toward yours, “you alright?”

You nod, wiping your sweaty palms on your apron. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Don’t know what you have to be sorry about,” he murmurs. There’s a hint of amusement in his tone, an invitation to lighten things if you want it. “You weren’t the one throwing a fit over some small thing nobody can change.”

You make a noise approximating a laugh, a soft, brief exhale through your nose.

Remus tilts his head further, trying to see your face. “Sure you’re alright?” he asks gently, his solid, nobody-is-ever-going-to-hurt-you-again arm around your shoulders. “You looked like you were maybe starting to get a bit misted up.”

You take in a breath, letting it out through your mouth. Try to alleviate the tautness around your sternum. “I’m okay,” you say. “Sorry, I’m just, I’m not very good with things like that.”

“With people being cruel to you?” He gives your shoulder a tiny rub. “I’m glad, lovely, I don’t think any of us would want to be. That’s not how anyone should talk to each other, is it?”

A small, self-pitying part of you wonders what Remus would think if he knew how often it’s happened to you. You should be good at being treated cruelly by now, really. You should be accustomed to it.

You look up finally, giving your coworker a commiserative smile.

Remus smiles back. The gentle brush of his thumb over your arm feels almost like a reward. “I know it’s our job to put up with a certain amount of shit,” he says, “but if anyone talks to you like that, you can always come let me know, yeah? I’ll handle it.”

“Remus,” you say softly. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” he replies simply. His hand coasts across your back as he pulls away. “I’m going to go help Nik, but you stay back here as long as you need, alright?”

“Alright,” you echo. You cross your arms over your stomach, taking another deep breath for yourself.

Remus sends you a fond look as he goes.

[thebestpartofwakingup]

Not to mention how rude, inconsiderate, dishonest, disrespectful, and potentially harmful (to both you and others) to navigate the world and your life and public spaces — presenting as a competent adult (yes I am aware that visibly disabled adults are often not treated in the same manner) without respecting the responsibility of agency that being an adult carries.

Yes, there are plenty of 20 somethings who do look like teenagers and may be treated as such, in public, by older adults. It happens, it’s sometimes awkward, but it is not a universal script for how you — an adult who knows they are an adult, should present themselves and expect to be treated by others in return.

People make mistakes! Its ok to ask for help, or take up a bit more time or space than is situationally ideal (say, fumbling with your wallet at the cashier) these are not like “you are bad and evil and stupid” everyone has fluctuations in like, overall competence and awareness, everyone gets caught off guard.

I live in a large city, there are lots of places and people I visit regularly, people I see around my usual spots often, people who see me around commonly, and also lots of people I may never see again in the mix.

Ive given my bus seat up to other people before, let families go ahead of me for the bathroom, ive dealt with men making unwanted comments towards me — on a whole range of ‘ew what a creep’ and ‘he means well’ — and had homeless people sit down at my table at various libraries, cafes, malls, etc.

Uncomfortable, inconvenient things happen all the time! Things happen all the time that require, and easily allow, us to provide grace and help to strangers (especially to parents/kids and the homeless, since they are often/commonly the people most visibly in need of grace and extra patience than we would maybe expect or require from strangers ourselves)

Now I’m leftist/progressive (never been one for like, grand political strategy, so more specific labels aren’t really my thing) and so are the majority of my friends, or some other related political identity. People who value inclusion and diversity and accommodating and accepting other people.

And I cannot count the number of times a planned social outing has spiraled out of control because someone in attendance did not communicate with anyone else, prior to the event, that this activity is well outside their comfort zone and may become too much for them, or that they’ll require additional supervision, or do not have *transportation/ a plan for getting home*

And this has even extended to social gatherings planned AROUND supporting someone else’s communicated needs. “My grandma died and I don’t want to be alone right now” “my partner dumped me and I wanna go out and feel good about myself” “work has been killing me lately and I really need a relaxing night with my best friends” etc.

It’s ok, good even, to push yourself outside your comfort zone! But it’s unbelievably rude to do so in a way where your plan for doing so directly interrupts or diminishes the needs and experiences of the people around you because you did not communicate your needs.

I think mostly what young fandom types (and I guess younger people in general) who are very very invested in the idea that “20 is still basically a minor” need to understand is that the feeling of “I’m just a child pretending to be an adult, and everyone else around me is a REAL adult” is DEEPLY universal (and won’t stop, ever, by the way, sorry!) and also is not, like, praxis.

Believe me, I get it, but the self-infantilization needs to stop, especially when you’re trying to engage in conversations about actual children and the harms they can face. Yes, it is scary to wake up and realize you’re 22 and you still feel like you’re 15, but it happens to all of us. You’re an adult. You have to deal with it.

[moesthoughts]

my aching bones | the pilot ( photo 01 )

chapter summary : you finally sign up for the stupid photography gig to take pictures for the yellow jackets girls’ soccer team, if taking action shots at their first practice was already awkward enough, being forced to introduce yourself to the team was worse.

warnings : bullying, topics of loneliness, drug use, homophobia, mental health issues, addiction

You curse at yourself as you practically sign away your life in Mr. Martinez’s office.

You can’t believe your parents convinced you to do something with your hobby you aren’t even that good at, Photography. You enjoy your free will with your shots, but now that you have to take action shots and team photos for the Yellow Jackets girl’s soccer team, you can kiss that creative freedom goodbye. You place the pen you were given down onto the desk, not caring to read the contract you just signed. Probably not the smartest decision you’ve made. The man in front of you smiles at you, before taking the clipboard and pen away from you.

“We appreciate your help, miss. We’ve been in need of a photographer.”

He chuckles, tapping the pen onto the wood. You can only muster up a small smile, awkwardly shuffling between your feet. Little did he know you were doing this completely against your will. Your eyes wander towards the family photos littered across his office, Travis and Javi Martinez. Pretty weird kids, if you could even judge. Travis was a complete asshole, but Javi was a sweet little kid. You mentally prepare yourself, knowing you’ll have to deal with them both somewhere down the line.

“No need to thank me, sir. I just wanted to expand on my hobby.”

You realize you didn’t reply to him earlier, you try to sound professional. You kick the carpet on the floor as he laughs again. He always seems so serious on the field, why is he so carefree now? Probably because he wants to love bomb you into staying for the rest of senior year, you still can’t believe you’re wasting your supposedly chill year on a soccer team. You haven’t done an extracurricular for your entire high school career, why does that have to change this year? You enjoy your alone time, at least you think you do.

“It’s Coach to you now. The girls have practice tomorrow, why don’t you stay after and test the waters?”

Coach Martinez smiles, and you press your lips together. Tomorrow is when you officially start taking pictures for the school paper, that everyone looked at.. You pick up your bag from the chair beside you and bottle up your worries. You mutter a ‘see you tomorrow’ and leave the room. You shuffle awkwardly across the locker room which was thankfully empty for today, you’re already dreading tomorrow.

It’s the last class of the day, and you’ve about had it with the constant comments from Randy. You bury your face into your hands after the third remark about how you dress, you’d yell at him if you weren’t already worrying about the event after this class. All you want is a moment to think before you have to take pictures of girls like a creep, it’s enough that people throw insults at you for being ‘gay’. You never want to confirm or deny.

“I mean, you dress like a butch—“

“Randy, just fuck off already.”

Your head turns in the direction of the new voice, it’s Taissa Turner. You��re shocked, to say the least. She’s never once stood up for you when Randy picked on you, you’re not sure what sparked this change suddenly. To be honest, you believed she was even meaner than Randy. The boy scoffs and leaves you alone, you stare at her dumbfounded. She looks back at you, equally confused.

“You’re welcome?”

Taissa speaks up, a smile pulling on her lips. You snap out of your confused daze and give her one back, going back to the worksheet on your desk. Today is going to be so weird. You grip your camera that’s been in your lap the whole class. Instead of paying attention to calculus, you were busy making sure you had enough film, that your lens wasn’t smudged, and that it still functioned correctly. All the boxes have been checked, it was time to prepare yourself for after school. To brave the overwhelming social anxiety that plagues your body every day. You squeeze your eyes shut once the bell rings, and the thing you’ve been trying to forget about for the whole day is finally here.

The tips of your shoes dig into the ground as you stand next to Coach Martinez, who is watching Coach Scott make some kind of welcome speech. You notice some girls aren’t taking it very seriously, you assume it’s because it’s not their first year. Among the girls whispering to each other, one catches your eye the most. The prettiest bleach blonde hair, eyeliner so dark around her eyes, red-tinted lips with the cutest smile. You tear your eyes away from her once you dive too deep into your thoughts. You put your camera up to your eye and wink, taking a picture of the group sitting around the Coach. It was an aesthetic shot, you know you did well when Coach Martinez praises you for your good eye.

Some of the girls look over to the sound of your camera shutter, exchanging confused looks. You slowly start to understand that this idea wasn’t disclosed to the team, at least not yet. Your nerves get the best of you, your fight-or-flight response screaming at you to just bolt away. You don’t, instead braving the odd stares you’re getting, you notice Taissa Turner is among them. You curse yourself under your breath. The bleach blonde’s eyes linger on you the longest, her tongue pressing on her cheek while she looks you up and down. You quickly avert your eyes back to the man making the speech, a pink color kissing your cheeks.

You’re not sure if she meant to stare at you that long, but it’s on your mind for the whole practice, while you’re taking pictures, your camera pans to her. Your eyes linger on her longer than the other girls, who knew one look could completely make you crumble? You take a deep breath and finally focus on getting shots of the other girls on the team, not just that blonde beauty. You kiss your new roll of film goodbye with all the pictures you've taken; you finally put your camera down. You feel satisfied with your first photoshoot; you absolutely were not counting, but you had enough photos so the team could pick which ones they liked and disliked. Coach Scott snaps you out of your daze. He taps your shoulder and motions you to come with him. You bite the inside of your cheek, trailing behind him nervously. You finally notice you're heading towards the circle of girls, and your stomach sinks down into the pits of your body.

