#some of them I hadn’t thought of in years

[mooningningg]

Extra Credit - Megumi F. (3)

about. you're flunking all your subjects. He’s a virgin. So you strike a deal—he tutors you academically to win a girl he has a crush on, and you tutor him in sex, simple.

parts. chapter 02, chapter 04

pairings. nerd!megumi x popular girl!reader

words. 17.90k (???)

content. virgin!megumi + experienced!reader, Explicit sexual content – blow job, making out, handjob, semi-public tension, teasing, dirty talk, reader guiding Megumi through his first sexual experience. Power dynamics. Smug, experienced reader. Slight humiliation kink if you squint. Megumi is flushed and wrecked and learning. This is a part of an ongoing tutoring-for-sexual-experience fic. Reader is not kind. She is hot and she knows it. ALL CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP I DON'T WANT NO SMOKE OR SOMEONE BEING A HATER IN MY COMMENTS.

notes. i've been missing for two days, I rlly hope you won't be bored with this long ahh. and please try to not skip some parts since its important for you to understand the thoughts behind the actions.

You were supposed to be past this, supposed to be untouchable, unshaken, unbothered. That was your thing—right?

You didn’t cry over boys. You broke them. You didn’t second-guess yourself. You walked out first. You ended things before they could ever reach the part where you might actually get hurt. But now, you were lying in your bed, legs tangled in your sheets, staring at your ceiling like it held answers, and for the first time in a long time, you felt… small.

You hadn’t cried since the fight with Megumi, not really. But now, everything was creeping in. Quietly. Slowly. Like the kind of pain that doesn't hit you all at once—but chips away at you until suddenly, there's nothing left.

It wasn’t supposed to matter, it was just tutoring, just a deal, just a boy with glasses and too many books and a sharp tongue who should’ve meant nothing. But why—why—was it his voice in your head? Not Noritoshi’s, not the boy who said he loved you.

Not the boy you gave everything to for over a year—the one who knew all the worst parts of you, the one who held every dark thing you never dared show anyone else. The boy who kissed you like possession, who yelled in hotel rooms and made you feel insane for asking to be seen, for asking to be loved properly.

The boy who said you were too much. Who slammed doors and then begged at them the next day, who hurt you and then convinced you it was love. Noritoshi had everything—your trust, your secrets, your body, your pride. And he still made you feel like you weren’t enough.

He knew you, but he never saw you, and now here you were, spiraling over someone who did.

Megumi. Fucking Megumi Fushiguro.

The one you swore you’d never even glance at twice. The one you called boring. The one who annoyed you with his quiet judgement and his folded sleeves and his constant reminders that you could be better—if you wanted.

You hated that.

You hated the way he looked at you like he expected more. Like you weren’t just some pretty, mean girl with fake lashes and perfect skirts and an Instagram full of filters. You hated that he listened.

That he remembered how you hated black tea and liked your pen to have a cap instead of a click. You hated how he looked at you during tutoring—like he was trying to understand you, even when you were being difficult. Even when you didn’t want to be understood.

Noritoshi never asked how your day was, but Megumi always noticed if it was bad.

Noritoshi made you feel crazy for crying. Megumi… made you want to cry just because he was kind when you didn’t know what to do with kindness.

Fuck.

You turned over in your bed, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes. Your chest felt tight, like there was something inside it you didn’t want to name. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

You didn’t even like Megumi. You couldn’t. That wasn’t the plan. And even if you did, how could you ever trust that feeling again? How could you let yourself get close after what happened with Noritoshi? After all the fights? The screaming? The apologies that meant nothing?

You thought Noritoshi would break you once. But instead, he broke you over and over again, in pieces so small they were impossible to hold. and you were still recovering from that.

So how could you let someone like Megumi in? How could you admit that he made you feel safe when you barely knew what safety looked like? How could you admit that in just a few weeks, he did more than Noritoshi ever did in twelve months?

It terrified you.

So instead, you clenched your jaw. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. That it was just a weird reaction. A blip. Temporary insanity. You didn’t like Megumi. You couldn’t. You were just tired. You were just lonely. You were just angry, but none of those excuses explained the ache in your chest or the way your body still remembered the warmth of his hands on your waist.

You turned over again, you weren’t going to cry, you weren’t going to want him, you were going to forget it ever happened. Except you wouldn’t. Not really.

Because this feeling—the one clawing its way up your throat right now—it was something you hadn't felt in a long time. And that scared you more than anything else.

You leaned back in your chair, a groan escaping your lips as you stared at the pages in front of you. The words blurred together, a mess of historical dates and political concepts you could hardly care less about. If you were being honest, the only thing running through your head was the last few weeks. Megumi, and the words thrown at each other.

And now here you were, stuck at Nobara’s place, trying to study with her. She had a way of being productive even when she was too loud, her energy bouncing off the walls as she flipped through her notes with casual ease. You couldn’t even focus on the words in front of you.

"Are you even paying attention?" Nobara asked, voice laced with amusement as she glanced at you, catching you mid-eye roll. "You’ve barely looked at your book since we started, and I’m starting to think you’re just here for the snacks."

You blinked, snapping out of your daze. "I am paying attention, okay? I just... I hate civics."

She snorted, clearly unconvinced. "You say that about every subject, Y/N. But civics? Really? You hate it because it’s boring, or are you just avoiding actually trying?"

You threw her a look, already irritated. “I just don’t see the point. Why do I need to know how the government works? The most important thing in life is looking good and having fun.”

Nobara didn’t flinch. “You’ve got a warped view of life, you know that?”

“Hey, I didn’t get the memo about life being about politics and the will of the people,” you said, leaning back and crossing your arms defiantly. “I’m pretty sure I’ll survive just fine without knowing what a civil servant even does.”

"Well," Nobara began, flicking through her notes, "you might want to get it straight if you want to graduate."

You groaned again, ignoring her, but then she dropped the bombshell.

