#so that it had been ignored and ignored way after we first noticed it in the back of the fridge

[poguehearted77]

Hi!! I've watched the scene where Sarah is starving and Rafe is pacing around and knowing he has cash in his pocket and doesn't care that his sister is starving and pregnant. I can't help but imagine it if it was reader, and they hooked up once twice or however you see fit, and she's pregnant with his baby.

Would it be any different? Could you write something about that? Take the idea and run with it because im bad at articulating 🤣

Oh yeah, Rafe is a class-A asshole, but he might show just a little remorse if the baby is his.

Love the requests, keep sending em' in!!

The Moroccan sun was beating down on the group relentlessly, sweating you out and drying you up with the shine of its bright light. The only reason your sweat wasn't dripping off you was because it was quickly soaked up into the modest fabrics around your head.

You'd been travelling tirelessly for the last few days, dangerously too, if you might add. The boat nearly capsized multiple times just trying to make it to Morocco. As if the boat ride wasn't abhorrent enough with your seasickness....and morning sickness...

The constant smell of saltwater and the rocking of the ship had amplified the awful experience and you would spend the first hour in the bathroom regurgitating your insides every morning. It was not fun.

None of the pogues know you're pregnant. Although, Cleo was on to you. One pregnancy was more than enough for the group to worry about. You figured this was something you'd keep to yourself despite the fact the father is currently trekking with you through the hot sands.

The day was only getting hotter. You're thirsty, your lungs hurt and it felt like your own organs were weighing you down. You naturally began to fall behind the group, little by little until the gap was hard to ignore.

"Come on, Y/n. We're not far from the city, just a few more miles." Pope encouraged but it triggered a laboured breath. You're exhausted. A small smile crept on your lips when you noticed John B holding Sarah's hand the whole time, never letting her out of his sight.

For what feels like the eighth time, Rafe looks over his shoulder, more annoyed than ever. "Jeez, would you hurry it up?" You scoff, mustering up enough energy to kick up some sand at his legs. "Nice. Real mature, Y/n." His sarcasm rolls off his tongue and you ignore him as you walk past him.

Once you finally made it into the city, you all needed something to eat. Sarah wasn't feeling so great and neither were you. Babies are nothing but greedy entities consuming all the nutrients you need.

You leaned against the cool rock wall, watching the others run off to help themselves to a five-finger discount. With your eyes closed, you tried to distract yourself from the ache in your abdomen. Not sure if it was the baby or your hunger, possibly a mix of both.

Without even realizing it, you let a hand rest lightly over your stomach. It was still early, you weren't showing and you thank god.

"We're wasting time!" You hear Rafe yell, it doesn't even faze you. He's somewhere near you when he mumbles to himself, "Sitting around on the streets when we should be going after Groff, unbelievable."

What was supposed to be a quick glance your way turns into an elongated stare. His eyes raked over your posture, your shut eyes, brows crunched in distress. He slowly looks down at the placement of your hand.

"Y/n." He says, tugging you into a corner out of sight from the others and you swat him. He shockingly accepts the reprimands and backs off, taking a step back. "What do you want, Rafe?" Your arms cross, waiting for him to say something.

"Is it mine?" Your arms fall slowly, caught, but you deny it. "I don't know what you're talking about." Hardly able to take two steps away before he's barricading you in the corner with his body.

"Don't bullshit me, Y/n. The baby. Is it mine?" You chew on your lower lip, avoiding his chilling gaze. Apparently, that was enough confirmation. "How long have you known?" He takes on a defensive stance.

How the hell were you supposed to know the answer to that? The last week alone has blurred together in memories of rough waters and dry deserts.

All you knew was it happened sometime between the various times you and Rafe swore it would be the last time you fooled around. Unsure if it was the time on his yacht, in the back of his truck or one of the dozen times you somehow ended up in his bed when you swore you were only in figure eight for a 'walk'.

The group had no idea the two of you had been involved with each other aside from the occasionally tense argument, but anyone could admit the two of you can't seem to stay away from one another.

"I dunno, a month maybe?" He pressed both hands to his forehead, fingers spread wide, and slowly dragged them down, smearing the tension all the way to his chin.

"Let's go." His grip on your hand forces you to follow his long strides between the bustling kiosks until you land inside a Delhi. You're too stuck inside your own mind to process what was happening until you watched Rafe lift the bottom of his shirt, revealing a fanny pack with a considerable amount of money.

"Of course. Of course, you had money this whole time! Of course, you let the others go stealing--!" He hushes you as the owner flashes you a look of concern, "Listen, I'm not the one who told those pogues to go looting. I've got money for more important shit than their sad jewel hunt." He explains, paying for the items with a small nod of gratitude towards the man.

Turning to you, he placed a sandwich in one hand, and a cool bottle of water in the other. "This," He starts, his palm gently resting against your stomach. For the first time in a long time, his brows relax and his gaze softens when he looks at you. "This is more important."

[ihavemanyhusbands]

Veni, Vidi, Amavi

Also on AO3

Pairing: Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 2.8k words

Summary: After your first encounter, you attend the next games to watch Lucius fight, and celebrate his victory with him after.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ ONLY MINORS DNI), canon naval battle with some canon divergence, graphic depictions of violence, mentions of blood and death, reader is a courtesan (so SW), some angst, mutual pining, semi-exhibitionism (there are guards around), sort of audio voyeurism, unprotected p in v, aaaaand I think that's it but lmk if anything else!

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The roar of the crowd was near deafening as you made your way to the Emperor’s box behind Queen Lucilla, General Acacius, and Senator Gracchus. Hundreds of feet pounded in a war-like rhythm, all eager — or more like absolutely salivating — for a good spectacle. Snapping and jeering like rabid, bloodthirsty dogs.

You would never understand that insatiable, sadistic need to see another’s brutal destruction. Nobody ever thought they would watch somebody they loved be subjected to it, just strangers who weren’t really people in their eyes. But it was more common than most would like to admit, the sand forever stained not just with crimson, but also with the salt of mourning tears.

You hid your unease behind a cool, placid mask, smiling back at Senator Gracchus as he glanced at you over his shoulder. He had been curious when you had first requested to attend the games with him, but having just found out about Prince Lucius’ return and rising fame in the arena, he was amused at your antics. 

Your patron might be old, but he was no fool. Gladiators always caught the eyes of pretty, young girls like you, especially ones such as Lucius. It was really no wonder you’d want to see his glory for yourself, so he had conceded if only to indulge you.

And when he’d helped you off the litter that had carried you to the Colosseum, he had not been surprised to notice you were hiding a garland of myrtle inside your sleeve. A common enough offering to Venus, goddess of love. He made no mention of it, though, content to just watch how things played out. 

Once you’d arrived at the box, each of you knelt in front of the twin emperors and kissed their rings. Emperor Geta smiled down at you in that enigmatic, impish way of his, but his brother mostly ignored you. Not that you really minded escaping his notice, though. Better than his scorn or, worse, his interest.

“Let us begin,” Geta said, his excitement palpable as he rose to address the crowd. “We are all in for a real treat.”

You went to stand next to Queen Lucilla, sensing that her tension matched yours, even if she was perfectly poised and regal. She’d had many more years of experience hiding her true emotions, after all. You shared a small smile with her, both silently recognizing it as a moment of solidarity.

“Citizens of Rome!” Geta called out, his voice rising above the crowd. “Today, in honor of General Marcus Acacius' triumph in taking over Numidia, you will be witnessing no mere games!”

A heavy, metallic noise resounded throughout the arena as it seemed to shift, the ground underneath you shaking fiercely. But what you heard next made dread sink into your stomach like a heavy stone – rushing water. A flood’s worth of it. Soon enough, the arena was immersed and massive sharks were fed into it, menacingly circling about. At opposite sides, great iron gates groaned open to reveal two war vessels flying different colors – Roman and Barbarian.

And captaining one of them was a figure you recognized all too well, even at a great distance. You felt as if a fist were closing in around your throat, robbing you of breath. Instinctively, you stepped forward to try to get a better look, but Senator Gracchus put a hand on your back to stop you from going past the thrones. 

This seemed to anchor you back to the present, and you reminded yourself that the Lucius that you saw in the arena was not the tender one, but the fearsome warrior.

Let him live, you thought pleadingly, clutching the garland tighter. Oh, Gods, please let him live.

General Acacius waved at the crowd, muscles tensed even as he smiled, thanking them for the great honor. Emperor Caracalla, infected by the madness of bloodthirsty enthusiasm, jumped to his feet. 

“It is war!” he cried, smiling sadistically from ear to ear. “Real war!”

If it was even possible, the crowd roared louder, the cacophony railing against your eardrums. Queen Lucilla clenched her jaw, gripping the headrest of one of the thrones tightly. With a shaking hand, you accepted the wine Senator Gracchus offered you and clinked your glass against his.

The two vessels circled each other closely, quickly searching for any weaknesses and readying to strike. The Roman fleet was cocky, though, moving in without a shred of uncertainty. The Barbarian vessel narrowly missed their initial attack, but they came close enough that a few Roman fighters jumped onto their boat.

The loud clash of swords followed, a few bodies falling overboard, some still living. The waters bloomed crimson, the sharks going into a frenzy at the scent of blood. You spotted Lucius again in the chaos, driving his sword through the last invading Roman fighter and yelling out commands to his fellow gladiators. 

Both Emperors leaned over the edge of the balcony, shouting and jeering along with the rest of the Roman populace. General Acacius hovered near them, but he watched as somberly as the rest of you. The vessels came close again, but in a cunning move, Lucius made his rowers pull the oars at the last moment before impact. 

The oars of the Roman vessel tore into the side of the Barbarian one, tipping it sideways but effectively getting them both stuck together. Fighters from both sides clashed once more, desperation seeming to take place as both boats were threatening to capsize. 

Without noticing, you grasped Senator Gracchus’ arm as you waited for the outcome. He placed a hand over yours, watching just as raptly. Numbers dwindled quickly in favor of the Barbarian fighters, and you felt like you could almost sight in relief. But what happened next was so fast that you almost thought you’d imagined it.

Before anyone could actually be declared victor, an archer loosed an arrow that sailed towards the emperor’s box, landing between their thrones. Chaos ensued, the two of them crying in outrage and surprise. Immediately, General Acacius and the Praetorian guard moved to safely evacuate them. 

“Let’s go, all of you!” he commanded, voice booming.

Senator Gracchus ushered you and Queen Lucilla to follow as some guards encircled the three of you. You tried getting one last look at the arena but saw nothing more than the splintered masts of the vessels. Thankfully, Lucius was still alive, at least for the time being.

But just in case, you sent a prayer up to the Gods that nobody else noticed he was the one to shoot the arrow. 

—--------------

A small torch was your only source of illumination as you navigated through the streets of Rome to the prison where Lucius and his fellow gladiators were being kept. After relaying Lucius’ demand to see you, Queen Lucilla insisted on sending one of her guards with you. He marched at your side, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, ready for any possible assailants leaping forth from the dark. 

You hid your face under a hooded cloak and let your companion speak to the jail’s guard as you arrived at the iron gates. The jail was cavernous, damp, and cool, and oppressive in the darkness of night. You shuddered, unable to fathom being imprisoned in such a place, even for a day. Your heart ached for those who already were, ignorant of when – or if – they might be released.

He guided you to Lucius’ cell, opened the large, heavy padlock, and let you in. Both guards waited outside of the cell to give you some privacy, and you removed your hood so Lucius could see you. He stood up from his cot, a smile slowly breaking out on his handsome face.

You let him take you into his arms and kiss you, leaving you swaying on your feet. You pulled away just enough to look him over as if reassuring yourself he was alive and all in one piece. His smile didn’t falter under your assessment – in fact, it seemed like he was proud to have proved himself to you, keeping the promise he’d made at the bathhouse. 

“Today was… I don’t even have the words to describe it,” you said, hugging him close. “When I realized it would be no ordinary fight, I feared for you… I still do.”

He placed one of your palms on his chest, right over his heart. “You have nothing to fear. I’m here.”

You glanced over your shoulder to make sure the guards weren’t watching, then lowered your voice to a whisper.

“What you did at the end, it was beyond foolish,” you said, shaking your head slightly. “I made an offering to Fortuna for all the favor she bestowed on you today. I do not think anybody else realized, or else we would not be standing here.”

“Another reason to celebrate,” he said, not bothered in the slightest. “Perhaps it was even luckier that the arrow didn’t strike true.”

“You really meant to kill one of the Emperors?” 

He shook his head. “Not them. Acacius. But in reality, I wouldn’t have minded if either of them had fallen.”

“I suppose it was a good thing the rest of us were out of range,” you murmured, looking down.

“I would never harm you,” he said gravely, grasping your chin and making you look him in the eye. “Never.”

You were nearly floored by the sincerity in his gaze, but even more so by the passion you found there, as well. It went beyond lust, even. Nobody had ever looked at you in such a way. You leaned forward and kissed him gently, letting him know that you trusted him.

“I know, Lucius,” you said.

“Then, let us not concern ourselves with anything, or anyone, else for now,” he said. “Tomorrow, the sun will rise and Rome will still be Rome. In the meantime, there is only us.”

The echo of his words at the bathhouse made you smile softly. A part of you wanted to ask more questions about his wanting to kill Acacius, but there was a slight edge of finality to his tone. Regardless, it wasn’t like you wanted to waste what little time you had together lecturing him. 

You reached up to undo your cloak, intently holding his gaze, and let it fall on his cot. “Claim your prize, then, fierce warrior. I am all yours.”

With a glance outside, he extinguished the torch in his cell and closed the distance between you. His lips melded against yours desperately, tongue slipping into your mouth. With ease, he lifted you into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist.

He sat on the cot so you could straddle him, his hands wandering down your back and settling on your ass, giving it an appreciative squeeze. He groaned into your mouth, his chest rumbling against yours. He pulled your dress over your head as best as he could, leaving you in your thin shift. 

His hands traced the curves of your hips and waist, like a sculptor working clay into a masterpiece. He cupped your breasts, your nipples poking through the fabric, and you leaned back to give him access. He managed to pull the shift down to your midsection, revealing your chest. He trailed open-mouthed kisses on your sternum, moving lower. 

His tongue teasingly flicked one of your nipples, making you suck a breath through your teeth. He lavished them both with attention, the graze of his teeth and the pinch of his fingers igniting a fire within you. You continued trying to be as quiet as possible, even if he made it extremely difficult.

You reached between your bodies to palm his growing erection over his tunic. His hips bucked upward, seeking more of your touch. One of his hands cupped the back of your neck, leaning your forehead against his.

“How does it feel,” he rasped. “To be the only one who can disarm me so completely?”

You felt a heady, triumphant rush, nipping at his bottom lip. “I’ll keep the secret for you.”

He chuckled, surrendering to another fervent, dizzying kiss from you. You hiked up your shift as he lifted you slightly so he could free his cock from beneath his tunic. You spat on your hand and reached down to spread it on the sensitive head, moving to grip the base so you could line it up with the entrance of your cunt. You sank down slowly, your face so close to his you seemed to share breath. 

“Just like that,” he groaned, hands gripping your hips tightly. “I needed this more than you know…”

“Let me take care of you,” you whispered, letting out a breathy moan, head tipping back in ecstasy. 

You felt like you were filled to the brim by him, clouding all your other senses. He slid in and out of you easily, your arousal dripping down his length and pooling on his sac. His mouth was on your chest again, your fingers weaving through his hair. 

“Oh, Lucius…” You sighed dreamily. 

He pulsed at the sound of his name on your lips. In order to prolong the pleasure for both of you, he rolled you onto your back on the cot, keeping himself sheathed inside of you. He pushed your legs back, driving your knees past your elbows, his weight pinning you down. 

His thrusts were deep and hard, but not fast, intent on letting you feel him in his entirety. Your face contorted with pleasure, the intensity of it all nearly too much for you to bear. He groaned your name with the intensity of a supplicant. His sac tightened as he felt you squeeze around him, knowing he wouldn’t last too long no matter how much he tried. 

“Say my name again,” he said, eyes blazing. “Say who you belong to.”

“Lucius,” you panted deliriously, tears gathering on your lashes. “Ah, Lucius!”

His thrusts picked up the pace, frenzied, the sound of flesh slapping together unmistakable. You cupped his face in your hands as you felt yourself coming apart under him, trembling. A cry threatened to escape you, but he covered your mouth with one hand, muffling it. 

He shushed you gently, but his breathing became ragged as he reached oblivion himself. You felt warmth flooding your cunt, his last thrusts shallow, fucking his spend deeper inside you and making sure no drop was wasted. He uncovered your mouth and kissed you as if in apology, both of you dazed and content.

He rolled over to lie very closely at your side, the cot barely big enough for the two of you. His strong arms enveloped you once more, making you feel safe perhaps for the first time in your life. There were still a few hours before sunrise – before Rome and everything else that came along with it became real again – so you could languish with him for a little while longer.

The last thing you wanted was to untangle yourself from him, anyway, instead nuzzling closer. Your fingers softly traced patterns on his forearm as you pondered what this might mean for the two of you.

“Do you… really intend to stake your claim on me?” You asked tentatively. “Outside of this?”

You deliberately avoided any specific labels, not foolish enough to presume anything. Things were still precarious and new, but you already felt bonded to him in a way you couldn’t truly explain, and a part of you had to believe he felt the same way.

“Of course,” he said, but seemed hesitant to say more.