You stand in front of the team who surrounds you in a semi-circle, you gulp as your head turns around to see all of their eyes trained on you. Your ripped Converse dug into the turf under you anxiously, and your fingers wrap around the cloth of your sweater. Your head turns to Coach Scott expectantly, and he stares at you for a moment before sighing.

"So, as you might not know. This year, a photographer will be at our practices taking pictures for the school paper."

Introductions have never been your strong suit. In fact, it might be the thing you're worst at. You take a deep breath, thinking about what you could possibly say. You don't want to overcomplicate it either, you finally speak, your name being the first thing to come out of your mouth.

"—and I am a.. senior this year. yep. Um, and I'll be taking pictures of you guys, I guess."

You internally face-palm once you finish. Hearing the girls giggle around you softly is the thing that pushes you to your breaking point. You shift onto both your feet before flashing everyone a smile and then running away. As you're grabbing your bag, you hear one of the coaches calling out for you. You're too embarrassed to turn back now.

You lie on your back, the cold of the hood on your car stinging your exposed skin. You can only think about how badly you fucked up back at the soccer field as you take a drag of your cigarette. The awkwardness surrounding your introduction, you couldn't even prepare yourself for. You picture their eyes practically staring into your soul. What else were you supposed to say? That your life sucks, and that you don't even want to do this stupid photography thing? Of course not!

"Hey."

You gasp and hide your cigarette, stupidly coughing out smoke and waving it away frantically. Your eyes rest on the source of the voice, that gorgeous fake blonde. She laughs as you look around the area, wondering if she was actually speaking to you or not. You feel like you’re in some cheesy romantic 80s’ movie, something you haven’t felt in a while. You scoot over so she can sit next to you.

“You don’t seem like the smoking type.”

She smirks, her eyes not leaving yours. You let out a nervous giggle and lift up the cigarette from behind your legs, there’s no point in hiding it anyway. You hope that your problem won’t drive her away, you only do it when you’re stressed.. which is almost everyday. You take another puff, offering it to her. You aren’t surprised when she takes up your offer, taking a long drag.

“A lot of people say that.”

An over exaggeration, only about two people have said that to your face, including the girl beside you. She hands your cigarette back to you, blowing out the smoke that previously filled her mouth. She seems like she’s thinking carefully, that only makes you even more antsy. It’s obvious, from the way you’re bouncing your leg, looking at everything but her, like it’s the first time you’ve seen the shitty school parking lot. She nudges you with a smile, making you put your attention back on her.

“My name is Nat.“

She starts, a faint accent coating her voice. You’re practically drinking in every word that falls out of her pretty mouth, addicted to the sound. You hum in response, putting the cigarette back up to your lips. Another thing you’re horrible at, continuing conversation. You’re shocked that she hasn’t gotten frustrated and left you alone at your car yet, like everyone else you’ve tried getting to know. She stays, the short amount of silence not being awkward, but nice.

“Uh— Ignore the assholes that laughed at you, most of them are nice when they want to be.”

You’re reminded of the events that took place recently, smoke blowing out of your lips. You don’t blame them for laughing, your bones were practically rattling from how much you were shaking. You shrug, you don’t want to think about it too much. You always overthink anyway, you don’t want to waste anymore of your time.

“It’s fine, I’m only going to be taking photos of you guys anyways, I don’t know why he had me introduce myself.”

You reply, looking at Nat. It’s a cute name, you assume it’s short for Natalie. She smiles again once you make eye contact with her brown eyes, you can drown in the sight. You shrink under her gaze, so understanding. You wonder if she’s in the same boat as you. She didn’t dress like other girls in the school, her eyeliner harsher than others. You still think she’s so much cooler than you.

“Maybe it’s so we don’t think you’re a fucking creep.”

That sentence causes you both to break into laughter, you wave the smoke away from your face as you cough it out. Her laugh is heavy, it’s such a nice sound. You realize you’re already down bad for this girl, how willing she was to cuss, the dimples that show up on her face every time she smiles, and the tone she uses when speaking with you. It’s enchanting. Your artistic eye takes in all of her features, desperate to learn more about her.

You both snap out of your trance as you hear a girl call out Nat’s name, your eyes landing on a tall woman with curly brunette hair that falls past her shoulders, you recognize her as Lottie Matthews. The known rich girl of the school, she’s not as stuck up as her reputation makes her. Your attention goes to Nat as she groans, disappointment evident on her face. She picks up her bag and faces you with a smile.

“That’s my ride, I’ll see you at our next practice?”

You agree a bit too quickly, causing her to snort. She leaves your car and head over to Lottie, who looks like a deer in headlights. You take a drag out of your cigarette again, wanting to finish it before you start driving home. As the quiet settles in, you feel sad again. You didn’t even get Nat’s number, not that you’d be confident enough to ask her for it. You sigh, feeling that same emptiness takes place in your body. You want more of her, her laugh, her words. You’re desperate to learn more about her other than her name. Your bones ache with need, and your mind is heavy with curiosity.

It all started with one look.

synopsis ʚɞ your parents want you out of the house more, do something other than rot in your room while doing homework. You decide to use your photography talent for the school paper, taking pictures of the yellow jackets girl’s soccer team. Throughout your photoshoots of their various games, one girl piques your interest the most. Natalie Scatorccio.

a/n : AHH OKAY HII FINALLY FINISHED WITH THE FIRST PART.. I hope you guys like it so far, i’ve had this idea ever since i finished season one UGHHHHH

a/n : taglist is still open! lmk if you want to be added onto it 🤍

taglist — @mlovesunicorns @t-wylia @bisexual-stalin @theoreticalfreak @flurpe @girlie955 @firefl1ghts @lilliesandrosiess @princessleprechaunnn @joaniscruzing @wtfisthisnoclueman @sleepyjackets @stupendousbananasharkcop

[rainydaygotham]

So, You’ve Decided to Put on the Red Hood Helmet: A Guide

You honestly don’t know what you were expecting. This was a stupid idea to begin with, so of course it went very wrong very fast.

You were all dolled up in that lingerie set that he likes. No special occasion, you just wanted to give him a little sexy surprise since he’s been so stressed lately. You’d love to give him the world, but right now all you can afford to give him is yourself, so that’ll have to do.

Now the mistake here was made when you walked out of the bedroom. Sure, the element of surprise would’ve been compromised if he came home and you called for him from the bed. Like, who wouldn’t immediately know that they were about to have some fun from that? He would get too cocky. But letting him walk into the living room just to be met with your near-nude body prepped and ready for him? That would catch Jason off guard and hopefully put a cute little flustered blush on his cheeks.

However, you really should’ve stayed in the bedroom. Because then you wouldn’t have seen the helmet sitting on the kitchen table, out in the open and tempting.

Jason was a real possessive guy. It was one of the things that made him so hot, his jealous devotion. So sue you for seeing his helmet and thinking he’ll love to see you wearing his gear. Just like how he loves it when you wear his shirt to bed or when he drapes his jacket over your shoulders when it’s cold.

You were so caught up in appealing to his possessive side, that you failed to take into consideration a not-even-unrelated side of the Red Hood. Which was definitely a side so prominent you really shouldn’t have missed it. His paranoia.

As soon as you lowered the iconic red helmet onto your head, an electric chime went off like it was a washing machine or something. You had no idea what that was about but you quickly forgot about it.

This thing smelled like a combination of Jason’s breath and his shampoo. You inhaled deeply in reverence. You missed him too much, despite it only being a workday since you’d last saw him.

It was weirdly heavy? You don’t know why you’d never considered that this piece of tech would be any heavier than a motorcycle helmet, but it made sense. You were looking at the world through a kind of UI at the moment.

You went and found the mirror to check yourself out. Feeling silly, you flexed your muscles in various poses pretending to be Jason. Gotta hand it to you, you made this helmet look pretty cute. Although wearing nothing but lingerie with it was bringing it into slutty halloween costume territory. ‘Sexy Red Mask Costume’, the package would say. See, no copyright infringement there.

Well, that’s enough for now, you thought. You should start on dinner and get it in the oven so it’ll be done by the time he’s finished fucking your brains out. You reached for the helmet to start pulling it off—

*BZZT*

IT FUCKING ZAPPED YOU.

You dropped it immediately, not giving it a chance to pick up the wattage from annoying warning shock to full on electrocuting you. Shit.

Shit, shit, shit. You forgot he and every other bat has a high tech suit that punishes people who try to take them off. Can’t have those precious identity revealed, can we?

You tried searching your brain for any information on how to deactivate Jason’s security measures but were drawing a blank. Whenever he took it off he just reached up and took it off, no fanfare. What was the secret???

Well. Looks like Sexy Red Mask is cooking dinner tonight. Better get that apron…

When Jason came home, he was completely prepared to get his bones jumped the minute he walked through the door. Sorry, but you weren’t subtle with your little ‘i miss you. when are you getting home?’ texts.

You were a horny little bitch, but you were his horny little bitch and you were so good to him that you’d never catch him complaining. He never thought he’d have someone, let alone someone so desiring of him. Your love was a relief.

So yeah, he was expecting the ‘sexy surprise’. Sorry baby but you’re not slick.

What he was not expecting, however, was a slutty pinup of his vigilante identity to be pouting on the couch.

His eyes took in your form. Man, he loved you. Even if your seduction technique needed work. He chuckled as he started shrugging off his leather jacket, and you turned to him,

“Welcome home!” you chirped your greeting, and then carefully tapped the helmet, which he found adorable, “can you please get this off of me? When I put it on, it locked, and now I can’t take it off without being tased.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, and you gotta give Jason credit, he was trying his best not to full on laugh, “it’ll do that,”

“Just help me, please. It’s really heavy,” you whined.

