#so much to say about everyone in this little game

[trickbxbes]

ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍᴇ ʏᴏᴜ’ʟʟ ꜱᴛᴀʏ

[ᴅᴀᴇ ʜᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ]

Summary: After the Mingle game, your friends win the vote and get to go home. You reunite with Dae-Ho on the outside and finally get to go on that date.

Warnings: Eventual smut, friends to lovers speedrun, fem reader, switch! Dae-Ho, handjobs, mutual blowjobs, fingering, p in v, safe sex, I don’t know what happens to them right after they vote to leave. Only what happens after,

Word Count: 3,769 words

You couldn’t believe it, was it too good to be true? 51 votes for X, 49 votes for O. Everyone around you on your side cheered, wept with joy and relief. The nightmare was over. And you wouldn’t go home empty handed either. 300 million was enough for you to clear your debt, finally start over.

And maybe, not alone.

You feel arms wrap around you tightly, shaking you like a Ragdoll. It was Dae-Ho. The two of you had formed a bond since being in here. The friendship was instant. His bright and bubbly personality pulling you in like a moth to a flame. Only, there was no pain. He looked out for you every step of the way. You were inseparable. The two of you even arranging a date of sorts once on the outside. You remember how he asked too, the boy was nervous, prepared to laugh the idea off painfully if rejected.

In disbelief, you slowly wrap your arms back around the man. Everything fell silent to your ears. Dae-Ho screams out with joy alongside his mentor, Jung-Bae, before looking at you again. He had the brightest of grins on his face. He cupped the sides of your face briefly, so happy, he could kiss you.

Could.

He lets go of your face after tenderly gazing into your eyes. You step forward and tightly hug him close, finally allowing everything to process. You were going home. You were safe.

Dae-Ho’s also overwhelmed with emotion, embracing you close. His hand gently pets the back of your hair, pressing his head against it. His heart was soaring with relief, and care, knowing you’d be okay.

“We did it…”

He murmured. You’re barely able to hear him through the cheers. “Yeah… we’re going home.” You chuckle weakly.

But the world wouldn’t grant you a moment of peace, no, not for a second.

“Please line up, you will be escorted out in an orderly fashion the same way you were brought in.”

It all came crashing down. You were leaving, now. You and Dae-Ho break apart quick at the realization. Guards were already pouring in. There’s so much you wanted to say, goodbyes you had to give! Team O did something helpful for once though, they bought you time as they started to argue against this.

“W-we’re leaving now…?!”

You see more guards taking control of the situation. People were being separated. You look to Dae-Ho, who was just as unsure and panicked. But then he visibly lightens up with realization.

“The korean barbecue place I told you about! Meet me there in two days! Noon!”

He tried to reach out to you, but the crowd began to push. You felt your anxiety beginning to slow at his request. You didn’t have his phone number, or his address, hell, you didn’t even know what area he lived in, but that was a start. You nod vigorously.

“O-Okay! I’ll see you there!”

A relived smile befalls Dae-Ho, knowing he at least got that out before he’s ushered away.

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Two days passed, and you were at the place to be. It was a tough, settling back. You swore you’d never see the light of day again. Waking up on a cold street while half naked wasn’t exactly a pleasurable experience. Neither was choking out a card in your mouth, but alas. But you got your shit sorted, and now you were here.

Only issue now was, you didn’t know what time to arrive! You wanted to play it safe and meet a little early, wearing your best. You didn’t exactly know how much effort to put into this. What do you wear to something like this? Was it a date? Or a meetup with a crush? Or, a meet with just a friend?

You wait, and wait. An hour passed, then two.

You looked like a madman from how much you kept looking about.

But then it hit you.

What if he doesn’t show?

What if he didnt feel the same?

What were you thinking? That a man you knew for three days would have such strong feelings for you? Maybe you got your hopes up. Maybe he was too busy for you. You frown to yourself, your breathing getting faster. From where you sat, you hugged yourself. You were a miserable sight.

But then, like an angel’s choir, you hear,

“(Y,n)!”

It was slightly distant. Your head snapped up at the all too familiar voice. Making their way through the bustling crowd, was Dae-Ho. His hair wasn’t tied in his usual top knot, but down, letting the fluff bounce freely. The once unforgiving sunlight was now shining on the man like a star, only making him glow. He maneuvers his way through the mass and pops out holding a bouquet of ruby red roses. He pants, standing in front of you with that nervous smile of his.

“I-I’m so sorry, were you waiting long? There’s two different ones here. The one I went to was all the way across— a-and I waited and waited before I realized you were probably here! And—“

You’re unable to stay away any longer. You stand up and wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him close. Dae/Ho stops his rambles, instead, tucking an arm around your waist and holding you close, his other arm holding the flowers. “A-are you okay?” He asks with concern. You smile ear to ear, chuckling.

“I’m just really happy to see you, Dae-Ho.”

Your response made the boy sigh in relief, happy he didn’t upset you.

“I am too, really. I couldn’t get you off my mind.”

You’d pull away, still smiling joyously. Finally, you address the flowers in his hands. “Oh my gosh…!” You take them, giddy as a kid on their birthday. Dae-Ho smiles brightly at your enjoyment.

“I hope they’re not damaged or anything… I kinda sprinted everywhere to make it here.”

He confesses. You don’t notice a single flaw, but you also don’t care to notice. “I love them.” You solidify your appreciation. Dae-Ho looks up at the restaurant sign and back to you, licking his lips a moment. “You ready to go inside?” He sticks his hand out for you to take. Your heart felt full, and you take his hand. Butterflies fluttering along in your stomach.

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The day didn’t end there. Dae-Ho took you out to see all the sights there were to see in his town. The two of you hand in hand, throughout the day, you didn’t drop your roses. From checking out different shops, interacting with street performers, and getting some sweet treats. Life hasn’t been so terrible since you both no longer had terrible debts to worry about. Even if it was blood money, and came with such terrible trauma, at least you wouldn’t have to go through it alone. You had someone to lean on through it.

Now, you two ended up at one of the hotels. You were sitting outside on one of the fountains, scrolling through your phone with laughter. “Aww, this one’s cute!” The two of you were admiring photos of today. You had taken a special liking to the man giving a cute peace sign over some deserts. Dae-Ho huffs, but couldn’t get his grin off his face.

“You don’t think I look dorky? I can take a more manly photo for you if you want.”

To prove his point, he’d flex his arm muscle. You giggle, patting his shoulder before you simply rest your hand there.

“I think you look perfect.”

Something about the way you said it, made Dae-Ho gulp subtly. His dark eyes gazing at you with awe. To calm his quick beating heart, he deflects off of him.

“I… wanna do this again, sometime.”

The ball was now in your court. Your heart skipped a beat. You look down a little bashfully.

“Y’know, I was kinda afraid for a while you didn’t… Y’know… That maybe it was just the heat of the moment from the games.”

Dae-Ho’s eyes widen. He lets out a dry chuckle, casting his eyes away. “Time went by differently for me there, I think. It honestly felt like I was there with you for a lot longer than it actually was.” He says truthfully. His exterior that was once shining, was now shy. You don’t say anything, allowing him to continue.

“Every second I spent with you, is all I wanted to do with my time.”

He looks back to you, his words carried a weight heavier than any boulder. You bring your hands to your lap, setting the roses aside. A crooked smile forms on your face as you shyly glance at your thighs.

“Well, it’s good to know I’m not crazy then… because I felt the same.”

When you look back to Dae-Ho, you see him gazing with an expression you’re unable to pinpoint. A mixture of adoration, and yearing. His pupils dart toward your lips, and then back to your eyes. He gulps again, unable to meet them for long. But you got the hint. You purse your lips, and gently cup his face. It regains his attention immediately. He’s close, you can feel the heat from his skin, his breath on your hand. He looks at your lips again, and leans in. You meet him halfway, and the two of you share a loving kiss. His lips molded with yours almost perfectly, like that’s where they were meant to be.

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The next thing either of you knew, you’re trading kisses as Dae-Ho tries unlocking the door to his apartment complex. Your kissing was passionate, forward. All of your want and need was transferred which each tongue exchange.

As soon as you’re both inside, the man shuts the door and you press him against it, not breaking the kiss for a sweat. He moans softly against your lips, his tone urging his desire forward. Your kiss grew sloppier, but consistent as you run your hasty hands under his shirt. Feeling his toned stomach, you press your body against him further. You drew another moan out of Dae-Ho, the male gasping and breaking the kiss so he could say,

“I-I’m sorry, I wasn’t e-expecting company so…ngh…”

You were barely listening, leaving pecks down his neck. Little nips to his skin lead to full love bites. “Fuck, I’ve wanted to do this since I watched you play gongi…” You leave a trail of hickeys on his once clean neck. Dae-Ho brings his finger to his lips, biting down to muffle his whimpers. “W-what do you mean?” He gasps as you release his skin with a ‘pop.’ You meet his eyes, lust shadowing yours.

“‘Wanted to feel those hands on me.”

You take his hands and place them on your hips. He meets your mouth again, his tongue intertwining with yours in a messy dance. His hands run up your sides and then down to your ass, finally finding a resting point to the back of your thighs. “Fuck…”

For once the male was happy to live in a studio. You push him onto the bed, letting him scramble to take off his shirt. You slowly slide down to the ground on your knees. He gazes at you with such kindness and appreciation. He wanted you to feel it, somehow. There was a sea of emotion he was withholding, but you saw lust was the strongest in the waves.

“(Y,n)…”

You look up to him with doe eyes, sending rushes of hunger through him. “Can I…?”

His breathing was uneven, trembling, he nods.

“P-please…” He pulls his pants down, allowing his cock to spring free. He was already half hard, and it only grew as you close your hand around it. You admire its length, its width, and most of all, you feel the way it throbbed for you as it grew in your hand. You gave it a few test pumps, making your man bite his lip to stifle a whimper. Once he was fully hardened, you sped up your pace. Dae-Ho whines out, ever the vocal one. But it’s not like you minded, in fact, you encouraged it.

“You’re being so good for me, Dae-Ho…”

Hearing your praise, the male lets out another moan, his eyes closing. You feel his member twitch in your hand. “Oh? You liked that didn’t you? Wanna be called a good boy?” As soon as the words left your mouth, Dae-Ho moans loudly. He looks down at you with half lidded eyes.

“Oh shit…”

You lower your mouth over his throbbing member, keeping your touch ever so soft. The man leans back, looking to the ceiling. “Oh fuck…!” He grips the bedsheets beside him. For a brief moment, he nearly grabs your hair, but he stops himself. Instead, he gently runs his fingers through your hair. The way he held back to be a gentleman, it only made you wetter. You use one hand to pump his base while you sucked on the rest. Your other hand slid down under your bottoms, rubbing your already wet cunt. When Dae-Ho notices, his face somehow flushes more. “A-are you…?” To answer, you hum an eager note on his cock, sending vibrations down it.

“Fuck~! Ah…I—“ He’s unable to really keep his train of thought on track as another low groan rumbles through him. “Oh my God—“ He just mindlessly babbled on as you took him deeper. He’d involuntarily jerk his hips upward, and you felt the tip reach the back of your throat. Your gag made Dae-Ho immediately check in, concerned. “I-I’m sorry! Are you— fuck!”

But you didn’t care much, speeding up your motions. You take him in even deeper, now deep throating him. It hurt a little, but you cared more about the sweet tune of Dae-Ho’s whines. It might be your new favorite song.

“(Y-Y,n)…! Keep going like that and I’m g-gonna…I’m…!”

He was close, you could feel it. And so you continued your usual motions before showing special attention to his tip, his most sensitive spot. Dae-Ho grit his teeth and cried out, his back arching as he came. His shadow looked glorious, the way it mirrored his position and his gasps. It was almost like a painting, a work of art.

White hot strings enter your mouth, and you swallow it all. You blink up at him, removing your lips and clicking your tongue. Dae-Ho’s expression was priceless, his vulnerability was shown, the walls were down. “(Y,n)…” He cups your face and pulls lightly, a silent gesture he wants you to rise. You do so gracefully and stop. Seeing as the man was basically naked for you, you thought you should return the favor. Dae-Ho watches you slowly strip, undoing your outfit completely. He shakily sighs,

“You’re so beautiful…”

Once bare, you meet him in a ravenous kiss. Your hands hold the sides of his jaw as he wraps his arm around your waist. He whimpers against your lips, rolling you over so you were on your back, not breaking the kiss for a second. Dae-Ho gently takes both of your hands and pin them above your head, one hand having a grip on your wrists. You lament, feeling more aroused in such a helpless position.

He pulls back, a string of saliva connecting you both. He admires you, your returned flushed face staring back at him lustfully. He leans back down, kissing down your neck. His touch was so sweet, feather light. Every kiss was gentle, as if you were delicate. He kissed down your body, stopping at your chest. His eyes meet yours again, asking for permission. You nod, gulping subtly. He’d continue, muttering,

“You deserve to be worshipped.”

He trails his tongue around your nipple and plants a peck on the top, before taking your breast into his mouth. Somehow, he knew the exact way to worship you. He sucked at the perfect intensity and rhythm. With his other hand, he massages your other breast. You loved the way he treated you.

“Dae-Ho…”

It sent waves of pleasure up your body. He started to work his way down, reaching your drenched pussy.

“God, you’re soaked…”

His tongue meets your dripping hole, running through your folds. You cry out, gripping his hair lightly. “Dae-Ho…! Fuck..” You feel his tongue swirl around your clit. The wet muscle circling as he sucked on the pearl. He started eating you out like he was damned starving. You massage his scalp, gripping every now and then. But then, you feel a wave of pleasure shoot through you as Dae-Ho inserts a finger. “Fuck…!” You whine, your eyes now shut. Sucking on your clit, he adds another, pushing them both in and curling his fingers. Your back arches as you’re shocked from too much stimulation.

“I-It’s too much…! D-Dae-Ho! Fuck. T-too m-much!”

“You can take it.”

His immediate response makes your orgasm race forward faster than you can blink. He continues pushing his fingers in an out of you, curling them each time and abusing your G spot. You cry out his name as you finish all over his face, unable to warn him in time. But he just laps up your juices like any other meal.

Dae-Ho looks back up at you with dreamy eyes. He’s met with your panting and flushed expression. You reach your hands out, trying to beckon him closer.

“Dae-Ho… j-just kiss me please!”

You didn’t have to tell him twice as he slams his lips on yours, crawling back atop your body. You grind against his now hard again cock, moaning against him. Soft hums and grunts come from his throat and vibrate on your skin. You pull back, needing to feel him inside of you for certainty. “D-do you have a condom?” Your question catches him off guard, but it’s a necessary one. Dae-Ho blinks and nods. “Yeah— one second.” He kisses your cheek, making you smile as he scrambles to grab one.

As soon as he rolled one on, he’s back on top of you, gazing into your eyes once more. You swear you could see an entire night sky in his dark orbs. “Dae-Ho…” You kiss him again, he more than happily reciprocates. He breathes in through his nose, breathing in you. He lines up his cock with your entrance, pulling back to cup your face.

“Do you want this?”

Consent is a beautiful and mandatory thing. He caresses your cheek with his thumb. You nod, resting your hand atop his with a kind smile.

“I want you, Dae-Ho.”

Dae-Ho leans in and kisses you softly. His lips softly trying to tell you, ‘I’ve got you.’

He slowly enters you, his hands now gripping your hips. You grimace, adjusting to his length. Dae-Ho intertwines his fingers with yours on the bedsheets, giving a reassuring squeeze. His eyes were clamped shut, soft shudders escaping him as he continued in. “Fuck… (Y,n)…”

He bottoms out, and you’re a whimpering mess. Dae-Ho, despite being in a similar position, slants over and kisses up your neck. His lips comforting you generously.

“That’s it… that’s my girl.”

There’s something about the way he says it that makes your heart flutter.

“Yeah… yeah, fuck, your girl.”

He starts to move slowly, his breathing shaky from ecstasy. He mewls in your ear, biting his lip at an attempt to keep quiet. But you weren’t going to let that slide. “…Wanna hear you… wanna hear how good you feel.” You order. Dae-Ho’s hips stutter before he speeds up his thrusts. He lets out a louder whimper, you match his vocals, gripping his shoulders.

“D-Dae!”

“(Y,n)…!”

He holds you closer to him, his thrusts getting faster and deeper. His body was warm. You could feel his muscles tensing with every push and movement.

“Tell me I’m yours,”

He starts, his voice dripping with need.

“Tell me you’ll stay.”

The vulnerability in his tone was enough to make you tear up. He was opening his heart out to you, leaving himself exposed. You wrap your arms around his back, covering his open wound with your own body. You cradle his head in your hand.

“I’ll stay, you’re mine, and I’m yours.”

Your words of affirmation carry in the air. Dae-Ho hugs you even tighter. “(Y,n)!” He goes at an incredible speed, pounding into you. You claw at his back, needing the support. “Dae-Ho!” You wail, overwhelmed with pleasure. The male moves from your neck to rest his forehead against his. You feel every bit of love he was pumping into you. It’s a different level of intimacy, truly seeing each other’s soul like this.

You feel that familiar knot forming in your stomach. “Dae-Ho~! I’m close!” You moan, moaning in rhythm with each thrust. Dae-Ho nods frantically. “M-me too! Fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…!” He’s unable to control his blabbering mouth. “Fuck. (Y,n)—you’re so good. So good. Need you… fuck…gonna—“

With that, you both come undone together, your moaning screams mixing together. Dae-Ho nearly collapses on top of you as he catches his breath, his face resting in your neck again. You pant, running your fingers through his hair as you both close your eyes.

He’d roll to his side, pulling out of you and disposing of the condom, tossing it into a trash can by his desk. He lays back down, resting on your collarbone. His arm snugly tucks around your waist.

“Did you mean it… what you said?”

Dae Ho’s question was so innocent, full of hope. He looked up at you expectantly. You feel yourself melt under his gaze, smiling softly and cupping his cheek.

“Of course I did. I’m yours.”

A satisfied smile forms on his face and he rests back down, closing his eyes with contentment. The two of you play together for the rest of the night. The last thing you’d hear before your slumber was a small mutter from your boy.

“I’m yours.”

[cceana]

Arcane Highschool!AU

characters - vi, caitlyn, jinx, sevika, ekko, jayce and viktor content - 7.1k words, cliche highschool tropes, gn!reader, just pure fluff also a little reverse comfort

A/N this was so fun to do, cant believe i finished this in 1 day ahahahahhaah. this is my longest work yet so hopefully you guys enjoy it <3

— Star Athlete!vi and Band!reader

You’ve spent most of your high school life flying under the radar as the band’s flute player—quiet, responsible, and perfectly content in your niche. Your days revolve around early-morning rehearsals, sheet music, and the steady rhythm of practice. It’s predictable, comfortable.

That is, until the school’s star athlete, Vi, always in whispers and cheers, bursts into your life like an unrelenting storm.

Shes everything you’re not—loud, brash, impulsive, and dangerously confident. The type who winks at the crowd after scoring the winning goal, whose swagger fills the halls, and who’s constantly making headlines for their fiery outbursts on and off the field. You’ve heard the stories: the scuffle at last week’s game, the heated argument with the coach, the rumors of detention slips piling up.

You’d barely exchanged more than a few words with her, but that changes when the school decides to host a collaborative pep rally—complete with a showstopping performance featuring both the sports teams and the band.

When the coach volunteers them to help promote school spirit by playing a surprise number with the band, you’re horrified. So is she.

“I don’t have time for this,” she scoff when she gets dragged to the band room. “Why don’t you all just play louder or something?”

Your teacher assigns you the unenviable task of teaching them how to play an instrument. You can practically hear your friends giggling behind your back as you pull them aside, thrusting a trumpet into their hands.

Vi groans, slouching in her chair like a bored kid in detention. “What’s the point of this? Everyone’s here to watch me win, not play this stupid thing.”

You bristle at their cocky tone. “Well, if you don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of the entire school, I suggest you try.”

VI then gives you a smirk, leaning in just a little too close. “Oh, you think I can’t do it? I’m good at everything.”

It turns out, she's not.

The first few lessons are a disaster. She blow into the trumpet like she's trying to blow out a candle from across the room, their fingers fumble over the valves, and she keep snapping, “This thing is broken!” every time it makes a screeching noise.

But underneath all the bravado and eye-rolls, you start to notice something. The way she glares at the trumpet when she messes up isn’t just frustration—it’s determination. she hates failing, and she hates it even more that they’re bad at this.

“I’m not giving up,” Vi declares after her third failed attempt to hit a note. “I’m not letting some dumb piece of metal beat me.”

The more you work together, the more cracks appear in their tough exterior. she's fiercely competitive, yes, but also surprisingly quick to laugh at themselves when the trumpet sputters out the wrong notes. Her cocky grin softens when you praise even her smallest improvement, and she starts showing up to practice earlier than you do.

One afternoon, as you’re packing up your sheet music, you catch them staring at the band photo on the wall. “You guys practice this much all the time?” Vi asked, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.

“Yeah,” you say, surprised. “It’s a lot of work, but it’s worth it.”

she nod slowly, her usual swagger replaced by something contemplative. “Never thought about it like that. I guess… it’s kind of like training, huh?”

That’s when you realize she's not as invincible as she seem. Behind the hot-headed confidence is someone who works just as hard as you do, who’s just as passionate about what they love—even if they show it in a completely different way.

And when the pep rally finally arrives, with the gym packed to the rafters, she surprise's everyone—not just with how she learned to play, but with how she step aside during the performance to let the band take the spotlight.

Afterward, as the crowd cheers, she give you a lopsided grin. “Not bad, huh? Guess I’m pretty good at this whole teamwork thing.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide your smile.

The pep rally is over, and the gym is buzzing with energy as people file out, still cheering and talking about the unexpected performance. You’re gathering your things in the corner of the stage when you hear footsteps behind you.

“Hey,” she calls out, her voice softer than you’re used to.

You turn to find her standing there, holding her trumpet in one hand, the other rubbing awkwardly at the back of her neck. For once, her usual cocky smirk is nowhere to be seen, replaced by an expression that’s�� almost nervous.

“Uh, so… you were pretty great out there,” she says, her eyes flickering between yours and the floor. “I mean, you’re always great, but, like, today—you really killed it.”

You blink, caught off guard by the compliment. “Thanks. You were pretty great too. You didn’t even mess up the solo.”

She laughs, a warm, genuine sound that makes your chest flutter. “Yeah, well, I had a good teacher. Guess I owe you for that.”

You shrug, trying to play it cool. “Maybe. But you did the work. I’m impressed, actually. Didn’t think you’d take it so seriously.”

She steps a little closer, her usual confidence creeping back into her voice. “Yeah? So, I impressed you?”

Your face heats up, and you roll your eyes to hide it. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late,” she teases, but her grin softens as her gaze lingers on you. For a moment, neither of you says anything. The noise of the gym fades into the background, and all you can hear is the faint hum of your own heartbeat.

She looks down at the trumpet in her hand, turning it over like she’s stalling. “You know… I used to think band stuff was just… background noise. Like, nobody really notices it. But being up there, seeing how much you guys put into it…”

Her voice trails off, and when she looks back at you, there’s something in her eyes that makes it hard to breathe. “It made me notice you more.”

Your breath catches. “Me?”

“Yeah.” She takes another step closer, so close now that you can feel the warmth radiating off her. “You’re not just some quiet band geek who hangs out in the background. You’re… amazing. And I’ve been an idiot for not seeing it sooner.”

You open your mouth to reply, but the words get stuck in your throat. She’s staring at you like you’re the only person in the world, and for the first time, you don’t feel small or invisible. You feel seen.