“So, tell me this, since you're so into skipping the whole responsibility thing," she said with a smirk, leaning in slightly. “Do you know what the kenpo means in relation to our government system?”

You stared at her, blinking. "What? What the hell kind of question is that?”

“Civics,” she replied flatly. "You know, the basics of how the government works. Japan’s constitution and all that.”

For a second, you were thrown. The question felt way too real, way too... serious. But more than that, it made you freeze because—shit—you remembered.

You blinked, trying to clear the fog in your brain. The words Nobara had just said echoed in your head, but your mind was somewhere else entirely. You shifted in your seat, leaning back, but then the memory of Megumi popped up—completely uninvited—and your heart stuttered a bit.

“The kenpo is a significant part of Japan’s post-war constitution,” Megumi said, flipping through his textbook. His voice wasn’t just calm—it was smooth, as though he'd memorized everything the night before.

You blinked. “Kenpo? What the hell is that?”

Megumi didn’t look up from his book. “The Constitution of Japan. Article 9, kenpo, which means the renunciation of war. It’s basically what keeps Japan’s military stance neutral.”

You stared at him for a long moment. “Are you on drugs? How the hell did you pull that out of your ass so easily?” You chuckled under your breath. “Like, are you secretly some government nerd who spends his nights reading about laws and shit?”

He didn’t react. Just flipped the page and kept going like it was no big deal. “No, just... you know, I study. Helps me understand shit.”

Now, back in Nobara’s room, you blinked as you realized the memory had pulled you in unexpectedly. You were so lost in thought that you’d almost missed her question.

“Did you hear me?” Nobara’s voice snapped you back to reality.

You looked at her. “Yeah, sorry,” you said, trying to shake off the mental images of Megumi casually schooling you in civics like it was nothing. “So… kenpo, huh?” you repeated, the word awkward on your tongue as it suddenly felt like a stupid joke.

“Exactly,” Nobara said, eyes narrowing a little, as if you should've known. “We’re studying this stuff for our shiken.”

You couldn’t help but wince. The term ‘exam’ had never felt so intimidating. “I think I need to study more than just government,” you muttered under your breath. “Maybe you’re right. I should try harder… and stop being an idiot about it.”

But as your thoughts drifted, you couldn’t help but think back to that tutoring session—how easy it seemed for Megumi to rattle off facts, making you feel completely out of your depth.

You suddenly felt the sting of your own inadequacies again, and it pissed you off. But then, you remembered his impassive face when he’d explained it all to you like it was nothing.

“Maybe I do need to try harder...” you said quietly, more to yourself than to Nobara. But of course, Nobara was quick to pick up on your mood.

“Exactly, don’t just sit there and whine about it,” she shot back, “You got this. You’re not dumb, just need a little focus.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

But as you sat back down, your mind couldn’t let go of how much Megumi had impressed you. No one else could’ve made civics feel like it was worth paying attention to, and yet... he did.

The day had barely begun when Gojo dropped his usual “important announcement” on the class.

It was a Tuesday morning, and as usual, you were walking the fine line between paying attention and planning your next social media post when he suddenly cleared his throat, commanding the attention of the entire class with a smirk that hinted at some ridiculous news.

"Alright, alright," Gojo’s voice boomed, loud enough for the entire class to hear. "Listen up. You’ve got an essay due next week."

You sat up straight, automatically feeling that familiar rush of anxiety that only came with the word essay. Everyone groaned in unison, and the collective energy in the room dropped a few degrees.

"Don't even think about it," Gojo continued, barely suppressing his grin. "It’s on a political topic in Japan. Your job is to research it, write your thoughts, and show me you actually give a damn about your grades."

He paused, looking around the room, gauging everyone’s reactions. "So, get ready to do some actual work. For once."

You felt a familiar knot in your stomach—mixed emotions all at once. The topic was nothing new. You’d been through political essays and assignments about Japanese government structures before, but this one felt different.

You had the tools this time. You had the resources. You had the chance.

It wasn’t like the other times where you’d half-assed everything or relied on cheating your way through. This was an opportunity to show that you could actually do something—for yourself. You had Megumi’s tutoring sessions to thank for that. Even if you hadn’t directly paid attention to every word, something had changed inside you. You were no longer the same lazy, apathetic person you used to be. You couldn’t go back to that version of yourself anymore. You refused to.

You glanced around at the other students, most of whom were still caught up in the collective sigh of dread. Some were already pulling out their phones, others frantically taking notes to pretend they were paying attention. But for once, you didn’t feel that sense of dread. You felt... determined.

This was your shot. You weren’t going to let this be another failure. You were done with disappointing yourself.

Gojo’s voice broke through your thoughts, and you caught the tail end of what he was saying: “...and the topic? Something like the kenpo, the Constitution, or Japan’s stance on foreign relations. You choose, but you better make it count.”

You didn’t even pause. Your hand shot up without thinking.

"Yes, Y/N?" Gojo raised an eyebrow, amused by your sudden enthusiasm.

“I’ll take the Constitution,” you said with surprising confidence, not caring who heard you.

“Ah, the kenpo,” he mused, clearly impressed by your choice. “Alright. I like it. Maybe you’ll finally do something interesting with that brain of yours.”

You didn’t care for his praise, but his approval made something stir inside you. You didn’t need his validation. This was about you. For the first time in ages, you were doing something for yourself, not for attention, not for anyone else’s approval.

The class continued on, but your mind had already shifted. You had a purpose now.

After school, you couldn’t shake the feeling that today was different. That essay, that political topic—it wasn’t just another assignment. It was the first step toward proving to yourself that you weren’t the lazy, self-destructive person you’d been in the past. This was about growth. Real growth.

You walked through the crowded hallway, determined. As you passed by the lockers, you saw the usual faces—people talking, laughing, their lives unfolding without a care. But for once, you didn’t feel like you needed to be part of that world. You were doing something for yourself, and you could feel the difference already.

You were going to finish this essay. You were going to nail it.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d be one step closer to doing something that really mattered for you.