You shifted onto your belly to look at him, his fingers now tracing up and down your spine lazily. 

“Are you certain?”

He nodded, sighing deeply. You’d already known there was a lot weighing on him that he did not speak about, and while you didn’t want to add to his burden, you needed to know this. If only to save yourself some pain.

“There are a great many things at stake right now, including my freedom,” he said, looking up at the ceiling pensively. “Much of what I still have to do is dangerous, and only the Gods know the outcome of it all. I intend to do everything in my power to protect you, in the meantime, and I cannot allow you to become a part of what must happen. I cannot risk losing you.”

You weighed his words for a moment, then nodded in understanding. “You are lucky, patience is a virtue I possess in great quantities.”

He looked back at you and kissed the tip of your nose affectionately. 

“I don’t make promises I don’t intend to keep,” he said, lacing his fingers through yours. “And I can promise you that as soon as I walk a free man, the first one I will run to is you.”

-------

[soleilapproves]

catalyst - chapter 3

Life has many twists and turns- yours included getting rejected from med school and ending up as a manager for your burnt-out pro boxer ex. (sukuna x reader)

Note: fem!reader

fanfic masterlist / main masterlist

“And after you get your cast removed, you’re gonna go meet your therapist. You’re due for a session.” Sukuna couldn’t be bothered to listen to Uraume’s rambling. Not when you walked around in his apartment in those shorts that made you look so enticing. Those shorts wouldn’t have lasted a minute in his sight two years ago. Your body moved swiftly behind Uraume’s frame, which was slightly below face-level with him. 

As you cleaned his living room, his eyes followed your figure, putting away misplaced books and flash drives containing important fight compilations. You looked less exhausted now compared to when you first started working for him. It’s crazy what two weeks' worth of difference could do. Your figure looked a little fuller than before because of all the food you were eating with him, and the dark circles beneath your eyes were slowly disappearing. You also began replying to him with two sentences instead of one. 

He desperately needed to know what you had been up to. Most of your icing sessions with him were silent if you didn’t account for the loud sexual tension that was always there with how close you’d be next to him- smelling like his most ardent daydream. 

“Did you get all that?” Sukuna looked down to see Uraume with their eyebrow raised. 

“You weren’t listening to me, were you?” Uraume asked. 

Sukuna nodded. “Yeah, yeah, eat my vegetables, do my exercises.” 

His manager sighed and turned to see you bent over the couch, trying to pick up a pillow that fell behind it. “You’re such a dog.” The shorter individual grimaced before placing a binder full of information about shoulder exercises on the kitchen counter. “Do these every night. Make sure you ask her for help.” He said as he gestured towards your oblivious figure, still cleaning around the couch in a compromising position. 

“Uhuh,” Sukuna said with eyes trained on your bottom. He noticed that you were gaining some volume after eating meals similar to his. It worked out well for you because your shorts showed off your shape well. 

“Gross.” They pinched the bridge of their nose.

“She’s gonna drop you off at the therapist’s office, by the way.”

“Wha- why?” Sukuna’s eyes squinted. It was embarrassing enough for him to have his ex be hired to pick his life up; having her escort him to his appointments was another thing. “Someone has to make sure you actually walk through that door and not escape with an Uber. Besides, I have a hair appointment right after your cast removal. This bob doesn’t stay sharp on its own,” Uraume said while adjusting their hair. 

Short grey wire-like strands starkly stood out on your scalp. They looked like tiny plant stems sprouting from sod. You had always complained about being stressed from school, but Sukuna wasn’t expecting the effects to be this apparent. He wondered if your body was on its last thread before you moved in with him. 

He knew your dreams were important, but you had this knack for ignoring everything else and focusing on your goal. His hands itched to grab you by your shoulders and yell, ‘This isn’t you!’ 

You looked up at him after tying his shoes. “Shall we go?” 

Burning red irises stared back into yours. There was so much to say, yet so little came out of his mouth. “Yeah, let’s get this damn thing off.”

He smiled inwardly at the bunny loop laces on his trainers as he watched you pack your bag. 

-

Everything was unsettling. The clock ticking, the familiar smell of artificial vanilla wafting through the room, the blinds covering exactly three-seventh of the window (Sukuna knows too much about ratios because of all his training),  the propriety of the entire office (who even has coasters for different types of cups?), and worst of all, his therapist’s impassive face. 

Sukuna’s knees bounced as he watched the blond man in front of him write down his notes. The sound of his ball pen scratching against the paper created an uncomfortable ambiance. “You gonna prescribe me something? Don’t bother if weight loss is one of the symptoms.” 

“No, I was just doing my crossword puzzle. You’re well enough to avoid therapeutic drugs.” 

Sukuna scoffed. “Look, Nanami, reverse psychology won’t work on me. I know you’re prescribing me some shit.”

Nanami turns his notepad around to show Sukuna the latest New York Times crossword puzzle. “I’m much too educated to use reverse psychology.” And he was right. The PhD certificate displayed on his office wall and numerous awards in a small glass cabinet in the corner indicated that the man was good at his job. He was the only therapist who could approach Sukuna’s concerns without making him feel small.

Sukuna hated that. He hated when he felt like he was being poked and prodded at by doctors. He did not cope well with having moments of weakness, hence avoiding treatment. Everyone treated him like a broken doll. 

Which he wasn’t- he was a skilled fighter who just couldn’t push himself any further. 

“You’ve been skipping your last few sessions. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for paid lounging, but I’m also curious. Why’d you come now?” Nanami asked, still not looking up from his engaging activity. 

“I want to get better. I-” he took a deep breath. “-have someone I have to get better for.” He couldn’t look Nanami in the eye while saying that. He hadn’t felt this self-conscious before a man for a very long time (except for Coach Yaga). It’s part of the reason why he avoids visiting Nanami.

“Is it-”

“Yeah, it’s her. So just tell me what I have to do.”

Nanami put his notepad down and crossed his legs, iron-pressed tan slacks refusing to crease. “I’m not a relationship counselor. I’m only here to help you.” The pro boxer could only stare out the window, where the car you dropped him with was parked. If he squinted, he would probably be able to see your sleeping face.

There was a hollowing void in his life after the breakup. It seemed he had lost his reason to live, even though Yuuji was there for him- someone willing to support him even after the big incident. With a wistful heart, he yearned to be someone significant in your life again.

“I want to be with her again, but I’m scared of what she’ll think of me.”

“Is it because of what happened in the past?” Nanami asked, calculatingly to the athlete on the couch across from him.

“Yeah.”

“There’s no right way to tell her. You can’t run away from what’s inevitable. How about we talk about the incident from two years ago? It might help you gather your thoughts and decide how to come clean to her.” Sukuna indolently nodded at his therapist’s suggestion. 

“But first, I must ask you something important- what’s a five-letter synonym for abdominal pain?” 

“Can’t believe I’m paying you three hundred an hour for this shit.”

-

Sukuna had been staring at you since you both returned from the therapist’s office. It wasn’t like his usual scrutinizing stare, where it felt like he was examining every inch of your skin. It was more like his head was in another universe; you were the only thing keeping him grounded. He was going to do it. Today was the day he’d tell you why he really broke up with you. 

He didn’t visit Nanami for nothing. He just needed to ease you into having a proper conversation with him.

You were massaging his shoulders after his routine shoulder exercise, and you were glad to be standing behind his head while seated. At least you wouldn’t have his intense gaze on you. He was shirtless again, and you were finding it challenging to keep your eyes on his shoulder rather than the expanse of his broad back. On the other hand, kneading your fingers through his firm muscles was quite relaxing after staying at the edge of your seat with him all the time. “You gotta massage near my collarbones now.” 

And your relaxation period ended. 

Without missing a beat, he pulled your arm and made you stand between his legs. His firm grasp then placed your hand where you needed to massage him. You wanted to reprimand him for moving you around as if you didn’t know what to do next, but you kept to yourself to avoid pointless arguments. 

Your skin felt hot, massaging around the socket of his joint. Your heart couldn’t help but waver with how his shoulders’ muscles rippled with every little movement. The tattoos made him hotter. You didn’t want to find him hot. There were better things to focus on.

Like his thick neck with veins popping out of them whenever you’d accidentally press too hard while massaging. Or his strong jaw. His sharp, bold jawline. Up to his beautiful cheekbones, to his beautiful nose, down to his perfect plush lips. 

You bit the inside of your cheek to bring yourself back to reality. You should not be thirsting over your boss (you weren’t sure if you would call him that, but without Uraume around, he was the closest to one).

“...so why this?” 

“Huh?” You were so distracted by his beauty that you didn’t even realize he had asked you a question. 

“You told me you were gonna go to medical school after graduating, so why are you working?” It wasn’t hot in Sukuna’s room, but you could feel yourself break into a sweat. It felt humiliating to announce your goals to the world just to fail at achieving them.

“Oh, I thought Uraume would’ve told you by now. But I, uh- I got rejected.” There, it was like ripping off a bandaid. 

“They didn’t mention anything about it. Also, all five of them rejected you?” You ignored how your heart jumped over the fact that he still remembered your dream schools.  “Yeah, all five.” You had to look away from his bewildered face to hold on to some of your already deteriorating pride. 

“But that’s crazy. You worked so hard for it since the beginning.”

“Well, it wasn’t hard enough.” 

“Bullshit, they were blind.” Sukuna’s breathing started to become shallow, and Uraume instructed you not to get him worked up during his resting period. “Sukuna, I’ll see you tomorrow. We’re done with the massage.”

“But-” 

“Kuna, please.” 

You said it. You said his nickname. He would have been elated in a different context, but right now, it just felt like you were trying to shut him up. So he let you escape. He let you go back to your room. He knew he couldn’t pressure you into talking to him, but he was ready to be patient. 

—

I can’t wait for you guys to read what I have in store for the next chapter 😼

taglist: @sukubusss @kyo-kyo1 @kensqueent @totallygyomeiswife @missthatgirl @iluv-ace @emoedgylord

[bubblesgarden]

always you — john b x reader

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summary: you and john b have been friends for years, but when kiara carrera comes along, things become different.

author's note: hi guys ! this is my very first piece of work i've posted here and i really hope you enjoy it ♡ if you did, please consider giving this a like, reblog, or comment ! feel free to give me a follow if you'd like to see more ♡

you were just eight years old when you first met john b. he had scraped knees and an untamed mop of hair, but his smile was infectious— like how the sun shone through your curtains on a summer morning, or when you listened to a song for the first time and would have it on repeat constantly. and before you knew it, you were spending every single day together. the two of you inseparable, running wild, dreaming up adventures, and sharing secrets that you swore would never leave the walls of the chateau.

for years, it was you and him— two kids hand in hand, against the world. at least, it felt that way.

but then kiara carrera came along. she was cool, easy going, and fit into the group so effortlessly that you couldn’t really blame john b for wanting to hang out with her. at first, it didn’t bother you— after all, kie was great. but slowly, you noticed the dynamic start to shift.

the days where it was just you and john b became fewer and farther between. instead of running off to hide up in the treehouse in your backyard for hours, or lay smushed up together on the hammock at the chateau while you stared at the stars to talk about everything and nothing, he was suddenly too busy. too preoccupied. with kiara. 

at first, you tried to convince yourself it didn’t matter. john b was allowed to have other friends. but as days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, the sting of being phased out by your best friend since childhood was too much to ignore.

one night, after another gathering around a fire where you felt like a shadow in your own group; constantly being talked over or ignored completely, you decided you’d had enough.

you didn’t exactly know what you were going to say— there were too many things running through your mind that you were positive it was all going to turn into a bunch of word vomit when you’d eventually face him. or you’d end up freezing. there was no in between unfortunately. 

so when you finally approached the chateau, you found john b sitting on the porch, sipping on a beer as he gazed out at the stars. the glow of the moonlight highlighted the familiar curve of his jaw, and those messy curls you had ruffled a thousand times before.

“can we talk?” you ask, skipping the introductions and small talk. that would just make this worse, you thought. you stepped up onto the creaky wood, arms crossed over your chest, almost in a way to hold yourself together. 

he turned to you, surprised. almost like he had forgotten you existed— surprised to see you here, where you had been day after day, and night after night, during your years of being friends. it wasn’t unusual at all for you to show up unannounced, but right now, with that look on his face, apparently it was unusual. 

“yeah, of course,” he nodded, motioning for you to sit down on the tattered, old couch on the porch. sitting down beside him, you folded your arms around your knees. for a moment, the silence stretched between you, awkwardness and the sound of cicadas filling the void.

“what happened to us?” you broke the silence, voice barely above a whisper but still steady as you turn your head to look at him. he hadn’t changed much all these years— still had that stupid boyish charm that seemed to get him out of trouble, and those same, soft eyes. 

you felt him stiffen besides you, and you almost scoffed. “what do you mean?” he asks, his tone matching yours.

“you know what i mean,” you sigh, the hurt you’d been bottling up spilling into your words. “it used to be you and me. we spent every day together. and then all of a sudden kie came along, and it’s like… i don’t exist anymore.”

his brows furrowed, and you saw the guilt flash across his face. “that’s not true.” you could pinpoint his defensive tone from a mile away— the same tone he would use when he got in trouble for something he did do, but always tried to claim he didn’t. 

“isn’t it?” you laugh bitterly, shaking your head a little. “come on, john b. you barely talk to me anymore. if i didn’t come looking for you, i don’t even think you would have noticed i wasn’t around.”

“that’s not fair.”

“neither is feeling like i lost my best friend.”

the crack in your voice must’ve struck something inside him because you watched as his defences crumbled. he set his beer down, running a hand through his already messy curls as he sighed deeply.

“it wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he spoke, his voice quiet.

“then why was it?” you pressed, eyes still trained on him.

he hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting away before they finally met yours again. “because i screwed up.”

your brows furrowed, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he said quietly.

john b exhaled shakily. “i started… feeling things i wasn’t supposed to feel. about you. and i thought if i got closer to kie, it would— i don’t know, distract me or something. make it go away.” he laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “but it didn’t. it just made everything worse because i couldn’t stop thinking about you.” 

your breath caught in your throat as you stared at him, the weight of his confession settling over you like a blanket. “so, what? you just pushed me away instead of telling me the truth?”

“i didn’t want to ruin what we had.” his voice cracked, and for the first time, you saw the fear in his eyes. “you’re my best friend, and if you didn’t feel the same way— i can’t lose you, (y/n). i thought maybe if i kept my distance, it would hurt less.” 

you swallowed the lump in your throat, emotions churning in your stomach. anger, hurt, but underneath it all, a flicker of something you had buried a long time ago. 

“john b—”

“i’m sorry,” he cut you off, voice barely above a whisper. “i didn’t mean to hurt you. i just— i didn’t know what else to do.”

you searched his face, the boy you’d known for many years looking at you like he was afraid you might disappear. that you might run away and never speak to him again. 

“you’re an idiot,” you laughed softly, shaking your head. 

he looked startled, blinking in confusion. “what?”

“all this time, you were scared of ruining our friendship, and you didn’t even think to ask how i felt.”

“how you felt?” he repeated, brow furrowing. the pure confusion over his features made you want to laugh, but instead you just rolled your eyes. 

“i liked you too, john b. i still do.”

his eyes widened slightly, hope flickering in them like the fireflies dancing in the yard. “you do?”

“yeah,” you admitted, your voice softening. “but you’re going to have to make up for being a complete idiot about it.”

a slow, disbelieving grin spread across his face. “i think i can manage that.” 

before you could get another word out, he leaned in, hand brushing against yours as he closed the distance. the kiss was tentative at first, a question in the way his lips moved against yours. but when you didn’t pull away, you felt as he deepened the kiss, like he was trying to make up for all that time he’d wasted worrying. 

when you finally broke apart, he let out a breathless chuckle, resting his forehead against yours. 

“i’m never phasing you out again,” he promised.

“oh so you were phasing me out?” you tease, resulting in several pokes to your side by the curly haired male in protest.

“okay— okay! but seriously. you better not,” you said, a small smile pulling at your lips.

and just like that, it was you and john b again. always had been. always would be.

[misteria247]

It'd been a good day. For one moment, the day had been good. And now.....

'Breathe Northwest, you gotta breathe here!'

The thought hissed frantic in her head, but she ignored it. Instead, staring at the crimson color that was now staining her skinned knee and palms. The scent of copper overwhelming her to the point it where it made her head swim.

'Hands stained red, can't ever get it off, it never comes off.'

Pacifica felt her throat constrict as her breathing began to quicken. Chest tight and bound, her hands trembling as she just stared at all the blood. There was so much of it, too much of it. Always staining never going away, never coming off she just wants it off-

"Pacifica! Hey Pacifica, snap out of it! Please!"

A voice muffled cried out in the spiraling panic she was now falling into. Not completely registering who it belonged to. Instead trying to focus on trying to breathe and God she couldn't breathe please someone help-

"GRUNCLE STAN! GRUNCLE FORD! FIDDLEFORD! SOMEONE HELP SOMETHING'S WRONG WITH PACIFICA!"

The voice panicked and murky shouted out. The blonde barely processed it, instead wheezing and feeling sick. The sounds of footsteps rushing in, before another presence was by her. Warm, cautious hands gently taking her hurt ones. Pacifica let out a distressed sound only for a gruff soft voice to shush her quietly. Putting her at ease somewhat.

"Pumpkin I need you to go get the first aid kit from Poidexter or Fidds. Can you do that for me?"