“I know I’ve been kind of… impossible,” she continues, her voice dropping lower. “But I don’t want to screw this up. So if I asked you to, I don’t know, grab milkshakes or something sometime… what would you say?”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a smile. “I’d say… as long as you don’t try to play the trumpet during the date, I might say yes.”

Her laugh is loud and bright, and before you know it, she’s grinning down at you. “Deal.”

The gym lights flicker as the janitor starts cleaning up, and you realize you’ve been standing there for what feels like forever. But as she walks you out, her shoulder brushing against yours, you can’t help but think that maybe this impulsive, hot-headed star athlete isn’t so bad after all.

— Childhood Bestfriend!caitlyn

You and Caitlyn were inseparable once, two halves of the same whole. Summers were spent running through sun-drenched fields, plotting grand adventures, and swearing eternal friendship under the stars. But that was years ago, before her family moved away to chase bigger opportunities, and you were left behind with only memories of her bright laugh and unshakable confidence.

Life moved on, and so did you. By high school, she’d become little more than a bittersweet memory. Until now.

When she walks into your homeroom on the first day of senior year, it feels like the air’s been knocked out of you. She’s taller now, with an effortless grace that makes the room go quiet. Her uniform looks somehow sharper on her, her long, dark hair falling in perfect waves. There’s something in the way she carries herself—poised and self-assured, like she owns the world—and maybe she does.

Her family name has become a symbol of power and wealth. She’s been in the headlines, her achievements as a youth advocate already earning her a reputation as a fierce voice for justice. And yet, when her gaze scans the room and lands on you, her face lights up with the same brilliant smile you remember from childhood.

“Hey,” she says as she slides into the empty seat beside you, her voice low and familiar. “Long time no see.”

You’re too stunned to do anything but nod.

You quickly learn that she’s not just here for nostalgia—she’s here with a purpose. Between rigorous AP classes, she’s working on a project to bring awareness to systemic issues in your town. Meetings, interviews, and late nights at the library seem to be her norm, and it doesn’t take long for her to rope you into helping.

At first, it feels surreal being around her again. The girl you once knew has grown into someone so driven, so ambitious, that it’s almost intimidating. She seems untouchable, like a shooting star too far away to reach.

But every now and then, the cracks in her polished armor show. When it’s just the two of you poring over notes at your kitchen table, she leans back with a sigh and pulls her hair into a ponytail, muttering about how she wishes she had more time to breathe. And when you laugh at her frustrations, she throws a crumpled piece of paper at you, her grin wide and mischievous.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” she says one evening, her eyes soft as they meet yours. “Still the only person who can make me laugh when I want to scream.”

It’s during one of these late-night sessions that the air between you shifts. You’re sitting on the floor of her family’s impossibly grand living room, surrounded by papers and laptops. She’s wearing a sweatshirt that’s too big for her, a far cry from the polished image she presents to the world, and you can’t help but think about how beautiful she looks like this—unguarded and real.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” she says, tilting her head to look at you. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing,” you lie, your heart racing under her gaze.

She raises an eyebrow, leaning closer. “I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re lying.”

You hesitate, your pulse hammering in your ears. “It’s just… I can’t believe you’re here. That after all these years, we’re… us again.”

Her expression softens, and she shifts closer until your knees are almost touching. “I’ve missed you too, you know,” she says quietly. “It’s been so hard, being away from everything I used to care about. From you.”

Her words hang in the air, heavy and electric. You want to say something—anything—but the way she’s looking at you steals the breath from your lungs. Her dark eyes search yours, and for a moment, the world seems to still.

“Do you ever think about those nights we spent under the stars?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, swallowing hard. “All the time.”

“I do too,” she admits, her hand reaching out to brush against yours. Her touch is warm, grounding, and yet it sends a jolt through you. “Back then, I always thought we’d have forever. And when I left, I realized how much I hated being wrong about that.”

You’re not sure who moves first, but suddenly the space between you disappears. Her hand lingers on yours, her thumb tracing gentle circles against your skin, and you’re acutely aware of how close her face is to yours.

“Tell me if this is okay,” she murmurs, her voice trembling just slightly.

You nod, barely able to speak. “It’s more than okay.”

And then her lips are on yours, soft and hesitant at first, like she’s afraid you’ll pull away. But you don’t. You lean into her, your hand sliding up to tangle in her hair, and the kiss deepens—sweet and full of years’ worth of unspoken feelings.

When you finally pull back, she rests her forehead against yours, a breathless smile on her lips. “I’ve waited so long to do that,” she says, her voice tinged with relief.

“Me too,” you whisper, your heart soaring.

As the night stretches on, you realize that the girl you thought you’d lost has come back into your life, not as the same person she once was, but as someone even more extraordinary. And for the first time in years, the future doesn’t feel so uncertain—it feels full of possibilities, with her by your side.

— New kid!jinx and Class president!reader

You’ve worked hard to get where you are. Every meeting attended, every speech prepared, every carefully crafted decision—it’s all been for the sake of keeping order in the chaos of your high school. As class president, your name carries weight. You’re the dependable one, the one who keeps everything running smoothly, the one who always has things under control.

Until Jinx shows up.

The whispers start on her first day. The new girl. The one who doesn’t seem to care about blending in. She strides into the building like she owns it, her uniform already disheveled, her blazer slung over her shoulder, and a wild grin on her face.

It doesn’t take long for her reputation to spread. She’s unpredictable, impulsive, and utterly magnetic. Within a week, she’s already broken half the school’s rules, talked her way out of three detentions, and somehow charmed half your classmates in the process.

And for some reason, she’s decided you’re her favorite target.

It happens during lunch. You’re sitting at your usual spot, surrounded by student council members, going over plans for the upcoming fundraiser when she walks up to your table.

“Class president,” she says, her voice dripping with mockery and something else you can’t quite place. “Mind if I join you?”

You glance up, already annoyed. “I’m busy.”

She smirks, pulling out a chair anyway. “That’s cute. You think I was asking.”

Your friends exchange uneasy glances, but she doesn’t seem to care. She leans back in the chair, her sharp pink eyes locked on you, as if she’s trying to unravel you with her gaze alone.

“You’ve got a real stick-up-your-ass vibe,” she says casually, plucking an apple from the tray in front of her. “I like that. It makes messing with you way more fun.”

You glare at her, trying to keep your composure. “Do you need something, or are you just here to waste my time?”

Her grin widens, and for a moment, you see a flicker of something wild and untamed in her expression. “Maybe I just like watching you squirm.”

She becomes a constant in your life after that. You find her waiting outside your classroom, lounging against your locker, or casually walking into student council meetings as if she belongs there.

“Do you ever stop?” you snap one afternoon, cornering her in the hallway after she’s disrupted yet another meeting.

“Stop what?” she asks innocently, tilting her head.

“Whatever game you’re playing.”

She steps closer, and for the first time, you notice just how intense her gaze is. “Who says it’s a game? Maybe I just like you.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and electric, and before you can respond, she turns on her heel and walks away, leaving you standing there, utterly baffled.

It’s not until much later that you start to see the cracks in her chaotic facade. One night, you find her sitting alone in the empty music room, the piano keys beneath her fingers. She’s not playing, just pressing random notes, her usual manic energy replaced by a quiet stillness.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you say, stepping into the room.

She doesn’t look up. “Neither should you.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then she sighs, her shoulders slumping. “I bet you think I’m crazy.”

You hesitate, caught off guard by the vulnerability in her voice. “I think you’re reckless and impulsive and… exhausting. But no, I don’t think you’re crazy.”

She finally looks up at you, her eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them. “You’re too nice for your own good, you know that?”

“I’m not nice,” you counter. “I just… I think there’s more to you than the act you put on.”

Her lips twitch into a small, almost shy smile. “Careful, president. You keep saying things like that, and I might start to believe you.”

The more time you spend around her, the more you realize how deeply she feels everything. Her chaos isn’t just for show—it’s a shield, a way to keep people from getting too close. But with you, she starts to let her guard down.

One evening, she shows up outside your house, her hair messy and her eyes wild. “Come with me,” she says, grabbing your hand.

“Where are we going?” you ask, letting her drag you down the street.

“Anywhere,” she replies, her grip tight. “Everywhere. I don’t care.”

You end up at the park, sitting on a swingset as the stars blink overhead. She’s unusually quiet, her hands gripping the chains tightly as she stares at the ground.

“You ever feel like you’re spinning out of control?” she asks suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.

You glance at her, surprised by the question. “Sometimes.”

She exhales shakily, her fingers brushing against yours. “You… you make it stop. Just for a little while.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you don’t know if it’s the raw honesty in her words or the way her fingers linger against yours, but you feel something shift between you.

It happens later that night, as you’re walking her home. She stops in front of her house, turning to face you with an unreadable expression.

“Why do you put up with me?” she asks suddenly, her voice soft.

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“I’m a mess,” she says, her gaze dropping to the ground. “I break things, I hurt people… I’m not like you. I’m not good.”

“You’re not perfect,” you admit, stepping closer. “But you’re not as bad as you think you are, either.”

She looks up at you, her eyes shining with something you can’t quite name. “You’re going to regret saying that.”

“Maybe,” you say with a small smile. “But I don’t think so.”

Before you can overthink it, you lean in, your lips brushing against hers. She freezes for a moment, like she’s caught off guard, but then she kisses you back, her hands clutching at your sleeves as if you’re the only solid thing in her world.

When you finally pull back, her face is flushed, and she’s breathing hard. “You’re insane,” she mutters, though there’s no heat in her words.

“Takes one to know one,” you reply, grinning.

She laughs, the sound light and genuine, and for the first time, you feel like you’ve truly seen her—every broken, beautiful piece of her.

—Troublemaker!sevika and Tutor!reader

You weren’t thrilled when your teacher assigned you as her tutor. You’d heard all the rumors: skipped classes, biting comebacks that left people reeling, and a permanent spot on the troublemaker watchlist.

Her reputation painted her as unteachable, untamable, and entirely uninterested in anything resembling authority. When your teacher insisted she “just needed guidance,” you couldn’t help but feel skeptical.

The first session confirmed it.

She slouched into the library ten minutes late, her bag dragging on the floor, and dropped into the chair across from you with a loud huff.

“Look,” she said before you could even greet her, “I don’t need some perfect little know-it-all telling me what to do.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I’m just here to help.”

“Sure,” she scoffed, leaning back in her chair. “Let’s get this over with.”

Her tone was cutting, her expression bored, and yet… there was something about her. A quiet intensity lurking beneath the surface, like she was daring you to break through her tough exterior.

Each session felt like a test of patience. She was sharp, no question about it, but her attitude made every interaction a battle.

“You’re not even trying,” you said one afternoon after she tossed her pen aside for the third time.

Her eyes snapped to yours, hard and unyielding. “Don’t act like you know me,” she said coldly. “You think I don’t try? You think I don’t bust my ass every single day?”

You froze, startled by the edge in her voice.

She leaned forward, her gaze cutting through you like a blade. “I don’t need this. I don’t need you. I’m here because they told me to be.”

For a moment, you considered walking away. But then you saw it—just the faintest flicker of something vulnerable beneath her defiance.

“You’re right,” you said, keeping your voice calm. “I don’t know you. But I know you’re capable of more than this.”

Her jaw tightened, and she looked away, her fingers drumming on the table. “Whatever,” she muttered.

But she didn’t leave.

Slowly, things started to shift. She showed up on time—barely. She started taking notes—reluctantly. And every so often, she’d let her tough exterior slip, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the real her.

One afternoon, after a particularly grueling session, you handed her a worksheet.

“You’re getting better,” you said, offering her a small smile.

She snorted. “Don’t get all sentimental on me.”

“I’m not. I’m just saying you’re improving.”

“Yeah, well, don’t hold your breath for a thank-you card,” she replied, but there was a hint of a smirk on her lips.

Her walls were still up, but they were starting to crack.

It happened on a rare quiet day in the library. She was hunched over her notebook, her brow furrowed as she worked through a particularly tricky problem.

“Got it,” she said suddenly, sitting up straight.

“Really?” you asked, leaning over to check her work.

She shoved the notebook toward you, her smirk firmly in place. “Told you I’m not dumb.”

“I never said you were dumb,” you replied, meeting her gaze. “You just make things harder than they need to be.”

She rolled her eyes. “Maybe I like a challenge.”

“Or maybe you’re just stubborn,” you teased.

Her smirk softened, just for a moment. “Takes one to know one, princess.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the way she said it, her voice low and almost… fond.

After weeks of late afternoons spent together, you found yourself walking her home one evening. The sun was setting, casting a warm orange glow over the quiet streets.

“You’re not as bad as I thought,” she said suddenly, breaking the silence.

You blinked, surprised. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Don’t push your luck,” she shot back, though her tone lacked its usual bite.

When you reached her house, she stopped at the gate, turning to face you. Her usual confidence wavered, just slightly.

“Why do you bother with me?” she asked, her voice quieter than usual.

“Because I see how hard you work,” you said honestly. “And because I think there’s more to you than what you let people see.”

She stared at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, without warning, she stepped closer, her hand brushing yours.

“You’re a real pain, you know that?” she murmured, her voice soft but firm.

Before you could respond, she leaned in, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that was as bold and unapologetic as she was.

When she pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, but her smirk was firmly in place.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she said, turning toward her door.

You smiled, your heart racing. “Too late."

—Artist!ekko and Muse!reader

It was one of those golden autumn afternoons, the kind where the sunlight made everything look softer, warmer, like it belonged in a painting. You’d escaped to the park during your lunch break, clutching a well-worn book in one hand and a coffee in the other. It wasn’t the first time you’d come here for a little peace and quiet, but it felt like one of the rare times you’d actually get it.

You settled on a bench near the fountain, a cozy corner of the park where the only sounds were the gentle trickle of water and the rustling of leaves in the breeze.

The moment you opened your book, however, you felt it—a faint, almost electric sensation prickling at the edge of your awareness. Someone was watching you.

Glancing up, you spotted him.

He was sitting on the grass a few yards away, sketchpad balanced on his knees, pencil flying across the page. His hair fell messily across his forehead, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to reveal forearms speckled with faint smears of paint. Despite the chaos of his appearance, his focus was absolute, his gaze darting between you and the paper as if you were some rare discovery he couldn’t afford to lose.

You furrowed your brow, unsure whether to feel flattered or alarmed. “Can I help you?” you called, your voice cutting through the quiet.

He blinked, as if snapping out of a trance, and stood quickly.

“Sorry,” he said, striding toward you. “I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

His voice was smooth, tinged with an earnestness that made it hard to stay annoyed.

“I’m an artist,” he explained, gesturing to his sketchpad. “I know this sounds weird, but you’ve got this… look. The way you’re sitting, the way the light hits you—it’s perfect.”

“Perfect?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“For a piece I’m working on,” he clarified, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Do you mind if I sketch you? Just for a little while.”

You hesitated, studying him. He didn’t look like a creep—just young, maybe a little unkempt, with an intensity in his eyes that was hard to ignore.

“I’m not really dressed for a portrait,” you said, gesturing to your casual sweater and jeans.

He smiled, and the way his face softened surprised you. “It’s not about the clothes. It’s the way you carry yourself.”

The compliment was unexpected, and it caught you off guard. “Alright,” you said slowly. “But just for a few minutes.”

“Great,” he said, dropping to the bench across from you with a grin that felt like the sun breaking through the clouds

It turned out he was a prodigy, a young artist with a growing reputation in the city. His work had been featured in galleries, and he’d even won a few prestigious awards. But for all his talent, he was surprisingly down-to-earth.

“I don’t really like the whole ‘genius’ label,” he admitted one afternoon after convincing you to pose for him again. “It just makes people think I’ve got everything figured out. But most of the time, I’m just trying to keep up with my own ideas.”

You quickly realized that his art wasn’t just a skill—it was his lifeline. He spoke about it the way others might talk about breathing. And for some reason, he’d decided that you were his muse.

“Why me?” you asked one day as he sketched you in his studio. The walls were covered with half-finished canvases, each one brimming with vivid colors and raw emotion.

He glanced up from his sketchbook, his eyes soft but focused. “You’ve got something about you,” he said simply. “A kind of… light. I can’t explain it, but when I see you, I want to create.”

His honesty was disarming. There was no pretense in his words, no calculated charm. He spoke as though his heart was an open book, and every word was written in your honor.

“Do you say that to all your muses?” you teased, trying to lighten the moment.

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “I’ve never had one before you.”

As time went on, you got to know him beyond his talent. He was fiercely independent, refusing to rely on anyone for his success. His compassion, however, was what surprised you most. He spent his weekends teaching art classes at a local youth center, his eyes lighting up as he helped kids discover their own creativity.

“They’ve got so much potential,” he said once, his voice filled with quiet pride. “They just need someone to believe in them.”

It was clear that he poured himself into everything he did, whether it was a painting, a lesson, or simply spending time with you.

One evening, he invited you to his studio after hours. The space was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of paint and turpentine.

“I want to show you something,” he said, guiding you to the center of the room where a large canvas stood covered by a cloth.

With a dramatic flourish, he pulled the cloth away, revealing a breathtaking painting. It was you—your pose, your expression, every detail captured with such tenderness that it felt like staring into a mirror of your soul.

“Is that… me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, his gaze steady. “It’s not just you,” he said softly. “It’s how I see you. Strong, radiant… inspiring.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

“It’s beautiful,” you said finally, your voice thick with emotion.

“So are you,” he replied, his lips curling into a small, genuine smile.

There was no grand confession, no dramatic moment where everything changed. Instead, your relationship grew in quiet, unspoken ways. The way he brought you coffee when you visited his studio. The way he asked for your opinion on his work, genuinely valuing your thoughts. The way his hand would brush against yours when he passed you a sketchbook, his touch lingering just a second too long.

One day, as you sat together in the park where you’d first met, he turned to you, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

“You know,” he said, his voice low, “I’m not sure I’d be able to do this without you.”

“Do what?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Create,” he replied simply. “You make it… easier to believe in myself.”

You smiled, your heart fluttering at his honesty. “I think you’d do just fine on your own.”

“Maybe,” he said, his gaze never leaving yours. “But I don’t want to.”

—Bestfriend!jayce

The two of you had been inseparable for as long as you could remember. From elementary school to your final year of high school, your lives had been stitched together with countless shared moments—late-night study sessions, chaotic group projects, and lazy afternoons spent at the local diner. You were the grounded one, the planner, while he was the dreamer.

He was everything you admired in a person: ambitious, creative, and unrelentingly passionate about making the world a better place. Whether he was organizing a charity event for the school or advocating for a greener campus, he didn’t just talk about change—he embodied it.

“Alright, hear me out,” he said one afternoon as you sat in your favorite spot in the school library. His voice was alive with energy, his words spilling out faster than you could process them.

You glanced up from your notes, already bracing yourself. “This is going to be another one of your big ideas, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” he said with a grin. “It’s what I do best.”

He leaned forward, spreading out a sketchbook filled with colorful doodles and bold handwriting. Each page was a mix of blueprints, campaign slogans, and notes for an initiative he wanted to pitch to the student council.

“I’m telling you, if we can pull this off, it could really make a difference. We could partner with local businesses, raise money for community programs, and even involve the younger students—”

“You’re going a hundred miles an hour again,” you interrupted gently, a smile tugging at your lips.

“Not when I’m onto something good,” he replied without missing a beat.

That was him in a nutshell: a whirlwind of ideas and determination, always moving forward. It was both inspiring and exhausting to keep up with him, but somehow, you always did.

For all his big ideas and boundless enthusiasm, he had a softer side too—a side he reserved just for you.

One Friday night, he showed up outside your house, honking his car horn until you came outside in your pajamas.

“What are you doing?” you hissed, glancing around to make sure your neighbors weren’t watching.

“Get in,” he said with a grin, leaning out of the driver’s side window. “I need your opinion on something.”

“You’re insane,” you muttered, but you climbed into the passenger seat anyway.

He drove to a quiet hill on the outskirts of town, parking near an old tree you’d both claimed as “your spot” years ago. He pulled out a notebook from his bag and handed it to you.

“These are my ideas for the youth outreach program,” he said. “I need to know if I’m being too ambitious.”

You flipped through the pages, your heart warming as you saw the effort he’d poured into every word and sketch.

“This is incredible,” you said softly. “You’re not just ambitious—you’re inspiring. People are going to listen to you.”

He looked at you, his expression unreadable. “You really think so?”

“Always,” you said, your voice firm.

For a split second, you thought he might reach out to take your hand, but instead, he leaned back, staring up at the stars. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

After particularly grueling school days, he’d find you at your locker, holding out your favorite drink or snack without a word. When the stress of finals hit, he’d sit beside you in the library, quietly working through his own assignments while offering words of encouragement.

And then there were the moments when his usual confidence wavered.

“Do you think I’m crazy?” he asked one evening as you sat on the hood of his car, staring up at the stars.

The two of you had just spent hours planning his latest project, a school-wide fundraiser for a local shelter. Despite his ambitious plans, his voice was quieter now, almost hesitant.

“You? Crazy?” you teased, nudging him playfully. “Absolutely.”

He laughed softly, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t completely fade.

“Seriously, though,” he said, turning to you. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m aiming too high. Like, what if I can’t actually pull all this off? What if I fail?”

You reached out, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “You won’t fail. You’re the most determined person I’ve ever met. And even if something doesn’t work out the way you planned, it doesn’t mean you failed. It just means you’re brave enough to try again.”

His gaze softened, and for a moment, the air between you felt heavier, charged with something unspoken.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The moment lingered, and as he pulled back, his hands stayed on your shoulders. His gaze searched yours, and for the first time, you saw a vulnerability there that he usually kept hidden.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this for a while now,” he began, his voice soft but steady.

Your breath caught. “What is it?”

“I don’t just care about you as a friend,” he admitted, his cheeks flushing slightly. “I mean, I do, but it’s more than that. You’ve always been my anchor, the one person who gets me, who believes in me even when I doubt myself.”

Your heart raced, the world narrowing down to just the two of you. “I think I’ve always felt the same way,” you said quietly.

Relief washed over his face, followed by a smile so genuine it made your chest ache.

“Then we’re in this together,” he said, reaching for your hand. “Like always.”

From that day on, your friendship transformed into something deeper, something stronger. His dreams grew bigger, but now, they weren’t just his—they were yours too. Together, you were unstoppable, a team bound by shared passion and a love that had been years in the making.

Whether it was planning for college or brainstorming ways to change the world, one thing was certain: with him by your side, anything felt possible.

—Enemies to lovers!viktor and reader

From the moment the new kid transferred to your school, it was as if the universe had dropped a puzzle piece into the wrong spot. He was a contradiction: introverted yet razor-sharp in class discussions, quiet but with an undercurrent of passion that seemed to burst through in unexpected moments. His snarky comebacks and aloof demeanor were practically tailor-made to clash with your confident, no-nonsense approach to everything.

You couldn’t help but notice how he kept his distance from everyone else, often retreating to the farthest corner of the library or lab. Despite his unassuming presence, he somehow managed to infuriate you with his brilliance. Teachers fawned over him, classmates whispered about him, and you? You glared daggers at him every time he raised his hand in class to counter one of your arguments.

The first real confrontation happened in science class. It was a group project, and your teacher, in a cruel twist of fate, paired you with him.

“Great,” you muttered under your breath.

He barely glanced at you as he set down his notebook, already flipping through its pages. “It’s not my favorite pairing either, but let’s just get this done.”

His tone was clipped, and his eyes barely met yours.

“Oh, so we’re starting with passive-aggressive remarks? Good to know where we stand,” you shot back, folding your arms.

He sighed, finally looking at you. “Look, I don’t care if you like me or not. I care about getting an A on this project. If you want to argue, fine, but at least do it while we’re running the experiment.”