You stood there in the hallway, clutching your books to your chest like they were some kind of shield. The hallway was buzzing with the usual noise—people chatting, lockers slamming, the clatter of footsteps—but it all felt so far away. Like you were standing outside of it, looking in. You should’ve felt free after making the decision to focus on that essay. You should’ve felt confident, like you finally had something to prove.

But instead, all you could hear were the voices in your head.

You’re doing this for yourself. You’re not weak. You’re strong. You don’t need anyone...

But even as you told yourself that, the insecurity gnawed at you. It clawed at your thoughts like a persistent itch you couldn’t scratch.

You weren’t sure what you expected when you turned the corner, but it certainly wasn’t this.

There, across the hall, Megumi was standing, leaning against the lockers. His usual scowl was in place, though something about it seemed softer today, quieter. His gaze wasn’t on his phone or the floor like usual. No, today it was directed at something—or someone.

Miwa.

She was walking past him, laughing at something with her friends, not even noticing that Megumi was watching. You saw the way his eyes followed her, how his gaze softened just slightly as she passed by. It wasn’t a look of deep affection or anything dramatic, but the way he watched her… it made something twist deep inside you.

It shouldn’t hurt. It really shouldn’t. You weren’t even sure why it felt like it did. You barely knew why you were standing there, frozen, as the pieces of your chest started to break apart, slowly.

You’re just being ridiculous, you told yourself.

But your thoughts didn’t stop.

You didn’t want to feel jealous. You didn’t want to care. But there he was, your Megumi—your Megumi, in some twisted sense, right?—just staring at her from across the hall, like she was the only thing that mattered in that moment. And you hated it.

You’re so different from her, the voice in your head whispered. She’s sweet. She’s easy to love. You? You’re just… a mess. You’re tough. You push people away.

The voice hurt, but you couldn’t stop it. You weren’t soft. You weren’t gentle. You didn’t smile like that, not naturally.

And sure, you could walk away, pretend it didn’t bother you, but it did. It really fucking did.

Megumi had always been this person who kept to himself, never revealing much, never opening up to anyone. But when it came to Miwa, when it came to her effortless charm, his guard was nowhere to be seen. He just stood there, eyes locked on her, and something in you broke a little more.

Why does it matter?

But you couldn’t help but wonder:

Why don’t I matter like that?

He wasn’t even talking to her. Hell, she didn’t even know he was watching. But in that moment, you realized something. He wasn’t looking at you. He wasn’t looking at anyone but Miwa, and it hurt in a way you couldn’t explain.

You turned, walking away quickly, your heart pounding in your ears.

It shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t hurt. He’s not yours.

But there you were—walking away from it anyway, pretending it didn’t feel like someone had ripped something from your chest. You told yourself you were fine, but deep down, it was all unraveling.

You weren’t supposed to feel vulnerable. You weren’t supposed to let things like this get to you.

But here you were, wondering why you’d never be the one Megumi watched like that.

The clock on your desk read 3:30 AM, but the words on the screen still seemed to blur together. You’d been at this essay for hours—struggling to organize your thoughts, to make sense of it all. Your mind kept drifting back to Megumi. To the way he looked at Miwa. To the disappointment that welled up in your chest every time you thought about how far you’d fallen.

But this? This essay? You had to do it. You had to prove to yourself that you were more than just a pretty face, that you could do something right on your own. Something that mattered.

The tears were just waiting to spill over, but you kept pushing them down. They didn’t fit here. Not with the pressure of your name. Not with the weight of your reputation.

You rubbed your eyes, groaning in frustration when your screen stayed stubbornly blank. Your mind wandered again, this time to your father. He always said the same thing—you have potential. But did you really? Or was it all just a fucking game of appearances?

And then, as if on cue,

your father’s soft knock on your door was the first thing that registered. It took you a moment to process it, and then another to look up from the essay you’d been trying to work on for hours. The blinking cursor on your screen seemed almost mocking in its silence, and you could feel the weight of your thoughts pressing down, suffocating you.

"Daddy?" You didn’t bother trying to hide the crack in your voice, the exhaustion. It wasn’t worth it.

The door creaked open, and there he was, standing in the frame with his usual casual smile, his tall frame casting a shadow over you. Even after all these years, he had that aura about him—the kind that made the world feel like it was all just a little bit lighter. But tonight? You couldn’t pretend to be the girl who had it all together. Not anymore.

"Hey, kiddo," he said gently, stepping into your room without hesitation. He always did this, always came to you when he knew something wasn’t right. "I heard the tap-tap of your keyboard from down the hall. What’s going on in here? You didn’t turn into a zombie, did you?"

You managed a small smile, even if it felt like it was painted on, too thin to be real. "Just a stupid essay, nothing major." Your eyes flickered back to the screen, but the words weren’t making sense. Nothing was making sense. "It’s... whatever."

He didn’t buy it for a second. He never did. He moved closer, leaning against the desk, glancing at the papers you hadn’t touched. "You sure? Looks like someone’s been fighting with a word processor."

You chuckled weakly, shrugging. "Yeah. Me versus an essay. Guess who’s losing."

"Ah, classic. Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m pretty sure essays are just a trap set up by the universe to make us feel like we have to prove we’re smart. Just a conspiracy," he added, trying to lighten the mood, his tone playful. He ruffled your hair a little as if to say it’s okay, even though the unease hung in the air like a storm cloud.

You pulled away from the touch, instinctively, and your stomach churned. The pressure inside you only seemed to build. "I don’t think that’s what it is, Daddy." You could feel the familiar ache in your chest, like everything you had worked so hard to maintain was slipping through your fingers.

He straightened up a little, letting out a small sigh. "Alright, alright, I get it. You’re not in the mood for Dad’s conspiracy theories."

His voice softened, but not with pity—no, he wasn’t the type to give you that. Instead, it was warm, steady, the kind that had always managed to make you feel like things weren’t quite as bad as they seemed. Even now, his presence was a comfort. But it wasn’t enough to silence the growing voices in your head.