The rough voice asked earning a noise of agreement before the source of it went rushing away. Pacifica trembled and again the voice spoke but this time at her.

"Hey, hey kid it's okay. You're gonna be okay. I need you to look at me."

It said, waiting for the girl to respond. After a bit of a struggle, the blonde finally looked away from her bloody hands, sucking in a harsh breath that made her head hurt, and chest give a funny stutter of sorts. Unseeing eyes made contact with a larger form that consisted of colors and shapes. But for some strange reason, they brought her comfort.

"That's it. You're doing great kid. Now, I need you to listen to me, follow my breathing. Don't focus on anything else. Now breathe in-"

The form said, taking in a deep breath to demonstrate. Paz tried to follow, her intake shuddering and making her nauseous.

"I-I can't-"

She started to say only for the comforting form to interrupt her, tone firm but tender.

"Yes you can sweetheart. Just focus on me, and take it easy. Now again."

After that, it was a bit of a blur for her. Hazy recollections of following the voice's breathing, hiccuping, and crying all the while until finally, the world began to refocus. Pacifica blinked, her surroundings finally making sense. The familiar back porch of the Mystery Shack greeted her, as well as the anxious form of Mabel and the concerned form of Ford. On the sofa sat an opened first aid kit, and it was then her knee and palms made themselves known by stinging dully. Confusion hit her as she realized that someone was gently rubbing her back. Eyes landing on the source, she was surprised to see none other than Mr. Mystery himself being the one doing it. Stanley noticed her gaze and seemed to relax a bit, offering her a cheeky smile.

"There she is, thought we lost there for a bit. How are you feeling? Can you stand up kid?"

Stan asked, seemingly indifferent. But his gaze held concern and understanding in them. As if he knew what kind of personal hell Paz had just gone through. The teen tried to speak but found she couldn't, her throat seemingly not working. Embarrassed, Paz shook her head no. Stanley didn't seem too surprised.

"Alright, up we go kid."

The older man said, picking her up unexpectedly. Paz immediately gripped his shirt, still shaken from earlier. Stan didn't comment on it, instead making his way up the old wooden stairs to join Mabel and Ford.

"Sweetie can you get the couch set up in the living room? I'm sure your pal is gonna need it."

Stan said, earning a hesitant nod from his niece. Mabel gave her friend one last worried look before heading inside. Pacifica didn't pay much attention, too exhausted from the events from earlier. Stan and Ford started to whisper amongst themselves, the two men seemingly discussing something before coming to an agreement. Ford held open the door for the two, and Stanley stepped inside into the kitchen. Where Fiddleford and Dipper were seated at the kitchen table, looking incredibly anxious and on edge. As soon as they noticed Pacifica, however, the tension they had seemed to fade away quickly. Dipper looked like he was about to start asking questions, but one look from Ford to Fiddleford made the two adults intervene. Taking Dipper into the living room with Mabel to set something up. Leaving Stan and Pacifica alone. A silence settled over them before the older man spoke up.

"I know you're probably embarrassed by what happened. But I'm just gonna tell you right now that no one cares about that. They care about whether you're okay or not. So don't think too much on it, alright?"

Pacifica took the words, processing them a bit. Before quietly nodding, not ready to talk yet. For Stanley, it was fine, he knew from experience how exhausting a panic attack could be, so he wasn't going to push it. Satisfied, he carried her out into the living room to join the others, where hopefully she could finally get some peace.

[insidekatmind]

Between Friends and Feelings- Pope Heyward and JJ Mayback (love triangle)

The light of the sunset reflected on the waves of the sea, creating games of golden and blue light, while the cool wind gently brushed your skin. It was a quiet evening, a little different from usual, but you knew something was about to happen. The sun was slowly setting behind the hills, and you were sitting on the beach, your legs crossed in the warm sand, trying to relax. But something in the air felt different, and you knew it. Things were changing.

JJ and Pope had always been a part of your life. There had never been a time when one of them wasn’t by your side, though lately, their behavior toward you had changed. While once they were happy being just friends, now there seemed to be a silent competition between them. You couldn’t ignore it, even though you tried not to think about it too much.

"You like watching the sunset, right?" JJ said, breaking your thoughts. You turned and saw him approaching, his mischievous smile still present, but there was something different in his eyes, an intensity you couldn’t ignore.

"Yeah, it’s my favorite spot. I told you it would be nice to watch the sunset together, didn’t I?" you replied, trying to sound natural. But the truth was, his gaze was unsettling, as if he wanted to say something to you that you weren’t ready to understand yet.

Not long after, Pope arrived, and you immediately noticed that his posture was more tense than usual. His eyes, always calm and observant, weren’t quite the same. He was looking at you differently, as if he was searching for something you couldn’t define.

"You're here watching the sea too?" Pope asked, his tone calm but with a hint of nervousness that didn’t escape you. "I thought you’d prefer being in the city, with the music and the crowd."

"Even though I like having fun, sometimes it’s nice to be alone, you know?" you replied, trying to keep your composure.

The two of them sat down next to you, but the atmosphere had shifted. It wasn’t the usual company of friends sharing laughs and stories. There was an underlying tension that you couldn’t ignore, and you couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. Then JJ spoke again.

"You know, there’s something special about you," he said, his voice lower, as if he wanted to tell you something he had been holding back. "I’m not saying this just because we’re friends, but really, you’re unique. I don’t understand how anyone could not notice."

Your heart beat faster. It wasn’t the first time he had said it, but this time he seemed more serious, more sincere. The way he was looking at you made you uneasy, but at the same time, it made you feel an energy you couldn’t explain.

Pope took a deep breath, as if trying to decide whether or not to say something. "Yeah, but sometimes I think it’s easier to see all of this when you’re not so focused on yourself. Sometimes I think people don’t really see you," he said, looking you in the eyes with a certain intensity.

"I know you care about me, Pope," you replied, trying to understand what he was getting at. "But I don’t see how this fits into... everything else."

"It’s just hard not to notice you," he said, in a soft voice. "And I feel like you’ve always been more than just a friend to me. But maybe that’s just my head making me think that..."

His gaze was sincere, but also filled with something unspoken. His admiration for you was clear, but the fact that he hadn’t been able to tell you exactly what he was feeling made you uneasy.

JJ, seeing the uncertainty in your eyes, spoke up immediately. "Don’t worry too much, Y/N," he said, trying to calm you down. "I don’t want to make you nervous. It’s just that... sometimes I think we should be more honest with ourselves, with what we feel. We can’t always hide behind jokes and laughter."

And right then, the silence that had settled between you all became heavy. You knew there was a tension none of you three seemed able to face. Your mind raced, trying to understand what was really happening. You had always cared for JJ and Pope, but now you felt like something more was emerging.

The sunset was now fading, but the dying light only heightened the confusion you felt. The two boys were there, next to you, but their gazes on you were too intense. You didn’t know how to respond.

"Y/N..." Pope whispered, moving closer slowly. "I don’t want to lose you as a friend, but there’s something I can’t ignore anymore. I..."

JJ interrupted him, laughing nervously. "Pope, not now, come on," he said, but his smile didn’t seem as spontaneous. "We need to be honest with her, right? We can’t keep hiding what we feel."

Their eyes met for a moment, and you realized words weren’t necessary anymore. The tension between them, and your uncertainty, had reached a breaking point. Everything that had gone unsaid between you was finally coming to the surface.

[minzart]

You know what? I'm gonna complain it is good to put it out with a semi(hopefuly)understandable way see if anyone else had the same thoughts or something

So yeah arcane season 2 ramblings bellow

I knew it would be a hard task to deliver after such a good season 1, like it had everything ending with a perfect cicle, the first step was the last

We got themes and coherent actions with it, the characters are Charaters as much as embodiments of the narrative and it's mensage

And it was all a tragedy in the making

I though they could keep the loop, at the end I never expected we to get close to see Zaun and Piltover being split. Never, they are sisters cities one hurting the other more and more as progress comes and their bridge burns and grows bigger and bigger but never splitting, a never ending cicle(to a never ending game)

It works in the first season and I wished they kept it running in the second,but nooo let's pick up an already solved tread and force it to work again.

What the fuck am I talking about? well, many things, one specifically is

The sisters arc.

I can't be the only who thought what season 1 was trying to say with the tea scene was that she IS Powder AND Jinx, and what she actually needed was for both sides(Vi and Silco) to shut the fuck up and let her BE HERSELF. At that time I though if we ever get a season two she would realize what happened that night, not as choosing a side as she puts but as a birth of something new, while VI could also realize her sister has changed and she is not dead but become worse, or spiral into a worse state of mind ignoring who her sister is and insisting she is dead and wtv that thing Jinx is is not her sister anymore(and that's only bc at that time i discovered her lol conterpart is an enforcer so i though hey Vi's gonna have a villain arc and people are gonna acknowledge she also has insues to work with right :D )

But what season 2 did was forget continuity they are trying to GO BACK and this time the narrative will repeat itself beat by beat but worse.

In season 2 they revived Vander(and that IS vander with a warwick skin), only to beat the man to death 3 times over and over, and worse, don't revive his fucking theme with it making him a plot device more than the character he is, and let's pull Silco right along with him and change all that mattered before with these 2 too why not.

And don't come telling me "but they foreshadowed warwick in season 1" I KNOW AND I WANTED TO SEE WOLFMAN AS DID EVERYBODY. But what I did not want was it to be Vander AGAIN. I wanted them to lean into the amnesiac aspect of his story, Warwick WAS a man before, he was someone ELSE, but now He is OTHER, he is not Vander and would never be, and THAT would be the link to conclude the sisters arc.

The direction I though they would go was to cherish the past, learn from it, and see that you did changed and yet not, you are you in all your gloric and flaws, the child you once were is still in you as is the adult you have become with. It. there.

You can not run from your past, you can not break off of it, else you are not yourself anymore.

In a way VI would trace Vander's footsteps but worse, I though she would lean in the protecting the status quo without thinking about it, yes she is from the undercuts but she has been 7 years in jail and the city changed without her in it, she wants to go back so bad, that she can't see she can't. There is no way she could go back, she is not Vander, and yes his ideas are alive but the time they worked not, a new twist has to be given to it, adapt it to the new present, a thing she can't do alone

And as paralels Jinx, would have traced Silco and not liked it one bit, I never got the vibe that she would by the end fight for a cause, she is no leader, and she is no dog either, she is chaos itself right? She works for herself at the end of the day, I hoped we would see she try and abandon that path altogether without noticing she would be the reverse.

Silco was a dictator in the making with the speech of freedom as his weapon, Vander was a keeper of the status quo in the name of "peace", read stability. Jinx would be an arsonist that accidentally spiked the dream of revolution, of freedom, in the people around her while VI would want to go back to "status quo" by the means of violence.

You see how that's an interesting talk? Yes the past was safety, and yet it wasn't perfect, and yes freedom is beautiful but to get there it will be gory. There will be loss to both mentalities.

It would what? Exactly, keep the goddamn theme of season 1. Maybe not perfectly, I'm no professional, but I can dream.

"But jinx did become a simble of revolution!" NO she did not, it was cute that Isha transformed her image in a simble of hope and that itself works someway for the theme they tried to do for her as just Poweder 2.0, bc that's all she is, the child self, nothing more. But that is not what I'd call satisfying for Jinx character from season 1. Added to that, what revolution? if by the end both sides made up by the power of third party enemy?

The Warwick variable would come to contrast both as a new character, maybe a victim of the status quo Vi is adhering and a psicological contrast to Jinx change.

As a side not LET SILCO DIE. LET HIM FUCKING DIE AND STAY DEAD LIKE VANDER IS. I don't want a backstory,nor flashback, nor memory trip, the past of these two was excellent as ambiguous, they are the mentors, the fathers, the side characters, ambiguity WORKS IN THEIR FAVOR, legends of their own making

What i asked of this arc was a paralel scene with Jinx and Silco to VI and Vander back in season 1, y'know? The one VI is knocked down and Vander's ghost basically comes back to give her a BRIEF pep talk that MATCHES HER OWN MINDSET AND HIS, BC THEY EMBODY THE SAME PARALEL? YEAH. AND I WAS HAPPY that Silco got his ghost moment, but... he would not... forgive, season 1 would not and Jinx in that mind state,nor before, would too, these two have one thing in comum and is SPITE, they are cocrooch that refuses to die despite being repeatedly beaten out of your home, wish that was the focus of these two in that paralel scene, but well... with the theme they choose he had to be changed

Mel Medarda what did they do to you my girl you did not deserve this

Now, to be fair her arc could be fixed with more episodes or just one more season just establish something that wasn't there is season 1, her magic powers. But in my rant I'm trying to see if there is just another way for her to go that could tecnicaly and not need another season

Arcane was fast peaced but at least it had a focus.

Season 1 focused on the sisters more than up top, everyone there, including Mel were more world building devices than characters to me, and season 2 changed the focus characters to Viktor and Jayce but forgot to bring with them their support characters wich explains to me why I feel so lost to half the casts motives and place in the story.

In the beggining I loved that we focused on her opposing her mother in every decision, and gave a paralel to her own path in season 1, when Ambesa says let's use hextech I wanted the show to scream the same scens as Mel had when she convinced the council to use it too.

I wanted the show to pick these people who says "wow Mel is so evillll she manipulates peopleeeee my poor babyyyy jayce noooo my himbo sonnn" by the throat and say "you want to see manipulation? I'l fucking show you it" and presents Ambesa as the foil.

Focus on a political intrigue to these two, buy time for wtv is happening with Viktor, Caitlyn, Vi and Jinx to cook, Ambesa wants an invasion, Mel doesn't.

Maybe the seeds for magical powers were there in season 1, Mels paintings(magic and art thend to be used interchangeably in some medias i think), Ambesa's music video, "why did you come here mother?", but it would need more time to flourish in a satisfactory way, or at least better presented.

"Oh your powers are growing faster bc the arcane is awaken" BULLSHIT I TELL YOU.

Mel is strong in her words, love a woman who can kick ass but love one that can make myself bend to her will with one word even more.

Actualy on second though you know what would made her arc suck less? IF THEY DIDN'T FRIDGED HER FOR HALF OF IT. If the black rose was not meant to be the big bad at the end then what the fuck was the point of taking her out of the picture(would it be too hard to make her magical powers manifest in the scene she was kidnapped insted of... kidnaping. Girl was playing detective already)? The only way I can think it was a good idea is bc they didn't want to make her and Caitlyn fight for the sake of a final show down with Ambesa, bc there is no way these two would be in speaking terms if they interacted during Caits dictatorship

Speaking of dictatorship, for more that I love it I also loath it bc they just didn't show the during reing enough and I blame they taking Mel down way too early(I love the path of anger and grief Caitlyn went). Imagine a world were down there it's an emotional conflict leaded by Vi-Warwick-Jinx and up there a political intrigue of Mel-Caitlyn-Ambesa. That ends with peace below and an explosion(fascist reing start) up there? A, say it with me, INVERSION OF SEASON 1 ENDING :) wouldn't that be NEAT?!

Maybe even end it right there and let it ambiguous. There is no need for season 3 if they don't can't do it, the open ending is the strong forte of this series for me especificaly.

But what about the rest? What about

Jayce, Viktor and Ekko

Gonna be honest, they arc is so over the place with who they were in season 1 that they fell completely unrelated to anything in there anymore.

Season 2 changed focus from the sisters to Jayce and Viktor, everything plot related was through them, the problem is, their choices and... themes? Were not previously established by season 1 and season 2 took both out of the picture and put doppelganger in their places.

For more that I love Jesus viktor... now that I saw the fans that know him as The Machine Herald complain about his arc I know what was bugging me with it too.

He didn't choose any of what happened to him, something that is and was, a big thing to him back in season 1 and his lol conterpart. You know, Sky was never a character, she was a warning to Viktor remember? She died, consumed by the hexcore because of his medling, and he still continued to use it, wasn't that supposed to be the warning sigh to us that Viktor was going to spiral? And yet...

By the end Jayce and Viktor are foils, even if the season presents literaly 3 versions of them in one season bc they didn't transitioned their chance as smoothly as I'd like. Bc for more gay and amazing that ending was... Jayce is not the same character he was when he shot Viktor, absolutely not, you are telling me, that he was given a mission to show Viktor the future, and his response was to kill him instead of try to allude to the end? That the Jayce that shot Viktor in the chest was the same Jayce that understood he had to hug the divine manifestation lf his partner in the Astral plane to show the future and esencialy die with him by the end?

Love how Ekko swinged by the end and bough enough time for that finale he literaly lived up to his expectations as the boy savior, but lord I wanted him to be so much more coherent, the narrative yanked him out of the leadership role he had in season 1 and made him a by stander and last minute deus ex maquina. HE SHOULD BE THE ONE TO ANSWER VI/Vander AND Silco/Jinx THEMES, HE HAS WAS THE THRID FACTION THE BETTER FUTURE, THE SIDE WE AS THE AUDIENCE SHOULD CHEER THE MOST AS THE NEW FUTURE FOR ZAUN. NOT THE LETS GET TOGHETER AS ONE TO DEFEND OUR CITY FROM THE BIG BAD NATION OVER SEAS- FUCK THAT.