“Well..” he raked his eyes over your body once again, “would you be willing to wear it just a teensy bit longer?”

Seeing you in his helmet was making him feel some type of way.

You sighed, but no yeah, that’s why you put it on in the first place, wasn’t it? Damn you for knowing your boyfriend.

You crossed your arms, feigning annoyance, “I suppose you can fuck me in it first, yeah,” you giggled.

“Beautiful,” he purred as he started lazily undoing his belt, “You’re beautiful.”

[shariasweet]

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ 𝐹𝓾ck y𝓞u 𝐛e𝐭𝓣er.ᐟ

s.jaeyun 𝒙 f.reader

𝓦c :::  5.9k   𐙚 𝓢harinote ::: this is like a play on my old roommate jake fic... I miss lilmashae bad smts y'all :(   𐙚    warnin𝓰.ᐟ ::: roommate jake is superrr annoying & hardly considerate · multiple orgasms · teasing · oral (f) · cowgirl - missionary - all the positions · soobin (txt) mentioned (small suggestive scene with him?) · a little bit of dry humping · teasing · fingering (f) · slight degradation (he says something about her being in heat... that's it :/) - praise (jake confesses(?) mid-fuck) · unprotected sex - implied creampie - etc.

each night was worse than the last... every night—they got louder and louder... each girl seemed more desperate than the last.

none of them could top jake though.

you didn't know who had it worse... you, or them.

on one hand, he'd wear the poor girl's out, from late at night to sunrise he’d be fucking them to the hilt. but on the other... you had to hear it—their unbelievably loud pornographic screams and yelps. every. fucking. night.

the audacity of him... only a man so desperate, so shameless could face his roommate (or anyone) with such nonchalance knowing what he gets up to. you pinched your temples hearing the giggles trailing off behind the slam of your apartment's door. about time. his bedroom was one thing—but the living room? oh you couldn't wait to stick it to him…

"you look like shit." you groaned finally stepping foot outside of your bedroom, squinting your eyes at jake's smart remark. your roommate was undeniably handsome... which you take it he must be painfully aware of by the way he parades around barely clothed even after whatever 'lucky' girl has left.

with his stupid toned abs and honey skin... his gorgeous hair—face and his nose... god, that nose… not that you were staring, or into him or anything, but you’re just so sure his nose would nudge up against your—

"i wonder why..." playfully you lifted your hand to smack him on the side. "ouch! seriously? you're not really upset are you?"

"me? no way, but i do feel bad for that poor girl who just left." you grinned. "oh yeah?" jake leaned against the counter beside you as you stretched out for the cereal on the top shelf—only for him to grab it first. "thanks..." you took the box from his hands, emptying it into your bowl before spinning around to dip into the fridge.

"and yeah, you just about wore her out... this might be a new record," you scoffed. "even for you."

"it couldn't have been that bad, not as bad as last week when—"

"so you are self aware then?" you interjected, fixing him with a deadpan stare as you poured your milk. "i guess i am." the man chuckled, it was low—almost teasing as he resumed his spot against the counter.

silence settled between you as you focused on devouring your breakfast of fruity pebbles, but you could feel his eyes on you—carefully watching the way your spoon disappeared past your lips with each bite as his throat bobbed. "do you want some?" you arched a brow, ever so slightly smiling as you sauntered toward the dining table.

"nah," he said, shaking his head. "i'm heading to the gym. hoon wants to squeeze in a few arm workouts before his game tonight." "cool," you nodded, casually glancing at the clock above the door. 11:00 am.

"you coming home? or are you going straight to work after?" you watched as he turned around to face you. "i'm off," he shoved his hands into his pockets. "i’ll probably hang at hee’s with jay afterward though." you nodded again, and this time, your roommate disappeared into his bedroom—assumably to get ready for his ‘gym-date’ with sunghoon.

it was perfect.

if jake was going out with heeseung, he’d be gone for hours—five or six, easily. and if today was like any other saturday between him and sunghoon, their stupid little gym session would last around two hours.

you did the math in your head—jake’d be gone for a total of eight hours, leaving you home alone for… well, all day.

while your roommate might’ve been lacking in the shame department, you weren’t.

you were far more… modest than jake. though, your friends called it sneaky… regardless, you weren’t nearly as prude as jake believed you to be.

you didn’t hesitate to scurry back into your room after finishing up your breakfast. you’d slammed the door shut, heart pounding with anticipation as you snatched up your phone to fire off a text to soobin.

god, it’s been way too long.

normally, you’d be able to see him at least twice a month… but lately? who knew what was up with jake. he’d been impossible. every night, it was a different girl, loud and attention-seeking.

and when he wasn’t tangled up with some random frat-party hookup, he was hogging the apartment—sprawled out on the couch, glued to his game with heeseung, or buried in textbooks at the dinning room table. which, truthfully, wouldn't be a problem... if it weren't for soobin's four roommates.

point was, there was never a moment of privacy… nowhere for you and your fuck buddy to do what you did best—hook up. not with jake taking up every damn inch of the apartment… and certainly not with soobin’s four roommates lurking at every corner.

y/n: soobin ^_^ y/n: wyd later? 11:38 am

sb: hey y/nnie :)) sb: i should be free... what's up, pretty girl? 11:40 am

y/n: my roomate'll be out til late... want to come over? 11:43 am

s/b: yk i do s/b: i'll see you in an hour? 11:47 am

y/n: sounds good, soob :3 read 11:51 am

you grinned to yourself, feeling content.

finally.

you deserved this—maybe even more than jake did. he got his fill on a near-nightly basis while you’d been living in an unintended dry spell for months... though that was about to end.

lost in your thoughts, you hardly even registered the knock on your bedroom door until jake’s voice cut through the silence. "i'm heading out, y/n!"

"alright!" you called back, gnawing on your bottom lip as you listened for the soft click of the front door.

it really has been way too long.

soobin hadn’t been over in what felt like ages and the state of your apartment was proof enough of that... but cleaning was easy though—especially with the adrenaline of your pending dick-appointment practically buzzing through your veins.

fueled by anticipation, you breezed through each chore... from wiping down counters to fluffing pillows, and even lighting a candle to set the mood for the evening. before you knew it, you were in the shower, steam curdling around you as you carefully shaved your legs, scrubbing your skin until it was baby-smooth...

you froze with your heart pounding in your throat.

knock, knock!

with water still dripping from your skin, you heard the sound echo through the apartment. an hour had seemingly passed in no time, with your towel engulfed around your body, you peeked your head out from behind the bathroom door, "just a second!" you could hear soobin's muffled voice behind the thick wood of the door. "mh, take your time!" he called back.

quickly, you patted your skin dry, slipping into a pair of sweatpants and tugging a tank top over your still-damp hair.

finally, after a glance in the mirror, a couple spritzes of perfume, and a deep breath, you skipped out of the bathroom, smoothing your hands over any wrinkles in your shirt before swinging the door open.

"hi." a smile tugged at your lips, glancing up at the tall male in front of you—he looked even better than you'd imagined. whatever built up frustration you had burning in your stomach was begging to be let out. soobin chuckled, reaching out to tuck a damp strand of hair behind your ear. “your hair’s wet.”

“oh! yeah, just got out of the shower.”

his grin widened as you stepped aside, inviting him in. “good to know.” he chuckled as he waltzed in behind you.

awkward as it may have seemed, it wasn't that way for long—the two of you exchanged in small talk before deciding to turn on a movie, casually catching up like friends rather than… whatever label some people might slap onto your arrangement. “how about this one?” you suggested, scrolling through the endless movie options presented before you.

soobin groaned dramatically, though the arm draping around your shoulders suggested he wasn’t all that bothered. “seriously? that one?” “yes, that one.” you scoffed, leaning into his chest. “it’s not like we’ll actually be watching it anyway.”

a smirk played on his lips. “i guess you’re right.”

without anymore time to think, his lips crashed onto yours. the plush of his lips molded against your own at a rhythm unique to the both of you. you found yourself straddling the brunette as he deepened the kiss, your fingers threaded through his hair, his own hands pawing at your sides whilst you grinded into him. "f-fuck." you sighed into his mouth, pleasure winding tight in your core.. you dove into his lips once more, this time your tongue flicking against his bottom lip, coaxing his tongue out of his mouth to intertwine with your own. it felt timeless—kissing soobin.

but unfortunately, time was in fact relevant.

thirty minutes had passed, you and his lips entangled, never neglecting one another as you were completely into one another. "’want to take my time with you, yeah?" he groaned. "s'been so long, 'want to go slow." he murmured against your skin, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

you squirmed, nodding as your breath hitched. “yeah…” it was a shaky exhale—your hips pressed against his growing bulge.

looking back, you’d wish he never said that, because a quickie would’ve saved you from what happened next. neither of you heard the oh-so-soft click of the front door.

and neither of you saw jake standing there, watching—observing—as you kissed soobin like your life depended on it—his eyes bright with amusement as his ‘prude’ of a roommate frotted all over some guy.

"ahem…" he cleared his throat—nothing.

he'd decided to try once more, "ahem," he leaned against the entryway, bag in hand as he toed off each of his shoes.

both of your heads snapped toward him, your heart plummeting straight into your stomach, noticing his shit-eating grin.

“y/n, i just left my change of clothes. i’ll just dip in and grab them, cool?” heat crawled up your neck, your mouth suddenly dry as you scrambled off of soobin’s lap. “y-yeah,” you stammered, cheeks burning up. “fine by me.” soobin added, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

you wish he wouldn’t have said that either.

the two men exchanged small nods, soobin softly waving as jake rushed past. but before he left—because of course, he couldn’t leave without making it worse—he paused at the door.