"Hey," he said, nudging the chair next to you with his knee, "why don’t we take a break? You’ve been working at this for hours. Your brain’s probably fried by now."

You just stared at the screen. The cursor blinked, waiting for you to move. It wasn’t the essay that was bothering you; it was the constant pressure, the constant need to be more than just what everyone else saw. It was always about appearances. Never letting anyone see the cracks, even though you were the one who had to fill them every single day.

"I don’t know if I can do it," you muttered under your breath, voice small. "I keep fucking up, Daddy. I try, I really try, but it’s never enough."

He didn’t say anything at first, just waited, letting the silence hang in the room. You tried to ignore the tightness in your throat, but it only made it worse. The words came out before you could stop them.

"I thought I had everything figured out. That I could just coast through everything. But now… I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I’ve let everyone down, including myself."

His face softened, eyes full of understanding, and before you could stop it, a tear slipped down your cheek. You cursed under your breath, wiping it away quickly, but it didn’t stop the flood that followed.

"Sweetheart," he began, his voice gentle but firm, "you’ve got to stop holding yourself to these impossible standards. You think you need to be perfect all the time, but no one expects that. Not from you, not from anyone."

You shook your head, the tears blurring your vision. "You don’t get it," you said hoarsely. "You don’t know what it’s like. Everyone’s always expecting something from me, and if I don’t deliver—if I fail—they’ll see me for who I really am. Not the ‘perfect daughter’ they want. And I’ll lose everything. My reputation, my place. I’ll be nothing."

He sat down next to you, brushing a strand of hair out of your face with a tenderness that made your chest ache. "You’re more than just your reputation. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, but—"

"No," he interrupted softly, "no buts. Listen to me. I don’t care about what other people think. I don’t care about how you’re seen. What matters is you. You have so much more inside you than this... this pressure you're carrying. And I’ll always be here, no matter what you do or how many times you fall down. You don’t have to do it alone."

You choked on a sob, your body shaking as you leaned into his chest. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, holding you as if he could protect you from everything, even yourself. His heartbeat was steady beneath you, a rhythm you clung to as if it was the only thing in the world that made sense.

"I just want to be enough," you whispered against his chest, barely audible. "I want to be... something good. For once."

"You already are," he whispered back, pressing his lips to the top of your head. "You’re my daughter. You’re everything to me. You don’t need to prove anything to anyone."

Your sobs broke loose then, and you let them come. Let yourself fall apart in the safety of your father’s arms, not caring about the essay, not caring about the image you’d been trying to keep up for so long.

You didn’t need to be perfect. Not for him. Not for anyone.

You woke up late, the alarm blaring its usual obnoxious tune, but this time you didn’t hit snooze. You just… didn’t feel like getting up. Still, after the long conversation with your dad, a sense of calm had settled over you that you hadn’t realized you’d needed. It wasn’t the kind of calm that fixed everything, but it was enough to get you out of bed and, against all odds, to school.

You sprinted down the hall, your bag bouncing against your side, heart pounding as you dashed toward Gojo’s office. Missing the first period wasn’t ideal, but you’d already made a decision. You were doing this. Not for anyone but yourself. Not for Megumi—whatever that was. No. This was about you. You had your own shit to prove. You were sick of falling short.

You burst through the door of Gojo’s office without knocking, barely catching your breath, and locked eyes with him. The typical cocky grin was nowhere to be found. Instead, there was a soft surprise behind his glasses.

"You’re late," he said casually, but there was no judgment, just curiosity.

"Yeah, I know," you replied, already opening your notebook, the pages freshly filled with the essay you’d been working on all night. "Here. I got it done."

Gojo raised an eyebrow, the sudden seriousness of your tone catching him off guard. He took the paper from you and glanced it over. His eyes scanned the words, his lips moving ever so slightly as he read. He seemed focused—more focused than usual.

"Huh," he said, breaking the silence. "Okay… I’ll check this."

You didn’t wait for him to finish. You just stood there, hands clasped tightly in front of you. You could feel your heart hammering in your chest, but there was something else now—something that felt like you were finally getting it right. The words on the page felt like you, like they belonged to you. You hadn’t relied on anyone else. You hadn’t slacked off or tried to get by with minimum effort. This was your work. And it felt good.

"Good work, Y/N," Gojo said, surprising you. His voice was softer, more genuine than you were used to hearing. "I’m impressed."

You blinked. Impressed? Was that really the word he just used? You hadn’t been expecting that. You wanted to feel smug, to let that adrenaline fuel a comeback, but… no. You actually felt something else. It was a quiet, simple sense of accomplishment. And it felt better than you expected.

"Thanks," you said quietly, a small smile tugging at your lips. The moment was brief but important, like the first small victory after a long time of feeling like you were just slipping by. But as soon as the pride started to settle, your mind wandered, as it always did, to him.

Megumi.

How would he react to this?

You almost scoffed at yourself for even thinking about it. It didn’t matter what he thought, right? You weren’t doing this for him. You weren’t trying to prove anything to anyone. But your mind kept circling back to the way he’d looked at you, cold and angry—words you’d hurled at him like daggers, only to have them stab you in return. He had no right to make you feel like you weren’t enough.

So why did it matter so much?

Gojo’s voice broke through your thoughts. "You want me to grade it now? Or… are you heading back to class?"

You gave a quick nod, barely aware of your body moving toward the door. "Yeah. Sure."

"Don’t go thinking this means you’re off the hook, though," he added, a bit of that teasing tone returning. "You’ve still got work to do."

You waved him off, not bothering to look back as you left the office. But as you walked out into the hallway, the quiet thrum of your heartbeat was steady. For once, it wasn’t anxiety or fear—it was anticipation. You weren’t sure where this would lead, but for the first time in a long while, you felt like you were in control of your own story.

And maybe, just maybe, Megumi would notice.

You and Nobara were hanging out by the lockers, leaning against the metal doors while the noise of the school buzzed around you. It was one of those rare moments where you didn’t have to be the perfect, untouchable “bad bitch” everyone expected you to be. Instead, you were just… talking. And it felt weirdly nice.