His bluntness took you off guard, and for a moment, you were speechless. But you quickly recovered, rolling your eyes. “Fine. But don’t think for a second I’m letting you take over.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he muttered under his breath, already scribbling in his notebook.

Working together was like a storm brewing in slow motion. You were both stubborn and headstrong, constantly butting heads over the smallest details.

“Why are you doing it that way?” you snapped one afternoon as he adjusted the settings on the experiment’s apparatus.

“Because it’s the correct way,” he replied without looking up.

“You didn’t even let me explain my idea!”

“Your idea would’ve blown up the circuit.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You don’t know that.”

“Let me guess—you’re the kind of person who thinks trial and error is the only way to learn?”

He finally turned to face you, a faint smirk playing at his lips “And you’re the kind of person who thinks you’re always right,”

The tension crackled like static electricity, but neither of you backed down.

It wasn’t until a late-night study session in the empty library that things started to shift. The project deadline was looming, and you’d reluctantly agreed to meet outside of school to finish your work.

He was unusually quiet that night, his usual snark absent as he stared intently at the data on his laptop.

“Hey,” you said, breaking the silence. “You okay?”

He hesitated, his fingers pausing on the keyboard. “Just tired. And frustrated. I want this to be perfect.”

Something in his tone softened your usual defensiveness. “You know, it doesn’t have to be perfect. You’re allowed to mess up sometimes.”

He gave a faint, humorless laugh. “Not really. Not when people are counting on me.”

The vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard. For the first time, you saw past the walls he’d built around himself—the pressure he carried, the weight of expectations.

“I didn’t realize you were dealing with so much,” you said quietly.

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “Why would you? We’ve been too busy trying to outsmart each other.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Fair point. Maybe we should call a truce—for now.”

He smiled, just barely, and it was the first time you’d seen him let his guard down.

As the project progressed, the two of you started to find common ground. You discovered his love for science wasn’t just about theories and equations—it was about helping people.

“Why are you so passionate about this?” you asked one day as he carefully calibrated a piece of equipment.

He hesitated, then said, “Because I want to make a difference. I has a chronic illness, and I’ve spent years struggling with treatments that barely work. I want to change that for me, and for anyone else going through the same thing.”

His words hit you like a punch to the chest. You’d always thought of him as cold and detached, but now, you saw the fire that drove him.

“That’s… incredible,” you said softly.

He shrugged, his cheeks tinged with color. “It’s just what I care about. What about you? What drives you?”

You hesitated, caught off guard by the question. But as you opened up about your own dreams and ambitions, you realized something had shifted between you.

On the night before the project was due, you were sitting in his garage, putting the final touches on your presentation. It was late, and the two of you were running on caffeine and adrenaline.

“Here,” he said, handing you a mug of tea. “You’re going to burn out if you keep pushing yourself.”

“Look who’s talking,” you teased, taking the mug.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet hum of the garage filling the space.

“You’re not so bad, you know,” he said suddenly, his voice low.

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that your idea of a compliment?”

He smiled faintly, looking down at his hands. “I mean it. I’ve never met anyone who challenges me the way you do. It’s… refreshing.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you looked away, pretending to focus on the data. “Well, don’t get used to it. I’m not going easy on you just because you’re finally being nice.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” he said, and there was a softness in his tone that made your heart race.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Flag V

Frida Maanum x Emma Lennartsson x Child!Reader

Summary: You meet the Arsenal girls for the first time

"Did you hear that Fleming from Chelsea just adopted a kid?" Leah says as she sits down at breakfast one day after the international break.

"Huh?"

"Yeah, Millie told me," She continues," Apparently, she'd been fostering this little girl for a while and none of the team knew."

"It's crazy," Beth agrees," It'd be like if me and Viv adopted a baby and none of you knew about. Just like came into training one day like, here they are."

"Adopting is really rewarding," Frida says absentmindedly, reaching for some of the jam across the table," Maybe Fleming just wanted to get used to it. It's a whole new situation to get used to, trust me."

"Alright Frida," Leah laughs, clapping her on the back," But I think adopting a dog is different to adopting a baby."

Frida frowns. "Yeah, I know. What did you think I was talking about?"

"You and your girlfriend's dog? Is that not what we're talking about?"

"I meant our daughter. Why would you think I meant our Jordan?"

"Your...Your daughter?"

"My daughter, yes," Frida says," Y/n."

"You...You have a daughter."

"Yes...Leah, are you okay? You look a little pale..."

"You..She...Frida, did you Fleming us?! How is this the first time I'm hearing of this baby of yours?"

Frida frowns. "I mean, she's not really much of a baby anymore. She's in that phase of trying to climb everything. Emma has to keep such a close eye on her."

"Can we see pictures?" Lia, who up until this point has remained silent, asks.

"Blimey," Leah whistles," And you're sure she's adopted? Frida, she looks just like you!"

"Really?" Frida studies the picture she selected of you, one of you cuddled up against Emma's body in your soft, linen dress and a flower crown on your head. "I think she looks more like Emma."

"You have to bring her to a game," Beth insists," She's able to travel right? Like she's got a passport and stuff?"

"I guess I can ask Emma to bring her," Frida says," But I don't see what the big deal is? I'm sure I've spoken about her before."

But apparently not because word spreads quickly through the whole team who all insist that they've got no recollection of Frida ever even mentioning you before.

Which, of course, means everyone insists on meeting you so here Frida is, waiting at arrivals for Emma to walk out of baggage claim.

She catches sight of the pram first where you're fast asleep, gripping tightly to whatever toy you've selected from your collection to join you on the journey.

Emma comes into view next, expertly wheeling the suitcase in one hand and the pram in the other.

"Hi," Frida says, a little breathless that you're finally both here," I missed you. Both of you."

Emma draws her into a soft kiss. "We missed you too. Isn't that right, squish?"

"Missed Mama," You slur, only now waking up.

"She slept the entire way," Emma explain as Frida straps you into the car seat," She didn't sleep much last night. She was too excited."

Frida laughs. "I hope she sleeps tonight as well."

"She will," Emma assures her," But I think we're going to have to deal with that little visitor in bed."

Emma's right, of course, because in the middle of the night, Frida feels you slot between them as you wiggle under the covers. But she gets her wish as well as you sleep through the rest of the night in their bed and rise the next day with all the excitement you can fit into your little body.

"Are you sure you're okay with taking her today?" Emma asks," I can keep her while I do my shopping."

"I've got her," Frida insists, adjusting you on her hip," The girls are excited to meet her. You get your shopping done."

"Alright," Emma finally agrees," I love you guys."

"Love you too. Squish, tell Mummy you love her."

"Love you!" You parrot back as Emma drives off.

"Alright," Frida says," Let's get you ready to meet everyone."

It's not the first time Frida's seen you in her Arsenal shirt before but it's the first time everyone else will.

Your life is in Sweden most of the time and then in Norway too when you visit Frida's parents. This is your first time in England and Emma made sure you were suitably dressed for the occasion.

"Oh my god," Leah says," Look at the cheeks on her!"

You giggle as a finger reaches out to poke them like your mummies do when you're being particularly cute.

"A good eater then?" Kim asks as everyone fawns over you.

You soak up all the attention, especially when wrapped gifts are presented to you teasingly.

"We had issues at first," Frida admits," She was underweight when we found her but she's a good weight now."

"She looks so content," Kim says," Motherhood suits you, Frida."

"Really?"

"Definitely. I can tell she just adores you."

"Mama!" You say suddenly, shaking a wrapped box in curiosity," Help, please?"

"How about we find a table and then we can open all your new presents?"

The team have really spoiled you - clearly trying to make up for missed birthdays and Christmases - and you seem just so excited for every gift you unwrap.

"Got to give her the full kit," Leah says with a wink as yet another presents contains an Arsenal kit.

"She has the kit at home."

"Yeah but this one has her name on it. If Fleming's daughter has a Chelsea kit with her name then the Arsenal children must have Arsenal kits with their names on it too!"

"Children?"

Leah jerks her chin over to where Beth and Viv sit with you on the floor as you show off one of your new toys.

"You should have seen Beth's face light up when you spoke about adopting. She looked interested. I guarantee those two will be thinking about it at some point soon. Might as well set the precedent now."

"I will make sure she wears it to the match," Frida promises just as you get up and toddle over.

"Mama!" You say," You see my new puppy? Looks like our Jordan!"

Frida smiles as she lifts you up onto her lap. "You know what? It does!"

"I call him little Jordan!"

"That's a perfect name, squish."

[sigilslvt]

JEALOUSY • DRABBLE

☣︎ Summary: The men all have their reasons for getting jealous around you. But how exactly do they react when they feel the threat is much more real? SURELY, they’re rational, right?

Includes: Gojo, Geto, Toji, Choso, Sukuna, and Nanami

Tags: fem! reader, friends to lovers, exhibitionism, semi-public sex, bathroom sex, unprotected sex, teasing, bulging, pussy eating, choking, breeding, praise, overstim, possessiveness, threatened gun violence, toxic possessiveness, car sex, dry humping, rough sex, squirting, pining, premature ejaculation, love bombing, pregnancy, pregnancy sex, true form sukuna, slight angst

WC: 13.1k

A/N: I cackled writing Choso’s, my poor baby is too precious 😩💜

༒︎ Gojo Satoru ༒︎

You pull into the gas station because, once again, your car is on its last leg. Satoru’s been absolutely useless this entire car ride, lounging like some kind of overgrown housecat, sunglasses crooked on his nose, humming the most obnoxious song he can think of just to get under your skin. His long legs are kicked up on your dashboard like he’s king of the world.

“Finally, a pit stop,” he says, stretching dramatically. “I was starting to think you’d just run us out of gas for fun. You know, to create a bonding moment.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, putting the car in park. “Stay in the car. Not that I have to tell you that.”

He snickers, not even looking up from whatever weird little game he’s playing on his phone. “Sure thing, sugar. Let me know if you need me to heroically pump the gas for you. I’ll try not to make it look too easy.”

You ignore him because giving him attention only makes it worse. You grab your wallet and step out, the cold air biting at your face as you swipe your card and get ready to fill the tank as quickly as possible so you can return to the cocoon of warmth that is your car. You’re in your own little zone, minding your business, when a voice breaks through the quiet.

“Hey there! Need some help?”

You glance up, startled, and see a guy walking over. He’s got that effortless, small-town-boy charm, the kind of guy who probably calls everyone “ma’am” and knows how to fix a tractor. He’s smiling, too— a little too widely, and before you can even process what’s happening, he’s taking the pump right out of your hands.

“Oh, I had it,” you say, trying to be polite, but this guy is already on a roll.

“Nah, no worries,” he says, grinning. “Someone as pretty as you shouldn’t have to pump their own gas. It’s just not right.”

You blink at him, caught somewhere between confusion and being impressed, because— wow. Is this really happening?

You glance back at your car, hoping Gojo hasn’t noticed, but as soon as your eyes land on his, you know you’re doomed. He’s sitting up now, sunglasses pushed to the top of his head, staring at you both like he’s just been served the juiciest gossip of the year. His grin is growing and you’re sure he’s ready to put on a show.

Before you can stop him, he throws open the car door and steps out like he’s been summoned to the stage. He stretches unnecessarily— arms up, head tilted back, like he’s on the cover of a sports magazine— and then saunters over, hands in his pockets, looking way too pleased with himself.

The gas station guy looks up, noticing Gojo for the first time. His smile falters just a little. “Oh, uh… hey. Didn’t realize you had someone with you.”

Satoru’s already grinning like the cat that got the cream. “Oh, don’t mind me,” he says, waving a hand. “I’m just her boyfriend. You know, the adoring, perfect, doting one who pumps her gas all the time.”

You groan. “Toru—”

“What? I’m just saying, it’s cute that you’re trying to help, bud,” he says, turning back to the guy with a grin so wide it’s almost terrifying. “But this is kind of my thing. I know she’s just the sweetest, but she’s taken.You get it, right? Yeah, you get it.”

The poor guy blinks, clearly unsure if Satoru’s joking or about to start something. “Uh, yeah, no problem,” he mutters, handing the pump back to you like it’s radioactive. “You two have a good day.”

“Oh, we will!” Gojo chirps, giving him a little salute. “And hey, nice try, man. Better luck next time.”

The guy doesn’t even look back. He practically sprints back to the safety of the gas station, and as soon as he’s gone, you turn to Toru, crossing your arms and pursing your lips in annoyance.

“What the hell was that?”

“What was what?” he asks, feigning innocence as he leans casually against the car. “I was just making sure no one stole my job. You know how much I love pumping your gas.”

You gape at him. “You’ve never pumped gas in your life!”

“Exactly,” he says smugly. “That’s what makes this moment so special. It’s a sacred duty.”

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “You’re so insufferable.”

“And yet,” he says, draping an arm around your shoulders, “you love me. Isn’t that wild?”

“Whatever. I’m gonna get a snack. Want something?” you roll your eyes and start walking toward the station.

“I’ll come with, I’m craving something sweet.” he smirks with a look in his eyes that you can’t quite discern.

You raise a brow and walk with him, entering the gas station with the goal to grab a bag of chips and water, but the second you head for them, your hand is being trapped by Satoru’s and he’s tugging you toward the bathroom. You shoot him a look of confusion and annoyance, but he pays it no mind as he yanks you inside, closing the door behind you and pressing you against it.

“Toru, wha—”

“Told you I wanted something sweet, sugar. Bend over a little f’me.” he instructs, turning you so you’re facing the door. Your palms lay flat against it, trying to use it as leverage to turn yourself, but he presses your head to the door, too, his strong palm mushing your cheeks to it, sucking his teeth in disapproval.

“You’re insane, w-we’re in a gas station,” you try to reason with him, but his hand’s already shoved up your skirt and peeling down your panties. “Satoru, seriously…”

“Y’telling me to stop? She’s cryin’ f’me, though, I think she’ll be so sad if I don’t give her what she wants,” he purrs, getting to his knees and littering kisses on the fat of your ass. “C’mere, baby.”

You’re lost to him the moment he stuffs his face into your already dripping cunt, bucking yourself back against him and into the feel of his greedy tongue slipping between your folds and down, down, down to your clit. You can feel him smirking against you when he draws out a long shaky whine from your lips between your panting and while normally his cockiness would annoy you beyond belief, it instead turns you on more. And yet—

“Wh-hah— why couldn’t this wait until we got to the hotel?” you ask, nails scraping down the door when he plunges his tongue into your twitching hole.

He pulls away for a moment, spreading your ass to spit a glob of saliva between your folds and slurp it back up while sucking your clit. No answer. You huff and tremble, unsure of how long you’ll be able to keep yourself standing if he’s just gonna keep eating you like a man starved.

You try, you really do, to keep your voice down, but when his tongue hits that spot inside of your gummy walls, his hand between your thighs and thumb working on your clit, you can’t help but let your moans slip out. And oh, does that make him even more unrelenting. His thumb draws circles on your clit quicker and with more pressure, his tongue fucking into you as rough as can be. 

Your eyelids flutter closed, breathing labored as you feel that sweet sweet build up that you love so much. He knows what comes next and while normally, he’d see you to the end, this time he stops, earning a frown from your pretty face.

“Wh-why’d y—” you start.

“Y’mine, say it.”

“What? Toru, what’s—”

“Say. It. Say y’mine… say y’love me and I’ll make you cum so good, sugar, I promise.” he all but whines.

You don’t know why it needs to be said or what’s going on with him, but you’ll be damned if you let your orgasm escape you. With every second that passes, it runs from you, so you give him what he needs. “I’m yours, baby. I love you.” you coo.

“Again.” he huffs against your cunt, making your knees weak. He’s so close. You’re so close.

“I love y— hah,” your breath escapes you when he delves his tongue back into your pulsing hole. “Fuuuuck… I love you, I love you, I l— fuck!” your cunt tries it’s best to grip his tongue, but he fucks it into you with more force as you cum on it, losing strength in your legs and slumping down while your brain goes dumb with pleasure.

He holds you up, tongue slipping out of you and back to your clit, his head shaking side to side while he licks at your clit, overstimulating you beyond belief. All you can do is cry out for mercy, palms battering at the bathroom door as you raise your white flag.

With that, he frees you from the sweet torture, massaging your thighs and resting back on his ankles. “I’m pumping your gas from now on.” he huffs.

Coming back to your senses, you realize why he pulled this stunt off. “Satoru. Were you… jealous!?” you chuckle in disbelief.

“I’ve got nothing to be jealous about, it seems. What with the ‘I love you, I love you, I—’” he mocks you while standing up and you smack his arm.

“Sh-shut up.” You huff, pouting as he puts your panties back in place, dolling you back up and kissing your shoulder.

“Nope. But you’re gonna wish you had when the poor guy out there’s blushing redder than red.” he teases. Your eyes widen and you cover your mouth with your hand when you realize he had to have heard everything.

“You’re insane.” your voice is muffled by your hand.

“Insane’s one word for it,” he smirks. “I like to say I’m just crazy for you.”

Not long later, you’re climbing back into the car. Satoru follows, flopping into the passenger seat with a contented sigh like he’s just won a marathon.

As you pull out of the station, he stretches again, kicking his feet up on the dash like he owns the place. “You know,” he says casually, “you should really thank me. That guy was totally about to ask for your number. I saved you from a very awkward situation.”

And you could quite literally kill him.

༒︎ Geto Suguru ༒︎

The room is buzzing with conversation, a polite undercurrent of tension that doesn’t escape you. Cult leaders and their followers mill about in finely tailored clothes, exchanging calculated smiles and empty pleasantries. You’re trying your best to look engaged, but your thoughts keep drifting to Suguru.

He stands a few feet away, surrounded by a small circle of curse users, his tall frame commanding attention with ease. His black robes flow elegantly around him, his long hair tied back neatly. The faint smirk on his face, the calm way he speaks— it all oozes confidence. Control. Every now and then, he glances in your direction, his sharp eyes softening for just a moment before flicking back to the conversation.

You’re nursing a drink near the refreshment table when someone sidles up beside you.

“Ah, I was hoping I’d get the chance to meet you,” a smooth voice says.

You turn to see a tall man in a perfectly tailored suit, his polished appearance almost too pristine. His expression is warm but calculated, and his sharp eyes are already fixed on you. Takeda. You recognize him instantly— leader of a large, influential cult. Non-sorcerer, but powerful in his own way.

“Good evening,” you reply, forcing a polite smile. They have their role to play, Geto tells you, so you make sure to keep appearances with non-sorcerers despite their usual poor attitude toward you.

He smiles wider. “Good evening, indeed. I couldn’t help but notice you standing here all by yourself. It seems almost criminal for someone as lovely as you to be left alone at an event like this.”

You feel your cheeks warm at the unexpected compliment, a small flush creeping up your neck. “I’m not alone. I’m here with my boyfriend,” you say, gesturing subtly in Suguru’s direction.

Takeda follows your gaze and chuckles softly. “Suguru Geto. Of course. I’ve heard much about him.” His attention snaps back to you, and his smile turns almost wolfish. “I must admit, though, I’m surprised. I didn’t think someone so… captivating would end up with a man who seems so creepy… Besides, I’m sure he’s always so busy. Too busy to truly appreciate a beauty like you.”

Your face heats further, and you stammer, “He’s not too busy. He’s just—”

Before you can finish, he takes your hand in his and presses a lingering kiss to your knuckles. It’s old-fashioned, deliberate, and enough to leave you momentarily stunned. Not in awe, but in pure shock. He’s bold, you’ll give him that.

Your breath catches, and you feel a wave of heat rush to your face. You try to pull your hand back, but his grip is firm— not unkind, but enough to make you falter. You can’t ruin appearances by hurting him, so you allow it, praying he’ll give up soon.

“A pleasure meeting you,” he murmurs, his lips still ghosting over your skin.

And then you feel it— the air shifting suddenly. A heavy, familiar presence fills the space around you, and Takeda finally releases your hand. You glance over your shoulder to see Suguru a few feet away, his dark eyes fixed on the two of you as he approaches.

“Takeda,” Suguru says smoothly, his tone light but carrying a weight that makes your stomach flip because you know better.

Takeda straightens and flashes a smile that’s far too confident. “Geto. What a pleasure to see you,” He gestures toward you. “I was just introducing myself to your lovely partner. She’s quite… enchanting.”

Suguru’s lips twitch, curving into a faint smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m aware.”

There’s a pause, the kind that feels too loud in the quiet. Suguru’s gaze flickers briefly to your hand before returning to Takeda.

“I see you’ve already made yourself comfortable,” he continues softly.

Takeda chuckles nervously, clearly unsure of how to respond. Geto’s not usually the type to be confrontational in public. It’s normally all smiles and politics for him, so this has Takeda stunned. “I meant no disrespect, of course.”

Suguru hums thoughtfully. “No disrespect… Of course not.” He tilts his head slightly, his smile sharpening. “But you’d do well to remember your place, Takeda. Admiration is one thing. Touching, however…” He trails off, his tone turning razor-sharp, dark eyes honing in on the poor man’s. “That’s dangerous, especially for someone like you.”

Takeda falters, his polished demeanor cracking for just a moment. “I— I’ll keep that in mind,” he mutters before excusing himself and retreating into the crowd.

As soon as he’s gone, Suguru turns to you, his sharp expression softening slightly. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just looking at you in a way that makes your stomach twist.

“You seemed… flustered,” he says finally, his voice quiet but probing.

Your cheeks burn, and you look away. “I wasn’t, he just caught me off guard,” you mumble.

Suguru steps closer, his dark eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Are you sure? Because from where I was standing…” He pauses, his voice dropping. “It looked like you didn’t mind it.”

“Suguru—”

“Did you like it?” he interrupts, his tone impossibly soft, almost vulnerable. “A weakling holding your hand, kissing it like that… Did you enjoy it?” 

Your heart twists at the faint frown tugging at his lips, the rare glimpse of uncertainty in his usually composed expression. That’s when you recognize the look in his eye. It isn’t anger, it’s fear. Insecurity. Things you never expected to see from him.

“No,” you say quickly, reaching for him. “Of course not. I could never, baby.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, his gaze flickering over your face as if searching for any sign of dishonesty. Finally, he exhales softly and takes your hand in his, his thumb brushing over the spot where Takeda’s lips had been.

“Come with me,” he murmurs, his voice low but firm.

He leads you down a hallway, wanting to be away from the noise and chatter of the convention. When he pushes open the door to an empty room and pulls you inside, the silence feels almost deafening in comparison to everything on the outside.

Suguru closes the door and turns to face you, his dark eyes heavy with emotion. Without a word, he cups your face in his hands, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

“Say it,” he whispers, his voice raw.

“Say what?” you ask softly, your hands resting on his chest.

“That you’re mine,” he breathes, his forehead pressing against yours. “That you wouldn’t leave me for some monkey.”

Your heart aches at the quiet desperation in his tone. “I’m yours, of course I’m yours.” You whisper, your hands curling into his robes. “Always.”

The next thing you know, his lips are melting yours, soft at first, but quickly growing more insistent. When he pulls back, his breathing is uneven, and his eyes are darker than ever.

“Again,” he all but whines, his lips trailing down to your jaw. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours, Suguru,” you repeat, your voice racing as your heart squeezes. “Only yours.”

He exhales sharply, his hands sliding down to grip your waist. “Good,” he whispers, moreso to himself. “Good… because I need you.”

You nod, your fingers tangling in his hair as he kisses you again, this time with a desperation that feels like he’s trying to erase every trace of Takeda’s touch from your skin.

His nails dig into your sides, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. He takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, tasting all that you have— all that you are. He’s needy, moving to hoist you up and hook your legs around his waist.