"i have condoms if you guys need…. i keep them out," jake paused, "just in case, y/n you know where they are." he chuckled, running back out the door again.

you were so embarrassed... if embarrassed were even a strong enough word.

why… why would jake say that—fuck, now it sounded like he kept them out just in case you two ever wanted to… to… damnit.

soobin left soon after your run in with your idiot roommate. he’d tried to play it off, as did you. you both forced a tight-lipped smile as he pulled on his shoes, but you weren’t stupid. you saw the way soobin’s eyes darted toward jake’s room, the hesitance in his voice when he said, “i’ll, uh… i-i’ll text you later, yeah?”

which he didn’t. you don’t blame him.

you’d sat there for a while after he left, silently replaying the moment over and over in your head—cursing jake each time. it was unfair.

the way he’d get laid every night and the way you’d just let it happen… as loud as he was if you really wanted to, you could complain; you could give him some lecture about the ‘shared space’ of your apartment, or respecting each other’s boundaries. but you never did.

the way soobin’s face had shifted when jake made that comment, how he’d suddenly withdrawn, as if realizing he wasn’t the only one in your rotation. except he was. it haunted your memory even now.

what normal roommate kept condoms out just in case? what kind of guy made a joke like that so casually, with no concern for how it might sound?

jake fucking sim.

your anger simmered all evening… not only had you been cockblocked, but you were too upset to even finish getting off, not that your useless little fingers would be any help anyways. and on top of that you couldn’t even bring yourself to text soobin to clear things up.

so instead, you did what you did best when you were pissed off and alone—you curled up into a ball on the couch with a blanket, turning off all the lights and letting the glow of the tv drown out the silence as you soothed your raging frustration by lazing around.

you weren’t sure how much time had passed before you heard the front door click open yet again. jake… you mentally groaned, facepalming. he stepped inside, the soft thud of his gym bag hitting the floor was the only sound filling the apartment. you didn’t move.

he walked past the couch, pausing when he spotted you curled up there in the dark, the flickering light from the tv casting shadows across your face. he sighed, running a hand through his hair before turning toward the kitchen.

a few seconds passed. a cabinet opened, then closed. then, finally—“are you really upset about earlier?” you ignored him, eyes glued on to the screen. “c’mon, y/n.” his voice seemed closer now. you could feel him standing behind the couch, hovering over you. “it was just a joke… you know how i am—how we are..”

your jaw tightened. “was it a joke, jake?”

“obviously.”

“yeah, well, soobin didn’t think it was very funny.”

the room felt smaller, the space between you and jake charged with something you didn’t want to acknowledge—a heavy tension—something sharp, electric, and just wrong enough to make your pulse stutter.

if either of you made a wrong move—you might explode.

he was quiet at first, and for a second, you thought maybe—just maybe—he was going to let it go. but this was jake. and jake never let things go. you know that better than anyone. then, just as you expected, he scoffed. “so? that’s his problem, isn’t it?” you whipped your head around so fast, you nearly gave yourself whiplash. “are you serious?” your voice cracked, the anger boiling in your gut curled tight, threatening to spill over. his problem? his?

jake just blinked at you, his expression unreadable, like this was nothing—like you were making a biggg deal out of nothing.

“what? if he really thought we had something going on, that’s on him. it’s whatever.”

“it’s not whatever, jake!” you spat, turning around to face him, fingers digging into the blanket settled on your lap as your anger spilled over. “you have girls over all the time.” you exhaled sharply, your frustration growing as your stomach bubbled with rage. “every. single. fucking. night. i’m so—god, i’m so pent up. i can’t even invite my fuck buddy over without you interrupting or making some stupid remark like an immature asshole.”

he rolled his eyes, shifting back against the couch as though he couldn’t be bothered to care. “oh, come on—”

“no, jake. just go away.”

but he didn’t. of course, he didn’t. instead, he exhaled dramatically, walking around the couch before slouching down beside you, arms crossing over his chest. his body radiating heat as his presence swallowed up the space between you. you were hot—pent up and breaking down in glittering rage. “so that’s it?” his voice was quieter now, lower… more tedious.

there was something sharp underlying beneath his words, something you couldn’t quite place. you frowned, already exhausted by his antics. “what’re you—”

before you could finish, his fingers gripped your jaw, tilting your face to face his. your breath hitched. jake’s hold wasn’t rough—he wasn’t hurting you—but it was firm. demanding.

his thumb brushed the curve of your bottom lip, his eyes darting between your own and reading your face as he murmured, “that’s it?” his voice was sharp, dripping with ridgidness. “you just wanted a quick fuck? that’s it?” he let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “hah… seriously.”

tears swelled up at the corners of your eyes, shame settling in your stomach. yeah. you did… more than anything in the world—you wanted a searing hot orgasm, a quick fuck, to get off… anything! but hearing him say it out loud made it worse—it made your reality of being denied something so simple even more real.

jake ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard before glancing at you again. “baby,” he drawled, voice thick, and almost condescending. “i could’ve done that for you.”

you froze. “w-what?” your tears seemed to dry themselves, shock washing over you as your bottom lip jutted out into a pout.

he smirked, and something about the way he was looking at you made your skin prickle with heat. “if all you wanted was some stress relief, i thought you’d know me of all people wouldn’t mind.”

his fingers traced along the line of your jaw, featherlight, as he teased you… “i mean, look at you.” his voice dropped an octave lower, his breath warm, fanning against your supple skin. “shit, you’re so fucking pretty—even now… crying because you’re all frustrated over some mediocre dick.”

jake cocked his head, thumb dragging slowly across your plump bottom lip. “not only could i fuck you, y/n,” he murmured, “i could fuck you way better than that guy ever could.” his tongue darted out, wetting his lips as he leaned in just enough to make your breath catch in your throat. 

“when i’m done, you won’t even remember your name, princess.”

a familiar warmth flared in your stomach, and you hated the way your body reacted, the way your breath stilled, the way your thighs pressed together before you could stop yourself.

jake noticed. of course, he noticed. and god, the look on his face said he was going to make you regret it… the yelling and the back talk.

you barely had time to process anything else before his lips crashed into yours.

it wasn’t a soft landing… it wasn’t sweet. it was hungry—fierce. his hand slid from your jaw to your neck, pressing just enough to make your head spin, tilting your chin up so he could deepen the kiss.

his tongue traced the seam of your lips, coaxing your mouth open until you had no choice but to let him in… no choice but to let his tongue explore your mouth and tangle with your own muscle. you whimpered against his mouth, gripping the fabric of his hoodie in a weak attempt to ground yourself.

he took that as encouragement, swallowing your muffled moans as he shifted closer, his knee pressing hard against your clothes cunt as he wedged it further between your thighs, his body caging you in against the couch.

jake was everywhere, all-consuming.

he kissed you like he meant it, like he had something to prove, like he knew you’d been thinking about this just as much as he had. and fuck, maybe you had. maybe that was the worst part. his words hung in the air, thick and suffocating. he could fuck you better… you knew it and he knew it.

and even if you didn’t, you’d heard the way those ditzy sorority girls mewl and moan while he fucked their brains out… plunging to deep into their squelchy little cunts it makes them dizzy.

you should’ve pushed him away, should’ve said something—anything to shut him down. but you didn’t. you couldn’t. you were drunk.

because jake was still looking at you like that, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you, like he was daring you to break the kiss first… which you couldn’t. and maybe it was the weeks of pent-up frustration, the way his voice sent a sharp, burning ache straight between your legs, or the fact that he was so close you could feel the heat radiating from his skin—but you broke.

you surged forward, fisting the fabric of his hoodie as your lips crashed against his once more, all teeth and desperation whilst your hips grinded and bucked against his clothed thigh.

“you’re like a bitch in heat, baby.” he laughed.

god. you hated him. you hated how easily he took control, how good he felt, how your body melted under his touch like you had always been meant for this. he bit your bottom lip, tugging slightly before pulling back just enough to look at you, lips swollen, breathing heavy. his fingers brushed against the bare skin under your shirt, just barely, but it was enough to make you shiver.

“see, princess?” he murmured, dark and teasing. “i told you.” his lips ghosted over yours again, barely touching, waiting… waiting for you to lean in, expecting you to fall right into the trap he’d laid so perfectly.

“whatever,” you swore. “just fuck me already.” you frowned, bruised lips on display for him. jake could feel his cock chubbing up behind the fabric of his shorts, creating an obvious tent in his pants. If it were up to him—if you were anyone else… he’d listen.

he’d skip the foreplay and fuck you because god, how could he not ravish you? especially when you’re… well, you.

jake’d had a crush on you since you moved in… of course, you were usually tempting—big eyes staring up at him all cutely with your lips all pouty, all the time. but especially now, more than ever, when you were beneath him whimpering—begging for him to fuck you with your hair tousled all over the place and your eyelids heavy..? he’d be crazy not to savor every moment.

“fuck, y/n… let me take my time with you, yeah? show you all you been missing.” his fingers crept along your nape. “you have no idea…” his lips ghosted your skin once more—traveling further down your neck as he placed sloppy kisses down your scorching skin. “god, everytime i fuck one of those girls i wish it were you.”

your hips buck—chasing the friction of his thigh as you gasp… his confession leaving you stunned. jake’s hand slips beneath your shirt, cupping your breast through the fabric of your bra and prodding around, feeling for the peaks of your nipples.