Him and Sevika should join forces, their arc should have been bring down town togheter and focus on a better future, heal the now, even if both have diferent visions of a future they should agree to clean Zaun even if in diferent direction. I love him with Heimendinher, bc it could be amazing to see a founder of Zaun learn with the next generation of leadership, let's bring the spark of empathy back to the old man, lets show what community is again for him, a tall about how disconnected he had become from what were supposed to be his people,let him give propositions and Ekko oppose them but with compromises, a paralel to Jayce in that way too.

How Jayce was the pupil that went into politics and become corrupt, Ekko is the one who is a community leader and won't be corrupt, how Heimendinher was too cautious and practical for both parties he will be opposed but know to better compromise, learn again why humanity moves fast, we do not have eternity. Where Jayce failed Ekko will thrive, and it was to make that old man learn emphaty again.

So maybe the focus of these 3 should be the future isn't?

Viktor, by his own hands, would want a evolution were no weakness are present, and by weakness I mean emotion bc... the focus of his path in season 1 was to live, he wanted to be alive to make a name for himself, to be remembered, so maybe with his close dance with death with that missile it pushes him to realize humanity never changes and even when everything could end up right and peaceful, our personal vendetta would detriment any chance of progress, hence he starts a way to fix it.

Instead of... internalized ableism, is it a interesting talk? Absolutely but you can't deny it was poorly set up, he was dieing and he wanted to not be... I'm sorry but "your imperfection is beautiful" was done better with Entrapta and Hordak from reboot Shera

Bc by lol lore that was the conflict between him and Jayce right? Viktor wanted a hive mind Jayce didn't, it was a conscious choice from both parties, so there we have a divorce arc, and sexual tension with the enemie.

So yeah

These are my thoughts mixed with what I wish it was and complains... I have no idea if I make sense or not

But hey if you got to this end thanks for reading, and hope it resonated a bit with you, if not, well shit bro I did say I was complaining.

[willowfey]

ignore this i just wanna ramble in the tags for a sec i’ll probably delete it in a bit 🤪

[momordique]

joke is funny, but also wanted to share a tip.

years ago I noticed that if the container and/or lid is seethrough, the terror of not remembering how long the food has been in there (two weeks? three? more???) is a lot less bad

Aging tumblr user base find this relatable?

[honeyednights]

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[arolesbianism]

Y'know there already is such a nonexistent market for oni art in general so the fact that I wanna draw more au art is killing me. Like I draw for fun and don't need notes to be happy with a piece but also I need ppl to view my art and be curious and ask questions because while I may not desperately need approval I do desperately need excuses to gush abt the things I like

[lokissweater]

hey! i really love your fics and i have a special request 4 my 19th birthday ( aug 16 ) . can you do inexperienced yuuta x inexperienced reader or frat boy/play boy yuuta x shy nerdy reader? I really luv u and it would mean alot 2 me if you did this,feel free to say no or ignore this if you want! no pressure!

OH MY GOODNESSS i could never ignore this! i can ABSOLUTELY cook this one up for you and i hope i met your expectations!! i wanted to release this right on your birthday, so here is my gift to you! <3 ILY you’re so sweet thank you for sending in a request!

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finally.

{frat boy/playboy yuta okkotsu x nerdy f!reader}

summary: yuta okkotsu is a typical popular frat boy player who’s never been told no, but at one of his regular parties where he spots your pretty little self in the kitchen, and you turn him down? his entire existence resets as he then cannot stop thinking about you and tries his absolute hardest to change the impression you have on him.

warnings: college au, afab!reader, fluufff, mentions of alcohol and drinking, yuta LOVES you, he’s a little weenie at first, character development yuta, no smut in this one!, cursing, party fight, protective yuta, yuta fights someone lol, slight sexual themes but really nothing.

word count: 5k

authors note: OH HOW I LOVE THIS ONEEE!! i hope i’m feeding you guys well this week with these fics hehe!! IM WRITING A FREAKY ONE FOR THIS NEXT SO STAY TUNED!! love you love you <3

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yuta okkotsu was the biggest player and frat boy to ever plague your college campus— having parties literally every other night and trashing the absolute fuck out of his frat house after every single one, living in the privileges of popularity as he was without a doubt the hottest man there.

he absolutely relished in his reputation, loved the attention, loved the stares he got, and had a body count that absolutely shot through the roof in numbers.

and yuta was quite literally a typical frat boy. he was loud and obnoxious, the most stubborn hot headed man to ever exist on the face of the planet, passed the time playing beer pong for fun and drinking, and had girls practically at his feet, him never having to work for anything to get in his bed and fuck.

until he met you.

you had timidly walked into one of his frat parties one night, shy, cutely nerdy, a little scared and absolutely drop dead gorgeous, your energy an entirely different one from his own as he watched you a little too much throughout the night, rehearsing his perfected plan of getting girls into bed with him as he finally spotted you alone in the kitchen after a while, approaching you.

yuta flashed you an attractive polished smile as he leaned up against the kitchen counter, practically cornering you in as you eyed him alarmingly.

“hey,” he sipped at his beer. “what’s your name?”

you awkwardly shifted, wondering where the hell your best friend was as the biggest player you’ve ever heard of was talking to you.

“y-y/n…” you stammered, your gaze barely looking at him but giving a small smile through your nervousness nonetheless.

“pretty name for a pretty girl,” he hummed. “you’ve never come to my parties before, have you?”

you shook your head no, your doe eyes finally peering up at him.

“welcome then!” he chirped smoothly and leaned closer to you, his breath faintly smelling of alcohol. “you here by yourself?”

“no i’m with a friend, actually.” you laughed awkwardly, your cheeks red with embarrassment but smiling politely through your discomfort, not wanting to offend him in any way.

yuta nodded, his eyes scanning the crowd. “did you lose them?”

“i— i guess so—”

“you can stick with me then.” he shrugged, a sly smile on his face as he sweet talked you, it slightly faltering when he noticed how uncomfortable you looked, but carrying on anyways. “you wanna head upstairs? maybe we can—”

“no thank you.”

he paused.

no?

“no?”

he was yuta okkotsu. no girl has ever told him no before.

you shook your head at him and gave him a sugary smile, your tone kind and polite as you started to walk away from him. “i’m sorry, i think i see my friend over there though! thank you for keeping me company, i hope it wasn’t too much trouble!”

he watched you walk away then in your tiny little skirt, and he felt stupidly offended. absolutely stupidly offended as he slightly scoffed and shook his head, taking a swig of his beer, his body and mind literally glitching with the foreign feeling of rejection.

yuta tossed his empty beer bottle lazily in a black garbage bag and stuffed his hands into his pockets, his long legs already pulling him over to the beer pong table in the living room, opting to forgetting the entire encounter he had with you altogether and shaking it off.

except he couldn’t. he couldn’t shake it off.

his brain was buzzing and utterly reeling over the thought of your timid nature and soft spoken words and pretty pretty face from that point forward, thoughts that aggravated him to no end that bubbled up every time he ate, slept, was in class, and did basically anything.

he didn’t know why it was happening. he didn’t know why you took over his every fucking thought as he only interacted with you for like five minutes. but your aura was different. so poised, so shy and gentle, and it was like a red string was physically pulling him towards you everywhere you went.

yuta saw you around campus a lot more after that, you sticking out like a sore thumb and blinding his vision whenever you walked past him, your smile sweet and respectful towards him that lasted only a millisecond as you walked down further, his eyes watching you over his shoulder, soft.

you conversations with him were nothing but polite and casual as he tried to talk to you again and again, your body language guarded and careful, but your voice like silky honey, speaking to him with more kindness than he deserved.

yuta never seemed to be able to get past the invisible wall you built in front of him.

“a girl like her isn’t gonna go for a guy like you, yuta.” one of his frat brothers muttered to him, having been fed up with yuta’s moping and grumbling around the house ever since he saw you.

“and why not.” he gruffed, his arms tightly crossed over his chest as he leaned back on the couch.

“because she’s nothing like us.” he emphasized. “she’s a nerd, respects herself, is way too good for you, and would never let herself waste time with a guy of your reputation.”

his frat brother patted him heavily on the shoulder. “just go back to the ones you usually go for. they’re easy.”

yuta only rolled his eyes and stood, but he really couldn’t deny what he had said. you were too good for him, way too good for him, his life completely mismatched from yours— paths never meant to cross as he solemnly watched you from afar, wanting you to smile at him the way you smiled at others, wanting you to talk about your precious nerdy interests and your studies with him like you do with your friends, and wanting you to just simply look at him longer than the usual casual hello you gave him.

but you never did.

in an attempt to try and talk to you again without seeming like an absolute fucking stupid creep like last time (something he quickly realized), he started throwing parties at his frat literally every single night in hopes of you showing up, scanning the crowd and sulking in a corner when he couldn’t find you, the bags under his eyes growing darker and darker with every time you didnt make an appearance.

he tried to go back to his old ways and hook up with the girls he usually did, tried to bury you in the back of his mind and go back to before, but he just couldn’t, his mind foggy and preoccupied with thoughts of you that invaded his every neuron, making him kiss his hook ups back lazily or straight up just cancel on them— stopping all together in the end.

it had been months, and yuta sat bored out of his mind on the living room couch during another one of his parties, not a single drop of alcohol in his system as music pumped and drummed through the frat that made his headache ten times worse.

these everyday parties were pointless.

he sat up and trudged to the kitchen, pushing past his friends for a beer until he froze.

there you stood, finally, leaning against the kitchen counter all by yourself, just like how you were when he first saw you.

his eyes flew open and he quickly smoothed over his white t-shirt with his hands, heart hammering against his chest so hard that it traveled down to his ribcage as he approached you, internally freaking the fuck out.

“hey y/n,” he greeted quietly and calm, trying his absolute hardest to convey sincerity towards you. “how are you doing?”

your eyes snapped to his and you leaned back a bit, but smiled. “hi yuta! i’m doing okay. how are you?”

he could practically see the wall you had in front of him, your posture timid and cautious, and his eyes only grew more insecure.

“i’m good! do you— do you want a drink? or something? i could—”

“oh it’s okay yuta! i’m fine,” you answered shyly, a grin on your breathtaking face.

yuta gnawed on his thumb, looking around the kitchen for something, anything that could fix the image you had on him.

the fridge.

“do you um—” he walked over to the fridge, almost stumbling over his own shoes as he opened it. “do you want maybe apple juice? or— or i have chocolate milk? or sunny d i drink like an entire dozen a day but—”

you giggled.

his head snapped over to you and watched your pearly smile, shining just for him for a moment, his shoulders slowly relaxing.

yuta sheepishly scratched the back of his neck and laughed along with you.

“sunny d would be great!”

he stared blankly, and then quickly nodded. “o—okay! yes sunny d—”

he ransacked through his fridge, knocking over several cans of energy drinks and beers before he finally found the sunny d’s in the back, tearing one out from the pack and closing the fridge.

“here you go.”

your cheeks glowed pink as you shyly took the small bottle from his hands, a cute wobbly smile on your face that made yuta’s chest clench.

precious.

he wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans.

“i wanted to apologize—” he strained out. “for the way i spoke to you when we first met.”

you stared at him.

“it was never my intention to make you uncomfortable, and i acted like a complete dingbat with the things i said, so i just—” he scuffed his shoe against the kitchen floor. “i’m really sorry.”

you were quiet, big doe eyes blinking up at him in shock— until your frame gently deflated, eyes softening for him.

“you don’t have to apologize yuta honestly.” your soft voice soothed him, a sound he craved to hear everyday since the moment he met you. “i don’t think any less of you if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“you don’t?”

you shook your head cutely, beaming. “i don’t.”

he felt like he could breathe again.

your invisible wall slowly and gradually crumbled away the more you got to know yuta after that. he was still a little flirt, but only a little flirt with you, and he still did his frat boy job duties everyday, but he toned down the parties massively and stopped playing beer pong and drinking just for fun.

it would be a lie if you said you weren’t hesitant about yuta to begin with. you knew of his reputation and the risks you ran with befriending him the way you were— you well aware that he was trying to win you over, but you saw something different in him that he didn’t show to anyone else, and you trusted him, the goodness of your heart always giving people the benefit of the doubt.

he was trying his absolute hardest for you and changing his bad traits, wanting to become a person that deserved to be with you as he listened to you ramble on and on about your classes and your studies all of the time, him smiling adoringly at you because he genuinely loved so much hearing you talk to him and listen to anything you had to say— and yuta was falling practically head over heels over the way you gushed about your little nerdy interests, your eyes shimmering every time.

“and what’s this one called?” he asked softly.

you glanced over. “that’s the corpse flower! they only bloom for two to three days every two to three years.”

“only for two to three days?!” he whispered harshly, the ambiance in the botanical garden quiet and serene as you both observed the different kinds of breeds, flowers being your specialty of knowledge.

and he wanted to know all about it, even though he had a pamphlet in his hand that told him everything.

he wanted to hear it from you.

“and this one?”

he pointed to a vibrant scarlet red flower.

“that’s the cardinal flower. they attract little bees and hummingbirds!”

your words were gentle and polite, your eyes sparkling at all of the different flowers in front of you.

“oo! and this one—” you stopped suddenly, slowly retracting your hand and looking at him bashfully, your cheeks redder than ever.

yuta’s eyebrows furrowed. “what? why’d you stop?” he looked to where you had been staring. “what about this one?”

“sorry!” you sputtered. “i felt like i was getting carried away and talking way too much…”

you laughed it off, but yuta only shook his head.

“no you weren’t. you weren’t at all.”

you peered up at him shyly.

“you can talk about anything you want with me wherever we are, y/n. i like it when you explain to me these things, or anything you know really.” he ruffled your hair. “i like listening to you.”

your cheeks adorned a pinky shade as you took in what he said, and you smiled so so big then, nodding.

“so what’s this one?” he pressed again, lightly.

the bed contained a mix of white and purple flowers, small and dainty as they swayed to and fro a bit with every breeze.

“those are pansies,” you leaned over the railing. “i like these especially because it looks like they have another pair attached to them on the other side.”

“like a little buddy,” yuta commented.

you laughed softly, “yeah! like a little buddy.”

he pointed to a specific pansy that had one white flower and one purple flower on the opposite side.

“that’s you and me.”

“is it?” you grinned. “who’s who?”

“you’re the white one and i’m the purple one,” yuta absentmindedly turned and grabbed your hands gently, playing with your fingertips— and you let him. “because you’re pretty and really fucking smart and way too nice to me, and i’m a douchebag and sometimes i’m a mean and scary old fart.”

you giggled loudly at his joke, shaking your head. “nuh uh. i don’t agree.”

“you don’t?” he quirked an eyebrow, a silly smile on his face.

you shook your head again. “you’re genuine yuta. really genuine. and you’re funny, you never make me feel embarrassed for the things that i love, and you make others happy!… sometimes.”

yuta laughed, “sometimes?” he softly placed your hands back at your sides. “yeah, you’re not wrong.”

“but you make me happy, always.” you finished off.

his eyes lit up like a firework. “really? so does this mean you’ll finally say yes to going out with me and give me a little kiss?”

you snickered and covered your mouth, your cheeks flushed. “nuh uh.”

“aww mannn,” yuta groaned and leaned against the railing, but turned his head to the side after a few seconds and looked at you, giving a tender smile.

your eyes continued to sparkle over the flower beds in front of you, but yuta’s eyes only sparkled at the one flower in front of him.

that’s where he started calling you flower.

“that’s okay!” he leaned back up. “i’ll keep trying.”

and boy did he try. each and every single day yuta tried as he brought you little treats from the campus cafe, or helped carry your textbooks to wherever you went, brought you neatly packaged flowers or sometimes would even pull his car over when he saw pretty ones on the side of the road, getting off and running to pluck them, handing them to you through the window with a goofy grin.

everything was bliss between you two, and your world only got brighter as you hung out with him.

but for yuta, his world got a little complicated.

his former hookups only grew sour once they found out about you, the girl yuta seemed to spend every waking hour with, completely blind sighted to the fact as they thought he would’ve dumped you months ago already.

and his frat brothers were just bothered. yuta wasn’t managing the frat like he used to before, like he was supposed to as their leader, neglecting the collective reputation they all had with him not sweet talking the entire female student body, or their parties not running every single night anymore— and even when they did run, yuta wasn’t ever even there to begin with, he was with you, something they quickly realized.

“you have to cut it out man,” one of them said. “this frat is turning into a shit hole because you keep spending your time with that girl—“ he stopped. “who the fuck even is she? i mean if it was layla fine everybody knows layla but—”

“who she is is none of your fucking business?” yuta snapped. “and just because i’m not sending girls for you to jerk your dick with doesn’t mean this frat is turning into a ‘shit hole.’”

some of the boys snickered.

“you wanna run the maintenance on the house? you wanna call up the fucking board and ask for the ten thousand fucking permits we have to have for our parties every year? you think you can run that?”

“no—”

“then be my fucking guest.”

“okay fine, i’m sorry man.” he sighed. “we haven’t had a party in a week though, we have to throw one tomorrow and you have to be there. then ill call it even.”

yuta snorted. call it even? whatever.

he begrudgingly agreed, not wanting to be there whatsoever but softening up to the fact that maybe he was neglecting his frat a little too much.

so when he called you up that day for your nightly phone calls, yuta asked for your attendance.

“i know— i know parties aren’t really your thing…” he pursed his lips, staring up at the ceiling as he had you on speaker. “but i’d feel a lot better if you were there… and you won’t be alone! you’ll be with me the whole time so—”

yuta sighed. “…i have been neglecting the frat a little bit, and they’re pissed at me.”

you gasped softly, “they are?”