Your dress rides up your thighs and he wastes no time gripping at the fat of them, subtly rolling his hips into you in a way that tells you he may just be doing it subconsciously. Gasps are shared between your lips as he kisses you a few more times before moving to swipe his tongue up your neck, stopping just under your jaw and sucking a big fat hickey into the crevice.

It feels so good that you almost don’t notice the way his hands are working their way down, down, down to your ass, pulling you into him with every roll of his hips. You feel how hard he is even through his robes, unable and unwilling to stop yourself from sliding the top of his gojogesa off his broad shoulders. You’re dipping your head down to pepper kisses all over his shoulder while he marks you up, your nails leaving marks of their own on his skin from how hard you’re gripping him.

You know what this is. Know what he needs. You’d be a fool to stop him from taking it. “Sugu… here.” You tell him, emphasizing your words by rolling your hips in tandem with his.

You swear you hear him growl as he tears his lips from your throat and grips your underwear on one side to tear them off, your eyes widening at the action. Suguru’s normally a calm, calculated man, even when he makes love to you, everything is suave and he’s always in control, but now? Now, he’s become someone entirely different. Someone needy. Someone eager to prove a point. To stake a claim.

“Here, angel.” Is all you hear before your mouth is stuffed with your own underwear and– when did he whip his dick out? You’ve got no idea, but it’s plugged into you before you can react, a long and grateful groan just spilling from Suguru’s lips like he’s finally laying in bed after a long day of hard labor. He’s home. Your head falls back against the door and he uses the opportunity to attack your neck again, littering the skin with kisses, licks, and the occasional bite.

He’s got no rhyme or rhythm in his thrusts, he simply ruts into you with a force that has the door shaking, the metal bar rattling and making your stomach lurch with fear at the fact that it could so easily be pushed for you two to end up on display for everyone. The fear falls away soon, however, replaced with nothing but pleasure when he’s targeting that wonderful gummy little bullseye that makes you go dumb on his cock.

Your eyes start searching for something in the back of your head, drool dribbling down the corners of your mouth and soaking your underwear as your shaky moans are muffled by the fabric. And you don’t know when it started, but your ears tune into Suguru whining the same thing repeatedly. “Mine, all mine, mine, mine, mine—” again and again and again with every punctuated thrust targeting your poor cervix.

Your nails rake down his back, hoping to find some sort of balance to compensate for the fact that your legs are beginning to ragdoll, no strength left in them as they flop by his sides with every thrust. Except, you don’t have to worry. No, his grip on you is bruising, he never wants to let you go.

And you wish you could see his face in this moment. See how he looks when he’s so adamant about proving it to himself that you’re his. Before you know it, you’re snaking a hand into his hair and tugging his head back, earning a needy little whine from his puffy lips before he’s looking at you. Oh, is he looking at you. Like you’re the world. Like you’re salvation. His brows are drawn tightly together, a pout on his lips that tells you he’d be nothing without you. God, you wanna kiss him. Wanna tell him a million times over that you’d never even think of another.

The look on your face tells him exactly what you want, you think, because in the next instant, he’s tearing the underwear from your mouth and crushing his lips into yours. His thrusts have rhythm now, his hips fucking into you with urgency. Every time his thick cock slips past your puffy folds, you’re inched closer, oh so closer to cumming and your stomach draws tight at the feeling. He’s chasing both of your orgasms, not once missing that spongey little spot that makes you see stars as he pounds you into the door, your voice sounding out to God knows how many people are in the hallway while you kiss him, your drool now slipping down his chin.

You hear him groan into the kiss as his hips start to falter– he’s close. And yet, while his rhythm is lost, his force is worse. Every thrust brings you closer and closer to the edge until you’re right there. “I love you,” he whines against your lips before breaking away and letting his head fall back. “I love you, I love you, I. Fucking. Love. You.” He punctuates the last repetition with a thrust for each word, cumming on the very last one along with you, who couldn’t help but cum at the words he’s never said before.

You two had been together for a year. A whole year and not once had Suguru ever uttered the words. You always knew he wasn’t an emotional man, so you never expected to hear the words. You felt it, though. His care for you. It was in his actions. How he never forgot an important date, how he would always bring home food or a treat or flowers for you, how he loathed being away from you for any given reason. And yet, the words still shock you.

He ruts into you a few more times before he stills, nothing to be heard except for your breaths shared between each other until his eyes go wide– perhaps in realization of what he’s just said, and he kisses you. Softer this time. More sure of himself. Like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders now that he’s confessed.

When he finally pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, his hands tightening on your thighs. “Don’t let anyone else touch you like that again,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. Not angry, not upset, just… needy.  “I don’t care who it is. I won’t stand for it. Even if you don’t love me like I love you, I just can’t bear to see that again.”

You smile and offer a tired chuckle, brushing his hair back from his face. “Y’know, for someone usually so calculated and knowing, you sure are stupid,” you shake your head softly. “I love you, too. More, actually.”

His lips press against your temple, and he exhales slowly, the tension in his body finally easing. “Not possible,” he murmurs again, his voice soft. You can hear his smile in it. “Nobody’s ever loved anyone like I love you.”

༒︎ Toji Fushiguro ༒︎

You aren’t sure if dragging Toji to your high school reunion is a brilliant idea or the worst decision you’ve made all year. On one hand, you know he can charm the socks off anyone when he wants to, all cocky smirks and lazy grins that send shivers down your spine. On the other hand, he doesn’t exactly thrive in situations that involve niceties and polite small talk—especially with people he doesn’t give a shit about. Still, you’ve convinced him, mostly because you want to show him off. He’s hot, and he’s yours. What’s the point if you can’t gloat a little?

Toji is surprisingly well-behaved for most of the evening. He nurses a glass of bourbon with his usual swagger, leaning against the bar and throwing you looks that tell you that he’ll be waiting for you to make this worth his while later. He even manages to avoid scaring off too many of your old classmates, though you catch the occasional side-eye when he’s not so subtle about telling them to fuck off. Everything’s going smoothly.

That is, of course, until he notices you talking to him.

You don’t mean to bump into your ex-boyfriend. Really, you don’t. But there he is, standing near the drink table with the same easy grin you remember from your teenage years. He calls your name, and before you can stop yourself, you’re smiling back and walking over. Toji’s gaze burns into your back the entire way.

“Wow, you look amazing,” your ex says, his tone warm but casual. It’s just an observation— a compliment between old friends, but you can just feel the way Toji’s teeth grind from across the room.

“Thanks. You’re not looking too bad yourself,” you reply, keeping your tone light. The conversation flows easily, filled with harmless reminiscing about old high school antics. Nothing romantic. Nothing serious. Just memories of embarrassing pranks, favorite teachers, and the god-awful cafeteria food.

But you know Toji. You don’t have to look to know he’s watching, his sharp green eyes narrowing every time your ex laughs or steps just a little too close. You can practically hear the internal dialogue: “Who the fuck does this guy think he is?”

Then your ex does it. The thing you know is going to push Toji over the edge.

He hugs you.

It’s quick and friendly, a casual embrace to say goodbye. But as soon as your ex’s arms wrap around you, you feel your body being eaten up by your boyfriend’s shadow. You pull back quickly, about to turn to Toji to defuse whatever storm is brewing, but it’s too late.

He moves quickly— silent and deadly. One second, he’s leaning against the bar. The next, he’s standing behind you, his presence towering and suffocating. His hand rests on the back of your neck, deceptively casual as he leans in close.

“I dunno why yer touchin’ her, pal,” Toji drawls, his voice low and dangerous, “but don’t let it happen again.”

Your ex blinks, clearly startled by the sudden shift in atmosphere. “I… sorry? I was just saying goodb—”

Toji’s hand moves and you worry he may actually hit the poor guy. “Oh, shit.”

“You gonna say goodbye, then get the fuck outta here,” Toji says, his grin sharp and feral as he subtly lifts his sweater just enough to reveal the gun tucked into his waistband. “Before I decide you don’t need yer legs.”

Your ex’s eyes go wide and he stumbles over himself to retreat, mumbling something about it being nice to see you before practically sprinting away. You don’t even have time to scold Toji before security is suddenly very interested in the two of you.

Five minutes later, you’ve been escorted out of the venue, Toji’s hand resting possessively on the small of your back. You wait until you’re alone in the parking lot to whirl on him.

“Seriously?” you hiss, smacking his arm. “You pulled a gun on him?!”

“Relax, doll,” Toji says, his grin infuriatingly smug. “I didn’t even take it out.”

You groan, stomping toward the car. You reach for the passenger door, but before you can open it, his arm shoots out, blocking your path.

“Nah,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. “Yer sittin’ in the back with me.”

“What, am I in trouble now? Gonna spank me?” you ask sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.

Toji doesn’t answer. He just opens the back door and shoves you inside, sliding in next to you and shutting the door behind him. You cross your arms, giving him a pointed glare. It doesn’t take long before he’s sulking.

He leans back against the seat, legs spread wide, and huffs like an overgrown child. “Wasn’t jealous,” he mutters.

You snort. “Sure you weren’t.”

“Ain’t funny,” he grumbles, glaring at you.

You can’t resist pushing him just a little further. “If you’re not jealous, then you won’t mind if I go back inside to grab his number. Y’know, for old times’ sake.”

His head snaps toward you, his jaw tightening. In one quick motion, he turns, caging you against the seat with his arms. “The fuck you just say?”

“You heard me,” you say, smirking. “If you’re not jealous, it shouldn’t bother you.”

Toji’s eyes narrow, and the tension in the car shifts again, but this time it isn’t anger. It’s something else entirely. He leans in until his nose brushes yours, his voice dropping to a low growl.

“Ain’t about bein’ jealous,” he says, his breath warm against your lips. “Ain’t nobody else touchin’ my girl. Don’t care what reason they have.”

His hands find your waist, pulling you closer as his lips ghost along your jawline. His touch is possessive, his grip firm enough to leave no room for argument. You can’t help the shiver that runs down your spine.

“Toji…” you start, but he cuts you off with a low chuckle.

“Nah, you’ve been mouthin’ off thinkin’ yer cute,” he says, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck. “Time to shut that pretty mouth o’ yours.”

He's enjoying himself, towering over you in the confined space of the car, the sunlight streaming in from the windows only highlighting the wolfish grin that spreads across his face.

“You’re so—”

"Hm?" He hums, his hand already snaking down your side, easily slipping under the hem of your dress as he plants a kiss onto the side of your neck. "Y' got somethin' t' say, doll?" 

His fingers dance on your skin, inching closer and closer to the spot he knows will make you weak in the knees. He's toying with you, getting a kick out of your restraint as you try to formulate words again. But before you can finish even a syllable, he cuts you off.

"Save it, sweetheart. Was gonna be nice 'nd all when we got home t’night, but you had to go and run that pretty mouth with yer ex." He growls lowly in your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “So while yer getting yer brains fucked stupid, I want you t’remember… this is on you.”

With a rough grasp, he flips you onto your stomach in the backseat, your dress riding up your ass as he yanks your panties down with a swift tug, the cool air hitting it and making your hole clench around nothing. His dick is hard and straining against his pants, pre seeping through to form a dark spot. The anticipation of what's to come has your breath hitching, heat pooling between your legs. He leans over you, the weight of his body pressing down onto yours.

He’s rutting against your ass, one hand sliding up to toy with one of your nipples while his other hand massages your hip. God, if you could see the needy little look on your face right now, then he’d finally get you to understand just why he’s so addicted to you. You’re just so gluttonous for him. Always wanting more, more, more. And of course, he’s always willing to give.

But right now isn’t the moment for giving. No, he needs to take. To take and take and take until there’s no more left of you to give to anyone but him. Always him. He backs away just enough for him to unzip his pants, his cock springing free. His hand finds it immediately, stroking himself in slow, teasing motions, hard length throbbing against your bare ass. There's a devilish grin on his face as he utters, "Gonna show ‘er how much she needs me."

Without waiting for a response, he aligns himself with your sobbing cunt, teasing your folds with his thick head just swiping back and forth and mixing his pre into your skick. He groans at the contact, his hand gripping your hip tighter. Suddenly, with a swift thrust, he plunges himself deep, his girth stretching you so mind numbingly good that you fear you may just pass out. The thing is, he’s barely in, but the sensation is already overwhelming, causing you to gasp and buck your hips.

He wishes you knew how fucking good you feel. Wishes you knew that whenever he fucks you, that tight ring of resistance tries so hard to push him out. That is, until he’s fucked his fat tip into you a few times, because then you’re practifally sucking him in. He knows the stretch is a lot. Knows you’re sore hours later without fail and yet, you still beg for more. Just like now.

Words are failing you, but your look is enough. You want more. Need more than just his tip. You wanna be broken in. And so he does. He feeds you inch after inch of him, sitting up and pausing at the halfway point to admire the way your cunt looks swallowing him so eagerly. He grasps at the globes of your ass, jiggling them and biting his lower lip at the God granted sight.

His free hand moves to the back of your head, fingers snaking into your hair before he grips tightly and brings your head up so he can press your face into the window. And just light that, he fucks the rest of himself into you roughly, grunting.

"Fuckin’— take it," he rasps out, taking a brief moment to adjust to the feeling of your tightness around him, unable to resist a little moan of his own. Then, he starts moving. Slow and punishing at first, then picking up speed with the same punishing force. Each thrust is precise and purposeful, perfectly hitting that spot inside you that makes you feel fuzzy. He's unabashedly vocal too, grunting and groaning with each delicious slide in and out of your wetness. "Fuck... y' take my cock so good..." he compliments, pushing your face harder into the back window. 

Easing up on his grip on your waist, he rolls his hips, grinding against your ass before pulling out for just a moment to slap his tip against your folds, watching as your cunt twitches and then thrusting back in again. His actions are deliberate and controlled, meant to stir you up and drive you to your limit. 

"Please baby, please, please, please..." you moan helplessly, your words swallowed up by the sounds of your bodies slapping together and his grunts of pleasure. But he merely chuckles darkly, gripping your hip and pressing your face against the window harder as if to anchor himself and punish you at the same time, his thrusts never faltering. 

"Y' can gimme more than that," he teases, a smirk playing on his lips as he leans down, teeth nibbling at your exposed neck. 

He slows almost to a stop, but the slight shallow thrusts still feel so overwhelmingly good you think you’re gonna go insane. “Y’really think she could live without me? Mmm mm, no, she needs me. I’m the only one who can stuff this greedy little pussy the way she needs to be stuffed. Isn’t that right, baby? Say it f’me.”

“F-fuck! Toki, gonna—” SMACK!

“Not talkin’ to you, princess. Talkin’ to her.” He delivers a pointed thrust into you to emphasize the fact that he’s genuinely talking to your cunt in his pussydrunk state.

Your sure he’s left a permanent handprint because of how hard he spanked your ass. The sting that lingers where his palm landed makes your cunt twitch and ache around him, which he considers to be answer enough. “S’what I fuckin’ thought. Atta fuckin’ girl, yes baby.” He groans, quickening the pace ever so slightly and beginning to pull you back into him to meet his thrusts.

“Talkin to an ex, y’must have wanted to get yerself fucked stupid, hm? Is that what you wanted? To be fucked like this?” He’s talking, but you can tell it isn’t for actual answers, no, it’s more to himself. He’s fucked out. So close to the edge.

The thrusting quickens, his hot breath fanning over your ear. "Cum f' me, doll," he commands, his voice dropping an octave, "show me how good I make y' feel. Only me. And then I’m gonna breed yer cute cunt so good." With that, he delivers a particularly hard thrust, aiming for that spot inside you that will unravel you completely.

That’s when you finally let loose, the coil inside your tummy snapping and letting you feel so much pleasure that you’re moving your ass back into him with a force that’s unmatched, just swallowing him deep into you over and over again. And that does it for him— his cum spurting inside you and filling you so good.

He kisses you so hungrily you feel you may just lose your breath entirely and pass out. His hands are holding you in place so you don’t fuck back onto him, because he knows if you did, he’d break you.

Toji leans back, smirking at the sight of you, his thumb brushing your swollen lips.

“You done throwing your little tantrum?” you tease, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

He glares at you, though there’s no real heat behind it. “You’re real fuckin’ funny, y’know that?”

“Oh, I know.” And deciding to drop the bombshell now, you lean back against the seat and say casually, “By the way, he’s married. To a man. They have two kids.”

Toji freezes, his expression shifting from smug to incredulous in seconds. He blinks like a cartoon character in shock, his brows furrowing. “What?”

“Yup,” you say, your grin widening. “Your big, scary display of dominance? Totally unnecessary.”

He huffs, running a hand through his hair. The look on his face is so priceless you wish you could brand it into your memory. “Tch. Coulda fuckin’ said somethin’ sooner.”

“And miss all the fun?” You laugh, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

Before you can say anything else, he’s on you again, his hands roaming as he mutters, “Gonna make you pay for makin’ me start a scene.”

You laugh, the sound cutting off into a gasp as his hands find their mark. “I made you start a scene? Oh, this I gotta hear.” You say, your voice breathless but still teasing.

“Keep talkin’, doll,” he says, his grin turning wicked. “See where it gets ya.” And then his lips are finding yours again. Just like that, the argument is forgotten, lost in the haze of his possessive, consuming affection.

༒︎ Choso Kamo ༒︎

The mall is crowded, loud with the hum of chattering voices and echoing footsteps. It isn’t your favorite place to hang out, but your best friend had begged you to come along. Somehow, Choso ended up tagging along too, though you weren’t sure why. He wasn’t exactly the mall type, after all— too quiet, too detached from the bustling energy of human spaces like this.

You glance over your shoulder at him now, and there he is, just like you’d expect. He’s trailing a few steps behind, hands shoved into the sleeves of his robe, his dark eyes drifting lazily over the crowd. His usual stoic mask is firmly in place, making him seem untouchable to anyone passing by. But you know better than that. Beneath the unapproachable aura, Choso is awkward— painfully shy even. He’s still figuring out how to interact with humans, still trying to understand what it means to live in a world like this.

And for some reason, he’s decided you’re his safe space.

You smile to yourself, turning your attention back to the task at hand. Your friend had told you they’d meet you at the bookstore, but they’re running late, so you decide to wander into one of the nearby shops to kill time.

Choso doesn’t follow. You assume he’s probably going to find a dark corner to tuck himself into. 

What you don’t realize is that he does follow. At a distance. He’s used to watching from the sidelines, content to let you move through your world without interference. He doesn’t mind, in fact, he learns from watching how you interact with people, animals, media, and the likes. He learns about the world, but more importantly, he learns about you.

His eyes are on you now, but just seconds later, they shift. There’s a new focus, a new target. Him.

The guy behind the counter at the little boutique you walked into. He’s tall, clean-cut, and obnoxiously friendly. At first, Choso thinks nothing of it. It’s not like he can stop every stranger from talking to you. But as the guy’s gestures become more animated, and his laughter gets a little too familiar, something shifts in Choso’s chest.

He wishes he could hear whatever it is he’s saying that has you so giddy. Wishes he could just— wait, what?

The guy leans forward across the counter, his hand brushing yours as he hands you something, maybe a receipt, maybe a bag, Choso doesn’t care. Because what he does next is what hammers the nail in the coffin. His hand moves to the top of your head and he ruffles your hair, making you laugh. It’s the casual intimacy of the gesture that makes his stomach churn. He knows he shouldn’t jump to conclusions. He knows. But he can’t help the way his jaw tightens, or the way his fingers curl into fists in his sleeves.

You’re still smiling at the guy. You’re laughing. And he hates it.

His mind spirals before he can stop it. The scene plays over and over in his head, each time twisting into something worse. What if you like this guy? What if you’re into someone who can flirt with ease, someone who doesn’t stumble over their words or overthink every little thing?

What if you don’t want him?

Choso feels a sharp pang in his chest, like something fragile has cracked. He’s been so careful, so guarded with his feelings. He thought he could keep them tucked away, safe from rejection, safe from ruining this. But now? Now he feels them slipping through the cracks, raw and unmanageable.

He looks away, leaning back against the wall outside the store. His heart’s racing, though he doesn’t know why. It’s not like he has any claim over you. You’re your own person, free to talk to whoever you want. He’s just… He’s just the weird half-curse with no idea what his place is in this world who follows you around and doesn’t know how to say what he feels. But what if he did say it?

The thought hits him like a lightning bolt, sudden and electrifying. He’s scared, sure— terrified, actually, but the idea of staying silent is worse. He doesn’t want to lose you to someone else, not without at least trying.

So he waits.

When you finally walk out of the shop, you’re holding a small bag, a content smile on your face. You spot him instantly, standing off to the side like he’s been there the whole time.

“Hey, sorry that took so long. They had some really cute stuff in there,” you say, holding up the bag as if to explain.

Choso doesn’t respond right away. His eyes flick to the shop behind you, then back to your face. He doesn’t ask about your purchases. Instead, he asks, “Who was that?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Who?”

“The guy you were talking to,” he says, his tone as flat as ever, but there’s something behind it—a tension you can’t quite place.

“Oh, him? That’s just my friend from school. He works here part-time,” you explain, shrugging. “I didn’t even know before now.”

Your words are casual, but they allow Choso a wave of relief. That relief is short-lived, however, replaced almost immediately by a surge of determination. This is his chance. His moment to say what he’s been holding back.

“Can I… talk to you for a second?” he asks, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

You tilt your head, curious but not concerned. “Of course. What’s up?”

He gestures for you to follow him, leading you away from the bigger crowd and toward a seating area deeper in the mall that’s less populated. Once you’re there, he turns to face you, his hands still buried in his sleeves.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. He’s searching for the right words, but they don’t come. Instead, what comes out is raw and unfiltered.

“I thought you liked him,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

You blink, surprised. “What? No, Choso, I told you, he’s just a friend.”

He nods, but his gaze drops to the floor. “I know. It’s just… I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?” you ask gently.

He looks up at you then, his dark eyes searching yours. “This. Any of this. Being around people. Trying to figure out how I’m supposed to feel, how I’m supposed to act.”

You wait, sensing there’s more he wants to say.

“But with you… it’s different,” he continues, his voice steady despite the nerves etched into his expression. “I don’t feel lost when I’m with you. I feel… human.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you don’t interrupt.

“And I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you,” he says, the words tumbling out before he can stop them. “I like you. I… I think I’ve liked you since the moment we met. I just didn’t know how to say it— didn’t know what it was. B-But I do, now.”

You stare at him, his confession hanging in the air between you. For a moment, he thinks he’s made a mistake. That he’s crossed a line he can’t uncross.

But then you smile.

Not just any smile— the kind of smile that makes him feel like the world isn’t so complicated after all.

It’s all you can do because his confession doesn’t catch you off guard, not really.

You’ve always known.

“Cho,” you say softly, stepping closer, “I know. I’ve known for a while.”

His eyes widen slightly, his lips parting in surprise. “You… knew?”

You nod, giving him a small, reassuring smile. “Yeah. You’re not exactly subtle, you know. But I didn’t say anything because I wanted to give you time. Time to figure out what you wanted, how you felt.”

He’s silent, staring at you like he doesn’t know whether to be relieved or mortified.

“For what it’s worth,” you continue, your voice warm, “I like you, too. Just as you are. You don’t have to change or be anyone else for me, Choso. I like you for you.”

Something in his expression shifts. It’s now a mix of disbelief and something deeper, something more raw. His gaze flickers to your lips for the briefest moment, and when he speaks, his voice is barely audible. “Can I… kiss you?”

The question catches you off guard, not because you don’t want him to, but because of the way he asks it, so tentative and earnest.

“Of course,” you say, your tone gentle but steady.