“s-shit..” you gasp, squirming beneath him, feeling the cool air waft against your skin as he peels your shirt from over your head. “yeah? feeling foggy already?” he coos, “lift up,” he instructs. “wanna see all of you, ‘lemme take this off, pretty.”

his slender fingers nimbly unclasp your bra—-your tits spill free, the mounds of your breast perking up beneath the chill of the air as you carefully fall onto your back. jake’s breath hitches—caught in his throat at the sight of your bare body. “so perfect… just how i imagined.” he continues his assault—kissing down your collarbones until the plump of his lips reach your boobs.

immediately, they latch onto your nipple, he gropes your other breast in his left hand—pinching and rolling the sensitive bud between his fingers. “oh… a-ah! jake…” your hands tangle into his hair.

jake groaned against your chest, teeth grazing the tender skin as he switched sides, giving your other nipple the same eager attention. you writhed beneath him, the wet heat pooling between your thighs making it impossible to stay still.

“god, you’re so sensitive,” he murmured, voice low, laced with admiration and pure hunger. “what else makes you squirm like that, huh?” your silence isn’t enough for him as he softly bites at your chest. “shh,” he hushes you. “it’s okay, you can’t talk sweet girl, i’ll just find out myself, hm?”

his kisses trail downward, slowly and deliberately he nips at your ribs, dragging his tongue down your stomach. each movement coaxes a soft whimper to rip from your throat. you could feel every breath, every graze of his lips, and it was driving you insane.

once jake reaches your waistband, he glances up, catching your gaze—his eyes dark, feral.

“bet you’re soaked already,” jake muttered, his hot breath fans over the flimsy fabric of your panties and he smirks when your hips arch off the couch involuntarily, chasing his mouth.

“knew it.” he grins wide, without breaking eye contact, he dips his head… mouthing over the damp spot of your panties clinging to your core, letting out a filthy moan as he licks a stripe up your covered pussy like you were the one ruining him. then, with such a delicate slowness, he hooks his teeth around the band of your panties, snagging the fabric with his canines.

“let me get these off,” he murmurs, voice reverent, muffled slightly by the fabric. “been wanting to taste you for so long.” he groans. all you can do is nod. you choked out a gasp as he dragged the lace down your hips with his teeth—agonizingly slow. his hands guide them down your thighs as he goes, hands hooking underneath your thighs as he parts them gently, slotting between your legs like he belonged there.

“fuck, y/n… look at you,” he whispered, voice ragged. “so pretty like this… so mine.” he breathes against your leaky, fluttering cunt.

jake didn’t dive in right away—that would’ve been too easy. instead, he takes his time—lips brushing over the soft skin of your inner thighs, tongue flicking out just enough to make you twitch.

he takes a deep inhale like he’s memorizing the scent of your aching core. “you don’t even know what you do to me,” he muttered, he strains— his voice is thick with need. “look at you—already shaking, and i haven’t even tasted you yet.” that oh so perfect nose nudges against your clit, giving you a taste of heaven—a taste of everything you knew you’d needed.

your hands curl into the couch cushions as he finally pressed a kiss to your slit, he dips his tongue into before pulling out, licking a slow, lazy stripe up the full length of your cunt. your breath caught. “f-fuck—jake…”

he groaned like the taste of you was better than anything he’d ever had. “god, you’re dripping,” he rasped, tongue flicking over your clit, teasing it with little kitten licks that had your thighs clenching around his head, yet his strong arms clamped you down.

jake just hummed, gripping your hips to hold you open. “don’t run from me now,” he grinned against your skin, “you wanted this, didn’t you? said you wanted me to fuck you…” and then he devoured you.

no more teasing, or holding back—his mouth latched onto your clit with a practiced precision, his tongue circling, flicking, sucking on your labia like he was starved… one of his hands slid down to press two fingers against your entrance, easing them in as his mouth worked your clit like a madman.

“ohmygod! f-ffuck thank you… thank you!” you cried out, back arching off the couch, moaning his name like it was a sacred chant. “fuckfuckfuck—jake—oh my god—jakejake… ohhh..” his fingers curled inside you, scissoring to stretch your tight cunt out wide… finding that sweet spot with ease as he moaned against your clit, the vibration making your whole body jolt in pleasure.

“you gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” he murmured, voice muffled by your pussy squelching and sobbing against his face. “wanna feel you fall apart on my tongue.” your vision blurred, hips grinding against his face on instinct. you were close—so close—held right at the edge by his relentless tongue and the way his fingers fucked into you, soaking wet and obscene.

he looked up at you from between your legs, lips shiny with your slick, pupils blown wide and the tip of his nose snug against your pelvis. “be a good girl… cum on my face, y/n.”

and with a final suck, he sent you tumbling over the edge.

you came—loud, trembling, toes curling as your orgasm crashed through you. yet jake didn’t stop, he didn’t slow down. he lapped up every drop as you rode out your first high. he was greedy and thorough, tongue dragging through your slicked-up, spit-glistening folds as your thighs trembled around his head.

“shit…” he panted. “you taste even better than i imagined… ‘got such a sweet cunt.” jake barely gave you a moment to breathe.

you were still trembling, thighs sticky with slick and overstimulation. the wet spot beneath you on the couch was still there when he rose above you—eyes lingering over your marked body, shaking, lips glistening with drool. his hoodie was already being shrugged off with one hand.

“still with me?” he murmured, voice almost too soft for how entrancing he looked towering over you. you nodded weakly, eyes foggy and fucked-out. that was all he needed. “good.”

in one swift motion, he pushed down his sweats and boxers… the material pooled around his ankles as he yanked you close to the edge of the couch. his cock was springing free—hitting flush against his stomach, thick, red, and already leaking pearls of precum. you barely had time to take in the entrancing curve of his cock, before he was crawling back over you, grabbing your thighs and lining himself up with your soaked entrance.

“gonna fuck you now, pretty girl,” he muttered, his tip slipping through your folds, dragging slick over your overstimulated clit, slapping against it just to make you whimper. “and you’re gonna take it—every inch.”

then he slammed in—bottoming out immediately. you cried out, “oh my! fuck, please!!” head falling back, back arching as he split you open—no warning, no teasing, just pure and raw.

he buried himself to the hilt with one brutal thrust… already fucking into you before you could adjust. “shit,” he hissed, his jaw clenched tight. “you’re so fucking tight…” jake swore, his balls slapping heavily against your ass.

your nails raked down his arms, clinging to his biceps as you tried to adjust, your body burning from the stretch, the sting, the overwhelming fullness…

he pulled out halfway, then slammed back in—again and again, restless. he was relentless… pacing his hips to snap into you fastly and unforgiving. the sound of skin slapping filled the room, mingling with your lewd moans, and the wet drag of his cock through your cunt was absolutely filthy. “look at you,” he grunted, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to meet his gaze. “already fucked dumb from my tongue, and now you’re letting me ruin you. that what you wanted, huh?”

you could barely speak—just nodding, gasping, whining his name as he fucked into you like he was trying to mold your body to his. you babbled broken sentences, too dumb to speak straight from his cock wrecking you.

“yeah, that’s it,” he growled, “take it—fucking take it.” one of his hands slipped under your thigh, pushing your leg up to your chest as he folded you in half, the new angle making you scream. his bulge fucking through your stomach as one of his hands firmly pressed down. he hit something deep buried inside of you and you swore you saw white.

he didn’t let up, driving into that spot again and again like he knew exactly how to break you.

you were incoherent now, reduced to nothing but nonsense and spit spilling from your lips, your second orgasm already building fast, it was impossible to stop. “come on, baby,” he panted, fucking you harder, rougher. “wanna feel you come on my cock—milk me dry. milk my fucking cock.”

and when he reached down and rubbed your clit with his thumb—fast, ruthless—you shattered. again. your entire body clenched, back bowing off the couch, a sob of his name ripping from your throat as you came hard. you clenched around his shaft, walls fluttering around his cock, sucking him in even deeper as his tip kissed your cervix. jake groaned, stuttering in his thrusts, burying his face in your neck. “fuck—fuck, y/n—i’m gonna come—”

he drove into you one last time and came with a loud, broken moan, hips pressed flush to yours as he spilled inside you, hot and thick spurts of cum gathering around the base of his dick as his load leaked from your throbbing cunt.

he didn’t move for a moment, panting into your skin, both of you a sweaty, trembling mess. then, finally, he pulled back just enough to look at you—hair wild, eyes heavy, lips swollen.

“…tell me,” he said, voice hoarse. “tell me i fucked you better.”

you hadn’t even caught your breath when he pulled back to look at you—cheeks flushed. “y-you… only you. you fuck me better, god, better than anyone could. ‘fucking ruined.” your lips were kiss-bitten, eyes glassy with tears. “fuck,” jake whispered, he was frayed with awe. “look at you…”

you felt his hands on your waist, still trembling from the last orgasm he dragged out of you, but the ache between your legs hadn’t dulled—it’d only sharpened.

still pulsing… his desperation to be better than soobin egging you on… you were too far deep, finally understanding how he got so many girls to crawl into bed with him. you sat up, straddling his thighs. you saw the way his jaw tensed, like he was trying so hard not to lose it, slight confusion clouded his expression as he watched you lean into his chest. “wanna feel you,” you murmured, still trying to catch your breath. “inside.… more.”

his eyes nearly rolled back on the spot. “shit…yeah? c’mere, baby. take it. s’what you wanted, right?”

he leaned back against the couch cushions, legs spread wide as you slid your hand down between your bodies, guiding him to your entrance. he was still so hard—his dick was heavy and leaking, hot and you nearly moaned at just the feeling of him against your folds. then you sank down. the stretch made your thighs shake. your head dropped forward and your mouth fell open in a silent gasp as he stuffed you once again, his cock pulsing inside of you as you took shallow drags at his member.