“Well, I’ll be honest, I thought you’d be a little more chill after everything with, you know, Megumi,” Nobara said, popping a piece of gum into her mouth and flicking it with her tongue. Her eyes studied you carefully, like she was trying to read a chapter in a book she couldn’t quite finish.

You scoffed, flipping your hair over your shoulder, giving her a pointed look. “I am chill. I’ve always been chill.”

“Bullshit,” she grinned, “You’ve been a walking hurricane lately. Like, you keep acting all tough, but you’ve been so fucking quiet.”

“Not quiet,” you replied, eyes narrowing in a fake attempt at annoyance. “I’ve just been—occupied.”

“Occupied with what?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “With your grades? Or trying to pretend you don’t have a damn heart?”

You laughed it off, crossing your arms. “No heart. No problems.” You rolled your eyes dramatically. “And don’t go all psychoanalyst on me either. I know what you’re gonna say.”

“Oh really?” she said, the sarcasm dripping from her words. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?”

You scoffed again. “I don’t need to figure you out, Nobara. You’re pretty simple to read.”

“Is that so?” She raised an eyebrow again, her grin widening. “And here I thought you were all mysterious and complicated. Guess not.”

You leaned back, hands on your hips as you gave her an exaggerated look. “I don’t know why you’re looking at me like I’m some emotional wreck.” You smirked, acting all nonchalant, but the words stung. “I’m fine, alright? Totally fine.”

Nobara rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that’s why you’ve been disappearing every time someone mentions Megumi. Total ‘I’m fine’ energy there.”

You shifted uncomfortably at the mention of his name, but you quickly masked it with a snarky smile. “You think I care about what he’s doing? Please.”

“Oh really?” she said with a teasing grin. “Because I seem to remember you having a meltdown in the cafeteria like, a week ago. Pretty sure your ‘I don’t care’ act needs some work.”

“Stop acting like you know shit,” you snapped, but it was all a front. You hated that Nobara could always see through you. “I’m done with him, alright? So drop it.”

“Uh-huh. Sure you are,” she said, not buying it for a second. She popped her gum again, a knowing glint in her eyes. “But tell me this—what’s really going on with you?”

“Nothing,” you shot back quickly, “Everything’s fine. I’ve been busy. That’s it. Now, can we stop talking about this?”

Nobara opened her mouth to argue, but then she stopped, glancing down the hall as she caught sight of the clock on the wall. “Oh look,” she said, not missing a beat. “Ten o’clock.”

You rolled your eyes, not understanding why that was significant. “And?”

She grinned devilishly, her gaze flicking to a figure in the distance. “Guess who’s about to show up.”

You blinked. "Who?"

“The one, the only…” she paused dramatically, “Megumi Fushiguro.”

Your heart skipped in your chest, but you refused to show it. You hated how he still had that effect on you. “Oh, great. What do you want me to do, roll out the red carpet?”

“Pfft, I’m just saying, you’re still not done with this whole ‘I’m the bad bitch who doesn’t care’ thing. That shit’s getting old, you know?” she said, the tone of her voice softening for just a moment. “You’re only fooling yourself.”

You straightened up, feeling the familiar defensiveness bubbling inside of you. “I’m not fooling anyone.”

“Sure you’re not,” she said, her eyes narrowing, but she didn't push it further.

You hated that she could read you like a book, but you weren’t ready to admit any of that to her. To anyone.

And then, there he was.

You didn’t even need to look hard; Megumi was walking toward you, his typical hoodie and glasses hiding his expression, but you could feel the weight of his presence as soon as he entered your field of vision. You instinctively tensed.

You stood there for a second, unsure of what to do. There was this insane part of you that wanted to go to him, talk to him, maybe even try to make things less...awkward. But your pride? Your damn pride wouldn’t let you.

“Go on, talk to him,” Nobara said with a grin, nudging you gently.

You ignored her, walking up to Megumi, your heels clicking sharply against the floor as you tried to mask the nerves building up in your stomach. You kept your gaze steady, but when you finally reached him, you faltered slightly. There was something in your chest, like an empty, aching pit.

“Hey,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “I handed an essay to Gojo today.”

He looked at you, his expression unreadable as always. “Good for you.”

You blinked, the words stinging more than they should have. “Yeah, well... It was a little late, but I tried.”

He nodded once. “Try harder next time.”

And just like that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing in the hallway, feeling stupid and small.

“Good talk, huh?” Nobara muttered, glancing between you and Megumi as he walked off, his back turned without a second look.

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to hold your composure. But it was hard, so damn hard to pretend it didn’t hurt. It hurt more than you wanted to admit, and you hated yourself for letting it sting.

“Yeah,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “Great.”

The soft hum of the lamp in your room was the only sound that filled the space as you sat at your desk. You’d somehow managed to grab one of the materials Megumi had made for you, the one with the little notes scribbled in the margins. The ones he’d given you after that one tutoring session that—well, now that you looked back on it—felt like a turning point.

The paper felt heavier than it should have, as if each mark, each word, was weightier now. His handwriting, a scrawling mess in some parts, neat and careful in others. But what hit you wasn’t just the content. No, it was the bits of comments he left here and there, like he was trying to break through his own usual, distant shell.

"Try connecting this with the main idea." "You're overthinking this, just read it carefully." "Good effort. I’m not totally convinced, but it's a start."

It wasn’t like he had to leave these notes. He didn’t need to care. He didn’t owe you anything. But there they were. Tiny pieces of advice, encouragement, frustration. And the one that made you smile for a second: "I know you’re smarter than you give yourself credit for."

For just a moment, your heart ached at the thought.

He didn’t have to say that. Megumi could have dismissed you like everyone else did. He could’ve walked away, let you fail, but instead... instead, he chose to give you a chance. And now? You were sitting here, staring at it all, because you knew deep down you had to prove him right.

But how could you do that now?