But he hesitates, his eyes darting to the small crowd around you. His voice drops lower, almost shy. “Not here. Can we… go somewhere else?”

You bite back a smile at how endearing he looks, his cheeks tinted pink as he avoids your gaze. “Come on,” you say, nodding toward a quieter hallway where the restrooms are tucked away.

He follows you like a shadow, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie as he keeps his head down. When you reach the single-occupancy restroom, you push the door open and step inside, holding it for him as he follows. The door clicks shut, and the noise of the mall fades into a distant hum.

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, the tension in the small space thick enough to cut with a knife. Choso shifts nervously, his hands twitching at his sides. “I… don’t know how start,” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s okay,” you reply, your smile soft and steady. “Just follow my lead.”

You step closer, reaching out to cup his face in your hands. He freezes for a moment, his dark eyes wide and uncertain, but when you lean in, his lids flutter shut.

The kiss starts slow, tentative, his lips warm and soft against yours. But as you deepen it, something shifts. It’s like a switch flips inside him, and suddenly his hands are on your waist, gripping you like you might slip away if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

He grows bolder with each passing second, his fingers wandering over your arms, your back, your hips, your ass. There’s a desperation in the way he touches you, as if he’s trying to memorize every inch of you all at once. Finally, he pulls you flush against him, his entire arms wrapped around you, one hand gripping your hip and the other on your shoulder.

You can’t help but chuckle against his lips, pulling back just enough to catch your breath. “Easy, Cho,” you murmur, your tone teasing. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, his face flushed as he loosens his grip, but only slightly. “I just… I don’t know how to stop.”

Your smile softens, and you press a light kiss to his cheek. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s okay to feel nervous.”

You kiss him again, this time letting him lead you. As things heat up, he starts to get carried away again, his hands roaming with a mix of urgency and inexperience. His kisses grow hungrier, his breath ragged as he presses closer, his body practically trembling against yours.

Suddenly his whole body stiffens and a low, unsteady sound akin to a whine escapes him before he pulls back, his face burning with embarrassment. He avoids your gaze, his hands falling away as he stammers, “I— I’m sorry. I dunno what— I didn’t want to stop, I—”

You pull back further to see a dark patch beginning to form even on the purple cloth that rests in front of his robes, realizing what happened. Your perfect Choso just came in his pants from kissing you. You can’t stay silent much longer for fear of making him more embarrassed, so you hush him gently, cupping his face and tilting it so he has no choice but to meet your eyes. “Cho, it’s okay,” you say firmly, your voice steady and soothing. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. This is all new for you, and that’s perfectly fine.”

He swallows hard, his dark eyes searching yours for any hint of judgment or disappointment. When he finds none, his shoulders relax just a little.

“You mean that?” he asks softly.

You smile, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face. “Of course, I do. We’ll take things slow, okay? There’s no rush.”

He nods slowly, the tension in his posture easing as he lets out a shaky breath. After a moment, he looks at you again, his expression soft but serious. “Is this… what love is?” He closes his eyes, his lips curving into the faintest smile as he leans into your touch. And in that quiet, stolen moment, it feels like the rest of the world fades away, leaving only the two of you in its place.

༒︎ Ryomen Sukuna ༒︎

The room is dimly lit, the sterile scent of disinfectant clinging to the air. You’re lying back on the exam table, your dress pulled up over your growing belly. The monitor hums softly as the sonographer, a man with overly polite eyes and a soothingly gentle touch, adjusts the machine. He explains the process as he goes, his voice calm and warm, clearly trying to put you at ease.

Today is your first 3D ultrasound where you’ll finally get a better view of the life growing inside you. It feels surreal. You’ve had to wait until you’re 32 weeks along to get the best view, so the wait has made you antsy. Will it look like Sukuna? You? Will it smile or suck its thumb? Surely it’s too early for that, right? All of these questions are running through your mind and making your body vibrate with both nervousness and anticipation. It actually does help that the sonographer noticed and is trying to soothe you. 

You glance to the corner where Sukuna stands, his towering figure leaned protectively against the wall. His crimson eyes are locked on the sonographer, sharp and unyielding, like a predator stalking prey. His arms are crossed over his broad chest, claws tapping rhythmically on his forearm, a faint sound that portrays his growing irritation. The air feels heavy with tension; thick enough to cut with a knife. You’d be lying if you said that didn’t contribute to your current nervousness.

The sonographer prepares to squirt gel onto your belly, offering you a soft smile. “This might feel a little cold,” he says, his tone careful. “But it’ll help us get a clear image of the baby.”

You flinch slightly at the cold, and the response is immediate.

“Watch your hands.” Sukuna’s voice slices through the room, low and menacing.

The sonographer freezes, visibly startled. His gaze darts nervously to Sukuna. “I- I’m just preparing her to perform the scan, sir. There’s no need to worry.”

Sukuna scoffs, the sound dark and mocking. “Worry? I’m not worried, human. I’m warning you.” His crimson eyes narrow, radiating danger. “You’re touching my wife who’s carrying the heir to my throne. Be mindful.”

You press your palm to your forehead, exhaling sharply. “Ryo,” you say, your tone firm. “He’s doing his job. Stop scaring him.”

Sukuna’s eyes flick to you, softening slightly, but the fire in them doesn’t fully die. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

The sonographer hesitates, visibly uneasy, before resuming his work. The wand glides gently over your belly, and the monitor flickers to life. He points out the baby’s heartbeat, their tiny limbs, and the way they seem to kick at nothing in particular. His voice is soothing as he explains, almost too soothing for Sukuna’s liking.

You can see that the baby has four limbs, thankfully, and it’s got a frown on it’s face, much like its father’s. Until you speak, that is. When you speak, you can see the soft smile that graces your sweet baby’s face, again much like its father’s. You feel tears prick at your eyes finally seeing your baby so clearly.

The sonographer glances at you again, his smile almost reverent. “You’re doing wonderfully. Your baby looks perfect— beautiful, actually.”

That does it.

“Beautiful, huh?” Sukuna mutters, his voice laced with venom. “Bet you say that to every woman you see. Must be part of your script. You’re just so reassuring. Well, my wife doesn’t need that. She has me. Do you think yourself better than I?”

“Ryomen.” Your voice sharpens, and you shoot him a glare that tells him you’re angry. “Enough.”

He stares at you for a long moment, his lips curling in mild defiance, but he backs off for now. The sonographer continues, though his hands move a little faster this time, clearly eager to finish. Sukuna’s eyes remain locked on him, every small movement scrutinized like a hawk circling its prey.

Finally, the scan concludes. The sonographer hands you a towel to clean off the gel, offering another polite smile. He opens his mouth to speak, but Sukuna doesn’t give him the chance.

“You’re done, right? Get out.”

The man’s eyes widen; he looks to you as if hoping for an intervention. You manage a tight smile. “Thank you for your help. Forgive my unpleasant husband,” you say pointedly, dismissing him with a polite nod.

The door clicks shut behind him, leaving the two of you alone. Sukuna stands there, still bristling, his claws twitching at his sides.

You sigh, wiping the last of the gel from your belly. “You’re ridiculous, Kuna. He wasn’t touching me in any sort of suspicious way.”

“He shouldn’t have been touching you in the first place,” Sukuna snaps, taking a step closer.

“He’s a medical professional, Ryomen. It’s his job.”

“I don’t care,” he growls, his crimson eyes boring into yours. “He was too close; too soft. Like he thought he could make you feel safer than I do.”

You sit up, tugging your dress down over your belly. “No one is trying to take your place.”

He scoffs, pacing in front of you like a restless beast. “You’re mine. No one else gets to put their hands on you like that.”

You stand, squaring your shoulders as you step into his path. “Would you rather our child go unchecked and we miss something bad? You can’t scare every single person who helps me, Ryomen.”

His eyes narrow, the frustration in them simmering just beneath the surface. “You’re too soft,” he mutters. “Always making excuses for people who don’t deserve it.”

“Soft doesn’t mean weak,” you counter, standing firm. “And I don’t need you turning every little thing into a fight. Trust me, Ryomen. I’m not going anywhere. But… you’re wrong, you know. I do need comfort. You provide safety, yes, but never reassurance. Gentleness. Maybe just… passive acceptance. I’m carrying your child. Of course I’d like to be doted on and treated with care.”

Before he can get upset again, you add, “By you. Only you. So just— please stop it with the anger and hostility. I want my child to know their father is capable of love the way I know he is.”

The tension in his shoulders loosens slightly, though the possessiveness in his gaze remains. He steps closer, towering over you, his hand coming to rest on your belly. His touch is firm but deliberate, a reminder of who you belong to.

“You’re mine,” he says, his voice low and commanding. “You. The baby. You’re my dearest prizes. No one else gets to act like they know how to care for you better than I do. I study everything, every minute detail about you and what’s to expect with the child. I suppose I’ve been so wound up with preparing myself and protecting you that I’ve gotten more hostile than usual. I… can work on it.”

You place your hand over his, meeting his gaze with unwavering confidence. “That’s all I’m asking.”

“Get back on the exam bed.”

“What? Why? He’s finish—” he interrupts you by walking you backwards until your ass hits the edge, caging you in.

“Because I don’t think I’ve ever told you how beautiful you look carrying my heir and standing up to even me. And I’d like to show you just how much I love it.” He says, leaning down to nuzzle his nose against your neck, just below your jawline. As expected, you tilt your head up for a kiss and he indulges you, kissing you so hungrily and lifting you onto the bed.

His hands wander all over your body, his touch carrying a gentleness you’re not used to. Goosebumps raise on the whole of your body in response and you’re leaning forward into the kiss, losing yourself in it. You don’t even realize he’s hiked your dress up and removed your panties until the cold hits your slick-sheened pussy.

“Ryō—”

“I know, brat, I know.” He says, a teasing lilt in his voice as he parts from your lips to kiss along your jaw. “Come to the edge f’me.”

You do exactly that as he undoes his robes to reveal his second set of arms… and his second mouth. God, you love how freaky this man is. His second set of arms grip the globes of your ass to hold you steady as he pulls you flush against his lower mouth, his fat tongue just smearing your cunt with your slick and his saliva. 

You’ve never cared to admit that this mouth of his has always been your favorite. It’s so big that it offers more coverage, more pressure, and gets so much dee—

“Biiiiig stretch.” Sukuna warns you before he plunges his second tongue into your hole, lingering at that first ring of resistance to deliver a few shallow, but mind numbingly pleasurable thrusts before he pushes the rest of the way in; as much as he can, that is.

He uses the moment your pretty little mouth releases an ah! to kiss you again, his first set of hands slipping up your dress to find your tits. If there’s anything he’d put on top of the list of things he loves about your changing body, it’s this. How fucking thick your ass has become and undeniably huge your tits have grown. Just swelling and preparing to fill with milk to sustain his heir.

He pinches your sensitive nipples between his large fingers, making you moan into the kiss, relaxing your cunt around his tongue between you. Suddenly, you’re lifted just slightly above the table, his other hands beginning to fuck you on his tongue, his saliva and your slick just drip, drip, dripping onto the bed and floor beneath you.

“So greedy. Pussy’s always so fucking greedy…” he groans, resting his forehead against yours so you both can watch as your pussy bulges from swallowing his tongue so eagerly. It’s such a lewd sight, one you’ve undeniably grown addicted to in your time together.

Your moans mingle together and it’s then you realize that he’s now using just one of his hands to fuck you on his tongue. His other is wrapped around both of his cocks and pumping them together, ribbons of pre falling down his lengths and being smeared by his movements. You’re not even slightly ashamed of the way you salivate seeing him getting off while eating your pussy and watching himself do it. It’s so fucking filthy that you can’t help but—

“Gonna cum f’me, aren’t you? Mmmmmhm, can tell by how she’s flutterin’ around my tongue. My needy fucking wife.” He smirks, pulling you flush to him so that the widest part of his tongue rubs against your clit while he switches it up and fucks his tongue into you, faster this time.

“O-Ohmyfuckinggod!” The words come out strung together, the added attention on your clit making you see stars, your breath quickening, heart beginning to race. You lean back onto the bed using your hands to prop you up so you can get a better view.

“So nasty, beautiful.” A chuckle falls from his lips and you can’t even respond before his upper hands are just engulfing your tits and kneading, easing the pain of the swelling and pleasing you at the same time.

Then, something happens. Milk begins to drip from your right nipple and it has you both stopping in your tracks. You’d heard of the low possibility that milk can come before you give birth, but you never considered it’d happen to you. A blush of embarrassment creeps on your face and you’re about to apologize when you hear Sukuna groan, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as his mouth immediately latches onto your tit and he just sucks.

“S-Sukuna, fuck!” You whine, his lower tongue beginning to work your quivering pussy again, bringing you right to the edge of pleasure.

He releases your tit with a pop! and nips it gently. “Mine. Mine, mine, all fuckin’ mine, such a good Queen providing for my heir early. Gonna be such a good momma.” He praises you before beginning to suck the lactating nipple again, making you come undone on his tongue, your gooey insides clenching around his tongue, trying to stop him with how tight you are, but he’s too strong, fucking his tongue into you through your orgasm to swallow up every last bit of cum you have to offer him.

It’s not until you’re whining and your legs are limp, weak pushes against his shoulders making him release your tit and slip his tongue from your slobbering hole. He runs the tip of his tongue against your oversensitive clit just a few times before you feel him kiss your puffy folds, making your body lurch.

You watch breathlessly as he tries to suck up the milk from your poor abused nipple again, your fingers slipping into his hair and tugging his face up to yours. “Y’know, you’re mine too. Forever. Don’t you forget that.” You smirk.

Something flickers in his eyes— pride, possessiveness, and a touch of vulnerability he’d never admit to. “Damn right I’m yours,” he says, his lips curling into a smirk. “But don’t think that means I’m gonna get soft on people.”

You lean into his hand as he caresses your cheek, a small smile playing at your lips. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are,” he says, leaning down until his face is inches from yours. His voice drops to a rumble. “Carrying my child. Still standing by me. So brave.”

“Someone has to keep you in check,” you tease, though your voice softens with affection.

He lets out a low chuckle, pressing a possessive kiss to your forehead. “Yeah, well, let’s see if you’re brave enough to take my cocks after cumming like such a good brat f’me.” 

Your eyes widen, feeble hands trying to push him away by his chest, “Kuna! We have to leave, they’re probably traumatized!” You tell him in a hushed tone, suddenly all too aware that you’re in a doctor’s office for fuck’s sake.

“Yeah, well. They can afford the therapy.” He gives you a shit eating grin while thumbing open your cunt. “Open up real wide f’me, baby.”

And as you brace yourself, you remind yourself to make apology rounds to the staff whenever your husband is through with you.

༒︎ Nanami Kento ༒︎

Nanami Kento is tired. Not just the kind of tired you feel after a long day, though God knows his body aches from another grueling shift of paperwork and exorcisms. No, it’s deeper than that. A bone-deep fatigue that comes from too many hours spent away from the one person he’d rather be with. You.

He steps through the door, loosening his tie with one hand and holding his briefcase in the other. The house is warm and smells faintly like the lavender candle you always light in the evenings. It feels like home, but he quickly notices something’s off.

Your voice carries down the hall, light and warm, tinged with laughter. It’s a sound that usually has his shoulders relaxing, but tonight, there’s an edge of tension beneath it that prickles at him. He sets his things down quietly, toeing off his shoes, and listens.

“Yeah, it’s been kind of lonely lately,” you say, and he freezes in place, his hand hovering above the coat rack. “I mean, I get it. Nanamin works so hard and I love him for it, but… I don’t know. I just miss him. I feel like I barely see him anymore.”

His chest tightens. You’re talking about him. He takes a slow, measured breath and steps closer, rounding the corner silently.

“Thank you for keeping me sane, though. Honestly, if I didn’t have someone to talk to, I’d probably be climbing the walls by now.” There’s a soft laugh on the other end of the line. Gojo’s laugh. The realization is instant and leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

Gojo. Of course, it’s Gojo. His coworker, the occasional thorn in the side, the most insufferable man he knows. And apparently the one you’ve been leaning on while he’s been too busy drowning in work.

Kento feels his jaw tighten, his nails digging into the palm of his hand. He knows— logically, rationally— that there’s nothing going on between you and Gojo. You’d never betray him like that and Gojo, for all his teasing, would never cross that line. But the knot of jealousy twisting in his chest doesn’t care about logic.

You must have heard him shift uncomfortably because you glance over your shoulder, startled. Your expression softens when you see him and you give him a small, almost sheepish smile. “Hey, Kento just got home,” you say into the phone. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

Nanami doesn’t miss the way Gojo’s laugh sounds out one last time before you hang up. He doesn’t say anything as you set your phone on the counter, but his silence is heavy. You know him well enough to recognize it immediately.

“Ken,” you say softly, stepping toward him. “Long day?”

He hums in acknowledgment, his gaze steady on you. It’s not cold, but there’s something simmering behind it; something that makes you hesitate. “Gojo?” he asks finally, his voice calm but with an edge you can’t ignore.

You blink, caught off guard by his demeanor. “Yeah. He was just checking in. He knows I’ve been home alone a lot lately.”

“Does he?” His tone is even, but the sharpness is undeniable.

You frown, crossing your arms. “Nanami, it’s not like that. He’s a friend. Our friend. You know that.”

“I do.” And he does. He knows it’s innocent. But that doesn’t make it easier to hear you laughing and confiding in someone else while he’s been too busy to do the same.

“Ken.” Your voice softens and you reach for him, your hand brushing his arm. “Please don’t do this. Don’t beat yourself up or think anything crazy. I’m not mad at you for working so much. I know why you do it. I know it’s for us. But… it’s hard sometimes. That’s all I meant.”

“I hate that you feel like this,” he says quietly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “That you have to go to someone else when I should be here.”

You step closer, your hands sliding up to his shoulders. “You’re here now,” you murmur, trying to pull him out of his head. “That’s what matters. That you always come back to me as soon as you can.”

He looks at you, something dark and conflicted in his eyes. “Is it enough?” he asks, his voice low, almost hesitant. “Am I enough? Or would you rather have a husband who has more time for you?”

Your heart breaks at the vulnerability in his voice. “Kenny,” you say firmly, cupping his face in your hands. “I don’t want anyone else. I just want you. Always.”

The tension in his shoulders eases slightly and his hands settle on your waist, pulling you closer. His lips find yours in a kiss that’s anything but gentle. It’s hungry. Desperate. As if he’s trying to make up for all the time he’s spent away from you in one moment.

You gasp against his mouth and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his hands sliding down to the globes of your ass and gripping tightly. When he finally pulls back, his breathing is uneven, his forehead resting against yours. “I’ll change for you,” he murmurs, his voice raw with emotion. “No more late nights. No more overtime. I’ll cut my hours. Whatever it takes to be here with you.”

“Ken, you don’t have to—”

“I do.” His hands slide under your shirt, his touch firm but gentle as he lifts it over your head and lets it fall to the floor. “I won’t let you feel like you’re second to anything. Ever again. You’re too precious to me. My world. My heart. My wife.”

His lips find your neck, trailing heated kisses down to your collarbone. He moves with a purpose, his hands exploring your skin as if to reacquaint himself with every inch of you. It’s more than physical— it’s a promise.

You tug at his tie, fumbling with the knot until he helps you pull it free and rips off his button-down. Then his hands are on you again, guiding you toward the bedroom.

“Lay back for me,” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding but with an undercurrent of tenderness that makes your pulse race.

You obey, sinking onto the bed as he leans over you, his lips finding yours again. His touch is both reverent and possessive, his movements careful but insistent. Every kiss, every caress feels like an apology and a vow wrapped into one.

He wraps a hang around your throat, squeezing for one fleeting moment before trailing it down your chest, between your breasts, down your stomach, over your pubic bone, and finally under your nightgown to meet your slick riddled cunt.

“Shit,” he hisses, forehead resting against yours while he catches his breath, his fingers slipping back and forth between your folds, teasing at your clit in passes. “My love… I don’t want to waste any time, I just need t’feel you. Normally I’d ea—”

“I know, handsome, s’okay, I’m ready, I can take it.” You reassure him, knowing he was going to apologize for not properly warming you up.

You see, Nanami has always been one for foreplay. He could slurp up your saccharine slick for hours upon hours if you let him, but tonight? Tonight, he just wants to be one with you.

His hand finds one of yours and he intertwines your fingers, his other hand working to free his cock from the suffocating confines of his pants. When it springs free, it’s just throbbing an angry pink, beads of pre forming at the tip now that his dress pants aren't there to absorb them.

He aligns himself with your painfully empty hole, pushing past that first little ring of resistance with a long groan. The grip he has on your hand tightens, his knuckles turning white as he feeds you inch after mind numbing inch of his cock until his tip’s kissing your cervix. But you know his body well enough to know that isn’t it. And so you brace yourself for him to push in to the hilt, his mushroom tip ever so slightly bullying open your cervix as he does so, making you yelp out in both pleasure and pain.

His lips swallow your whines and whimpers, he’s determined to take everything you have to offer and give you more than what he has. The world, if you asked. His free hand finds purchase on your hip and he holds you steady as he starts to roll his hips into yours, passionately. Roughly. Like he’s trying to stuff you full of all of the love he has for you.

You moan out, reaching your own free hand up to cup his cheek, your legs wrapping around his waist, heels digging into his back, effectively telling him you need more. With every thrust after, you can’t help but gasp. You feel him in your lungs stealing every bit of breath you have, reddened leaking tip repeatedly hitting that bullseye that makes your mind go stupid.

“K-Ken, feels s’good! Hah!” You whine out, back arching up and pressing you flush to him. He moves his hand from your hip to wrap his arm around you, effectively holding your bottom half in the air to get deeper inside of you.

“Mine. My wife. My wife, my love, my beautiful, m-my heart.” He’s babbling, burying his head into your neck and pressing hot, wet, open mouthed kisses to it. You feel him slip his hand from yours and instead, he has the top of your head in the palm of his hand, using it to keep you still, but also to anchor himself so he doesn’t let you slip through his fingers.

“You’re going to be such a beautiful mom. Wh—hah, what kind of husband have I been by not trying to give you my babies? We can start now. After I cum riiiiight here.” He babbles, his other hand moving for only a second to press down where your stomach bulges with his thrusts.

And the look in his eyes tells you this is a promise, not just something he’s saying while fucking you. Just like the perfect little thing you are, you cum for him right then, dragging a long and frustrated groan from him.

“Pussy’s always so good for me. Milking me so good, my love…” he shudders as you cum on his throbbing length.

“Ken, f—fuh— fuck! Cum in me! Please, baby, cum in me!” You beg, making him chuckle.

“Oh? You think I’m done? No, I have to make up for lost time. Evert second I missed, I’ll make up for with an equal amount of time spent buried in this beautiful cunt of yours. Understood?”

And oh are you so incredibly fucked.

[captain-bubble-wrap]

You have to do it! Grocery shopping with Quinn! 🛒 ☺️

Because of those shopping gifs, huh? I know the ones!

"Ready, babe?" Quinn spoke louder than his usual, putting on his flat-billed hat in the mirror while he waited for you at the door. He had been ready to go for a few minutes but would never purposefully rush you, especially for something as mundane as grocery shopping. He really didn't want to go but the house was looking a little bare and the fridge was near depleted of anything fresh. It was simply time to go.

Quinn had told you that he was fine going solo but you had insisted on keeping him company, and didn't think it fair to make him go alone when you used equally as much of everything as he did, if not more especially when he was on the road.

"Yeah, I'm ready!" You said, hurrying from somewhere else in the apartment. You were still buttoning your coat when you got to his side.

"You look cute," he commented, wrapping his arms around you for a moment.