“oh my god, jake…”

his hands flew to your hips, gripping tight enough to bruise. “jesus—fuck. you feel like heaven, baby.” you rolled your hips, grinding down in lazy circles as you got used to the size of him. he seethed through his teeth, eyes flickering between your bouncing tits and the place where your bodies met as you sped up. “look at you,” he groaned. “riding me so good—fuck, you were made for this. made for me… not him.” he smacked your ass, hard.

your hands pressed to his chest for balance, and you picked up the pace, bouncing now. his cock tugged against your walls just right, hitting that spot that made your toes curl, and you couldn’t stop the stream of breathy moans pouring from your mouth.

“you close already, pretty girl?” he rasped, thumb flicking over your clit. “you gonna cum on my cock like this? ‘gonna fuck me til i’m dry? til my cock’s all empty and sore???” you nodded frantically, eyes rolling back fervently. “j-jake—please, i can’t—” “yes you can. ride it out for me. fuck, you’re so tight—don’t stop, baby, don’t you dare stop—” his hands gripped your waist, helping you bounce on his dick as the two of you got lost in pleasure.

your orgasm washed over you with your back arching and your thighs quivering. you could feel him swelling up inside of you, a deep groan tearing from his throat as he spilled into you, bucking up, fucking more of his cum inside of you, desperate to chase every last bit of pleasure.

you collapsed forward onto his chest, both of you sweaty, shaking, breathless. jake brushed your hair back, kissing your temple. “feeling better?” he piqued, his once teasing tone returning. “shut up.” you groaned.

[yourtoradorasextendedwarranty]

This type of condescending post is why the LGBT is losing acceptance.

I just want that to be understood. Because let's break this down.

OP's picture compares "Flamboyance" to Joy. These things are not the same.

"Gay joy reminds the straight man of what he has suffocated himself in exchange for social acceptance or power". Ok this is another one of those "Gay is ackchewally the default" arguments. Or one of those, "men loving other men is normal but you are just giving that up for power and acceptance". No they aren't giving up jack shit. THEY ARE JUST STRAIGHT. Wtf. And you people claim you are born gay but straight people aren't real? Please justify the double standard.

"He folds himself into whatever shape looks like" Yeah. Men generally do that regardless. Unless you are telling me that gay men are incapable of being "Proper men" because they are gay. The funniest bit about this argument is that you think you are pointing out that straight men don't know what real men are when historically, men help foster the next generation. They help train the next generation to protect and defend. They hunt for the settlements and explore the world around them to keep the village safe. This has always been true. Men FOLD themselves into whatever they need to be in order to keep life going forward. That "Folding" isn't "stopping myself from being gay and happy".

Also just to point out this last bit-

#and remember you've contorted yourself into the shape of a Real Woman in exchange for soc acceptance & power#and denied yourself the gentle acceptance of doing what is comfortable on this earth

People opt for whatever standards they want. If not enough people care about those standards, they fade away. That's how society works. You are making a jab at the idea of "Real woman" when often the term historically I've heard is "Proper". Real and Proper have two different meanings. And what's more, earlier before this line, you act like, condescendingly so, that "society has created a bad standard for what a real woman is and women mindlessly go along with it." <Paraphrasing here. Even more, you posit this-

#similar w straight women hating butch lesbians#you see a woman not shaving not wearing make up wearing comfy clothes and still being loved and desired

And let me mention something here. 1. Butch Lesbians are a very small minority in the Lesbian community. 2. The way you say this is almost the same condescending way that top post implied that "Gay" is ACTUALLY the way to be a "real man". Except here it's "growing out your body hair is how you be a "real woman". Except I'd be willing to bet FemLesbians do not agree with you. Especially not Fem for Fem.

Posts like this are often fucking stupid, made with possibly good intent but fall short as they only go, "WOW STRAIGHT PEOPLE ARE SO MAD". YEAH. I've been pissed for years that gay men have targeted me, a red head, and tried to get me to do sexual acts with them. And have tried to force their lifestyles on me.

SO YES. A little pissed off. But not for the reasons you claim. I don't care if a person is flamboyant. Unless they are really obnoxious about it. Because after a point, you are just putting on a performance so that everyone around you has to see you. And it's actually fucking annoying. What's more, misery and joy can't be quantified by whether or not you shave. A lot of people actually prefer to groom themselves by shaving because it's easier to keep themselves clean and make them sweat less. Take it from me as the fucking missing link, I'm the embodiment of wishing I could afford laser hair removal. And if I hate my own body hair as much as I do, color me shocked that as many women willingly shave for just themselves as do.

Posts like this are actually quite demeaning. And very condescending. Now to punt this over to my gay ally -> @theconstitutionisgayculture

EXACTLY!

[maskedbyghost]

Possessive reader has had partners before Simon, yeah? Don't suppose any of them are the same flavor of 'mine mine mine' regarding her? Cuz if so, Simon's gonna need to clean up those loose ends. Can't have them thinking they can try and object at the inevitable wedding like some kind of Hallmark movie!

Omg YES. The reader definitely has an ex or two still a little hung up on her, because let’s be honest, someone that obsessed, that intense, that ride-or-die? She’s not exactly forgettable.

You didn’t even react when the text came in. You barely glanced at your phone, just rolled your eyes, and went right back to folding laundry like it wasn’t worth your energy.

But Simon saw it. You knew he saw it because he stopped what he was doing, leaned over, and picked your phone up off the bed without even asking.

“Who’s that?” he asked, even though he was already reading it.

You shrugged. “Some guy I used to fuck around with before I met you. He’s been blocked since last year, so I guess he found a new number.”

Simon didn’t answer. Just stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the message.

You still with that guy? You deserve someone who actually sees how good you are. You know where to find me.

You didn’t even try to explain. What was there to say? You’d deleted that man like an app you forgot existed. Gone. Done. But Simon wasn’t looking at you—he was still staring at your phone, his jaw tight.

You sat back on your knees, watching him. “Don’t get quiet. You know I don’t give a shit about him.”

“I know,” he muttered, his tone calm. “But he doesn’t.”

That’s when he tapped a few things. Deleted the message, blocked the number again. Same way you would have. Except he held your phone for another minute after that, just looking at it. Not saying a word.

Then he handed it back and stood up like nothing happened. “I’ll take the trash out,” he said, heading toward the kitchen. Which was weird, because there was no trash. Not in the actual bin, anyway.

You tilted your head. “You mean metaphorically or—?”

“Both,” he called back.

And that was that. You didn’t ask, you didn’t need to.

You knew Simon wouldn’t do anything stupid, but you also knew he had a way of handling shit when it pissed him off enough. Not like you—loud, mouthy, dramatic, always saying shit like mine mine mine until he groans and tells you you’re a menace while literally pulling you closer.

But him? He didn’t need to scream. Didn’t need to threaten. All he had to do was decide something—and then it was done.

Still, later that night, you were sprawled across his lap, phone in hand, scrolling for something to watch, when you decided to poke the bear a little.

“Y’know,” you said casually, “if some idiot tried to object at our wedding, I’d probably laugh in his face and then throw my shoe at him.”

Simon didn’t even look up from where he was rubbing slow circles into your hip. “Wouldn’t get the chance.”

You smirked. “Why? ‘Cause you’d handle it?”

“No,” he said, finally glancing up at you. “Because anyone that stupid won’t make it to the wedding.”

You stared at him for a second.

Then you leaned in real close, grinning like the psycho you are. “God, I fucking love you.”

He kissed you hard, like he was trying to remind you he was just as gone for you as you were for him.

“Yeah?” he muttered, breath hot against your lips. “Then quit stressin’ about shit that’s already handled.”

And you did. Because you knew—anyone who still thought they had a shot with you? They didn’t anymore. Simon made sure of that.

Not because he was jealous. But because you were his just as loudly and unshakably as he was yours. And anyone who didn’t get the memo?

They’d be lucky to walk away with a warning.

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

this was the last request i had sitting in my inbox for these two, so if y’all want more unhinged possessive nonsense, you’re gonna have to ask, i’m always down to write more of them, just need ideas to work with. you know where to find me <333

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs

[galaxy-stardust]

Simon Ghost Riley x you

"Still here"

The clock blinked 2:43 a.m.

You hadn’t moved in hours. Neither had he. The bed was warm but everything inside you felt cold. Like your body was here, but your mind was somewhere miles under.

Simon lay beside you, facing the ceiling, arms folded behind his head. You knew he wasn’t asleep. You could feel it - tight in the way he breathed, his silence too loud, too practiced.

You blinked at the dark.

Then, quietly - barely audible:

“I wanted to die once.”

Silence.

It cracked the room like a bullet.

You swallowed, throat raw.

“Not… not just once, actually. A lot of times. And not in some dramatic way. I just… wanted everything to stop. The noise in my head. The weight. I didn’t want to wake up and feel like I was failing at breathing. I didn’t want to hurt anyone, I just… wanted it all to stop.”

You didn’t cry. Not really. Your voice wobbled, and your chest ached, but no tears came. Just that dull, heavy guilt for saying it at all.

“I didn’t even think anyone would care,” you added. “Like, really care. It felt like I was nothing. Just background.”

Simon was still silent. Heavy. Like he was searching for words with hands that didn’t know how to hold them. And you regretted it instantly. Your heart thudded. “Sorry,” you whispered. “I shouldn’t have said - ”

Then:

“I know that feeling.”

You closed your eyes.

“I sat with a pistol in my lap for four hours once,” he said, flat. No emotion. Just fact.

You stopped breathing.

“Wasn’t drunk. Wasn’t even panicking. Just… numb. Quiet. Like, ‘maybe this is the day.’” He exhaled. “I had no one left. Not really. Didn’t think anyone would notice if I just vanished.”

You turned your face toward him slowly, eyes wide in the dark.

He kept staring at the ceiling. “But I didn’t do it. And I never really knew why. Something stupid always stopped me. Like remembering the sound of a laugh. Or the smell of rain. I don’t know.”