Your eyes flickered to the small sticky note stuck on the top corner, where he’d written a single line in the same pen, his handwriting barely legible: "You can do this. Just try."

You exhaled, biting your lip, trying to ignore the lump in your throat.

You remembered that day—his quiet, reserved voice telling you not to give up. It wasn’t a normal pep talk. It was more... personal. Like he was giving you something fragile, trusting you with a little piece of him. And somehow, you'd been too busy pretending to not care, too afraid to admit how much it affected you, that you fucked it up.

You remembered how he’d looked at you that day, his shoulders tense but his eyes softer than usual, like he was on the edge of saying something more, but he kept pulling back. And you? You were too wrapped up in your own self-image, too proud to let yourself show any weakness. So you made a joke, cracked a smile, pushed it away.

But now? Now, you wished you hadn’t. You wished you’d let him in. Wished you hadn’t been so fucking scared to be vulnerable for once.

Because if you’d been honest with yourself, you'd realized—just then—that Megumi had started to become someone you didn’t want to lose. Not just a tutor. Not just a guy you kept pushing away. But someone who saw past all the shit, all the walls you’d built around yourself.

You remembered when he opened up to you, just a bit, about the shit he was dealing with. About how much he hated being treated like he wasn’t enough—like a fucking robot in the eyes of everyone else. How he was constantly forced into situations where he had to be something he wasn’t.

You saw it. You saw that flicker of vulnerability in him that he hardly ever let anyone see. And you? You shut it down. You shut him out.

Your hands gripped the paper a little harder, and you exhaled slowly, frustration building up inside your chest.

"Why the hell did I have to be so goddamn stupid?" you muttered, slamming the paper back onto the desk. You leaned back in your chair, letting your head fall back to stare at the ceiling.

All that shit with Noritoshi. With the way things always went wrong. You’d shut yourself off from everyone, including Megumi, thinking you could handle it alone. And you did handle it... but now, sitting here, you realized how empty that felt. How lonely. How cold.

He thought you could be someone to trust. And what did you do? You let your pride, your stupid fucking pride, tear that down.

The thoughts swirled in your head—self-hatred mixed with the anger you had at yourself. You slammed your hand down on the desk, frustrated with how badly you’d messed up. You could feel the tears starting to burn at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away.

It wasn't just Megumi you were angry with anymore. It was you. You’d fucked it all up. And now, you had to live with that.

But what hurt the most? What really fucking hurt was knowing he wasn’t going to just come back and fix it. No. You had to fix this. You had to make it right, because if you didn’t, you’d lose whatever fucking chance you had with him.

And somehow, as much as you hated it, you realized that wasn’t a possibility. You didn’t want to lose him.

Maybe it was time you admitted that.

So, with a sigh, you pushed the paper back in front of you, knowing that this was more than just about a grade anymore. This was about proving something to yourself. About showing Megumi that you were worth the trust, worth the time, he’d invested in you.

And for the first time, you didn’t want to fail, not this time.

You stood there, staring at the building in front of you, your fingers clutching the crumpled piece of paper that seemed to have mysteriously found its way into your hands again.

It was Friday, the day Megumi had always made clear he wasn’t free. He’d said it casually enough back then, like it was something so ordinary that there was no reason to question it. “I’m not free on Fridays,” he’d said, voice flat and unaffected. But now? Now, you were standing here, outside what looked like an abandoned gym, the same address scribbled on the paper he’d let slip out of his textbook once.

What the hell is this place?

The paper hadn’t meant much then. It was just an address, a scribble, nothing more. But now, the fact that you were standing outside of it felt like something more—a revelation, maybe? Or just a damn mistake.

Was this where he goes? The thought kept pushing at you, refusing to stay buried. The building in front of you was weathered, the windows cracked, and the doors? Rusted. It didn’t look like a place Megumi would spend his time. Not at all. And yet, here you were.

You could almost hear his voice in your head, telling you he wasn’t free on Fridays, reminding you with that cold tone that he had other things to do. Other things that didn’t involve you.

But then why?

You didn’t know what had made you follow that scrap of paper, but somehow, here you were, your heart hammering a little too loudly, the nerves making your hands shake. You had no idea what you were hoping to find. What were you looking for, exactly? An explanation? A reason?

You inhaled sharply, trying to pull yourself together, pushing back the mix of doubt and curiosity that gnawed at your insides.

It’s none of your business, you told yourself, but the words felt empty. Because it was your business. Megumi was your tutor—your reluctant tutor, but still, he was the one you asked for help. The one you asked to let you in. And now you were standing outside, on the edge of some kind of answer, but you weren’t sure if you actually wanted to know what it was.

Is this really the kind of guy you want to know?

You stepped closer to the door, the sound of your shoes crunching against the gravel beneath you. Hesitation lingered in every movement, but your legs carried you anyway. There was something pulling you forward, an urge to know, to break down whatever wall he’d built between you.

The door creaked open as you reached for the handle, the scent of dust and old leather filling your nose as you stepped inside.

The gym was empty.

The air was heavy with the smell of sweat and old wood. The lights overhead flickered in a slow rhythm, casting uneven shadows across the worn-down equipment. Punching bags hung in the corner, their leather faded and cracked from years of use. Rusted weights lined the walls, a neglected space that felt like no one had cared for it in a long time.

What was Megumi doing here?

You looked around, feeling more and more out of place by the second. This was nothing like the Megumi you thought you knew—the quiet, reserved guy who seemed like he didn’t care about anything. This place was rough, tired, forgotten. So was he.

You didn’t expect to see him.

And he sure as hell wasn’t Megumi.

The man sitting on the bench had a relaxed, confident posture, like someone who belonged in a place like this—worn-out gym flooring, cold lighting, walls sweating the weight of discipline. His eyes flicked up as you stepped in, and when they landed on you—miniskirt, tank top, lip gloss still glossy—it wasn’t judgment you felt.

It was scrutiny.

Like he was sizing you up for something you didn’t know you were auditioning for.