You smiled, "Thanks, babe! You don't look too bad yourself!"

Quinn would laugh and give you a quick kiss before opening the door for you. You had no idea where the two of you were headed, but anywhere with Quinn was a good place to be. Outside, it was much colder than it was normally due to the Artic blast moving through the region, and it made being outside quite uncomfortable. Thankfully, you wouldn't have too far to walk, in any of your errand stops, but when the air hurt to breathe -- it was never ideal.

"I don't think I've ever missed the rain so much in my life," you joked, climbing into the passenger seat.

"This isn't my favourite either," he replied clicking both seat warmers on as soon as the car was started. "Won't take long now. You know you can stay home, babe. No sense in you being cold if you don't have to."

"I know, but I don't want you to go alone!"

Quinn shook his head as he smiled, "Babe--"

"I know, I know, you don't mind," you mocked him playfully. "But I mind, so I'm going with you!"

"You're ridiculous," he laughed. "Alright, well, if you're sure. Off we go."

- - -

"I'm going to drop you at the door then I'll go find a parking spot," Quinn said, pulling into the lot. "And before you say anything, I want you to go inside and be warm."

Mustering the deepest pout you could, you looked at Quinn as the car came to a stop, but he wasn't having any part of it. "Quinn--"

"Babe, just trust me, please."

"Fiiiiiine," you whined, slipping out of the car and going into the store alone. You'd stay just inside the automatic doors and wait to see where he parked. Everyone and their mothers seemed to be out shopping today, forcing Quinn to have to park in the near back lot. He looked so miserable as he rushed toward the store, trying to duck down in to his coat as his hands were buried in his pockets. When the double doors opened, he'd make his way to you, his cheeks red from the harsh air.

"Brrr!" Quinn remarked, putting an arm around you. "It's cold in here, too!"

"Says the hockey player!"

He laughed, sheepishly, "It's not that cold on the ice like it is outside!"

"Fair enough," you teased. "Basket or cart?"

"Probably cart. Stock you up before I go out of town next week."

You looked down at being reminded that Quinn would soon be leaving for more games away from home. Your bed wouldn't be as warm, there would be no one to share a bath with before bed, no one to laugh with over dinner in the evenings, and the apartment would soon be deafly quiet. Being unable to keep your expression from dropping, you would turn your face away from him for a moment to keep from crying in public.

Quinn, always in tune with your usual moods would notice this change and would ask you about it after returning from getting you both a cart. "You got quiet, babe. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," you mumbled, picking up a random item to look at it as if you were interested in taking it home.

"I didn't think you liked peanut butter," he quipped, leaning over your shoulder at the package of fudge you were holding.

"I-- don't," you said, unable to lie, and putting it back on the display you had robbed it from. Your cover was blown before you could even get behind it. Damn Quinn for being so quick sometimes, though you knew he hated when you kept things from you, namely when things were bothering you.

"Did I say something?" Quinn questioned, his hand resting on your waist, hoping you'd look at him.

"No, baby, it's me being sad over you leaving," you finally confessed, only looking at him after you had spoken your truth. "I'm just-- being a baby."

"You're my baby," he would whisper in your ear, in the hopes that it might make you smile if only because of how cringe it had been. "I know you don't like when I leave, and trust me, I know how it feels."

Your eyes were beginning to sting, fighting against your emotions, "I know it's your job, Quinn. I'm not trying to be one of those girls who comes off all spoiled and selfish. I just-- I just miss you."

Quinn smiled, bringing his lips to your forehead while you still faced him. "I know you do, and I don't think you're being selfish. You understand that this is my life. No one says it's easy, sweetheart."

With a sigh you leaned into him, face buried in the curve of his neck. At the moment, you didn't care that you were in public, having an episode of emotional weakness. You were in Quinn's arms and safe, everyone else could kick rocks. They didn't need to understand.

"Do you want to go home, babe?" He asked, leaning his head against yours.

You wouldn't answer him, you'd just shake your head slightly.

"For what it's worth, I'm not gone yet," he said with a smile in his tone.

This would get you to pull your eyes back to his. He had a point, and one that you were thankful for.

"I sorry, Quinn," you apologized solemnly. "I shouldn't be that way."

He kissed you again, knowing it often fixed things when you were feeling down, but he felt that you were struggling. "You're perfectly fine. I should be more careful with my words."

"You don't need to do that. I'll be okay. Maybe one day it won't hurt as bad-- but...I dunno."

Frowning, Quinn would touch your cheek, but his hands were cold. You'd take it in both of yours and try your best to give him a smile. "I love you. Sorry you have to put up with me like this."

"I just hope I help instead of making you sad."

"You do, I promise."

On that positive note, the two of you would finally get back to the reason of why you were there in the first place. "Should we get to shopping?" He laughed.

"Probably!"

- - -

"Bread?" He asked, standing before a literal wall of options.

"Oh, yeah! Sourdough!"

"Which is--," he stammered, watching you pinpoint the loaf you were after before he could finish his question. "That-- was oddly impressive."

"I know my bread!"

"That you do," he laughed, as you placed in in the cart. "What else do you want?"

Looking at the contents of the cart, you wondered if there was anything else that you needed. There was meat, vegetables and fruit, there were even a couple bottles of wine, and nothing else was ringing in your brain that you needed to get. That would likely hit you only after you were home.

"I can't think of anything. Is there anything you want?"

Quinn looked just as lost as you did which is probably why he laughed at your question. "I can't think of anything either."

"Oh! I know!" You said, excitedly. "I've been craving breaded shrimp!"

"Really?"

"Yeah! Remember those sushi rolls I made with the fried shrimp, avocado and cucumber?"

His face lit up at the mention of sushi, "Those were so good! Are you saying we're having sushi for dinner?"

"Of course!"

- - -

"Here, take my card. I'm going to run out and get the car started and then I'll meet you out front and get them loaded, okay?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," he said before placing another kiss your forehead. "Wait for me inside, please."

Not wanting to argue with him when he was being so kind and considerate, you nodded while he headed for the harsh world outside the store. It would take a while to get everything scanned and bagged, but eventually the time had come to brace for going back out into it.

Quinn was right where he said he would be, the silver SUV rolling into view when he saw you waiting there. He'd get out and insist on taking the cart while you got into the warmed interior of the car.

"I can help you," you begged, talking to him from the front seat.

"It's alright, babe, you just sit tight. I'm alright. Hockey player, remember?"

You'd roll your eyes at him while smiling. "I offered."

"I know you did, and I appreciate it."

Once everything was said and done, the heat was set on full as the two of you headed off from the grocery; safe and sound from the blistering wind battering the car.

"Anywhere else we need to go?" He asked, a cold hand finding your thigh.

"I just want to go home."

"Home it is."

[lexirosewrites]

Omega Steve is enamored with Cringe Fail Alpha Eddie and everyone in his life knows it and doesn't understand why.

He's watching Eddie with heart eyes in their one shared class, sighing longingly as Eddie, bites the skin off around his nails and eats it while he ignores the teacher and plans his campaign. He's ignoring his friends' attempts to draw his attention when Eddie gets up on the table to give his semi-regular lunch table rants, almost slipping when he steps in someone's sandwich.

He is hands down the most popular Omega in the school even after he ditches his old friend and becomes Pack Omega to a bunch of puppies and band nerd Robin Buckley. He gets a stupid amount of courting gifts and never says yes to anybody, even a good amount of Betas have tried for his hand. The only Alpha that's never offered is Eddie Munson, and it makes Steve feel crazy.

And Steve knows he could just go over there and ask Eddie if he would be interested in courting, but he wants to be wood! He knows it's silly to way for the Alpha to make an offer but Steve is a romantic at heart and he wants to be wanted.

When Eddie starts dealing in his second senior year and Steve's first, Steve sees this as his chance to finally get close to Eddie organically and flirt a little to show Eddie he's interested. That he only smokes when someone buys for him is irrelevant. He'll buy every day if it means Eddie finally notices him. Robin says he's being a dingus. Steve insists he's a genius.

And so he goes to meet Eddie in the woods. To the average outsider, Eddie's hair is all frizzed out and he's probably worn the same pair of jeans every day this week and is overall a little bit of a rat. Steve Vision, however, only sees an extremely handsome, rugged Alpha seemingly waiting for him in the woods.

"Ah, King Steve. To what do I owe the honor?" It's probably meant as a dig, but it makes Steve preen a little anyway.

"Heard you were dealing now. Couldn't miss my chance to buy from the infamous Eddie Munson." Steve replies as he sits, leaning his head on his palm so he can look up at him from under his lashes. Laying it on a little thick? Maybe. But the way Eddie blushes is worth the cringy move.

With an in, Steve slowly starts inserting himself into Eddie's life more and more. He buys at least once a week, flirting all the while. Eventually, he asks if Eddie would like to meet his kids.

"They love that game, the dungeons one, and I think it would be fun if they all got to play while you ran the plays or whatever."

"Stevie, Stevie, Stevie. I know you know what it's called, but hell yeah lets do it! I'm dying to test my skills on some fresh players."

And of course, the kids love him. Well, Max is less than impressed and while Erica recognized him as an adequate DM, she is firm in her belief that Steve could do better. She's been insistent for the last year that he should be looking for a "real Fabio type" and Eddie Munson doesn't really fit the bill.

The real win of the night, however, is that Eddie brings so much stuff directly from his house that carries his scent. He still wears his scent patch like they all have to in school, which is disappointing, but his notes and books carry a distinct smokey, wet earth smell that nearly makes Steve swoon. He didn't get to see Eddie's reaction to walking into his house, another disappointment, but he just knows they're compatible.

After that, Steve gets himself an invite to Hellfire to watch. He loves seeing Eddie in his element, smiling along when Eddie crows with victory when someone in the party dies because of their own hubris. He stays and hangs out while Eddie cleans up chatting away about their days.

But for as much as Steve puts out all the right signals, and as much as Eddie seems to be flirting back, he hasn't made even a hit of a movement toward courtship. Steve doesn't want to give up, but he's starting to resign himself to the idea that he's just going to have to ask Eddie out himself.

Then one day while Steve is loitering around after Hellfire, an Omega cheerleader walks through the door asking for Eddie. She'd been sent this way by Chrissy Cunningham for some kind of anxiety medication since her mom wouldn't let her get a prescription. Steve's not thrilled by the interruption and is glaring daggers at the poor girl, but Eddie doesn't notice. No, Eddie is too busy breaking Steve's heart.

Eddie is doing all the same things he's done with Steve. All the things that gave Steve hope that Eddie was interested despite his lack of courting attempts. He's leaning in, teasing, hiding behind his hair at the slightest bit of attention. Apparently, those weren't reactions to Steve. That's just how Eddie reacts to any available Omega who looks his way.

Suddenly mortified, Steve jumps off the table he had been so happily perched on not five minutes ago. He grunts out some half-assed excuse and bolts for the door, pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off the humiliating tears.

From then on, he avoids Eddie as much as he can. No more weekly buying appointments. No more sitting in on Hellfire nights. He can't avoid him completely with the kids in the mix, but he keeps his distance as much as possible, too embarrassed and heartbroken to reach back out. He doesn't drop, not with Robin being such a stable Alpha figure in his life, but everyone can tell he's in a funk.

Eddie, meanwhile, has been as enamored with Steve as every other Alpha in Hawkins for years but never figured he would ever look his way in a million years.

When the Omega started appearing in his life, it felt a little like an episode of the Twilight Zone. Like he would wake up and it would all be some crazy dream induced by years of unfulfilled pining.

But Steve never disappeared and Eddie never woke up. Eddie still wasn't convinced that Steve would ever entertain the idea of courtship with him, so he simply didn't put himself in a position to be rejected, no matter what the Corroded Coffin boys said about Steve "blatantly and obviously begging you to court him, dude."

So on and on it went. The more time went on the more Eddie's instincts screamed that the Omega was his and the more Eddie forced himself not to think about it until all of a sudden Steve was just...gone.

Not gone gone of course. He sees him in the hallways and every now and then when Steve comes to pick the kids up from group hangouts that used to involve Steve on default. Robin also seems pissed at him which is its own thing, but Eddie would be lying if he said her glare didn't make him nervous.

He doesn't know what happened, but what he does know is that his chest hurts almost permanently now. He misses Steve like crazy and is determined to make them talk about whatever it is he did to make Steve avoid him.

Now if only he could get him alone...

------

Ran out of steam at the end there but in my mind Steve keeps avoiding Eddie with the help of Robin, Max, and Erica while Dustin, El, Will, and Lucas help Eddie. Mike would like for them to never get together, please and thank you.

After a couple of months of successfully avoiding Eddie, Steve decides to take up a beta's offer for a date which makes Eddie more jealous than he ever thought was possible. He's absolutely seething, even if he knows it's irrational to be that mad about an Omega he never had any claim over.

He ends up using the kids to break into Steve's house while he's out on the date to set up a competing date. He's all puffed up and ready to posture against Steve's date when he drops Steve off but instead, Steve walks up the driveway alone, looking defeated.

They argue on the front porch about why Steve has been so absent and eventually, Eddie deflates realizing that he's been hurting Steve with his inability to confront his own feelings.

He shows Steve the date he painstakingly set up for him inside, presenting his first of many courting gifts.

idiot4idiot steddie wins again🥰🥰🥰

[prettycopperpennies]

They help you in the first games

GN Reader x Thanos/Choi Su-Bong/Player 230, Lee Myung-gi/Player 333, Kang Dae-ho/Player 388

Description: You didn't expect to find any allies, at least this early in the game, but you seem to have gained one.

Warnings: No descriptions of g0re or anything, but the setting is squid games so, you know.

Next

Thanos/Choi Su-Bong/Player 230

You watched curiously as the crowd of people swarmed player 230 (Thanos, you heard him and others say) as they tried to take a picture. You didn’t know who he was, but apparently this “Thanos” was a pretty famous guy. He noticed you in the line behind him, and he simply gestured for you to join the group.

“Come on, there’s room for one more,” he said.

You started to shake your head no, your naturally kind nature keeping you from knowing how to admit you had no idea who he was, when a guard poke up.

“That is not allowed. Only one player per picture,” the pink jumpsuited guard said. 

Thanos shrugged it off, but your rejection at his offer was a bit harder for him to shake off. After he flipped off the camera, he subtly looked for your reaction at his antics. He found himself feeling frustrated with your lack of interest as you simply waited for your turn. As you all filtered into the large yard with a strange statue of a girl on the other side, Thanos ducked around people to get closer to you.

“So, you don’t know who I am,” he accurately guessed.

“Oh, I… I’m sure you’re very talented,” you said, trying to side step saying anything that might be deemed as rude.

Cute, he thought to himself, noticing your somewhat shy politeness.

“That’s okay. Once you get to know me you’ll be a fan. I promise,” he said with a cocky grin. You simply nodded yes, barely giving an audible “mhm” as your eyes drifted off him and towards the statue of the girl. Thanos felt a little ding to his ego at your lack of fascination. He would have to show you he meant what he said. You closely listened to the disembodied voice explaining the rules of this game. The statue started to turn, and you realized it was some sort of massive animatronic.

You were both taken by surprise as Player 456 jumped in front of everyone and began to give an odd warning. Thanos and Player 196 start talking to each other and make fun of Player 456. Thanos once again found his eyes drifting over to you, wondering if you find his comments funny. But just as before, you were not even paying attention to him. Instead you were actually listening to Player 456. You weren’t sure if you believed him, but you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling creeping up on you as he spoke. Thanos noticed the worried look in your eyes, and leaned over to your direction.

“Trust me, you don’t have to worry about what this guy is saying,” he assured you before mouthing the word “crazy”.

That didn’t do much to settle your nerves, and instead you felt a spike of worried adrenaline as the game suddenly started. You moved quickly, but Thanos moved quicker. Just before he froze he glanced behind him to see if you were at all impressed, but your eyes weren’t even on him. Instead you were looking at the animatronic girl at the finish line.

It only took a few rounds for Player 456’s warning to be proven true. Suddenly you were hearing shots and watching the bodies drop. Your mouth went dry as that foreboding feeling was proved correct. You prayed over and over again for no one to knock you down as masses of people started to run for the doors. You somehow stayed standing till the chaotic scene calmed. You tried not to flinch as you heard the voice repeat the rules once again.

As the game started back up you were surprised to see Thanos in front of you. He managed to find you frozen among the running people, and as soon as he had a chance he was back at your side.

You watched as he froze in front of you. A cross, that you had previously assumed was just a necklace, was open and his fingers were frozen just inside. As soon as the song played you watched as he took a pill out and chewed it quickly.

“Interested?” he asked, offering you his drugs.

“No,” you said, a little breathless from the shock of his calm demeanor and the idea of getting high at a time like this.

He noticed your nerves and smiled; partly because of you and partly because the drugs were already starting to kick in.

“Don’t worry. Just stick with me and you’ll be fine,” he said.

“Um,” you muttered, not sure you trusted him.

“Trust me. I swear to god, I’m invincible on this shit,” he said.

Before you could react the girl was turned back around and the two of you were frozen, looking into each other's eyes. Thanos was grinning at you and slightly raised his eyebrows in anticipation. Your expression was only one of fear, frozen partly from necessity thanks to the game’s rules and partly because you were in shock.

As the girl faced the tree and started the song Thanos spun around, practically skipping as he went. He was careful not to go too fast, making sure he was sticking by your side.

“Careful,” you said, warning him as he moved much less strategically than everyone else. Your naturally kind personality was fully to blame as your concern grew for this stranger.

He loved to hear you worry for him. Finally, he was getting your attention, and he wanted more. He gave you a dimpled smile before jumping up into a haphazard heel click. You gasped as you watched him, hearing the nursery rhyme coming to an end. You grabbed his hand, yanking him onto the solid ground just in time.

You were frozen, watching the animatronic worriedly, hoping the eyes didn’t land on either of you. Thanos’ gaze was fixed on you. He gave your hand an excited squeeze, careful not to make it too visibly noticeable. It was almost like his hand was on your heart instead of your own hand; that squeeze suddenly causing your heart to pound a little quicker (even though the stress was already making your heart beat fast and erratic).

As soon as the singing resumed you were suddenly being pulled along by the lanky, purple haired player. You stumbled as you ran a few times, but he didn’t go so fast as to make you fall completely. His mind was up in the clouds, not really noticing your struggling to keep up with him. He was just focused on getting you and him across the line.

The two of you managed to be pretty early among the survivors who crossed the finish line, but Thanos reacted like you guys had barely made it across as he pulled you into a hug with a cheer.

“I told you,” he said, his dilated pupils boring into your own eyes, “Just stick with me.”

Lee Myung-gi/Player 333

You looked around nervously at the hallways and staircases full of strangers. A few seemed to know each other, and a sizable group knew of player 230, but you didn’t know anybody. You felt your worry rise a little, thinking of how you were never good at coming out of your shell enough to make some friends.

“Excuse me, you’re next,” a voice behind you said, pulling you from your thoughts.

You glanced behind you to see a man pointing in front of you towards the cameras. His expression was pretty unreadable, seemingly stuck in neutral as he waited for you to continue on. You were too busy stressing to realize the line had moved along enough that it was now your turn to pose for a photo.

“Oh! Sorry about that,” you said, quickly stepping up. Your eyes flicked towards the screen, and you quickly tried to make your hair look a little more presentable. 

Myung-gi watched you tuck your hair behind your ears before trying to smile for the camera, but your nerves kept it from feeling genuine. He noted this, thinking to himself that you probably wouldn’t make it far in these games. You seemed too soft for any kind of competition. He found himself sticking close to you as you were all herded through the halls. For some reason your perceived weakness made him feel a sort of obligation to keep an eye on you.

You blinked up at the sky along with everyone else, but Myung-gi was busy surveying the field. You both listened to a voice explaining the rules, but your attention was quickly diverted when Player 456 started speaking to the group.

You felt yourself getting nervous at his warnings. You were so worried your anxiety overtook your shyness, and you found yourself speaking to the player next to you.

“Do you think what he’s saying is true?” you asked.

Myung-gi felt a little pang, despite himself, at your scared expression as you looked at him. Once again, that feeling of a need to watch out for you bubbled up in him.

“No. It’s probably a tactic,” he said with a shrug.

“Tactic?” you asked, not following his train of thought.

“To throw everyone off once the game starts,” he said, but you still seemed a little nervous, “It’s just red light, green light.”

You nodded at his reassuring statement, trying to convince yourself this player was right. You would much rather what he said be correct than what Player 456 was saying. You tried to ignore your anxious feelings, preparing yourself for the games. Myung-gi was doing the same, but as soon as the game started he found himself sticking pretty close to your side instead of crossing the field as fast as he could.

As soon as the first player moved during the silent pause between singing a loud bang rang through the air. As the yells erupted from players around the two of you, people running around you, Myung-gi looked at you from the corner of his eye.

He thought, given your scared state, you might take off too. He was impressed, and for some reason relieved, to see you were keeping frozen in place. Once everything stopped the rules once again rang out over the sound system. Myung-gi didn’t listen closely to the voice, and instead his eyes were fixed on Player 456. You couldn’t hear the words the player was saying, your pounding heart bringing a loud ringing to your ears.

As soon as it was safe to move, Myung-gi moved you behind him, like Player 456 had instructed everyone to do, as he gave you a simple warning.

“Stick close,” he said. 

He turned back to face the finish line as soon as you nodded in understanding. You kept your eyes on the back in front of you, not wanting to look around as people dropped to the ground. Someone near you suddenly fell to the ground, and you couldn’t stop yourself from jumping. Luckily, Myung-gi blocked you from the view of the doll’s eyes.

When he heard your gasp, he waited for the voice to start singing before reaching a hand back behind him. He felt a sense of relief when he felt your own hand grasp his, glad you weren’t giving up yet.

“You’ll be fine. Just keep going,” he called to you from over his shoulder, his eyes on the clock.

Your chest was tight, not from running but from fear, and you could only manage a one word reply.

“Okay.”

He found himself a little more at ease (or at ease as he could be in this situation) as he held your hand in his, now able to know he wasn’t leaving you behind. You couldn’t help as you squeezed his hand at every sound of the gunshot to keep yourself from flinching once again. You knew you wouldn’t be so lucky the second time you moved when you weren’t supposed to. With every squeeze of your hand, he felt himself tightening his own grip, that protective feeling not shrinking away. Instead, it seemed to grow with every step he took and you shadowed.

His gaze was fixed on the quickly approaching finish line. He was determined to get you both across. You held your breath as the two of you froze, so close to crossing the line.

As soon as you two crossed the line you could finally breathe freely. If you weren’t so shy you would be giving the player who saved you a massive hug, more than grateful for his help. Instead, he let go of your hand, putting his own in his pocket before turning to look at you.

“You good?” he asked, now more able to freely talk to you. His eyes quickly scanned over you, noting that you seemed to make it across the field unscathed.

You nodded, taking a few deep breaths before saying, “Thank you. I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

The thought of you trying to navigate the game by yourself gave you some sort of residual anxiety, and you started to feel a few tears prick at your eyes. It didn’t help that adrenaline seemed to be crashing through your body. Before you could start crying Myung-gi spoke up.

“Want to be allies?” he asked, trying to distract you from whatever thoughts you were beginning to stress yourself out with.

“Really?” you asked, feeling like he was saving you all over again. You knew you weren’t the best at connecting with people, but here he was, easily offering a friendship.

“I’m Myung-gi,” he said, introducing himself.

“I’m y/n,” you said.

“Okay, y/n, want to be allies?” he said, asking again.

“Yes,” you said, relief washing over you.

Your genuine smile charmed him within moments, and despite himself his cooled facade broke as he smiled back at you.