Silence again.

Heavy.

Like both your hearts were bleeding into the same hollow space.

Then he turned, finally facing you. His eyes didn’t shine. They didn’t need to. You saw the storm behind them. Quiet. Constant. Worn.

“Why’d you stop?” he asked.

You shrugged a little, voice barely holding. “I think I realized I wanted someone to fight for me. Just once. Not fix me. Not talk me out of it. Just… sit next to me and not be afraid of how fucked up I feel.”

Simon reached for your hand under the covers. Found it, held it - not like something delicate, but like something anchored.

“I’d sit with you,” he said low. “No matter how fucked up it gets.”

Your voice broke. “Even if I don’t talk?”

“I’d still be there.”

Your heart cracked. You reached up and touched his cheek.

“Thank you for not leaving,” you whispered.

He blinked, and something in his throat worked, like he was swallowing the words he didn’t know how to say. “Same goes for you.”

He reached for your face, slow and unsure. Like he was afraid he'd to break you.

“I didn’t have a reason back then,” he said hoarsely. “I do now.”

The tears came then - quiet, shaky, unwanted. And he let them. He pulled you in, held you close, forehead to yours, your broken edges scraping gently against his.

No fixing.

No promises.

The two of just needed to be seen. And held. And loved exactly as you were.

And now, you were.

Still here.

Still breathing.

And in that small, stolen space between two hearts that almost gave up - you both knew:

You were never truly alone in the darkness.

You had found each other.

And that was enough to keep going.

[absdollievu]

Roommate Abby tutoring another girl and reader getting jealous? 🙈🙈 just a thought

Not the One I Notice

nerdy!abby x jealous!reader

Warnings: fingering

thank you anon for this request, you ask and I shall deliver

You’re not sure when it started bothering you. Probably the second or third time Maddy showed up with coffee and that bright, over-familiar smile.

The first time was easy to ignore—just a tutoring session, textbook open, Abby sitting cross-legged on her bed while Maddy leaned over her shoulder, laughing at something stupid.

But then she kept coming back. Kept touching Abby’s arm when she talked. Kept calling her “Ab’s” like it was something she’d owned.

Now it’s every other afternoon. Abby’s bed isn’t hers anymore—it’s a shared space. Maddy stretches out on it like she belongs there, and Abby doesn’t tell her otherwise.

That’s the part that sticks.

⸻

You try not to care. You really do.

But you come back from class and hear that laugh through the door again—Maddy’s high, rehearsed, flirty—and it gets under your skin.

You barely say a word when you walk in. Abby doesn’t notice. Or pretends not to. Maddy says hi in that voice that assumes you don’t matter.

You stay with your headphones on 24/7. You stay out later. You start timing your returns to avoid her.

Still doesn’t work.

She’s always there.

⸻

Friday night. Rain.

You’ve been out drinking, but not enough to be drunk. Just enough to dull things a little.

It’s quiet when you walk in. Abby’s sitting on her bed, reading. She looks up when you close the door behind you.

“Hey,” she says.

You pull off your hoodie and drop it on the chair. It’s still damp from the rain.

“Where’s Maddy?” you ask.

She blinks, like the question caught her off guard. “Not here.”

You don’t say anything. Just start digging through your drawer for a shirt.

There’s a pause. You feel her watching you.

“She hasn’t been over today,” she adds.

You laugh once, short and tired. “I didn’t ask.”

“You kind of did.” She raised an eyebrow.

You shake your head and pull your shirt over your head. “Forget it.”

“Seriously, what’s going on with you?”

You look at her now. Really look. She’s tense, arms crossed over her knees.

“Nothing,” you say.

“You haven’t looked at me all week. You barely talk. And then you come in and bring up Maddy like—”

“Like what?” you cut.

“Like you’re keeping up a fucking score!” She snaps back.

You step forward, arms crossed. “I’ve been here every day watching her crawl into your space, and you just let her. What am I supposed to think?”

“I was tutoring her,” Abby says, slow and measured. “That’s all it was.”

“She flirts with you.”

“She flirts with everyone.”

“Yeah,” you say. “But you don’t flirt with everyone back.”

Abby exhales through her nose. Her voice drops. “I didn’t even notice.”

“You noticed enough.”

There’s a beat of silence. She looks like she’s trying not to react.

“You really think I wanted anything from her?”

“I think you didn’t care what it looked like.”

“You’re mad because I’m tutoring her? Mad because she’s sitting in my bed?”

“I’m mad because you didn’t care how I felt. Watching her touch you. Take up space that used to be mine.”

Abby’s face hardens. “It was never yours.”

You flinch.

Then she shakes her head. “That’s not—fuck. That came out wrong.”

“No,” you say. “I get it.”

She takes a step closer. “It didn’t mean anything.”

“I know.”

“You don’t look like you know.”

You say nothing.

Then: “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks.

“Why didn’t you?” you shoot back. “You think I didn’t notice you looking? That I didn’t feel it every night we fell asleep a foot apart?”

She’s close now. Two feet away, maybe less.

“I didn’t say anything,” she says quietly, “because I wasn’t sure you wanted me to.”

You swallow. Your voice is tight. “I did.”

More silence. Rain against the window.

Then she says it. Plain. Honest. “She’s not the one I think about.”

You nod once. ���I figured that out eventually.”

Abby watches you for a long second. “So what now?”

You stare at her. At the line of her jaw, the pulse in her neck, the tension in her arms.

Then: “I’m still pissed at you.”

“I can tell.”

You step closer. “I don’t care what she meant. I care that you didn’t say it was me.”

Abby’s jaw tenses. “It’s always been you.”

That’s all it takes.

The space between you disappears in one move—her hands on your face, your mouth on hers.

Your lips crash together like it’s the only way to shut each other up.

It’s not soft. It’s not sweet. It’s everything that’s been boiling under your skin for days—every look she gave someone else, every time you held back, every night you lay there needing her and saying nothing.

Abby backs you into the wall with the weight of someone who’s done waiting. Her hands are rough when they grab your waist, drag you closer. You don’t resist. You bite down on her lip instead, hard enough to make her groan against your mouth.

She lifts your shirt—impatient, fingers fumbling—then yanks it over your head. Her mouth drops to your neck before it’s fully off, teeth grazing skin, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

You grip her hoodie, pulling her down to your level, and your voice comes out sharp. “You knew what you were doing.”

Abby exhales hard against your collarbone. “Yeah,” she mutters, lips brushing your skin. “I fucking did.”

She fists the back of your hair and tugs your head back, forcing your eyes up to hers. Her face is tight, jaw set.

“You really thought I wanted her?”

You just stare at her.

“Answer me.”

You swallow. “I didn’t want to think it.”

She pulls back just long enough to strip off her hoodie, then pushes you toward the bed without a word. Her body is solid against yours, muscle and heat and frustration.

You fall back onto the mattress. Abby’s on you in seconds, mouth everywhere—your chest, your ribs, the soft skin of your stomach. She drags your pants down rough, no ceremony, and drops them to the floor.

“Tell me to stop,” she says suddenly, voice low.

You don’t.

Instead, you hook your leg around her waist and pull her down on top of you.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper. “Not tonight.”

That’s all it takes.

Abby kisses you again—messy, angry, hungry. Her hand finds its way between your thighs, and she doesn’t hesitate. Her fingers slide through your slick and she exhales hard against your mouth.

“Fuck,” she mutters. “You’re already wet.”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Wonder why.”

She pushes two fingers in without warning, and your back arches.

Her pace is fast from the start—no teasing, no games. She pins your hip down with one hand and fucks you like she means to leave a mark.

“You think she could do this to you?” she says, close to your ear. “Think she’d know how to fuck you like I do?”

You can’t answer. You’re already gasping, hips grinding down into her hand, chasing something fast and violent.

“Say it,” she growls. “Say it’s me.”

“It’s you,” you struggle. “Always you.”

She kisses you hard, swallowing the sound you make as her thumb finds your clit. Her rhythm changes, sharp, focused. Your hands claw at her back, digging into the warm skin under her shirt.

“Abby—” you gasp, legs starting to shake.

She doesn’t slow down. “You gonna come for me?”

You nod frantically. “Yes. Please.”

She curls her fingers just right and your whole body goes tight, breath catching in your throat. The orgasm hits hard—your hips jerk, your thighs clench, and all you can do is hold on as she works you through it, jaw clenched, eyes locked on yours.

When you finally go limp beneath her, chest heaving, Abby pulls her hand back and drags it slowly up your thigh.

She leans down, kisses the corner of your mouth.

You look up at her, eyes narrowed, breathless. “Still pissed at you.”

A smirk twitches at the edge of her mouth. “Good.”

Then she flips you over.

“Because I’m not done yet.”

[seitmai]

Another fifteen minutes later and Bucky pulls the van into a dirt road leading away from any civilization. Ava and Yelena look out the rear window as the main road is getting further and further away. The two women glance at each other in concern of where they're heading and how Bucky isn't telling them anything about it. "This seems more like a kidnapping than staying under the radar" Ava finally says when Bucky continues driving deeper into the forest.

Not the only two women (who both extremely skilled and can definitely defend themselves!) being sus and on high alert about this situationwhy the men are just chilling and maybe curious, that is male privilege 🥲

So, you immediately turn the light off in the living room and grab your gun from the holster on your thigh. Yes, you may be alone out here, but it doesn't mean danger can't find you. Plus, this is what you were trained for.

Fair

"What is this place?" Yelena asks when Bucky turns off the ignition and pulls the keys out. Instead of answering, Bucky just gets out of the car and puts his hands up after closing the door.