He let out a quiet chuckle. “Well, shit.”

Your brows pulled in. “What?”

He stood slowly, broad frame shifting with ease, cracking his neck before he stepped forward just a bit, boots heavy against the floor. “Didn’t think a girl like you’d actually show up.”

You stepped back, fingers tightening around the crumpled paper in your hand. “Excuse me?”

The corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile, not quite mocking either. “Relax, I’m not gonna bite. You’re the one Megumi’s been tutoring, right?”

You blinked. “How do you—?”

He shrugged. “He doesn’t say much. But ‘m not stupid. Kid’s been dragging home worksheets and stress for weeks. Took a guess.”

Your heart stuttered, embarrassment bleeding into caution. “Why would he be here?” you asked sharply, voice a little too defensive. “And who the fuck are you?”

The man gave you a low, amused look, voice loose and grounded. “Friend of his dad,” he said, vague but intentional. “Used to run with the old man. Name’s Yoshinobu.”

He offered no last name, no further details. Just a beat of silence between you before he nodded toward the bench across from the ring.

“You came this far. Might as well sit down.” You didn’t move.

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Then he turned back toward the ring, where the lights were dim, but movement flickered behind a mesh curtain. You could hear it faintly—dull sounds of something hitting leather. Gloves. Skin. Breath.

Your fingers twitched around the paper. You glanced at the exit behind you. You could still walk away.

But instead— You sat, "Where's Megumi?"

Renji said nothing more. Just leaned back, ankle over his knee, arms sprawled against the bench like he’d done this a hundred times.

“You'll see,” he muttered eventually, almost too casual.

And so you did, no answers. No explanations.

Just the heavy, humid stillness of a worn-out gym. And the echo of fists hitting something hard in the distance. Over and over and over again.

The sound came before the sight.

The sharp thump of gloves hitting canvas. The squeak of shoes on the floor. And then— Megumi stepped into the ring.

And you—holy shit.

You didn’t know what you were expecting. Maybe a hoodie, a scowl, more of the same stiff, buttoned-up Megumi Fushiguro who tossed study packets at you like you were a charity case. Not... this.

Not him. Shirtless.

Sweat-slicked skin, broad shoulders flexing as he rolled out his neck. Arms defined. Stomach lean and tight, with the kind of abs you only see in boxing anime or underwear billboards. Veins along his forearms. Knuckles wrapped. A thin scar near his rib you never noticed before.

And his hair—still messy, still unruly, but wet and spiked, falling into his face in that way that made your jaw clench because— What the fuck.

You were drooling. You were actually drooling. And the worst part?

He didn’t even look surprised to be here. He didn’t look embarrassed or shy or like he was hiding. He looked like he belonged in that ring—like it was the one place he let go.

Yoshinobu chuckled next to you, like he caught the twitch in your lip or the way you were suddenly sitting very, very still.

“Yeah,” he muttered, not taking his eyes off the ring. “Kid’s been doing this for years.”

You tore your eyes away just long enough to hiss, “He’s been hiding that body under those crusty-ass sweatpants?”

Renji smirked. “Not the only thing he’s been hiding, I’d bet.”

You gave him a side-eye.

“Relax, I’m not saying I know your business.” He leaned back. “But I’ve seen a lot of fighters. That kid? He’s sharp. Holds back too much sometimes. Always thinking five steps ahead. Got that from his old man. But when he lets loose?” He shook his head. “It’s brutal.”

Your gaze snapped back to the ring.

Megumi was facing down a taller man across from him—thicker built, more muscle, maybe even more experience. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Megumi didn’t flinch. Didn’t back down.

Then the bell rang. And just like that— He moved. Fast. Clean. Deadly.

You could hardly keep up. He dodged the first punch with a low slip, twisted his body, came up with a hook to the ribs so fast it barely made sense. His form was perfect—like he wasn’t even thinking about it, like it lived in his bones.

Another hit. Another pivot. A sweat-slicked arm. You actually let out a noise. A soft one. Embarrassing.

You crossed your legs tighter and leaned back on the bench, trying not to show it, but your face was burning.

Yoshinobu glanced over, clearly amused. “Not what you expected?”

“Shut up,” you muttered, eyes still locked on the ring. “I’ve seen better.”

You hadn’t. But you’d die before admitting that.

Megumi’s opponent landed a jab. He shook it off like it was nothing and came back swinging—faster, stronger, sharper. His entire body snapped with every motion. Power in every movement. Rage in every breath.

He wasn’t just fighting. He was working through something. And God, it was hot. You hated yourself a little for thinking it.

But you couldn’t look away, even if it burned, even if it hurt.

He was relentless.

The guy he was sparring with was taller, broader, probably stronger by weight class—but Megumi?

He was smarter.

You watched as he moved around the ring like the ground bent to his will—his footwork barely audible, shifting weight like water. He let the other guy swing wild—miss, overextend, pant like a dog—and Megumi waited. Studied. Measured.

Then he snapped.

A lightning-fast left jab cracked against the man’s cheek. The sound echoed across the room. You flinched. But Megumi didn’t.

He followed through without hesitation—hook, uppercut, block—his body twisting and coiling like a loaded spring, punching through the air with enough force to make you wince.

Every time his fist connected, sweat flew off his knuckles like it was vapor. Every time he exhaled, his jaw flexed, sharp under the bruised light. Every time he moved— You swore it did something to your chest.

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. You just sat there frozen, pulse thudding in your ears, mouth dry, lips slightly parted like an idiot.

Yoshinobu let out a long whistle next to you, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“I don’t know what your deal is with him,” he muttered, tone unreadable. “But don’t hurt him.”

You blinked, dragged out of your haze. “What?”

He didn’t look at you. He was still watching Megumi. “He’s a good kid. Stubborn, quiet. Doesn’t care about much. Not money. Not praise. Not even winning, sometimes.”

You stayed silent.