“yeah but i don’t give a fuck.”

you both giggled.

“but i do want to make them somewhat happy so that’s why i gotta throw this party… can you come? it’s okay if not flower don’t worry—”

“of course i can go yuta!” you spoke cutely over the speaker. “as long as you give me a sunny d i’ll be okay.”

he laughed.

“i feel like…” you struggled. “them being mad and what’s happening with your frat is partially my fault yuta… i’m sorry.”

your voice was so worrisome, you feeling tremendous guilt on the other line as you bit your lip.

“what?” his eyes narrowed. “no flower, absolutely not. why would you think that?”

“because i keep asking you to hang out with me,” you spoke softly. “and i feel like im hogging you from your frat boy duties.”

yuta chuckled and shook his head. “i would ten times rather spend time with you than hang out with these fucking dummies.” he sat up on his bed. “i love it when you ask for me flower. keep doing it please. whatever that’s happening with my frat strictly has to do with me okay? not you.”

you grinned on the other end, your heart giddy. “okay.”

so the night of the party, you showed up to his frat looking absolutely gorgeous in your tight little dress, his hands instantly clamming up and his throat closing at the scent of your strawberry perfume and lovely face alone.

yuta tried so hard to keep his eyes respectful and not drift down to your ass or the way your perfect tits squeezed out from the top, almost physically slapping himself when he accidentally touched you way lower than he should have when guiding you through the crowd.

everywhere he went people were greeting him or passing him shots, him quickly acknowledging everybody and downing whatever they gave him as you shyly and timidly stuck to his body (which he loved).

yuta taught you how to play beer pong that night and cheered like an absolute fucking idiot whenever you would make it in, drinking the cups for you instead as he knew you weren’t the biggest fan of alcohol, which made you a little weak in the knees that he catered to you so much.

the party was actually way more fun than the both of you expected, especially for yuta, because he proudly had you on his arm as you walked throughout the house, you trying your absolute hardest to ignore the stares you got from different girls and not uttering a single word about it to yuta, not wanting to burden him and take his focus away from rejuvenating the frat and his brothers.

all was bliss, until it wasn’t.

“is this her? the girl you’re always talking to?” one of his frat brothers stumbled through the crowd, the one that argued with him the day before, drunk off of his freaking mind as his eyes raked over your body like nothing.

yuta instantly picked up on that and stiffened, “yeah.”

he tried his best to swallow his annoyance and be civil as he gently placed a hand on your back and softly ushered you forward, you shy and clinging onto his shirt. “this is y/n.”

“h—hi.”

“i see why you abandoned us for a nerd man!” he slurred. “she’s fucking hot. never seen tits look so good—”

your breath hitched.

“the fuck you just say?” yuta tugged you behind him. “the hell is wrong with you man? don’t talk about her like that.”

you noticed several eyes looking over.

“what!” he hiccuped dumbly. “they do! why are you getting pissed—”

“i don’t give a shit!” yuta snapped. “don’t talk about her like that!”

he scoffed, swaying a little. “what, like you actually care about her anyways—”

“are you fucking serious?” yuta stepped forward and you tugged him back, your eyes frantic as they scanned over the crowd forming and back to him.

“no yuta, he’s drunk it’s okay—”

“she’s just another one for your body count, once you fuck her you’re gonna leave—”

yuta slipped from your grasp and lunged at him, tackling him and towering over him on the ground as he fisted his shirt and jerked him up, yuta landing punch after punch to his face as the crowd yelled, cheered and recorded around you.

“yuta please!” you tried to get his attention, your chest heaving in a panic as you watched the other guy land a hit on yuta, not wanting him to get hurt over you at all whatsoever.

yuta dodged another coming hit and beat the shit out of him, grueling him down to a mere pulp as everything around him went completely white and fuzzy, his body stinging with absolute rage.

he was furious.

finally, several other frat brothers broke through the crowd and pulled yuta off of him.

“that’s enough that’s enough!”

“guys stop!”

quickly, you grabbed yuta’s hand once they put him aside and tugged him away from the crowd, speed walking to the front door.

“you’re out of the fucking frat you piece of shit!” yuta practically roared behind him as you pulled him. “you’re out!”

your trembling fingers hurriedly turned the knob and opened the door, dragging him out down the steps to the porch and across the grass, not saying a single word to him yet as he kept breathing out desperate apologies to you with every step.

once you both were a safe distance away from the house and just a tiny bit down the street, you let go of his hand and turned to him.

“—fuck im sorry i’m sorry im so sorry—” yuta shoved the base of his palms into his eyes as he threw his head back, “i just fucked everything up between us i—”

yuta knew you would never want to be with a guy like him, especially one that couldn’t keep his shit together and resorted to violence the way he did minutes ago, right in front of you. a guy like that didn’t deserve you. you deserved way way fucking more. and as he tore his palms away from his face, eyes looking up at the night sky, he knew he completely messed up his chances with you for good.

his head snapped down to look at you, his eyebrows pinched and eyes contorted in absolute guilt and agony as he placed his bloody knuckled hands on your little cheeks.

“i’m so fucking sorry he said those things to you like that that was not okay flower,” he emphasized. “and i’m so sorry i beat him when you told me not to i— i just couldn’t stand there when he was talking to you like that man—”

he dropped his hands and cursed, his arms going up as he covered his eyes again.

“yuta it’s okay—”

“no,” he shook his head and looked at you. “no it’s not okay. you deserve way more than this and no matter how fucking hard i try to do better, the life i built before you just doesn’t let me.”

his eyes got so sad, saying words he didn’t want to say, but knew he had to. “you shouldn’t be around a guy like me flower, you really shouldn’t. fuck— i don’t want you around a guy like me. you’re too precious for that. i’m gonna end up screwing you over like i always do—”

“yuta stop.” you raised your voice a little, your tone one he’d never ever heard come out of your mouth, firm and serious in contrast to the sweetness you always gave him.

he shut right up.

“come sit down with me on the curb,” you pulled his arm. “please.”

he followed you and sat down next to you on the side walk with his head down, you taking in how yuta only had one little cut next to his eyebrow, pride funnily bubbling up in your chest as you realized how good he actually fought.

he did that. for you. he made a scene out of himself and protected your name.. for you. although you hated that he got into a fight, you knew he was trying so so hard for you, going above and beyond for a year now trying to fix himself to be a better man deserving of you, and you were immensely touched, no one having put even close to that amount of effort like he was in your life.

“you don’t get to decide what i deserve yuta.”

his eyes shot in your direction “but as a friend i’m telling you—”

you huffed as you grabbed his cheeks and kissed him.

you kissed him.

yuta’s eyes were blown astronomically wide as you did, his heart no longer beating as he could’ve sworn he was dead right now, not believing that you were actually kissing him.

him.

you pulled apart from his lips with a smack, your hands still on his red cheeks. “a guy who’s willing to literally change himself without me having to ask, trying to be better for me everyday without fault for literally a year, doing everything he can to make me happy? definitely deserves me yuta. you deserve me.”

you pecked his forehead softly and pulled back again, his body going numb when you did. “so what if you beat the shit out of him? i would do it too if someone was talking to you like that i don’t care. i’d lose but i’d do it,” you giggled. “i didn’t like the fight because i don’t want you getting hurt, ever, period. but you literally scrapped him up like it was nothing, so i don’t have anything to worry about.”

he shook his head and playfully rolled his eyes. “no flower that’s the thing you’re too sweet to me, i don’t want you justifying—”

“yuta be quiet!” you whispered harshly, giving him a silly grin. “you talk too much.”

you reached up and very very gently pecked the little cut on the side of his eyebrow, feeling a cool calming waterfall wash over his body at the feeling of your soft lips finally on him, something he’s wished upon every star for.

“you’re so good to me yuta, truly you are. and i’m sorry it’s taken me so long to say this because i’m always nervous but—” you smiled endearingly. “i do want to go out with you, and i do want to give you little kisses. all of the time.”

yuta slowly let his forehead fall against yours, feeling like he was in a dream as the only emotion he felt at the moment was bliss. pure honeyed bliss as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you to his chest, his face burying in your silky hair.

his hard work had finally paid off, and he had every fucking intention of keeping up that work until the day he dies, wanting you, his shy and timid precious little flower forever in his life— you changing him for the better so much that he finally feels like he’s properly healthy, in more ways than one.

“we’re going out tomorrow,” he mumbled into your hair. “bright and early. i’m gonna take you to get breakfast, and then we’re gonna go to that aquarium you’ve been wanting to go to for weeks now, and then i’m gonna buy you a souvenir, and then i’m gonna take you to get your nails done—”

“yu!” you pulled back and giggled happily. “you don’t have to buy me anything my goodness. just you is enough.”

he bit his lip, smiling like a fucking idiot.

“really?”

“really.”

“well too fucking bad i’m gonna do it anyways.”

he pulled you back in as you laughed and buried his face back into your hair, not wanting to break away at all, feeling like the richest douchebag in the world as he finally had you as his.

you scooted your face up then and nudged him, him pulling a part in response as you proceeded to plant another sugary kiss to his lips, yours lingering as they melted into a perfect mold against his mouth, yuta’s heart absolutely soaring, your red invisible strings close together at last.

he finally had you.

finally.

and he was never letting you go.

[chuluoyi]

✎ rivals... in love?

- gojo satoru x reader

gojo is in shambles—so suguru might have a crush on you too?

genre: high school!gojo being a menace but pls spare him he just can't take losing, you see... crack, totally jealous!gojo, justice for geto, enemies to lovers, fluff

note: people have been asking for this so this is up next! i'm writing this while listening to bigbang's bang bang bang and fantastic baby so if gojo is a bit unhinged... you know why

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

No way. There is just no way.

Satoru felt his eyes itch and twitch uncomfortably. Despite the opaque black tint of his sunglasses, he could still distinctly see you happily giggling.

“Geto-san, that’s so funny!”

With Suguru. His ride or die. Your massive crush.

Your crisp laughter rang in his ears, scorching his ego and igniting it in flames—that was precisely the reaction he had hoped to receive from you too!

"Aren't they just cute?" Yaga was suddenly beside him with a wistful smile, looking at you and his other student a few feet away. "What do the television say again... a perfect match? In this case, a perfect match made in jujutsu school, then."

And responding to your bubbly self, creating the very picture of perfect match made in jujutsu school indeed, Suguru was every bit as enthusiastic. “Nah, wait until you see this—”

"Perfect match my ass," Satoru grumbled outwardly, rolling his eyes, but he immediately dashed away before his teacher could bonk him in the head for cussing.

It was harmless conversation, or jokes, or whatever. Because Suguru couldn't possibly reciprocate your feelings. His type is women of gravure magazines—Satoru had deemed it as such.

…Right?

At this point, he wasn't in enough denial to say that he didn't like you, because he had made it so clear that he was, in fact, obsessed. He wasn’t shying away from the things he did, which included annoying you constantly, asking you out after school, helping you in missions, and sending you few pick up lines here and there.

And he thought he was certain he could whisk you off your feet. After all, who else could measure up to him and win?

Heh, no one.

(or basically that's just him ignoring the intrusive little voice in his mind that whispered, “Suguru!”)

“So what's with the nice act, huh?” Satoru blew his bangs in a huff as he questioned his best friend with a twinge of dissatisfaction. “Do you like her or something?”

Suguru quirked his eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb. I have noticed how you two have been joined at the hip lately,” and with deliberate intention to spite his best friend, he made the sourest face as he mockingly recited, “Wait till you see this~”

Instantly realizing what he meant, Suguru burst into a loud snicker. “Come on, Satoru, really? Surely you aren't that petty. We were just chatting—”

“Not that. I know. What I'm asking now is that do you like her or not?”

It wasn't a rare sight to see Satoru with a pout and a frown, and usually he'd humor him. But this time, even Suguru could see that there was something different in the way he asked this. And should he say something that irked him then—

“Heh, so what if I am?”

That's the wrong answer.

Satoru halted abruptly, whipping his head around in sheer shock. "What the heck?"

“She’s a nice junior, kind, easy on the eyes,” Suguru shrugged, flashing him a dauntless smile. “Only a fool would let the chance pass up. Satoru, if you keep dawdling, one of these days, I just might—”

“Wha—hey!? That’s totally foul—!”

“Nah, they do say all is fair in love and war now, isn’t it?”

By a mind-boggling twist of events, apparently his best friend was also a guy after his dream girl. Satoru was irked, challenged, and he would never admit it, but a tiny part of him recoiled because Suguru clearly had an early start and a boost—you favored him first.

This was unexpected, and now he was conjuring up various scenarios of what he should do. He must act fast or else...

Little did he know that Suguru was thoroughly relishing his restlessness.

Everyone around you said that your relationship with Gojo Satoru... is intriguing to say the least. And especially ever since that one botched mission you two went, you also felt there was a shift in your dynamics.

And if by intriguing they mean him constantly blocking your way and invading your space, then yes, it definitely is.

"Okay, okay, but wait, just hear me out!"

You halted your steps and faced him with an annoyed frown. You really had no time for this. You were about to be sent on a mission. "Gojo, really, can't you just—"

"Okay, I know he's dashing, or whatever," he huffed, the last word he said with a hint of disdain. "But hear me out, and I'm sure you'll reconsider."

"Who are you talki—"

"Who else!? Suguru, of course!"

You couldn't possibly arch your eyebrow even higher, and before you could say anything, he somehow took it as his cue to keep going.

“First, he eats curses. Cursed spirits! He eats them like rice balls! Can you imagine just how foul the taste is?”

"Gojo, I don't have the time—"

"Then! Going from that, just imagine kissing him," he stressed, eyeing you intensely as your own eyes felt like popping out by the sheer suggestion. "What if you taste the cursed spirits rice ball?"

"You're unbeliev—"

"Wait! Can you even kiss him? What if his cursed spirits suddenly pop out of him? Are you willing to kiss his little friends—"

"He's your best friend!" you finally interjected, obviously and utterly in shock by his unhinged rambling. "How could you say all of that?"

"No, you're getting me wrong." Satoru's clicked his tongue. "I'm just listing facts why it's better for you not to end up with him."

You barked a dry laugh. "And? Better with you, you mean? That's awfully biased."

"Why yes of course! Self-promo is never bad," he blatantly retorted. "Let me just tell you aallll you need to know about me!"

He audibly cracked his knuckles and puffed out his chest. "You know already, I'm strong. I can protect you well. My cursed technique doesn't involve eating curses, so you don't have to worry about tasting the said curses on my lips."

How could he blurt all of this with that perpetually playful expression? A chuckle escaped you unwittingly and that only spurred him to go on.

"And I'm handsome!" he boldly claimed, pointing at his face with pride. "And obviously I don't need to say this, but I'm filthy rich—"

At that, you burst into hearty laughter, unable to hold it in any longer.

Satoru's eyes sparkled, lit as if someone had just made his day. "All in all, you know what I mean. Everything with me, all of it is going to be fantastic!"

Even you couldn't deny that all of this exchange had been so amusing. Hilariously so. "You're down bad, huh?" you tried to taunt, although it seemed like a burst of snicker. Yet, you were caught off-guard when he said:

"For you?" his little smirk made your insides suddenly all jumbled up. "Yes."

Huh? What is this? Your bravado faltered a bit as your heart did a somersault inside.

It wasn't supposed to thump this hard. You weren't supposed to feel this overwhelming urge to squeal too. And your face wasn't supposed to grow this hot...

Seeing that, Satoru celebrated his little win, a wicked smile on his glistening lips—that somehow looked rather attractive to you now. "How? Thinking twice now, are we?"

But he couldn't believe that after all this, you would still cunningly retort with, "Ha! You wish, Gojo Satoru."

His stunned face was so comical that you chuckled once again. You wanted to rebuff him more, but before you could, Haibara's voice called you from a distance. "Heeey! Let's go! Or we're gonna be late!"

"I suppose that's my cue," you lightly shrugged, and before you left him in a dust, you could've sworn you saw a flicker of brewing tantrum behind those glasses, which brought a smirk on your face. "See ya, try harder, and I might look at your way."

Satoru was at his wit's end as he saw you sauntering away. What more that he could do so that you could be his? To keep your eyes on him and him only?

And yet, little did he know, in that beginning of summer in 2006, even before you realized it yourself, you had already did.

Epilogue

In another corner of the school, eagerly spying on you were...

"Wait! Can you even kiss him? What if his cursed spirits suddenly pop out of him? Are you willing to kiss his little friends—"

"Did he just..." Suguru gaped, utterly in disbelief at what his own best friend said of him. "Did he just say that?"

Shoko let out a satisfied guffaw. "Oh, he definitely did."

"I can't believe he's tarnishing my name over a girl."

"Well, you know very well he could do way worse than that just to get what he wants," she threw him a thin smile, while exhaling a puff of smoke. "And hey, you lose. You gotta pay me."

Suguru turned to her in surprise. "Huh? Oh—oh, darn it. Shoko, can't you be less stingy?"

"Well, whose bright idea was it to pull that stunt on him and bet on whether Gojo would approach her in less than a day?"

-> continue to extended cut !

[slytherinslut0]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 18th. mattheo — hate fucking / enemies.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: “at least her favourite form of foreplay isn’t an argument…” “or being a bitch her kink..”

warnings: 18+ MDNI, dubcon(meh), ex bf/gf trope, toxic behaviour, mutual manipulation, these two are chaotic as fuck, mentions of blood, gagging, degradation, rough sex PIV, hate fucking, spitting, spanking, uhhh i think that covers it. this one is a ride. can you tell this is my fav trope?