“So we stay close to each other then,” he said.

You nodded in agreement, happy to have his help.

Kang Dae-ho/Player 388

You and the group trekked along the halls and stairs, headed towards some unknown destination. The player in front of you, Player 388, turned around as you all waited to get your photo taken.

“What do you think the game will be?” he asked, striking up a conversation with ease.

“Oh, um…” you started, a little surprised by the sudden question.

Dae-ho patiently waited for you to answer, but he took note of how you did take a beat before speaking. He wondered to himself if you were always this shy or if it was maybe nerves for the competition.

“Well, there are a lot of people here who gamble, right?” you asked, “So maybe it’s something like that.”

“Good guess,” he said with a friendly grin, attempting to crack through your unintentionally distant demeanour.

You felt bad that you couldn’t think of something else to say, and you felt the conversation die off just as quickly as it started. Dae-ho only kept quiet for a few moments before speaking up again.

“So how are you going to take your photo?” he asked, turning back to you once again.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

He gestured with a nod towards the people passing in front of the cameras.

“Some people are smiling while some are doing a more serious vibe,” he pointed out.

You looked in the direction of the cameras, noticing he was right. You even saw some people holding up hearts with their fingers.

“I’m not sure,” you admitted.

“I think I’m just going to go for a smile,” he said, before flashing a demonstrative grin at you. His genuinity pulled your own smile onto your face. He felt something swell inside him. He assumed it was a bit of pride at finally getting you to come a little out of your shell.

When it came to your turn in front of the camera, your gaze flicked over to the person in front of you. Dae-ho grinned once again, giving you a thumbs up, and you decided to smile for the photo. Dae-ho once again felt that wave of pride as you decided to take his silent suggestion to smile for the photo.

The two of you got separated as people spilled out onto the crowd. You felt a little disappointment creep up when you didn’t find him next to you, thinking you might have found a friend. But you quickly assured yourself he was being friendly because he was looking for allies, and if he really wanted you on his side he would simply find you after the game.

Dae-ho started to speak, but stopped short when he realized you weren’t by him anymore. He started to move through the crowd, looking for you as the rules were spoken over the sound system. He wasn’t sure why he was so set on finding you, but he figured it might have to do with your shy nature. He would feel a little guilty leaving you behind, and he thought you seemed sweet. A lot of people at the start seemed to be a little too surly for him, like that angry business man or the cocky rapper, but not you.

He froze when he heard a player starting to call out to the rest of the group, listening to what he said. A bit further down you found your own attention also being pulled towards Player 456 and what he had to say. You felt your stomach do a somersault as he talked. Even if what he was saying wasn’t true, it was still unsettling to hear.

You both took off as the game started, Dae-ho moving a little quicker than you from across the field. But as soon as the shots started, you both froze in place. You froze longer than necessary, not able to move until Player 456 was back again at the front, telling you all you had to keep going otherwise you’d be eliminated.

Dae-ho carefully moved his eyes, looking for you amongst the frozen crowd. He spotted you not too far to the side, and as the giant animatronic girl turned back around he made a beeline towards you. He knew you were a stranger, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if you ended up dying. He felt like it wouldn’t be right to go out of his way not to help you (completely ignoring the fact that he was instead going out of his way to help you), especially now that he knew these “games” were so much more sinister than anyone had realized.

You were doing fairly well, despite your nerves. That was until a player behind you decided to go on the offense. You gasped when you felt two hands shove you from the side just as the nursery rhyme was coming to an end. You tried to catch yourself, but it was too late. You were mid fall, sure you were about to be eliminated, when you felt a pair of strong arms wrap around you and pull you back into their chest.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” a voice said. You recognized it as Player 388’s voice.

As soon as Dae-ho pulled you against him, he could feel your heart pounding, just like his. As soon as the girl turned back to the tree, he swooped you behind him with his arm. The two of you made your way across the field, him occasionally looking over his shoulder to make sure you were still behind him. When you both crossed the line, you found yourself trying and failing to get the words out to thank him.

“I almost- I could have- thank you!” you said, constantly interrupting yourself as the adrenaline that had been coursing through your body was sudden;y starting to crash.

He placed a hand on each side of you, grasping your arms, as he looked closely at you. You were a little taken aback by how worried he was looking at you. You realized his friendliness from before must have been completely genuine.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and you nodded. Your voice, which moments ago was spitting out a mass of discombobulated words, was suddenly stuck in your throat as his eyes met yours with such intensity.

He breathed a sigh of relief, but before he could smile he saw the player who had pushed you sitting on the ground a few steps away.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, stepping around you. 

You turned to watch him, and were shocked by how easily he picked the player up by their shirt collar and push them up against the wall.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, his tone much more intimidating in this moment than how he sounded when he talked to you.

“Hey, calm down!” the player said, trying to push him off. But his sturdy build was completely unaffected by the shoving. The player shrunk a little when they realized just how strong he was, “Relax! They survived, didn’t they?”

“No thanks to you,” Dae-ho stated, tightening the grip on the player’s shirt. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his upper arm, and he looked over to see you standing next to him.

“It’s okay,” you told him.

“See? It’s fine-” the player started, but quickly stopped when Dae-ho went back to glaring him down.

“Shut it,” he warned.

You wrapped your other hand around his arm too, gently pulling at him.

“Just ignore him,” you told him. The softness of your voice pulled at him much more than the anger he felt towards the player currently in his grasp, and he decided to listen to you.

Dae-ho sighed, dropping his hands, and the player, before following you as you walked away from the person who had shoved you. He had surprised himself by getting so angry with that player. Normally he avoided conflict, but he couldn’t stand that someone had purposely hurt someone else… Purposefully hurt you. 

“What would you have done to him? Hit him?” you asked, a little worried at what he might say. You were not the type of person who enjoyed conflict.

He shrugged, looking a little bashful, “No, probably not. I just… What kind of jerk purposefully puts someone in danger like that?”

“I don’t know, but… But I wouldn’t have made it if it wasn’t for you. So thank you,” you said, relieved by his answer.

“We should all be helping each other when we can, right?” he asked.

You smiled at his question, totally won over by how genuinely kind he was. Dae-ho saw your small smile, and he couldn't stop the grin that came to his own face.

[tethrawke]

Rook was sidelined so hard, I would really love to know what on earth the live service concept was that was the birth of this mess. I have never cared about a character less. The fact that they cut out Varric's recruitment mission so we never actually SEE why Rook is so much more suited to leading than Harding doesn't help. I mean wasn't Harding the scout leader in Inquisition? It's not like she has 0 experience being in charge? But it feels like... Rook has 0 experience being in charge? I never SAW Rook being a leader before Varric handed over the reigns. And yeah. Rook on their own doesn't do anything? The companions collect the leads and tell you what to do next.

Okay so maybe Rook's job is making sure they all work together. Rook is the manager, not the SME. Fine. Except, they don't need Rook. They all get along PERFECTLY FINE WITHOUT ROOK. There's a little bit of friction with Taash/Emmrich but lbr they'd have figured this out alone or with a different companion's help. Lucanis/Davrin solve their issue alone. If Rook disappeared all of a sudden, those people would still work together just fine... And they do in the last act, literally creating a fake dagger all on their own out of NOWHERE?? Rook never had an idea like that lol. And they save Rook completely on their own too. Like they just. Don't need Rook. At all. If Rook disappeared, Harding or Neve would easily take over and people would follow them. Not to mention how Rook wasn't included in anything ever and always felt like an awkward outsider who wasn't actually invited to the party, but came because they ASSUMED they were when everyone else was talking about it, but no one wanted them to come? If you've seen the B99 episode of the gang going on a trip with Holt where they have their private fun party in the basement while the boring "boss" party no one wants to be at is happening upstairs... That's how I felt the whole game.

I will say though, world-ending odds or not, Hawke was just a much better protagonist because Hawke WAS A PROTAGONIST. The people in Hawke's life literally would never have become friends without Hawke. Some of them still hate each other by the end but endure for Hawke. Like they're all literally only in the group for/because of Hawke. And Hawke quite literally changes who they are as people and has a massive effect on their lives. The choices you make as Hawke for your friends and the city MATTER. The Veilguard choices just... Don't. The only choice that truly matters is the Emmrich one. Everything else is just a skin preference. It has no actual effect on the game or how the characters act. It's the illusion of choice and you KNOW it won't matter in the next DA, if there ever is one.

Rook as a character is just... Desperately bad, and I'm very sad about it. I mean the Inquisitor was such a bland pancake of a person as well with no real past or personality, but I ended up caring about them because of their relationship with the companions, who provided the seasoning and toppings to their bland pancake stack. I felt like they actually cared about the MC and they all had interesting, deep relationships with Inky. I just feel like... the Veilguard crew would literally not notice if Rook just said "fuck this shit" and dipped halfway through the game. I mean no one even noticed I didn't know Varric was dead? Be real 💀

What’s really jumping out at me on my second playthrough is that the writers of the first three games understood that your character was the main character. The Veilguard writers clearly thought that the main characters were their characters, the companions.

Every scene is about setting the companions up as cool or competent or sympathetic. Often, this is done at Rook’s expense. The companions get all the witty one-liners; Rook’s attempts at humor not only frequently fall flat, but are frequently called out for falling flat (even when they’re completely automatic and the player has no say in them).

The companions have all the knowledge and skills; Rook just brought them all together and gives them all pep talks so they can focus. I’m trying to edit out all of the comments where Rook is like “Um… what????” from my videos, and let me tell you, it takes WORK. There are A LOT of them. I can count on one hand the number of times when the Inquisitor or Hawke comes across as dumb, but it seems to be a built-in, unavoidable part of Rook’s character. I have not selected a single “purple” option in all of Act 1, and Rook is still coming across as the kid who tries to be the class clown to cover for the fact that he’s always confused. Rook’s role in most scenes is to say “Uhhh… what?” so that the companions look smart.

Rook is always the one offering sympathy and never the one getting it. No one actually comes to comfort you after Varric’s death. No one asks you how you’re feeling about having to lead the team now that Varric is gone. No one tries to reassure you or give you advice for dealing with the trickster god haunting your dreams. We’re told that Neve could keep Solas out of your head, but she never actually offers to do this for you. No one comforts a Shadow Dragon Rook when Minrathous is destroyed or a Grey Warden Rook when Weisshaupt is destroyed. Rook’s problems don’t matter. Only the problems of main characters matter.

Rook is a secondary character in their own story.

[classiccowboy]

instagram j.b.

summary: follow along with joe and his wife evie as they go through his football career.

*face claim yasmin quintana*

series masterlist

evie

liked by joeyb_9, millyg, and others

evie: attached: 3 images

view all 729 comments…

user: i live vicariously through your posts.

> evie: come help me eat these cookies

user: peep the cincy shirt

> evie: 👀

joeyb_9: you didn’t save me any of those cookies? sus. 🤨

> evie: bro you don’t even eat that stuff in season?

> lahjay10_: nah but i do where mine at?

> evie: i’m feeling a little bit attacked. 🫣

> joeyb_9: good. next time you’ll share the cookies.

> user: not the fam fighting over cookies in the comments. 💀

> lahjay10_: we don’t play about the cookies.

joeyb_9

liked by evie, sam_hubbard_, and others

joeyb_9: My earbuds always open - no coverage needed #teambose

view all 947 comments…

user: i’m free any day of the week

> evie: does this include holidays?

user: my lover

> evie: i think we may need to have a conversation.

evie: jb why are you looking at me like that?

> joeyb_9: i can’t help it.

user: sir, i am at work.

> evie: he’s so inconsiderate.

user: respectfully (esp. to ev) you’re gorgeous.

> evie: i mean respectfully you are 1000% correct.

evie

liked by bengals, millyg, and others

evie: love all of my jungle friends

view all 629 comments…

user: fun day at the stadium

bengals: who dey!

> evie: 🧡🧡🧡

millyg: not you throwing back white claws like it’s your job

> evie: i am here for your entertainment.

user: ok slay

joeyb_9: the people’s princess

> evie: 👑👑

user: you look great but the bengals suck

> evie: go easy on my bengies.

lahjay10_: i’m not even going to lie i just knew you were drunk as hell when you came down after press. 🤣

> evie: 🥴

joeyb_9

liked by bengals, lahjay10_, and others

joeyb_9: keep fightin

view all 2,735 comments…

user: we don’t deserve you

evie: you inspire me like no other, i’m so proud of you jb.

> joeyb_9: love you pretty girl.

> user: i melt everytime he calls her “pretty girl” 😭

user: sorry, just so sorry

lahjay10_: 🐐

user: you are the best qb in this league

> evie: all fax no printer

> user: ev.. pls get out the comments. 🤣💀

> evie: ouch. you didn’t like that one?

user: joe you are 0-3 when you wear pink in your game day fit. tell your stylist.

> evie: i will hide all the pink in the closet. ur welcome.

evie

liked by joeyb_9, millyg, and others

evie: probably off doing very important adult things

view all 400 comments…

user: i don’t see why you’d need to dress like this when you’re living off of qb1 salary

> evie: why does everyone think i don’t have a job? 🤣

> user: don’t even act like you work lololol

joeyb_9: does this mean you are treating me to dinner tonight?

> evie: wait a minute??? i’m the one who got a promotion??? doesn’t that automatically mean you pay?

> user: pretending to have a job while eating on daddy’s money. sick.

> user: congrats on the promotion ev!

user: a buisness woman??

> evie: very much so

millyg: mommy?

> evie: its MOTHER to you

user: i’m crying at ur story 🤣💀

joeyb_9

liked by sam_hubbard_ and others

joeyb_9: @alo

view all 1,478 comments…

user: is he saying he has the blues?

user: did you forget about our date?

> evie: you must be confused.

user: win out

evie: is it obvious that my childhood celeb crush was jesse mccartney?

> user: omgggg ev! 🤣 you really said copy paste.

> user: no wait this makes completely sense.

> evie: guys i’m sorry. dare i say i kind of dig the blonde now???? 🫣

> user: you’re just like us.

user: alo king????

user: okay shiesty!

evie’s stories

[fuck1ng-queen]

Better than the series

Noah Sebastian x Reader 

Rating: 18+

Warnings: light discussion, you being a bit shitty, jealousy, oral sex, Noah using that damn mustache

Author comments: hi bestiessss, how are you? if you follow me, you may have seen a post i made about mustache!noah a few days ago and honestly, i didn't think that post would get so many notes (which makes me think that mustache!noah is something everyone is interested in). anyway, i'm going to hell for thinking about noah like that and i'm taking all of you with me, kisses!

"It was great, guys! Thank you so much! See you next week!" You said, pretending not to be so enthusiastic.

You finished your work and lowered the screen of your laptop with excitement. Friday afternoons were always full of expectations. The daily stress of adult life kept you away from your boyfriend much more than you would have liked, so the closer Friday night, the sacred moment for both of you, got, the more butterflies danced in your stomach. Of course, you weren't a little girl anymore, and you weren't in the "getting to know him" stage, but damn, when you realized who you were dating, it was hard not to feel like jelly.

You took a quick but strategically effective shower, dressed comfortably, perfumed your hair with Noah's favorite scent, and quickly ordered a car to be there as soon as possible.

With a backpack on your back and a smile on your face, you arrived ready for your special evening with Noah. It didn't matter what you were going to do, what mattered was that you were together. The door opened and he greeted you with a warm hug and a kiss before you snuggled down on the couch. How good it was to be with him, you felt as if the week hadn't passed you by, as if being in the warmth of his arms dissolved all the pain and worry in your life. You just wanted time to freeze so you could stay there forever, just you and him.

"I counted the minutes until today. Our Fridays are sacred, but some weeks are so exhausting that they make it even more special," you smiled and patted Noah's cheek. "What do you want to do today?"

He kissed your forehead, the mustache he had invented to keep on lately tickling you slightly and making you giggle.

"I love our Fridays too. But there's one thing… the guys are organizing a gaming session tonight," Noah replied.

You pulled away from his embrace a little, just for you to see him more clearly, blinking your eyes a few times in a row. "But today?" you asked, confused. "Noah, it's our night."

Noah scratched the back of his head, knowing his explanation wouldn't go over well, but he tried to explain himself anyway.

"It's Jay's birthday. He's alone at the exchange and we want to give a little joy to his day. I promise it won't take long."

You understand that Jay is alone and he misses his friends, especially Noah since they've known each other for so long, but you can't hide your frustration and immediately cross your arms in disappointment.

"You're always talking to them, we hardly have time for each other."

"But we're together every week, we see each other all the time, and Jay? Look at his side, the guy's all alone there. I bet you don't want to feel alone."

You stand up, getting off Noah's lap and reply, still frustrated, "Alone? That's how you're leaving me, alone. You should pay attention to me. It's Friday, Noah, our day!"

He stands up, and although you love that look on his face, his already closed face gets on your nerves. You hated it when Noah did that.

"Fuck, am I not here? I don't leave you alone, have I ever left you alone? I understand that today is our day, I really do, but you could put yourself in other people's shoes a little," Noah sighs, trying not to be a jerk and get into an argument with you. He thinks of better words to say to you before he continues. "He needs it today, he's been feeling very lonely lately."

You exchange glances: from his side, the silent plea for you not to be as angry as you already seem to be; from yours, the growing tension and frustration. You sigh, not wanting to start a fight, but feeling deeply annoyed.

"Fine," you just give in, seriously. "But I'm not happy about it."

Noah kisses your lips and only replies, "I promise it'll be quick. You can stay in the room with me while I play, I don't want you to feel left out."

You enter the room together, but the atmosphere is still charged. Noah begins to set up the computer for the game while you sit on the bed, trying to hide your disappointment.

"Gotta call Emma so we can watch something on call. At least that way I won't be totally left out and I'll have someone to talk to."

"Sure, good idea. Just don't be too mean to the character on the show," he replies absent-mindedly, but trying to be nice.

"Don't worry, he'll have all our attention," you reply, giving him a cynical smile.

Noah nods, a little relieved, as you pick up the phone to call your friend. He sits down in his gaming chair, turning on the neon light in the room, and off the regular bedroom light to make the room comfortable for both of you. He adjusts the headset to start while you lie on the bed fiddling with your cell phone, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

"Okay, guys, I'm here. Let's get started before Jay shows up."

You call your friend, and she somehow comes over to keep you company. You sit down on the bed with your laptop next to you and start watching the show. Noah, next to you, remains focused on the game, occasionally casting a furtive glance at you. A scene begins, highlighting the show's main character. He's handsome, wearing a shirt that, despite its formal appearance, is brightly colored and has some of its buttons undone, tight jeans, and aviator glasses that hide his deep brown eyes. But what really catches the eye is his distinctive mustache.

"Look at that man, that mustache is quite a sight," Emma jokes, her voice electronically present in the room. "This guy definitely knows how to use it to his advantage."

Noah, between the music playing and the laughter of his friends, hears you both burst out laughing, the sound echoing around the room, and he makes a point of very discreetly removing one side of the headset from his ear, curious to know why you're laughing.

"The mustache is like… a sign of confidence. I bet he must be amazing in bed."

"Totally! Do you think he's good in bed just because he has a mustache?"

"Absolutely! He must know exactly how to use it. Just think, a guy with a mustache like that must have tricks we can't even dream of."

Noah finds himself increasingly interested in the conversation and can't help but mute the sound of his headphones, trying his best to pay attention, one eyebrow raised in excitement to know how far your conversation is going, and just pretend to play.

"It must be the kind that takes your breath away in seconds," you say, unaware that Noah is listening. "The kind that knows what they're doing, the kind that's… experienced."

"A lot more than most. If a guy with a mustache like that paid attention to me, I wouldn't care about anything else, I'd just need him and a glass of water to live."

You laugh at Emma's comment, but then you look at Noah out of the corner of your eye and become serious again. "Yes, but some people prefer to play."

Noah continues with his temporarily forgotten game, pretending not to be hearing, but his expression with his back to you shows that he heard every word you said. "To play, huh?" He just moves his lips, speaking silently.

The conversation between you continues, full of laughter and bold comments about the character on the show. Noah keeps the microphone muted for long moments, discreetly observing the interaction.

The show ends and Emma says goodbye to you. Your phone vibrates with a message from your friend:

"It was fun, but I'm going to leave you to sort things out. Good luck!"

You reply with a few words: "Thanks. See you, Emma."

You get into bed, feeling a little better for the laughs with her, but still annoyed that Noah's game is taking longer than he promised.

"Good night, Noah," you say, turning your back on him, then mutter something inaudible, still slightly annoyed, but mostly frustrated. He should have at least warned you that the evening was going to be like this and that you'd be ready to do something else.

Noah doesn't answer, otherwise you might think he was listening the whole time. He sighs, knowing it will take an extra effort to get your attention again.

(…)

The night stretches on and Noah finally shuts down his computer and takes off his headset. He looks at you lying on your back, and even though you're asleep, he knows that you're clearly distant. Without forgetting how you've been thinking about the man in the series, he laughs softly, touches his own mustache, and something in him is ignited.

He slowly moves closer, snuggling up to you under the covers, already pushing your hair aside to make room to kiss your neck, deliberately brushing his facial hair. You slowly stir from the tickle you feel and finally wake up when you feel Noah's big hand playing with the nipple of your breast under your clothes.

"Noah…" you sigh, still sleepy. "What are you doing?"

He keeps tracing long kisses down your neck, making you shiver, and in a low, teasing voice he says in your ear, "You think I'm not paying attention, don't you? Those comments about the guy on the show… Do you think he could make you feel that way?"

Your sleep begins to dissipate as he kisses you, making you sigh, feeling your resistance melt away.

"Did you hear that? I was just kidding…" You turn your face to find his almond eyes staring at you with desire, your ass beginning to feel his bulge growing behind you.

He pulls the blanket off you and turns you over on the bed, kneeling in front of you and pulling off your shorts and panties together. He pushes your legs apart and you moan softly, already completely surrendered to the moment.

"Kidding?" His laugh makes you throb. "I'm going to show you that I'm much better than any guy you see on TV."

And he dives between your legs, ready to taste you, but mostly to tease you. He kisses one side of your groin, then the other, making a point of brushing his facial hair against you, noticing how wet and thirsty it makes you.

"Noah… Please…" you moan, trying to move your hips closer to Noah's mouth. He smiles smugly and runs his tongue along your folds, which are throbbing with excitement.

He turns his attention to your clit, sucking and sucking, making everything hotter and wetter. The hairs on his mustache, which you had just imagined tickling you while watching the show, only made you feel more pleasure. Noah tastes you like a hungry man and brings you closer and closer to coming apart.

"Look at you, you tremble every time I run my mustache over that needy pussy… I don't think I'll be shaving anytime soon. Do you want me to shave, babe?" he asks, laughing and rubbing his nose against you.

"N-no Noah, I don't want you to…" and you moan as you feel two of his long fingers penetrating you, unable to finish the sentence. "Noah, please…"

He is relentless in the way he moves his fingers inside you, knowing every point of you, knowing exactly what to do to turn you on. Without much effort, he feels you clenching against his fingers, your thighs shaking in spasms, and he hears your voice break into a loud moan calling out to him as you cum hard in his mouth.

He pulls away from you and kneels in front of your still-spread legs to appreciate your throbbing folds and your flushed, orgasmic face. "You're such a silly girl sometimes." He smiles and runs his fingers, which were inside you moments before, through his own mustache and ends up sucking on his own fingers. "This is for you to learn to appreciate what you have."

And then he just gets up and leaves the room, laughing at the incredulous way you look at him, trying his best to maintain the idiotic character he's just created, even though he knows he'll be buried inside of you in a few minutes, making you cum a few more times to live up to your special Friday.

.