Oh he knows her and her training too well to not put up his hands

"I know you're there. It's me." He calls out to, appearance wise, no one. This makes everyone still in the van look at each other with confused gazes before unbuckling their seatbelts and getting out of the mini van as well. Except for Yelena right away, she stays to wake Bob up. He had nodded off an hour ago in the drive, his head rested against the small window to his left.

Oh Bob 🥹

Paying no mind to the other people coming out of the car, you holster your gun and go over to him. Bucky quickly wraps his arms around you and holds you close to him. He rests his head on your shoulder as he breathes in the light scent of your shampoo that's still lingering from the shower you took this morning.

🥰🥰🥰

As Yelena and Bob emerge from the beat up mini van, you and bucky pull apart from one another to face the group of them who are now acting as though they weren't just watching what happened.

Haha it's giving age of ultron 😂

You scan over everyone and the last person, your face twists in something someone can only call as disgust. John Walker. "Hey, Y/n, long time no see?" The man at least has the decency to be weary and nervous, scratching the back of his neck. "Could be longer" You say sharply before taking your eyes off him, and just stare at the group as a whole instead.

Could be longer 😂😂😂😂

"Wait, who is this?" Yelena is the one to speak up. "This is Y/n. My wife." Bucky smiles softly, the most genuine look on his face they've seen on him as he looks at you.

He is so smitten and in love with his wife even in that situation 😍🥹

You get multiple nods and 'yeah's from the group. "Wonderful. Well, next time you plan to see her, bring me with. I have a thing or two to say...or do" the ex spy in you is coming out.

Valid

"Does he usually fall asleep like that" you're attention is drawn to Bob who is asleep with his head resting on the back couch cushioning. "Uh, he's been through a lot." Ava says.

Oh baby, he sure has🥺

"You're very authoritative. It's good, they actually listened to you" he says once you guys get to your shared room.

Of course she can, if she keeps Bucky in line she can with this ragtag group 😅🤷🏻‍♀️

"That's cause I'm such an amazing person" you smirk. But a moment later, you smack your husband upside the head. "What was that for?" He asks, surprised at the action, not like it hurt that much anyways. "For worrying me. And for the stupid shit you did" you say before kissing him softly.

He deserved that and he knows it haha

I loved this and would love to read more of them if you ever feel up to it!

Hideout

Wife reader x Bucky Barnes

Summary: your husband and a bunch of strangers show up at your house in the middle of the night.

Warnings: John walker, swearing

A/n: The car they have is a mini van instead of the van they had in the movie, so with actual seats and that stuff - so minor change, that's all.

^the car seating plan

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Where are we going?" Ava asks, being the third person in the last ten minutes to ask Bucky this. "We'll be there shortly" He grounds out, the same response he's given the last two times.

John is about to say something but is quickly stopped by the glare wielded his way from Yelena. From the past three days of knowing him, she's gotten used to knowing that whenever he opens his mouth, something stupid comes out. Every. Time. And every time, it looks like Bucky is that much closer to pummeling him.

Another fifteen minutes later and Bucky pulls the van into a dirt road leading away from any civilization. Ava and Yelena look out the rear window as the main road is getting further and further away.

The two women glance at each other in concern of where they're heading and how Bucky isn't telling them anything about it. "This seems more like a kidnapping than staying under the radar" Ava finally says when Bucky continues driving deeper into the forest.

"I'm sure the winter soldier knows where we're going and what he's doing. We're fine." Alexei says with a hefty laugh as he's watching from the window beside him.

Bucky meanwhile lets out an aggravated sigh to himself, but he doesn't say anything since in just mere minutes, they'll arrive at the location. The location of which feels like he hasn't been to in way too long for his liking.

And that location is a cabin. A cabin that Tony had set up for his wife during the blip so she wouldn't have to put on any kind of act by being around others all the time. That woman just so happened yo be you, Y/n Barnes.

You're an ex. shield agent that helped Steve with finding Bucky after the events of Pierce and Hydra still being active, as well as the whole project insight fail. Bucky and you caught feelings for each other after some time of finding him again and through the events of the team splitting up and fighting against Thanos, both times. After the second time and all the tragedy, you guys decided to get married. Not that it didn't come with hardships, like the whole therapy thing and having to forgive himself and make amends, and the flagsmashers. But all in all, you love each other.

Which is how you find your eyebrows furrowing as you hear a rusty sound of a car driving along the path towards the cabin. That wasn't normal. Your husband always comes home on his bike, only a car a few times, but those times he alerted you. This time though, you got no communication from him that says not to worry.

So, you immediately turn the light off in the living room and grab your gun from the holster on your thigh. Yes, you may be alone out here, but it doesn't mean danger can't find you. Plus, this is what you were trained for.

You silently move through the pitch black house, the only light coming from the headlights of the car illuminating the halls from through the windows. Sticking to the shadows, you make your way outside through a hidden door at the side of the house.

The gun with your finger on the trigger is held firmly down to your right side as you trek silently to the corner to get a glimpse at who's in the car.

"What is this place?" Yelena asks when Bucky turns off the ignition and pulls the keys out. Instead of answering, Bucky just gets out of the car and puts his hands up after closing the door.

"I know you're there. It's me." He calls out to, appearance wise, no one. This makes everyone still in the van look at each other with confused gazes before unbuckling their seatbelts and getting out of the mini van as well. Except for Yelena right away, she stays to wake Bob up. He had nodded off an hour ago in the drive, his head rested against the small window to his left.

You come out of your hiding spot behind the corner of the house with your gun held in front of you, your legs spread in a fighting stance. That is until it's confirmed that it's in fact your husband and no trick.

Paying no mind to the other people coming out of the car, you holster your gun and go over to him. Bucky quickly wraps his arms around you and holds you close to him. He rests his head on your shoulder as he breathes in the light scent of your shampoo that's still lingering from the shower you took this morning.

As Yelena and Bob emerge from the beat up mini van, you and bucky pull apart from one another to face the group of them who are now acting as though they weren't just watching what happened.

You scan over everyone and the last person, your face twists in something someone can only call as disgust. John Walker. "Hey, Y/n, long time no see?" The man at least has the decency to be weary and nervous, scratching the back of his neck. "Could be longer" You say sharply before taking your eyes off him, and just stare at the group as a whole instead.

"Wait, who is this?" Yelena is the one to speak up. "This is Y/n. My wife." Bucky smiles softly, the most genuine look on his face they've seen on him as he looks at you.

"You have a wife?" Several versions of this questions rise from the group, but get off from a glare he sends their way.

"Hey. Nice to meet you guys, I guess" You look back up at your husband before to them again. "Who are you exactly and why do you look like you just went ten rounds with a tornado?" You ask with a raised eyebrow as you take in how disheveled they all look.

"It's best we explain inside." Bucky says. You let out a puff of air before nodding after a moment and taking a key out of your boot. You head to the front door and unlock it, your husband by your side as the rest of them follow inside.

You turn the lights on as Bucky closes and locks the door and enacts the security system that runs through the house and property. "This way" You say and lead them to the living room. As they take a seat, all basically bursting with confusion still, you go over to your husband.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me you were coming, Buck!?" You exclaim in a hushed whisper. "I didn't have any way of communicating you. And I was a little pre-occupied" He glances at the people in the next room over. "I was worried about you" you finally say. "I didn't know what was happening. All I knew was how you bailed on your congressman meetings and had apparently gone rogue."

"I know, and I'm so sorry, darling. But I promise, I'm alright, and we'll tell you everything that happened" Bucky says and presses a kiss to your lips. You melt into it for a second before remembering about the occupants in the next room over.

"Come on, mind as well get this over with." He says quietly into your ear and wraps your hand in his. He leads you to the living room and to in front of the fireplace to face everyone.

"Alright, this is Alexei, Ava, Yelena, and Bob." Bucky introduces them to you. "And him as well," he quickly nods over to John, not wanting to draw too much of your attention to the man that you loath. And boy, does Bucky understand, but nows not the time.

Yelena does a little awkward wave. "Alright. Would someone like to inform me what the hell exactly happened?" You cross your arms and lean against the fireplace mantle.

They all glance at each other before Yelena sighs and sits up straighter, starting to summarize everything that happened to them up to when Bucky met them and blew up Alexie's limo. At that you look at your husband with a raised brow before Yelena continues, the others popping in at times as well.

Once everyone was finished explaining the events leading up to them arriving here, you pinch the bridge of your nose and quietly groan. "Valentina? As in the same woman from three years ago, is behind this whole thing?"

You get multiple nods and 'yeah's from the group. "Wonderful. Well, next time you plan to see her, bring me with. I have a thing or two to say...or do" the ex spy in you is coming out.

"Does he usually fall asleep like that" you're attention is drawn to Bob who is asleep with his head resting on the back couch cushioning. "Uh, he's been through a lot." Ava says.

"Okay, yeah," you sigh, "Well, down the hall are some bedrooms. You guys look like you need to clean up and some sleep yourselves." You point down the hall to your right.

"Thank you" Yelena nods, the rest of them saying thanks as well before standing and going down the hall. Though John goes over to lift Bob. "Don't bother, he can stay in the couch, he seems peaceful" you tell him, trying to fight off the growl even though technically the man was doing something sweet (ish).

He relents and nods, not wanting to get into a fight with you at this time, knowing he won't win. You go over to the younger man and have him lay down more comfortably on the couch with a pillow, as well as draping one of the throw blankets over him.

"Though if you break anything, I will personally come after you" you call down the hallway before going upstairs to your bedroom with Bucky.

"You're very authoritative. It's good, they actually listened to you" he says once you guys get to your shared room.

"That's cause I'm such an amazing person" you smirk. But a moment later, you smack your husband upside the head. "What was that for?" He asks, surprised at the action, not like it hurt that much anyways.

"For worrying me. And for the stupid shit you did" you say before kissing him softly.