"I'm so fucking sick of you.”

"Get well soon, princess."

"Get fucked, Riddle."

Three sentences, three venomous insults that cut the room in half—heavy enough in their intensity to make you want to tear through dungeon walls, splintering stone and mortar with bare hands if it means sparing yourself another second in this blasted room, with him.

Detention at midnight—on a Friday, no fucking less—is unheard of. But leave it to your dickhead ex to make the impossible a reality. His fault, of course. Like always.

Snape had turned a blind eye for months. It was only a matter of time before something had to give. An hour unsupervised was as good as you'll get.

Sulking defeat, you sink back in your chair, rough wood digging into your spine as you eye Mattheo with a glare that could rival a bullet. He looks like hell, and it's infuriating how even in that state he manages to look so nonchalant, so maddeningly unbothered—like even exhaustion makes a home on him and he's comfortable with it. Bags under his eyes, scar cutting across the bridge of his nose, those dark curls falling messily over his forehead, white dress shirt wrinkled and open at the collar.

You roll your eyes, a gesture that feels like your only act of rebellion left.

And he notices. Of course he does.

"You haven't changed a bit," he spits, and you know it's an insult. You scowl as he swipes the blood off his chin with the sleeve of his shirt. "Always a bitch to me over something."

Bitch. The name strikes you, but you won't let him see it, won't let him know that it lands. You've bled too many times at his feet for him to draw blood again tonight.

"Am I not allowed to be pissed off that you dragged us into detention? We should be at the party, Mattheo. We should be anywhere but here." You hear the frustration rising in your voice, like it's boiling up from somewhere deep, somewhere you can't quite reach. It's hard not to let it slip, especially when he looks at you like that. "This is so fucking typical of you. You mess up, and somehow I'm the one who pays for it."

For a moment, there's silence, and it almost feels like a victory until you realize he's only biding his time, waiting to strike back.

"You really want to get back there? To that party?" He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. You long for the chair to break from under him. "After what your new man was caught doing with Lovegood?"

You snort before you can stop yourself, the sound slipping out like a reflex. You hadn't expected that. And quite frankly, it's amusing—no, downright hilarious—that he's clearly been keeping tabs on you and "new man", and now here he is, trying to play it off like he doesn't care. Like it's nothing.

"I'll spare you the insults this once," you mutter, fingers loosening the tie around your neck with a tug. "Because, clearly, you're ignorant to the truth, even if you think you know every goddamn thing." You pause, ripping out your earrings. "He's not my man, so I don't give a shit what he does with who. He ended it last week. Good fuck, sure—but other than that..."

You trail off, making a mocking noise with your lips, a derisive puff of air, as if you could blow away the memory of him as easily as dust off an old book. A Ravenclaw. Brilliant in all the wrong ways—sharp mind, yes, but utterly thrill-less, like he saw you as just another page to flip through, a textbook he was annotating.

It is what it is.

A moment passes and then Mattheo grins—slow at first, but spreading across his face like fire, destructive in its consummation. It unsettles you. He looks more intrigued than he's been in months.

"A good fuck, huh?"

"That's what I said," you reply, clipped, your tone offering no room for him to crawl inside.

"And why didn't it work out? Too good for you?" He says, twisting the knife just because he can. "Too clean, maybe?"

Your eyes scan the room, searching for something within reach to throw at him, anything to break this unbearable tension. Insufferable. Every inch of him, insufferable.

You find nothing, so you throw words instead. "You're an asshole, you know that?"

He nods, as if that's the truest thing either of you have said all night. Of course he knows.

You barely suppress a dry laugh at his idiocy. "Like I told you—he ended it. If you're so fucking interested in why it didn't work out, then why don't you go ask him?"

There's a pause—he's chewing the inside of his cheek as he stares at you. You imagine chewing his head off as you stare at him.

"I'm sure you gave that bookworm the ride of his life," he says, voice half-dry, half-sarcastic, as if he's already bored of the conversation. As if he knew all of this information already. "Everyone knew that was temporary. Your first rebound, congrats."

And just like that, your blood is boiling. He knows how to needle you, how to get under your skin with the slightest flick of his stupid fucking tongue. Your eyes trace the cold stone of the dungeon walls, desperately trying to find something—anything—to distract yourself.

But it's no use. Mattheo's an asshole. He's always been an asshole. That's why you left. All the two of you did was fight and fuck, a chaotic spiral that was as thrilling as it was destructive. Now, he's easily your enemy—dragging you into his messes, never letting you get too far without ruining your life somehow.

And yet—

If you said you didn't miss the sex sometimes, that'd be a lie. Or at least a half-truth. The kind that slips out when you've had one too many glasses of firewhiskey, the kind you'd regret in the morning.

"What about you, dickhead?" You cut through the silence, ignoring his obvious attempt to rile you up. "That Hufflepuff you were seeing—why'd I see her all over Theo tonight?"

He answers far too fast. "They're friends."

You snort, disbelieving. "Right."

You rise to your feet, crossing the room to the bookcase as if it's the most natural thing in the world. The books feel safer somehow, less volatile.

"You're bored of her, aren't you?" You don't care to look at him. You can imagine the way his jaw tenses at the question.

The silence is telling. He doesn't answer right away. You know him well enough to understand what that means. Then, finally, he speaks, a half-answer that doesn't really answer the fucking question at all.

"At least her favourite form of foreplay isn't a fucking argument." He stands, slow, pushing his hair back from his forehead with one battered hand. You glance at him, pulse quickening. "Or being a bitch her kink."

"Does she even have kinks?" It slips out, a knife thrown without aiming. "Sounds like you're bored, Matty."

You watch as he blinks, his eyes darken. That nickname—you know you don't have the right to say it anymore, and that's exactly why you do. It's an insult wrapped in familiarity, and it hits its mark by the way his shoulders tense, jaw tight.

He steps toward you, one calculated step, and you feel it—that chaotic pull, the gravity that's always drawn you both in, no matter how far you try to stay away. A smile pulls at your lips, a cruel thing.

"How cute." He tilts his head just enough to inspect you, eyes dragging over you like he's searching for something to confirm what he already suspects. "Looks like you're jealous."

Your hand grips the bookshelf, eyes locked on him over your shoulder. Jealous? There's not a soul on this planet who could make you jealous. She may be the hero of this story, the girl that gets the guy, might even be everything you're not—

"Looks like you're learning the hard way," you're inspecting him now, too. Every piece of him you once touched. "When it comes too easy it's never gonna' hit as hard, babe."

Another pause from him—something dancing in his eyes. Anger? Maybe. Or something more, something twisted that you don't care to name. You've already lit the match, and now you're just watching him burn.

"You're so clever, huh? So full of advice," he sneers, ripping off his tie and chucking it on a desk. "Go on then, tell me more about how I feel, professor. Since you know everything about me."

You can't help the smirk that curls on your lips. Oh, he's pissed. And that means you're winning.

"What? You don't like hearing the truth? Too much for your delicate ego?" You take a step toward him, savouring every second of this. He hurt you, over and over, the scars from those days still fresh, still bleeding beneath your skin. This has been a long time coming. "You think I care about your new girl, Matty? The one you let your boys fawn over in the common room?...she kissed Theo tonight." You pause, letting that linger. "You think you're doing something, but I see right through you. You don't give a fuck about her. If you did, no one would dare touch her like that. So don't sit here, accusing me of jealousy, like I'm the one hung up on you. You're projecting. And it's pathetic."

He doesn't waste a goddamn beat—his laugh is bitter, sickeningly so—and he advances again, his shadow moving behind him, the space between you now barely there.

"That's amazing, truly. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were a goddamn oracle. All-knowing, all-seeing." His voice is infuriating. The look on his face more-so. "What's your verdict then, my lord? You think this is all an act? That everything I'm doing is just to spite you?"

Your heart races, breath catching in your throat as he steps closer. This is a dance you both know too well, the kind where neither of you win.

"I know how you operate." Your chest heaves, anger rising with every breath. "It's all a game to you, Matt. A sick, twisted game to keep yourself entertained."

"That's rich, coming from someone who played it just as well." He takes another step forward. You could reach out and touch him now he's that close. His grin grows. "Too bad your Ravenclaw figured it out before you could sink your teeth in too deep. Next time you see him, make sure to tell him I said you're welcome."

Your brows pinch—the blood in your veins screeching to a halt, backing up like New York traffic at a standstill. You feel it, hot and furious, rushing toward a place it can't go, clogged behind the wall of rage building up inside you—

"You're welcome?" You spit, a sharp snarl caught between clenched teeth. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He's watching you, his eyes darting over your shoulder, fingers brushing over his lips like he's trying to dull that familiar smirk, that cruel little game he's always played.

Your stomach sinks, drops to your feet.

"Mattheo—" you snap, cutting him off just as he opens his mouth, before he can throw another snide word. "Spare me the cryptic bullshit for once in your life—“

His eyebrows lift at that, but there's a nod, a hint of something deeper in it. You taste the smugness in the air between you, can almost feel it slithering through his silence.

"Looks like you don't know everything after all. Isn't that ironic?" He straightens up, letting the moment breathe before his face hardens into something almost serious. "Your rebound came to me in the courtyard about two weeks ago. Had some questions about you."

"What?" Your nerves are vibrating, every cell in your body on edge. Your blood is so clogged, you swear you're seeing red. "What questions?"

"The usual sort of normal stuff. Your birthday. Your favorite colour. Childhood traumas. Our downfall. You know."

The casualty in the way he says it makes you sick, bile rising in your throat, a bitter burn at the back of your mouth. It's all starting to come together now. This stupid motherfucker—

"You're lying." The words feel weak, frail. He wouldn't—no, he couldn't. "You're fucking lying."

"Am I?" His fingers brush your cheek, but your skin's gone numb, your blood too frozen to feel anything but the cold burn of your fury. "Or, is the truth just…too much for your delicate ego to handle?"

Oh, fuck off—

Your wand is in your hand before you even realize you've grabbed it, instinct, pure reflex. There's barely a second of rational thought before you're casting, the spell hitting him square in the chest, sending him flying back into the chair he once sat in. His eyes flash, anger igniting there, and he scrambles for his wand—but you're faster.

"Expelliarmus."

One word and you're across the room before you even know you've moved, chest tight as you slam the tip of your wand against his throat. There's a cut on his lip, blood trickling down his chin for a second time tonight, but that stupid fucking smirk is still there, showcasing rubies for teeth and carved into his face like it belongs.

"Tell me what you did." Your voice cracks, but not from fear—it's fury, burgling through you, burning hot enough to make your whole body shake. You half want to cut him open just to bury your rage inside him, let him feel it. "If what you're saying is true, he ended things just days later. Tell me what the fuck you said to him."

Mattheo’s leaning back, hands raised in mock surrender, eyes glinting with the same smug amusement that's always haunted him. He's daring you, taunting you. He knows you never cared about that guy, not really.

You both know it. He was boring, easy.

This—this is something else.

His tongue swipes at the blood on his lip. "He didn't tell you—"

"Don't." Your wand digs deeper into his skin, cutting off whatever he was about to say. The pressure makes his breath hitch, but not enough. Not nearly enough. "I said tell me."

"Merlin—okay—I told him nothing, nothing really," his voice makes your grip tighten on your wand. He stares at you for a long, hard minute before he adds; "except that he should show me some fucking gratitude."

Your jaw slips, confusion rushing in like a flood. But before you can even question him—

"I told him he should be thanking me." Another pause. "When he's fucking you."

He laps at the blood seeping from the cut on his lip for the second time in only a minute and you barely notice the movement—the words hit you like a brick, but it's deeper than that, something visceral that crawls under your skin and settles in your bones. It's sharp, raw, cutting through the wall of rage so fast it leaves you breathless. You don't know how to explain it, this feeling that twists through you, something far too complicated to be named.

And then, you become aware of everything at once.

His legs, spread wide on either side of yours, the space between you so small, your chest just close enough to his face that his breath feels like it's fogging your skin. You're towering over him, wand pressed hard into his throat, your heart hammering in your chest like you're ready to ruin him—but his eyes, the way he looks up at you, says he'd let you.

"I may have even added that although you're with him, you'll always think of me. Both you and him know it’s true.“ That stupid smirk is gone, replaced with something you've never quite seen before. He pauses, before he continues. "You miss it. Us." Another pause. There’s something victorious in his tone, something that's almost breaking you. "And no matter how many times you try to forget, you never do, do you?"

Salazar save you—you should hex him. You should fucking hex him. Every nerve in your body is screaming for it, begging for it, but you can't. You can't fucking move. Your wand is still pressed to his skin, but it feels like you're the one pinned down.

"Shut up," you finally manage, but your voice is meek, thin, nothing like the fury you want to feel. "You...you're being—"

"I'll shut up," his hand finds your wrist, pressing your wand tip against his neck with more force—enough to make himself wince. "If you make me."

You blink, stunned, and you can feel your anger slipping, slipping faster than you can catch it. You don't know what's happening to you—it’s just him—his sick twisted insanity that disarms you. Time and time again. An endless fucking cycle.

"I could ruin you," you whisper, but it sounds more like you're trying to convince yourself than him. You press the wand deeper, just enough to draw a grunt from him, but the look on his face—he's not afraid. No, he's enjoying it. "I have more reasons than most to leave you here bloodied for Snape to find in the morning."

You say the words but the conviction is gone, swept away in the flood of heat between you—the dizzying proximity, the way his lips curl, almost smiling but not quite—

"What are you so afraid of?" He whispers, and there's something fragile in his voice now. "That you might actually want this?"

"I don't want this." You force the words out immediately, hoping they will make it real. Hoping they'll stop this spiral. "I regret ever wanting this."

He’s silent for a moment as he lowers his hands, dark eyes falling to trace your lips—

"I know you hate me, the feelings mutual...but I know. I know I'll always be your favourite regret," those chocolate curls shift, his head tilts closer, too close. Not close enough. "You're still my weapon of choosing."

Merlin. Merlin bloody forgive you—

"…to hurt yourself with?” It's half a question, but you already know the answer.

He nods, and that does it.

Your lips are on his, fast and hard and bruising—and the reaction is immediate, visceral. All that backed-up blood—all that rage frozen in your veins rushes forward in a single, scorching wave. It crashes low, between your thighs, a heat so sharp it aches. The shame comes with it. So does the disgust. A sick knot of self-hatred pulsing through you as you taste his blood on your tongue while his hands are under your skirt, grabbing you like he owns you, pulling you into him. It's only a moment before your wand clatters to the ground, and your hands are tangled in his hair, yanking hard, hard enough to hurt.

You want it to hurt. God, you want it to hurt.

He growls at the sting on his scalp—and then, everything flips.

His fingers tug at something, and you realize it's his own wand, the one you tucked into the back of your skirt—and before you can even think, he's got it, casting a spell that sends you flying back onto the desk behind you. You groan—the world spins, but you don't even have a second to gather yourself before he's advancing toward you, casting another spell on his tie.

Within seconds it's slithering across your lips and tying itself around your head, gagging you.

He steps between your legs, parts them with the ease of someone who's done it a thousand times before—rough hands gliding up your thighs, eyes wild. His fingers slip beneath your underwear, through your slit, and you try to hold on to any shred of control, but it's gone. You can feel it. The way you forget everything except the way he leans down, breath hot in your ear.

"Look how fucking wet you are," he spits through a sneering grin. "You're goddamn shameless, aren't you?"

You roll your eyes, but your thoughts scatter the moment his fingers shove inside you, curling hard—so hard you gasp into the tie, your back arching violently off the desk.

"He ever get you this wet?" His voice is like gravel, each word grinding into your bones. "Nod your head if he did."

Your body reacts before your mind does, arching against him, but you don't move your head. As much as it hurts your pride to give him that win. You dig your fingers into his hair and pull—hard enough to make him grunt, hard enough to hurt.

His hand comes down hard on your thigh in response, a sharp smack that stings, a warning. You squeal, and his fingers start pumping faster, deeper.

He huffs. "That's what I thought."

His fingers make quick work of you, relentless, and his thumb presses to your clit, rolling circles in a rhythm that has your blood on fire, shame licking at the edges of your vision, but it only makes you burn hotter. This is all wrong. Everything about this is wrong, something you'll regret with every fiber of your being tomorrow, but right now, it's an ache you need.

It's the wound you keep reopening, the pain you crave because it's the only thing that ever feels real.

"Fuck, you're close, aren't you?" He sounds almost shocked, like he can't believe how easily your body betrays you, but you feel it too, the disbelief crashing through you as fast as the pleasure does. Too fast. Far too fast. "Did he ever make you cum? Huh? When's the last time you fucking came?"

You can't answer, just groan, yanking at his hair again. His response is immediate, another stinging slap to your inner thigh, sharp enough to make fluid prick your eyes. Your orgasm is right there, teetering on the edge, ready to tip over—but then he slows his pace, dragging it out, torturing you.

You whine. A pitiful, desperate sound you hate yourself for.

"Look at me." His voice cuts through the haze, and begrudgingly, you do. "He didn't make you cum, did he?"

Your face burns, not from his breath or his fingers or even the astronomical amount of shame you feel—but from the truth of it. You shake your head.

"How long?" His voice shatters the air between you. "A week?"

You shake your head again, biting into the fabric of his tie as his fingers curl deeper inside you.