Masterlist | Send me an ask to join my taglist

@lacy1986 @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @kenjipepsi1 @chey-h @concretejunglefm

[cosmic-evening]

ᯓ★ help, i'm still at the restaurant

kaminari x gn!reader

(loosely) based on right where you left me by taylor swift

pt.2

it took ages for you to say yes to denki.

ever since first year, he'd always had eyes on you. frankly, you found him immature. his childish antics were funny to watch, yes, but it gets old after a while.

it wasn't until second year when he'd stopped being friends with mineta and grew up a little. he stopped goofing around in class and pushed himself to be a better hero.

you'd said yes to him at the end of second year.

it wasn't long until you made it official. everyone at ua and their mothers knew you were dating. you went on dates so frequently it was like you saw him every day. he'd lend you his jacket, pull out your chair for you, the sidewalk rule, everything. his friends were all so jealous.

denki was the perfect boyfriend.

until he wasn't.

about a month into your relationship, you found your dates becoming more and more infrequent. you'd be lucky if you even saw him once outside class every week. suddenly you were the one always wanting to hang out, when all he wanted to do was game with his friends.

you didn't understand. was it you? were you not putting enough effort into the relationship? now that you think about it, he'd been planning a lot of the dates. maybe you should plan one. show him you care just as much as he does.

you decide to text him.

hey denki, how about we go out for dinner this weekend?

in true denki fashion, he replies within ten minutes.

sorry babe, i'm busy this weekend. maybe next?

you frown. he said he was busy last weekend, but he'd stayed in his dorm playing games all day.

not wanting to lose his attention, you reply quickly.

great! i can book dinner. how about 6:30 on saturday at the restaurant down the street?

you press send, biting your lip worriedly.

he likes your message.

you sigh and flop down on your bed.

saturday couldn't come fast enough.

as you look at yourself in the mirror, hair and outfit perfect, you smile.

today was going to be perfect. it had to be.

you make your way down the street, to the restaurant. it was a quiet place, where denki had taken you on your first date. there's a knot in your stomach as the waiter walks up to you.

"reservation under y/n, for two, please," you couldn't help the shakiness in your voice.

the waiter smiles and leads you to a table.

you send a text to denki.

hey, i'm here.

we're seated next to the window, with the potted plants.

you put your phone down and busy yourself with the menu, trying and failing to ignore the knots growing in your stomach.

minutes tick by, and you couldn't resist sending a few more messages.

hey, where are you?

text me when you can.

i'm getting worried.

panic surges in your throat. he couldn't have forgotten, could he?

people have started to look at you. you can feel the pity in their burning stares, and you try to blink back your tears. shame washes over you as you type:

please respond

where are you

denki?

is everything okay?

text when you can.

two hours later, you're done. packing up your bag, you send a few more messages, your tears blurring your vision, embarrassment a heavy weight in your chest.

fuck you, denki.

we're done.

pt.2 here

[not-poignant]

Y'all, I hate to say it, but if you're reading romance books by rapid release romance authors from the past two years, there is a really high chance that unless they've made an explicit statement saying they're NOT using ChatGPT in the process of writing their books, chances are really high that they are.

There are many many FB groups for professional authors (like 'Gen-AI for Authors') where authors literally compile ways to use Gen-AI to do as little writing as possible, to get as much bang for their buck. Authors who were used to using ghost-writers are now no longer paying them the small bucks and going to ChatGPT instead. (To say nothing of Gen-AI and book covers). (To say nothing of Gen-AI and audiobook readings, Audible doesn't allow them, but everywhere else pretty much does).

The only difference between this and other situations is that this author got caught because they got fucking lazy. But I guarantee you that if you're a voracious romance reader you're now also a voracious Gen-AI romance reader. It's truly dystopian out there, right now (*stares at US politics and tries hard to stay on topic*).

I had to leave quite a few professional author groups last year because unlike the fine arts, so many pro authors are so incredibly pro Gen-AI. I think romance is the worst for it, because that's where rapid release (like the 20booksto50k method) really gets pushed hard in romance writing circles. And of course not everyone is doing it, and if you're particularly savvy, you might have already been able to tell when you're reading just weirdly slightly overwritten romance novels and had a 'hmmm is this...? I think this might be at least slightly influenced by Gen-AI.'

If the plots seem more generic, if the character voices are more generic, if the paragraphs are more generic, if it's all a bit more weirdly overwritten check a) when that author started publishing and b) what the quality of their work was like pre-2023.

And don't be afraid to point blank ask authors if they can declare their works Gen-AI free. Most authors are on socials now. Though be careful, many are encouraging each other to lie in FB groups about it, even saying things like 'readers don't have a right to know if I use Gen-AI it has nothing to do with them.'

So y'know.

This author got caught. Silly author. The vast majority of them aren't getting caught. And a huge amount of that bunch are favourable to lying to their readers and to Amazon's little 'declare that you used AI in making this' ticky box.

(Also please know that a not insignificant amount (i.e. easily thousands) of rapid release romance writers never cared about the craft of writing, and they only care about gaming the algorithm and making the big bucks. There are six figure romance authors who could not give less of a shit about the quality of their writing, and only care about KU page reads, because even 50 page reads of a terrible novel is still going to equal way way more dollars if their marketing is really good.

This is not all pro romance authors of course!! I'm a romance author, I know a lot of romance authors feeling like they're drowning in this right now. Any romance writer releasing one book a year is - if in professional circles - getting weird looks from their peers for not releasing a novel a month. Rapid release romance authors have among some of the highest burnout rates if they sincerely love writing, and if they don't, they have zero issues turning to ChatGPT and lying to their readers about it.)

Like, we have books in the bestseller lists with Gen-AI covers, Gen-AI content, Gen-AI plots, Gen-AI characters and Gen-AI dialogue. Non-fiction and romance are two of the worst genres for this. Be careful, get educated, hold authors accountable, and remember, the only thing that's unusual about this author is not that they used ChatGPT at all, it's that they got caught.

[howi99]

A Knight second chance 13

Qrow: *cocking one eyebrow after watching the video of Jaune and Glynda's spar* What the hell was that, kid? Didn't you say you wanted to stay low profile?

Jaune: That was the plan at first, but i'm realizing that if i want everyone to survive, they need to step up their game. And i've got something to distract both Ozpin and Ironwood.

Qrow: *pensive* I see... *Point to Roman* Is this why that weasel sitting next to you, too?

Roman: *smirk* Qrow, nice seeing you again. How's your love life going?

Qrow: *smirk back* I dunno, how was it to be beaten by my niece?

Jaune: You know each other?

Roman: *leaning back in his chair* We went to Beacon together. *Sigh* His sister was a complete psychopath-

Qrow: *Grinning* You stole her sword during your first spare against her, of course she would beat the shit out of you.

Roman: *shrug* It was funny at the time.

Qrow: *chuckle* True that!

Jaune: ... *Shake his head, refocusing on why he gathered them here* In any case, Roman, you got the information we need against Lionheart?

Roman: *placing the documents on the table* All there. He wasn't the best at erasing his trace. *Sigh* 25 mission reclassified as low danger, given to inexperienced huntsmen teams.

Qrow: *picking up the document* For fuck sake... More than 200 huntsmen were killed, how did we not see that?

Roman: Mistral is the kingdom of crime. Falsifying documents was as easy as it gets for him.

Jaune: *looking at his scroll* Welp, i gotta go.

Qrow: *frown* Why's that?

Jaune: *sigh* Miss Glynda, psychiatrist extraordinaire, is asking for immediate attendance.

Qrow: *wince* That little bout with your friend is really biting your ass, huh?

Jaune: *groan* You have no idea. *Leave*

_ _ _

At the end of the appointment

Jaune: *perplexed* Something is weird happening with Penny?

Glynda: *picking up some papers* Miss Polendina has recently been suffering from multiple nightmares. *looking at the documents* Weirdly enough, she keeps saying something about there being "Nothing" and- *looking back at Jaune who is glowing faintly* Jaune?

Jaune: *mumbling* Nothing... Nothing happened...

Glynda: *worried* Jaune, what's wrong?

Jaune: *grabbing his head* What did i do wrong!? Why was i left behind?! Because i didn't follow a script?!? *The glow starts to intensify* I just wanted to get back! I- *feel Glynda sit next to him* ... *Hug her, crying*

_ _ _

Ozpin: *looking up with a smile, as Glynda entered his Office* Ah, Glynda, did- *sees her eyes, red from crying* ... *Sigh* Was it-

Glynda: *shaking her head* Worse. *Sitting on a chair* It was so much worse than anything we might have expected...

Ozpin: *worried* What-

Glynda: *trembling* Nothing happened...

Ozpin: *perplexed* What do you mean?

Glynda: ... Their was no knight to save the day, no cat to show you the way and no trees that could help you change for the better... A story that was never written... A destiny that can never be... *Shake her head* No wonder we never found that book, it never existed in the first place...

[tac-bat]

Dude the more I peek in the loopdile tag the less normal I become. SO with how I draw loop more akin to an analog horror creature I’d like to give some enrichment in a loop dile context.

So like context: my loop, my meow meow my freak, this is them. (For a visual idea) and like, after discussing with a friend we had the idea that they’d just be hard to look at. Not because of their body, but because trying to see their head clearly is near impossible. It’s like trying to focus a camera a little bit more, and it refuses to. chromatic abbreviation without the chrome pretty much. But ofc loop thinks it’s because they’re too disgusting to look at. It doesn’t help that sif avoided eye contact with them for the reason stated above. And neither of them communicated this because come on, what do you expect of them both??? So! Loop just accepted it, and to them, it made perfect sense. They’re not even “humanoid” anymore they’re,,, Somthing else.

ENTER ODILE post game!!! Where loop joins the party. Don’t ask me how they make it work, they just do.

Anyways, ofc Odile is intrigued by loop, apart on how they look, but mainly for mannerisms (still haven’t quite figured it out though). And loops attitude and arms length distance they try to keep everyone else at doesn’t deter her. Plus, Odile can see past it and know’s loop is doing it on purpose to put as much distance from them and the party as they can. And hey, somehow, because of her determination. Loop (just a little) brings their guard down (just a little). Maybe they can just be a little selfish in wanting her company.

SO! maybe one time, they’re talking. And as always Odile has to look away from loop. And, loop, decided to finally comment on it in a joking matter. Odile, ofcourse is confused, and pushes on it. And loop for once, snaps back.

Look at them! For universe sake!! Does she really look at loop, see way they’re stretched, crouch and tower over everyone—the way their arms are like branches and their fingers as needles, their legs are twisted like a wolf’s, their neck elongated: craneing and bending like no other should—and conclude that they aren’t hard to look at? Too disgusting to look at???

Odile, for the first time, forces herself to look loop in the eyes, her head hurting as she does.

And says no.

She doesn’t.

She never did.

In fact, she finds them fascinating.

Loop, has trouble comprehending that.

It’s even more jarring that Odile tells them she wants to look at them. Wants to see their face for more than a glance. What?? Has she gone insane???

I think it’s then Odile explains why she, and nobody else can.

Loop doesn’t know how to feel about that. They also don’t like how it makes their chest feel light that Odile wants too. They immediately bury it. Even if she doesn’t find them disgusting (a fact they’re still trying to grapple with) she would be if those (not) intrusive feelings came to light. Absolutely not. No way.

Odile doesn’t realize it yet as she hasn’t clocked the feeling she’s having yet about loop, but, she in fact, would reciprocate. By reciprocate I mean both would do it in their own fucked up ascespec way /pos

God, help them both :skull emoji:

[adumbratrapedme]

dating you for a bet | oikawa x reader

happy ending with oikawa | cute ending with matsukawa (w.i.p's)

Synopsis. Oikawa Tooru, the charming and ever-popular volleyball captain, surprises everyone—including himself—when he asks the quiet first-year, Y/N, to be his girlfriend. What begins as an unlikely romance blossoms into something beautiful, filled with stolen moments and heartfelt confessions. But behind Oikawa’s practiced smiles lies a secret that could shatter everything.

wc. 600 aprox. | genre. angst |cw/tags. oikawa being a bitch |pair. oikawa x reader

It was late afternoon when Oikawa leaned against the railing of the rooftop, the sun casting a golden glow over his sharp features. Y/N stood across from him, clutching her bag tightly, unsure why the third-year volleyball captain had called her here. “Y/N-chan,” he began, his voice unusually gentle, “I’ve been watching you for a while now.”

Her cheeks flushed a soft pink. “W-Why?”

Oikawa chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Because you’re different. You’re not like the girls who scream my name in the hallways or obsess over my every move. You’re... real.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. She wasn’t used to such direct attention, especially from someone as popular as Oikawa.

“So, I was wondering,” he continued, taking a small step closer, “would you go out with me?”

Her heart raced, the sincerity in his tone making her doubt the stories she’d heard about his flirtatious nature. After a moment of hesitation, she nodded.

“I-I’d like that,” she whispered.

Oikawa’s grin widened, and for the first time, she felt like it wasn’t one of his practiced smiles for the crowd—it was just for her.

The months that followed were like a dream. Oikawa made her feel like the only girl in the world, shielding her from jealous whispers in the hallways and holding her hand boldly in public. He’d surprise her with little notes in her locker, sneak her out for late-night stargazing, and even let her wear his team jacket on particularly chilly days.

“See, Y/N-chan?” he teased one afternoon as they shared crepes at a local café. “You fit perfectly into my world.”

She laughed, her eyes sparkling. “I think you’ve been spoiling me too much, Oikawa-san.”

“First of all, it’s Tooru,” he corrected, leaning closer. “And second... I can’t help it. You make me want to be better.”

Y/N’s chest swelled with warmth, and she couldn’t imagine a time when she’d been happier.

It was a text message that shattered her world.

Y/N had been rummaging through Oikawa’s bag for a pen while he was in the shower after practice. His phone buzzed, and the name “Iwa-chan” appeared on the screen. Normally, she wouldn’t have snooped, but the preview caught her attention.

Iwaizumi: So, did you win the bet yet or what? You’ve had plenty of time.

Her stomach twisted uncomfortably as she unlocked his phone, scrolling through the chat history.

The texts unfolded like a nightmare:

Iwaizumi: 5,000 yen says you can’t even get her to hold your hand. Oikawa: Make it 10,000. I’ll have her wrapped around my finger in no time. Iwaizumi: Don’t get too cocky, Oikawa. This isn’t your usual fan club girl. Oikawa: Relax, Iwa-chan. I’ve got this. Watch me.

Her hands trembled as she read further, the pit in her stomach growing heavier. The texts started months ago, before they’d even begun dating. But what hurt the most was seeing how casual Oikawa had been about it at first, as though their relationship had been nothing more than a game to him.

By the time Oikawa emerged from the bathroom, towel draped over his shoulders, Y/N was already on her feet, holding his phone in her hand.

“Tooru,” she said, her voice quivering, “what is this?”

He froze, his wide eyes darting from her face to the screen.

“Y/N, I can explain—”

“Explain what?” she interrupted, tears streaming down her cheeks. “That I was just some bet? That you used me so you could win money from your friends?”

“Y/N, please,” he said, stepping closer, his voice desperate. “It started like that, but it’s not like that anymore! I—I care about you. I love you.”

Her heart clenched painfully. “You don’t get to say that, Tooru. You don’t get to turn this into something real when you started it as a lie.”

He reached for her, but she stepped back, shaking her head. “We’re done.”

“Y/N, wait—”

She didn’t. She grabbed her bag and bolted out of his room, leaving him standing there, drenched in regret.

Oikawa sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the phone in his hands. The texts that once seemed like harmless banter now felt like daggers. He hadn’t meant for it to go this far, but somewhere along the way, he’d fallen for her.

And now she was gone.

The room felt emptier without her laugh, her warmth, her everything. He buried his face in his hands, wondering if he’d ever get the chance to fix what he’d broken—or if he was destined to spend the rest of his life haunted by the memory of her tear-streaked face.

Can he ever earn back her trust, or will his mistake be the end of the best thing that’s ever happened to him?

tbh i do think oikawa would do something like this BUT i dont think iwa would be part of it, but i just added him for the plot.

[adieutristana]

Can you write something where you comfort Jinx and calm her in season 2 where she gets hallucinations and looks really scared when sevika tells her about Isha?

of course! thank you for the request <3

guys somebody go back in time and slap past lottie for deciding that taking 16 credit hours this semester would be a good idea 😒

summary; comforting jinx after isha is taken.

characters included; jinx (romantic), sevika (platonic) isha (platonic/familial)

tags/warnings; hallucinations, mentions of poor mental health, hurt/comfort, isha is barely there but she’s there, same with sevika, mother/mother/daughter dynamic

men dni.

jinx kicks open the door to her hideout, buzzing with excitement. you’d just been out in the lanes together, looking for materials for one of jinx’s new inventions. another type of bomb, unsurprisingly, but one that would be better for ranged attacks. you also picked up some metal and paint so that jinx could make isha some new toys. maybe some new insects to make fight.

you smile at the thought.

"i'm back!"

your girlfriend calls out, approaching her workbench. she glances over, her eyes carefully scanning the area for any signs of isha.

"time to find out who's the new pebble weight."

she continues, glancing around. you also try to look for the little girl, searching for any signs of her. she's quiet, but she usually would've made her presence known by now. any other time isha would've jumped out with her helmet on, giggling and running circles around yourself and jinx. as if asking when you can play again, what's the next game.

"isha?"

jinx asks, her tone a bit more unsure- but she turns around, towards the tent on another platform of the hideout.

"oh, okay. i get it. playing that game, are we?"

she comments, as you follow along. long, blue braids swaying behind jinx with each of her movements. her tone is light and chipper, hopeful even. isha likes to hide. she likes to surprise the both of you, running up behind you and wrapping herself around your legs. you hope this is one of those times.

hopefully this is just a game, isha simply hiding and waiting to jump out at any moment. or maybe she didn't hear yourself and jinx calling out for her. maybe she's sound asleep inside the tent, having tuckered herself out. you hope to whatever is out there that it's something simple.

jinx glances inside the tent, peering her head in different directions while you look inside of various crates and bins. you can see the concern etched into the girl's features, glancing over as you continue to look for isha. but there's no sign of her. almost as if she vanished.

"god damn, she's good at hiding."

you grumble. you search any surface you can find, any little passage that she could hide in, any sheets or structures she could be hiding behind. but still, nothing. jinx turns to you, opening her mouth to say something.

"they got her."

sevika's distinct voice cuts through. you see her making her way toward the structure you're standing on, limping on one leg as liquid pours from where her prosthetic arm should be. falling onto her knees, trying desperately to keep herself upright. she looks like she's been through hell just now, and you can feel your heart drop to your stomach. they got her? who got her? what does that even mean?

"what?"

"she came to the rally. topside raided the place. took everyone."

sevika continues. oh, fuck. the rally. the rally zaun had planned to retaliate against the brutality of piltover's enforcers, which jinx was less than happy about. the woman had told her that she was a symbol, a beacon of hope for the people of the undercity. somebody who demonstrated power and resilience. she never once backed down from a fight, never showed fear in the face of injustice, and always stood up for what she believed in. even if it wasn't a conscious decision, she was taking a stand for her city.

but still, jinx didn't want to come. no matter how much sevika urged her to and no matter how much of a difference she was told it would make. and now, you're finding out that isha had showed up to the rally and had been taken. taken to gods know where and there's nothing either of you could've done. panic begins setting in, yet you haven't even seen jinx's face yet.

the thought of anything happening to the girl you and your girlfriend had taken in made your stomach twist. a playful, sweet girl who you'd both grown to care for. one who made you laugh, who kept you on your toes, who added the bit of adventure and unpredictability both you and jinx needed. only a child, and she's been taken. taken.

you look over to your girlfriend, and immediately rush to her. she's distraught. torn. rosy eyes are frantic, not quite focusing in on anything, her gaze downcast. the second you see her gasping, shaking her head, hands coming to cover her ears, you know something is seriously wrong. you're torn.

you've seen jinx in a similar state before. although her episodes had gotten more spaced out in your presence, the intensity dimming over time, they'd never fully gone away. you knew they never would, either. but you'd always been there to help. but this?

"jinx. jinx."

should you reach out to comfort her? would she be okay being touched right now? you don't know. but it's killing you to see her like that, so distraught. you know it's a horrible idea, she'll probably flinch away and retreat further into herself, but you have to.

you slowly reach out to grasp the girl's shoulders, a motion you hope will ground her at least somewhat. she lets out a sharp gasp at the touch, her eyes meeting yours for a split second. she doesn't respond, but she doesn't move away. this is good.

"shut up, shut up..."

she mutters under her breath, and you squeeze down on her shoulders. your thumb brushing against the cold, bare skin. you're trying to look into her eyes, get her to redirect her focus, but you can't seem to get through to her. you look back, and sevika is still on the floor, heaving. fuck.

"shut up!"

you hear a gunshot, and a sharp gasp leaves you. your ears begin to ring from the sound, but you throw your arms around your girlfriend's shoulders. you can't bear to see her like this. nothing short of scared, distraught.

"jinx!"

you move to swiftly smack the gun from jinx's hand, the metal making a clink sound against the steel of the floor. jinx tenses against you. her breathing is erratic and she still can't quite look at you, or sevika, or anything.

"jinx, baby, please, look at me. i know you're scared, i know this is a lot, but you have to calm down."

you tighten your grasp around the girl's shoulders, searching for absolutely anything in her expression. but all you're able to find is utter despair. blank eyes and parted lips. jinx's chest is heaving and she's grasping at her head, frantically looking around as if she doesn't fully believe that isha has been taken. like she's waiting for the little girl to jump out and tell her that she's okay.

her breath is coming out in pants, and you feel so damn lost.

"jinx. jinx, please. we'll find her, i promise we will, but we can't until you calm down."

you plead, one of your hands coming to her cheek while your thumb brushes across the skin. jinx is inconsolable to a point that you've never seen before, but you have to try everything in your power. for her.

finally, pink eyes meet your own, although hesitant. your heart all but clenches in your chest as you see her finally looking at you. acknowledging you and your words, even if non-verbally.

"baby. we're gonna find her. trust me, we will tear up this damn city and piltover if we have to, but we will find isha."

jinx's eyes are shaky, her gaze flitting between you and sevika as she pants. you can't hear it, but you're sure her heart is beating like a war drum. you're sure the battle in her mind is one not even she can comprehend. she lets out a shaky breath, slowly nodding.

"will we?"

"we will."

you affirm, your thumb continuing its motions on her cheek. your other arm comes from her shoulder to wrap around her waist, a desperate attempt to bring her back to reality. her breaths are still shallow at best, but you can see them relaxing the slightest bit. slow progress, but it's something.

"she's okay, jinx. i'm sure of it."

jinx shakes her head frantically, the tremble in her voice evident.

"she's out there somewhere. scared, and probably alone."

you sigh, looking down for a second. you know that jinx is probably right. if someone really did take her, isha is absolutely scared, and more than likely alone. it hurts your heart just to think about it. but you have your girlfriend in front of you, in desperate need of comfort and help. you can't dwell on that.

"probably. but i doubt she's hurt. we'll find her, and she's gonna be okay."

jinx lets out another shaky breath, and purses her lips. she pauses, before looking back at you again. she isn't quite reciprocating your touch, and she isn't giving you much to work with. regardless, she's calming down.

"we need to look for her."

she states plainly, to which you nod in agreement.

"we will-" you pause, looking out of the doorway, then back at jinx. "let's go. right now."

"right now?"

"right now."

jinx gasps softly, and mutters a little, 'shit, okay.' you press a quick kiss to her temple before rushing towards the exit of your girlfriend's hideout. quick on your feet and determined to find isha.