"Two weeks?"

Another shake. He curses under his breath.

"You poor little thing." His words are venom, but the second they spill from his lips, he pumps his fingers into you again, massaging at your walls, and your vision goes white. "Can't even cum without me."

You would've slapped him if you could, would've torn him apart, but the orgasm hits you like a freight train, ripping through you with violent force. You clench around his digits, thighs trembling as you ride the wave of pleasure, convulsing, moaning into the tie as he watches you like he's won.

"So fucking easy." He withdraws his fingers, and immediately, his hands go to his belt. "We'll make up for lost time."

Everything about this feels like a rerun. The same scene playing out on loop, again and again—a cycle of self-destruction you know too well, like running headfirst into a burning building, certain you can handle the smoke only to choke on it.

He's taking off his belt, ready to fuck you stupid, and by morning you'll be back to the same familiar hatred, tearing each other apart in new, inventive ways. Your hands move sluggishly to rip the tie from your mouth, but you're slow, too slow, still dizzy from the release that blindsided you, one that you haven't felt in so long—the fabric barely grazes your fingers before Mattheo catches your wrists, yanking them back, dragging you to your feet in one rough motion.

The spin disorients you—arms pinned behind your back, his cock sliding between your thighs.

"You've done enough talking today," he hisses at your ear as he drags along your slit. "You want this, don't you?"

Your mind screams for you to shake your head, to end this here and now. You know he'd stop—he's an asshole, but not that kind of an asshole. You know it. You almost do it, almost say the word that would shatter this madness. But then he drags his tip against your clit and you moan before you can stop yourself.

Your head nods with a wanton moan, and it's so full of shame your eyes sting with tears.

"Yeah, I know, baby." He's taunting you, every syllable smug, condescending. "This pussy missed me so much, huh?" His hand tightens on your wrists until your skin burns, the other hand finding its way around your thigh, pulling you closer to him. "Fuckin' lost without me. S'all it's good for, isn't it? Taking my cock."

You groan, shaking your head in defiance, but even that feels like a lie. You hate him. You want him. You hate yourself for wanting him.

"No?" His fingers inch toward your clit, ghosting over it—you squeal, hips jerking for more. "Maybe we should call this off then?"

You blink once and his fingers are gone—wrenching a whine out of you, pathetic as you push your ass back against him, shame burning through you as you shake your head. Fuck him. Curse him. But you need him inside you, need him to fill the aching void that gnaws at you.

"That's my slut," he growls, and before you can process the words, he's inside you—one long, brutal thrust that spears you open, the stretch burning deep. The sting mixes with shock of his fingers returning to your clit, rubbing circles that make your knees buckle. "You know you're the only girl I've fucked raw? This pussy will always be mine."

He's fucking insane. Completely insane. And the worst part is, you're just as insane for wanting him. For needing him. You can't fight it. You don't even want to. Not now. Not when his voice drips like poison and he's tearing you apart in the only way you understand.

"Mmmf—" you groan into the tie and he's matching you, his teeth grazing your shoulder, marking you in ways that will last for days.

"I hope it hurts," he grumbles against your skin, his breath ragged. He's lying, you can feel it in the way his fingers are moving, coaxing you to cum, even as he pretends to wish you pain. "I hope it fucking stings."

Your hands ball into fists, trapped in his grip, and you imagine clawing at his back until you draw blood, sinking your nails in until he feels every ounce of your anger.

"I want you to feel it—fuck—I want you to remember this," he pants, his voice barely more than a growl as your climax crashes toward you, unstoppable now. "Remember how weak I make you. How much of a slut you are for me."

Another harsh thrust and then, you're there—falling into the void—pleasure is so strong it bleeds out of you, forcing your cunt to clamp tight around him, legs trembling, barely able to support you through it. Mattheo’s curses slip through clenched teeth, but this only fuels him—his rhythm picks up, brutal, hips slamming against your ass with a pace that borders on unhinged.

"Fuck. Oh, fuck." The words are barely audible, grunted against the shell of your ear. You're whining, still twitching with aftershocks, but he doesn't care. His hands are on your hips now, fingers digging deep as he thrusts you forward, slamming you over the desk. The wood bites into your palms as you try to brace yourself, but his anger is palpable, drilling into you— "you wanna bitch at me now?"

The moan you release is automatic, instinctual. You can't stop it. Can't control it. His fingers curl around your throat, shifting the tie down to shove two into your mouth.

"Hhhhh—" you're trying to form words around his fingers, but it's impossible. The garbled sound is pathetic, but he knows exactly what you're trying to say.

"You hate me. I know." It’s smug, punctuated by a sharp smack to your ass, the sting of it making you yelp. He pulls his fingers from your mouth, wiping the spit across your cheek before he grips your jaw, forcing your head to turn, to meet his eyes. "Open your mouth."

There's no time to process the demand. His eyes are molten, crazed, filled with something raw and uncontainable. His next thrust is punishing, slamming into your cervix, making you sob—your mouth parting just enough—

He leans in close, and then he spits into your mouth.

"Swallow it." His fingers dig into your cheeks, pressing the order into your bones. "Be a good girl for once."

You choke out a laugh, even as you're panting, even as he's splitting you stupid.

"Never." The word barely leaves your lips before you’re spitting back at him—your entwined saliva landing across his chin and lips.

For a second, you expect the worst—you brace yourself for the retaliation—the slap, the insult, the way he'll tighten his grip and take back control. But to your surprise, instead of anger, there's a grin—wide and feral, big and crazed enough to reach his eyes.

You smile back. His cock twitches inside you.

"Fuck me," he mutters, then crashes his mouth to yours.

You taste the salt and bitterness of mingled spit, a mess of his and yours, and it pulls a moan from somewhere deep inside you. He devours it, greedy, his hips growing erratic, sloppy as his high nears.

His hand drops to your clit, fingers pressing with a precision that obliterates every last shred of sanity—and it takes only moments before the pressure builds again, fast and furious. Your third orgasm rips you apart, your body clenching tight, muscles seizing as you're lost in it. You're not sure where you end and he begins—your breath congealing with his, your moans swallowed in the space between you.

His release follows right after, crashing over him as he buries himself deep, spilling into you with a groan that reverberates through your bones. You hate the way it feels. You hate the way he fills you. But you also can't deny the twisted satisfaction of it—the way you sought this punishment, needed it. The shame consumes you, but it's comforting in its familiarity.

He pulls out, and the silence between you is easy, broken only by your ragged breathing. The room feels impossibly small now, your body still thrumming with the aftermath, but the moment is over. You both start to move—piecing yourselves back together, pulling clothes into place, avoiding the weight of what just happened.

You don't understand how it came to this, how it always does, but you're not surprised. Not anymore.

After a long, silent moment, he looks at you. “I don’t regret what I did.”

You know he doesn’t.

“I know.”

He blinks. “I won’t apologize for it.”

You know he won’t.

“I know.”

He nods, now, a smirk on his lips as he watches you fix your skirt. You note the hair sticking to his forehead, how he’s still catching his breath even though he’s pretending he isn’t.

“You aren’t mad.” An observation.

“I’m not.” You reply. You know you should be, but the relief you felt when that Ravenclaw ended things tells you everything you need to know. “Just, never do it again.”

He nods again. “Sure.”

You’re pretty sure he doesn’t mean that—but, at least now, as you glance over at him, there's a small comfort in knowing you no longer want to kill him.

[dearieshima]

determined

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷feat. xavier is determined to get your virginity before leaving philos.

His hands gripped your thighs hard enough to bruise, holding you open for his relentless assault. "Look at how deep I am," he panted, watching as he pistoned in and out of your tightness. "Look how well we fit together."

c.w spoilers to xavier's myth, dubcon, groping, scummy!xavier, coercion/manipulation, cherry popping, handjob, fingering, licking fingers after jizzing on them, jealousy, 4k+ words, halfway proofread

On the night of Xavier’s Gladius ceremony, he returned to the palace with a newly discovered understanding. Amidst the celebration, he pulled his father, the king, aside for a private conversation. He presented an irregular protocore to his father, its life force still pulsating in his hand.

“Shouldn't the protocore warrant a formal inspection?” Xavier asked, voice laced with suspicion.

“The lightblade deemed you worthy,” his father replied dismissively, his fingers absently tracing the protocore.

Xavier pressed, “Is there no need for formalities? Or are you unwilling? A heart was once in this protocore–am I mistaken?”

A flicker of tension tightened the king's jaw as he pocketed the protocore. “...I knew you'd catch on.”

The king immediately caught Xavier off, witnessing the disgust in his son’s eyes. “However, it is a necessary duty of the crown prince. It is also the king's responsibility.”

Xavier's mouth widened, and for a minute he stood there in silence. He then turned sharply, storming out without looking back, ignoring his father’s calls. His decision was already made.

He strode into the crowded hall, hoping to shake off his father’s gaze when he spotted you. His eyes darkened.

You were laughing at a joke some man had made, holding a flute of champagne. The dress you wore barely skimmed your knees, and Xavier noticed the man's eyes were fixed and imaginative, longing to see it up to your stomach.

You were a lamb among a den of wolves. If he left too soon, the pack would descend upon your fresh meat. He couldn't leave Philos without sinking his teeth into you first, marking you as his territory to warn others until his return.

He maneuvered toward you, brushing off congratulatory pats and embraces along the way. At one point, Jeremiah slung an arm around his shoulders, only to be harshly shrugged off, as Xavier’s focus remained locked on you. Jeremiah noticed his gaze and, not wanting to interfere, took a long sip of champagne and slipped away.

When Xavier finally reached you, he wrapped a hand firmly around your arm, his eyes flashing a silent warning to the other man.

“Come with me.”

"Hm? Why?”

Xavier's jaw clenched, his frustration mounting. Did you not notice how the other man had been ogling you?

“I have something I need to show you. It's urgent.”

Without waiting for a response, he guided you out of the ballroom, his hand gripping your arm firmly. He guided you out of the ballroom and steered you through the corridor of the palace, his steps determined and purposeful. His hand remained on your arm, his grip firm and possessive. When you reached his room, he ushered you inside.

You perched on his bed, still holding your champagne, swinging your legs. “So?” you asked, a playful smile on your lips as you twirled the drink in your hands. “What’s so urgent?”

Xavier shut the door with a soft click, then slowly turned to face you, a strange expression on his face. He reached over, took the flute from your hand, and placed it on his dresser. “Don’t drink that.”

You frowned, almost pouting. “Hey!”

He ignored your protest, “he could’ve slipped something into it.”

He strode to the window, pausing. “Besides, I want you clear-headed for what I’m about to show you, that's so urgent.” He pulled open the curtains, revealing a brilliant, star-studded sky. The sight drew you to your feet, and you stepped over, awestruck.

Xavier stood close behind you to make space. His chest brushed against your back as he rested his chin on your head, his warm breath fanning over your hair.

“There’s one more thing I want to show you,” he whispered, voice low in your ear. He pointed upward, guiding your gaze. “See? Just above the dipper—that’s the star of our planet.”

A smile tugged at your lips as you spotted the tiny glimmer in the sky, remembering your talks about eloping there. You’d joked about it, but seeing it now made your heart ache with a longing. “It’s beautiful…”

Xavier chuckled, the low sound making your skin tingle. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer until your body was pressed flush against his.

Your breath caught, your heart thudding wildly. “X-Xavier…”

He held you tighter, his hand splaying across your waist. "You should be more careful," he murmured. "Don't you realize how many men in there were looking at you the same way I was?”

“The way you…?”

“—Like a piece of meat.” He was unaware he was contradicting himself. “You're too naive and innocent, and they were preying on it. If I hadn't taken you away..."

He leaned down, his lips just inches away from yours. He hesitated, as though he might ask permission, a question lingering in his darkening gaze. It died as he closed the distance, his lips capturing yours in a gentle yet assertive kiss. He drew you closer, his tongue exploring with confident ease.

He was desperate; you could feel it in the way his body pressed against yours, in the way he kissed you as if he was starved for you.

You melted into the kiss, your hands lifting to cradle his face.

Encouraged by your response, he gently lowered you back onto the bed, his forehead resting against yours as he followed you down. His body pressed against yours, and you could feel the deep, unspoken yearning in his touch.

“Xavier—” Your protest was cut off as he deepened the kiss, his lips capturing your voice, drowning any resistance as he poured himself into the moment.

You was a bit tipsy, the alcohol lowering your inhibitions, making you pliant beneath his touch. Xavier's lips trailed from your mouth to your neck, leaving a blazing path of desire on your flushed skin. He pushed you down, straddling your hips as he drank in the sight of you splayed out before him.

“X-Xavier…?”

Your clothes were rumpled, your hair tousled, your cheeks stained with a becoming flush. Xavier swallowed hard, his pulse racing as he finally had you right where he wanted you. This was what he'd been fantasizing about, dreaming of, for so long. And now, with you soft and willing beneath him, he couldn't hold back any longer.

His hands roamed your curves, slipping beneath your clothing to caress the silky skin beneath. He needed to feel you, all of you, with no barriers between you both. His fingers found the zipper of your dress and tugged it down but you pushed his chest, knocking him out of his delusion.

He blinked, as if surprised you would do that.

"What's the matter?" He murmured, his voice gruff. His fingers toyed with the hem of your dress, pushing it up, revealing more of your skin.

"X-Xavier..." You repeated, flushed. You scooted further into the bed, away from him until your back pressed against the headboard.

He followed, his hand slowly trailing back up your thigh, sending shivers through your body. "It's okay," he whispered, his voice coaxing. "No one has to know. It can be our little secret." His fingers reached the hem of your dress, slowly inching it up.

“N-No…” you stammered, reaching down to hold your skirt in place. “I… I don’t…”

Xavier’s face fell, his fingers curling into the fabric, his expression a mix of confusion and hurt. “You don’t want this?” he asked, voice low. “I though…–You were kissing me.”

“You kissed me back, you let me…” he continued, his voice trailing off as he looked away, shoulders slumping. “Why did you let me, just to pull away?”

You bit your lip, feeling a pang of guilt. “I… I didn’t mean to lead you on. I thought… it was just a kiss. Then it got too fast…”

"Too fast? Why was it too fast?" He glanced up, his brows knitted in frustration. "We've known each other for a while. We're alone. Why are you acting so shy all of a sudden?”

"I, I don't know..." I whimpered. "I don't... I don't know... Xavier, I…”

"You don't know, you don't know," he repeated. "You've been teasing me all this time, sending me mixed signals. And now, when I'm finally giving you what you want, you're pushing me away?”

You opened your mouth but closed it again, struggling to find the right words. “Xavier, it’s not… I just… You’re a prince…”

His lips pressed together, eyes dimming, reminded of the title he hated. "I'm a prince, so what?" His voice was soft, almost resigned. "Do you think that means I can't have you? That I don't have any feelings? That I can't desire you like any man would?”

“It’s not that… you're just…” you stammered, cheeks heating. “You’re meant for someone else, Xavier…”

"Someone else? Who are you to decide that? I don't want someone else, I want you. I've always wanted you." His expression softened, though his frustration was clear. He traced circles with his thumb on your foot. "Don't you want me?”

You bit your lip, finally looking up at him. “I… I like you, Xavier. More than… than I probably should.”

“Then why push me away?” he asked, voice thick with disappointment. “If you like me… then let me have you.”

“I… I don’t know, Xavier…”

He sighed. "You don't know again. Why don't you know?”

"Because I'm scared, Xav…”

"You're scared?" he echoed, his eyes softening. "Scared of what? Me?” Perhaps you've heard the rumors of him frightening away any students who showed interest in you; his father who showed an interest in your heart.

"N-No, that's not true," you pouted, fumbling nervously with your fingers. "I... I've never done it... This before... I…”

"So... you're scared because it's your first time?"

You nodded, feeling your cheeks heat. “Yes…”

He remained silent for a moment, his fingers lightly caressing your hand. "I didn't know," he whispered, though it was a lie. In truth, he was well aware. It was he who had kept you pure, watching and waiting for the perfect opportunity to claim your innocence for himself. He would never allow another man to take what rightfully belonged to him.

“But Xavier… I’m not sure I’m ready…”

His body tensed again at your refusal. He wanted you, and he was determined to ease your hesitation.

"Why not?" he asked, his voice warm and reassuring. "You like me, I like you. You don’t want anyone else, and neither do I. Wouldn't it feel right to do it with someone who’s been by your side your whole life, someone you love and could trust, instead of a stranger?"

He held your gaze, "those other men... they wouldn't take care of you like I would. They wouldn't be gentle–they wouldn't take their time with you. They'd just use you, Y/N.”

In your silence, Xavier took it as a small victory. Seeing you listening to him, processing his words, gave him hope that he was getting through to you, that you were listening to his reasoning. He pushed forward, continuing in a low, husky tone.

"They wouldn't treasure you like I would. They wouldn't make love to you the way I would. They wouldn't want to... to protect you, and cherish you, like I do.”

He could see the hesitation in your eyes, feel nervousness in your body as his fingers continued their path up your thigh, caressing your skin softly. He leaned in closer, his face mere inches from yours, his voice a low plea.

"Please... let me show you what it could be like... with me.”

Xavier's lips slowly melded into yours, breaking the final barrier of your resolve. His tongue brushed softly against your lips, testing, seeking entry as he drew you deeper into the kiss, making it clear he wanted all of you. When your mouth opened, he slipped in without hesitation, claiming the moment entirely. He explored each part of your mouth, tasting and savoring, leaving no doubt of his intent. His body pressed against yours, his weight grounding you, pinning you with a warmth that left you breathless.

His hands roamed your body, caressing your skin. He gripped your hips, pulling you closer to him, as if trying to merge your bodies into one.

He could feel your body trembling beneath his touch, the way your hands clung to his shoulders, trying to anchor yourself. He reveled in your response, the way you whimpered and mewled in his mouth, the way your body reacted to his every touch.

The heat of his mouth seared your skin as he trailed kisses down your neck, each one more intense than the last. Your head lolled back, giving him better access as he nipped and sucked, marking you as his. The sting of his teeth on your sensitive flesh sent jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

His hands roamed your body with a desperate urgency, as if he couldn't get enough of you. They slid under your shirt, caressing the smooth skin of your stomach before cupping your breasts. You gasped as he rolled your nipples between his fingers.

"G-Gentle…" you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Sorry," he murmured, his voice rough. "I'll make it up to you."

His hands roamed your curves, one cupping your breast through the silky material. With a swift tug, he pulled the dress and your bra down, freeing your breasts from their confines. They spilled out, immediately pebbling without the warmth of your bra.

His eyes darkened with lust as he drank in the sight of you. He wrapped his arms around your lower back, pulling you flush against him as he dipped his head to capture a nipple between his lips. He suckled greedily, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud.

His other hand came up to massage your neglected breast, kneading the soft flesh. He switched between your peaks, lavishing each one with attention until you were writhing against him, desperate for more.

Xavier released your breast with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting his lips to your nipple. He trailed kisses up your chest, between your breasts, along your collarbone, before capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue delved into your mouth, stroking against yours as he deepened the kiss.

One hand tangled in your hair, angling your head to give him better access. The other slid down your side, over the curve of your hip, before dipping between your thighs. He cupped your mound, his fingers rubbing slow circles over your clothed sex, inciting a hiss from you.

"You're so wet already," he smiled, his voice a low murmur.

He hooked his fingers into the sides of your panties, slowly dragging them down your legs. You lifted your hips to assist him, the cool air infiltrating from the open window hitting your heated skin. “X-Xavier…”

He smiled as he saw how wet you were. He spread your legs apart and ran his hand along your inner thigh, spreading them wider. "So pretty," he whispered, his eyes locked on your glistening pussy. He reached out and rubbed his thumb over your clit, making you jump.

“Relax," he whispered, his voice gentle. His touch became firmer, his thumb slowly rubbing circles over your hot, swollen nub. He watched your face intently, memorizing every gasp, every flush of your cheeks, every dilation of your pupils. "Have you touched yourself before?"

You nodded.

"Show me," he demanded, his voice low. He wanted to see what you liked, what you didn't. He wanted to know everything. He brought his other hand up to play with your breasts, pinching and rolling your peaks as he continued to toy with your core.

You peered up at him incredulously. "Xavier…–!"

"Please," he whispered. "I want to know. I want to know what you like, what feels good. Show me, please." His touch was hentley, coaxing.

Slowly, tentatively, your hand drifted downward, brushing over the soft curls at the apex of your thighs. Xavier's breath hitched as you parted your folds, revealing the glistening pink flesh beneath. "That's it," he encouraged, his gaze locked on your movements.

Your thighs clamped shut around your plunging fingers, but Xavier forcefully pried them apart. "Keep them spread," he instructed.

You let out a desperate whine, groping your breast as you frantically pumped your fingers in and out of your dripping slit.

"Shh," he soothed, his eyes never leaving your hand. "Add another finger. Stretch yourself for me."

"I-I can't..." you protested weakly.

He nodded his head as he slowly pushed one of his alongside yours, stretching you deliciously wide. "Yes you can," he breathed. His digit trailed down to join yours, stroking that spongy sweet spot deep inside. Your pussy clenched and fluttered around the stretch.

"Right there?" he asked, his voice low. He crooked his fingers inside of you, pressing against that spot over and over again. He watched your face contort in pleasure, your mouth falling open as you gasped. "Come for me.”

Your back arched off the bed as ecstasy crashed over you in waves, your inner walls clenching around his fingers as you reached your peak.

His dark eyes were transfixed, watching with rapt attention as his hand worked you through your release, prolonging your pleasure until you collapsed back against the sheets, spent and trembling. Slowly, he withdrew your slick finger from your dripping core and brought them to his lips. His tongue darted out, curling around your fingers as it lapped your essence, his eyes fluttering shut in bliss.

He leaned down and kissed you hard, his tongue sliding into your mouth so you could taste yourself on him. His hands flung to his pants and began to unfasten his belt with eagerness.

As his pants fell away, your eyes widened at the sight of his impressive manhood standing at full attention. The swollen head glistened with pearlescent drops of precum, the color a striking contrast to the milky smoothness of his skin. Prominent veins ran along the underside, pulsing with his heartbeat. He was magnificent, a work of art sculpted by stars itself.

"Sit up.”

You complied, your movements languid as you propped yourself up on your knees. Your breasts swayed enticingly with the motion, nipples pebbled and begging for attention. His eyes roamed over your body hungrily, drinking in every curve and valley.

He took your hand and guided it to his throbbing member, wrapping your fingers around his impressive girth. "Touch me," he breathed, "like this.” He showed you, moving your hand up and down his length.

As your fingers closed around him, he let out a low groan, his hips thrusting forward slightly. "Just like that," he encouraged.

You swallowed hard, a mix of nerves and excitement coursing through you. "Is this okay?" You asked softly, his length growing even harder in your grip.

"Squeeze a little tighter," he instructed, his voice strained with pleasure.

Focusing intently, you squeezed just as he asked, marveling at the way his shaft pulsed in your palm. Your eyes were glued to where your hand met his flesh, watching in fascination as you pumped him, his swollen head disappearing and reappearing with each stroke.

He hissed through his teeth, his head falling back. "Just like that," he praised. His hips jerked forward, his body tensing. "Harder," he groaned. He brought your other hand up to play with his balls, showing you how to gently roll and squeeze them.

He gripped your wrist, his breathing growing ragged. "Keep...keep doing that," he hissed. He thrust into your hands, his movements growing jerky. "I'm… I'm going to..." He broke off, his whole body convulsing as he came in your hands.

He threw his head back, tendons straining in his neck as he gulped. Releasing your hand, he gripped his own thighs, fingers digging into the firm flesh.

You gazed at your palm, glistening with his copious release. Mimicking his earlier actions, you brought your hand to your lips, tongue swirling around your fingers to lap up every drop of his thick, salty essence.

His eyes were riveted on your display. With a sigh, he asked you to lay back once more. Seizing your hips, he yanked you towards him, his face flushed and debauched, mouth agape. He reached out and gently spread your thighs, stepping between them, the swollen head of his cock nudged against your slick entrance.

“Condoms…!” You cried out, “Xavier, what about–”

"Shh, don't worry about that now," he said. "I'll pull out, I promise.”

His hungry gaze raked over your quivering form, committing every dip and swell to memory. "Don't look so nervous," he crooned. “I'm right here.”

"Be gentle..." You breathed. “Please.”

He smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. You were adorable. "I'll be gentle.”

His fingers delved between your thighs, parting your slick folds to reveal your glistening entrance. He groaned at the sight. "So pretty.”

He then rubbed his thick head against your wetness, coating himself with your fluids. He pressed against your hole, his hips slowly pushing forward. He watched your face, his own contorted in concentration. "Breathe in," he instructed softly.

And before you actually could, he thrusted in.

“A-Ah!”

Tears streamed down your face as he gradually pushed deeper into your tight heat. He paused, allowing you a moment to acclimate to his impressive girth stretching you open. His fingers tenderly caressed your cheek, wiping away the salty drops. "You're doing so well," he praised softly. "Just a little more." With one powerful thrust, he hilted himself fully inside you, breaking through your barrier.

A sharp cry escaped your lips at the sudden sting of pain mixed with overwhelming fullness. Your nails dug into the sheets as you gripped them for dear life. "Wait... ngh... I can't..." you whimpered, trembling beneath him.

Xavier captured your mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries. "Shh, you're okay. I'm all the way inside now," he murmured against your lips. He held still, letting you adjust to the intense new sensations as your body stretched to accommodate him. "Open your eyes. Focus on me and you'll forget the pain."

"Hmgh..."

He began to set at a slow, rhythmic pace, his hips gently rocking against yours. He grunted each time he bottomed out inside you. "Look at me," he commanded gruffly. "Open your eyes and look at me." He reached out and gently tilted your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

Your body clenched around him, the initial sting of pain gradually melting away into waves of pleasure. A breathy moan escaped your lips as you felt yourself surrender to the newer sensations.

Xavier's face tightened, and his head fell forward between his shoulders. "God, when you do that…" he hissed through gritted teeth. He continued to pump his hips, his rhythm growing faster. "Wrap your legs around my waist," he instructed hoarsely. "I'm gonna go a little faster."

You complied and wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, pulling him closer. When he mentioned he was going to pick up the pace, you weren't prepared for the relentless pounding that followed.

Bracing himself on his hands, he began to ruthlessly slam into you over and over again. Leaning down, he claimed your mouth in a rough, dominating kiss, muffling your desperate moans. His hips moved like a machine, driving into you with animalistic cruelty.

"G-Gentle...! Mgh–! P-Please!" you whimpered against his lips.

But Xavier was lost in his own pleasure, ignoring your pleas as he continued his merciless assault on your body. "You can handle it," he huffed. Gripping your hips, he adjusted your position, allowing him to plunge even deeper inside you. "You're too tight… I'll be gentle after I'm finished breaking you in."

"X-Xavier…! Xav–Ngh!"

He reached between your legs and grabbed your wrists, pulling them above your head as he continued to ravage you. His face was a mask of intense concentration as he continued to thrust into you, his hips moving like a piston. "You're so loud," he hissed, his voice thick with passion.

"Xavier! Xavier!"

His thrusts slowed to a torturous crawl, allowing you a moment to catch your breath before he hoisted your legs up onto his broad shoulders and folded you nearly in half. The new angle allowed him to plunge even deeper, the thick head of his cock kissing your cervix with each powerful stroke. Your back arched off the bed as your arms wrapped around his neck, nails digging into his sweat-slicked skin. A strangled moan tore from your throat.

His hands gripped your thighs hard enough to bruise, holding you open for his relentless assault. "Look at how deep I am," he panted, watching as he pistoned in and out of your tightness. "Look how well we fit together."

"It's too much… please... please..." You babbled, your voice hitching with every thrust to your cervix. "Xavier... it hurts…!"

"It's supposed to," he grunted. "It feels good, though, right? Just bear it a little more. I'm almost done." He let your legs drop, pushing your knees to your chest as he pounded into you.

Your nails raked down his back, leaving long, ten crimson trails in their wake. Xavier grunted in pain, his face contorting as he thrust into you harder. "Mark me all you want," he huffed. "I'll mark you right back." He buried his face in your neck and bit down hard, sucking on your skin as he continued to thrust into you.

"Ahh! Yes! Fuck!" you cried out, your words dissolving into incoherent babble. "You prom–eh…! you promised…!”

Xavier's eyes were closed, his face buried in your neck as he fucked you without a care in the world. The sound of his hips slapping against yours echoed in the room, mixing with your screams and pleas. "God… fuck, fuck," he chanted to himself, his voice muffled against your skin.

"You're so meannnn," you whimpered, drawing out the word as a sob caught in your throat.

Xavier's eyes flashed, dark and feral, as he lifted his head. "I'm mean?" he growled, voice dripping with mock hurt. His fingers dug into your hips as he pulled you flush against him. "You're the one getting off on this, aren't you? I can feel how wet you are." To punctuate his point, he reached between your legs and rubbed your clit roughly, making you gasp and arch into his touch.

He gripped your chin firmly, forcing your gaze to meet his intense stare. "Look at me," he commanded, voice low and dominant. "I want to see those eyes glazed when I make you come undone. When I claim every inch of you as mine.”

Xavier groaned, his thrusts becoming even more brutal. "You're gonna make such a pretty mess."

The words were like a match to gasoline, igniting the inferno raging inside you. With a keening cry, you shattered, your walls clamping down and bursting as ecstasy consumed you.

Xavier's eyes widened as he felt your walls clench around him, your orgasm triggering his own. "Ah! Yes…–yes!" he cried, his hips stuttering. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself deep inside you and came, his hot seed spurting against your cervix.

Xavier let out a low groan, his body trembling as he filled you. His grip on your thighs loosened, his hand caressing the marked skin gently. As he came down from his high, Xavier's pace slowed, his hips rolling forward in shallow thrusts as he milked the last of his release into you.

Your eyes fluttered shut, the world fading away until only the pulsing pleasure remained. With a final shuddering gasp, you surrendered to the overwhelming sensations, your consciousness slipping away.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you close as you went limp beneath him. He peppered your face with gentle kisses, his touch at odds with the rough way he'd just taken you. "Shh, sleep now," he murmured softly, "You did so well.”

As much as he didn’t want to leave, he gently began to slip out of bed, his body trembling, spent. He pulled the blankets up around you, making sure you were wrapped warmly before crossing the room to close the window. Quietly, he turned to his closet, carefully reaching for his lightseeker uniform and slipping it on, moving with a gentle but determined grace.

He searched for his sword, finally spotting the star-tasseled handle hidden under the bed. Just as he reached for it, he felt a soft weight on his head, your hand, draped sleepily over him.

He froze, worried he might've woken you–worried he would have to explain he wasn't abandoning, but saving you–, but then you let out a soft, contented snore, and he couldn’t help but smile. Slowly, he lifted your hand, pressing a tender kiss to the back before leaning down to brush his lips across your forehead, damp with extertion.

“I’ll be back soon,” he whispered, voice barely more than a breath. “I love you.”

[dclovesdanny]

Dead Serious

4/4

Danny had made peace with the fact he did not have a soulmate. He had! After several years of no response to the countless drawings and writing notes on his skin, he had grown resigned to the fact that he was part of the 5% who did not have soulmates. He was fine with that.

(Dash would tease him about how no one would ever love him, adding salt to an already irritated wound. His parents were soulmates, and he remembered when he was drawing on his father’s arms and watching as it appeared on his mother’s. Jazz had been drawing and writing to her soulmate for years. Her soulmates name was Jason, and she always talked about how he was with her. She was one of the few people who comforted him when he stopped drawing or writing to soulmate. )

Damien taught at an early age that there was no use for soulmates. They were only distractions. He knew grandfather had no soulmate, and his mother had never responded to her own. He never responded to the drawings on his arms notes the notes in English on his (and he didn’t try harder just because he wanted to read his soulmate writing that would be ridiculous.)

Damien never told his family about having a soulmate. Even as he slowly got used to the differences between them and slowly learned how his grandfather was he could never bring himself to respond to the slowly lessening drawings and messages.(He couldn’t bring himself to respond because deep down he knew he didn’t deserve a soulmate. He was a monster, a demon. He didn’t deserve it.)

Danny stopped trying so desperately to contact his soulmate at age 11(the age he held his sister as she cried, her soulmate’s last message scribbled in desperate frantic writing on her arm. He never resented his parents so much when they didn’t even leave the lab for two days, not paying any mind to their sobbing child on the floor above them.)(it was the first time he didn’t envy having a soulmate.)

He was fourteen when he started drawing on his arms again.(it was shaky, much more than the older drawings, but even if he didn’t have a soulmate, he wanted to leave them a mark, just in case, the same way Jazz wrote quotes from different books on her arms.)

(When he found out Vlad didn’t have a soulmate, he refused to acknowledge another similarity they shared. He refused to think about how Vlad’s desperation made Danny think of his own desperate writing for his soulmate. Soulmates were a topic he never spoke of, and Vlad must have known, must have found out about how Danny didn’t have one, but he never commented on it. (It was the only boundary that was never crossed.))

(Damian wasn’t disappointed when his soulmate stopped writing to him. he didn’t trace over his arms, wishing that he had the confidence to write back. He didn’t spend hours wondering if his soulmate was gone without knowing Damian had seen him. He didn’t trace over the drawings his soulmate made with awe after four years of silence.)

Damian always covered up, so he was the only one who noticed when his soulmate started writing to him again. Never sentences never notes like they were before, but shaky drawings appeared on his skin. They were less detailed than before, almost shaky, as if the person drawing them couldn’t hold a pencil, steady, but they were real. Damian never said a word.

It was October 15 when Damien saw something on his arms that made his blood go cold. A message that he read over and over while commandeering the plane and ignoring the rest of his family yelling for him to explain himself. He desperately calibrated the jet while staring at the words, praying to a God he did not believe in that he would not be too late.(Unaware that Todd was following going in the same direction with the similar message written on his arm from a girl that Jason had deemed too good for him.)

Dear soulmate, even if you aren’t there. Everyone in Casper high is writing on their arms and I might as well try to warn someone. I am from Amity Park, Illinois, and we are under attack. The GIW have cut all outside communication. We are currently hiding in Casper high school, barricading the entrances, but it will not last long.

According to the government, we are not legally sentient or human. The agents outside want to dissect us, citing that we are scum. I don’t want to see my classmates die at the hands of my parents. I don’t want to see my friends and my sister die.

I don’t know if you are there, or if I really don’t have a soulmate, but I don’t want to die (fully) without leaving some sort of note.

My name is Danny. I love you. I’m sorry.