He continued, voice low, like he was letting you in on something sacred. “So when Toji mentioned he’s tutoring some attractive girl—his words, not mine—so imagine my surprise when he started to ramble about asking me certain things."

You narrowed your eyes. “Okay, and?”

“And then,” Yoshinobu said, barely hiding a smirk now, “he starts taking longer showers in the locker room. Like ten, fifteen extra minutes.”

Your jaw dropped.

“What—?” you blurted. “Are you—? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

He shrugged. “Just saying. Maybe you’re not just his tutor project.”

Your face burned. You whipped your head away, cursing under your breath.

“I’m not—he’s not—” You scowled. “He doesn’t even look at me anymore.”

Yoshinobu tilted his head. “No?”

“No,” you snapped. “He’s probably still mad about the fight. Whatever.”

But your eyes said otherwise.

They dragged back to the ring—because even now, even when your heart was still sore, when everything inside you screamed you should hate him for how he talked to you, yelled at you, shut you down—

He still moved like he was carved from stone and fire. Still burned like something you couldn’t stop watching. Still made your stomach flip when he shifted and the sweat slid down his back, over the cut of his waist.

And he didn’t look at you once. Not even once.

Yoshinobu must’ve sensed the shift in your silence. “He fights like this when something’s in his head.”

You said nothing.

The match kept going. The guy threw another heavy swing, but Megumi ducked, moved so fast you almost missed the counter jab that sent the man stumbling backward. His chest was heaving now, face red, breath ragged.

Megumi didn’t gloat. He didn’t smirk. He didn’t say a single word.

He just reset his stance. Chin down. Eyes sharp. Fists up.

Focused. Controlled.

It hit you all at once.

That was the boy who sat beside you with textbooks and red pens. That was the same boy who rolled his eyes at your dramatics and still added notes in the margins. That was the same Megumi Fushiguro who kissed you with inexperience and slow-burning want—and still let you break his heart before he ever admitted it.

You hated this.

You hated the way your chest ached. You hated the way you wanted him to look at you—just once. You hated the way he didn’t. And still, you couldn’t look away.

The fight was over. But the tension still lingered in the air like smoke—thick, clinging, inescapable.

Megumi stepped off the mat, bandages undone, hanging in strips from his wrists like ghosts of the fists he'd just thrown. His chest rose and fell slowly, like he was still coming down from the adrenaline, but even from here, you could tell how calm he looked on the outside. Unbothered. Still. Like none of that meant anything.

You wanted to scream at how easy he made it look.

Yoshinobu watched from beside you, arms folded. “That was clean,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “Didn’t even use his full weight.”

You swallowed thickly, unable to tear your eyes away from Megumi. He was wiping his face with the bottom of his shirt now—that shirtless torso lifting, exposing the bruises on his ribs, the scars on his waist.

You didn’t realize you were staring until Yoshinobu’s voice cut through again. “You planning to keep gawking, or are you gonna go talk to him?”

You flinched slightly. “I’m not—”

He gave you a look. The kind that saw through all your usual bullshit, the kind that made your spine straighten.

“I don’t know what the hell’s going on between you two,” he said, voice low, eyes flicking between you and the boy across the room, “but he’s not gonna make the first move. Not when he’s like this.”

“Like what?”

Yoshinobu shrugged. “Closed off. Pissed. Hurt. Take your pick.” Your throat tightened.

He turned away with a quiet sigh. “Go.”

You watched him kneel by the guy Megumi had just knocked down, murmuring something low, like a check-in, a reassurance. The other boy nodded slowly, rubbing his ribs.

Megumi, meanwhile, started walking to a bench. He still hadn’t seen you.

But you’d already disturbed so much, hadn’t you? You took a breath, and walked.

Every step echoed too loudly in your own ears. The gym felt cavernous now, like it was holding its breath, waiting for this exact collision. Him and you.

You stopped a few feet from him. His head was still tilted back. Eyes still shut. Bandages slack against his thighs. He looked peaceful.

God, you hated him for that.

You weren’t peaceful. You were a hurricane pretending to be a person. You were mascara smudged in the dark, whispers behind lockers, a reputation clinging to your throat like perfume. You weren’t someone who stayed.

But you were here, he didn’t see you at first, or maybe he did and just didn’t care.

His back was to you, chest rising and falling, fists still flexing at his sides. His bandages were half-off, peeling from his knuckles like scorched paper, sweat dripping down the slope of his spine. The gym lights weren’t kind, but on him, they didn’t have to be — they only carved the lean muscle of his back in harder lines.

You stopped short. Because goddamn, he looked— shut up. You shut it down. Now wasn’t the time.

You opened your mouth to speak— He turned around.

Slowly. Deliberately. And the second his eyes landed on you, the air shifted. His voice cut through the air like a blade. “What are you doing here.”

Not a question. A warning.

He was shirtless, breathing hard, chest streaked with sweat and god knows what else. His black shorts hung low on his hips, legs braced wide as he flexed his wrist slowly — as if shaking off the last of the fight. He sat down with a quiet thud, legs spreading carelessly as he leaned forward on his knees, eyes fixed on the floor like you weren’t even worth the effort.

You swallowed.

This was worse than cold. This was indifference, and it felt like hell.

You held up the paper in your hand, voice shaking despite everything in you trying to sound composed. “I found this. Once. It fell out of your notebook when we were—”

“Leave.”

He didn’t even glance at you.

You blinked. “I—I didn’t even know what it was back then, okay? I didn’t know what this place was.”

“I said leave.” His tone dropped. Sharp. Clipped. You flinched. But you didn’t move.

“I remembered what you said,” you rushed, stepping closer. “About not being free on Fridays. I remembered, and I—I was curious. That’s all.”

He stood suddenly, and you had to tilt your head to meet his eyes, he was taller like this. Broader. Angrier.

And even now, when he looked like he wanted nothing more than to get away from you, he still looked stupidly good.

His chest heaved once as he scoffed. “You’re unbelievable.”

Then he turned, and walked.

Not toward the ring. Not toward Yoshinobu. Toward the locker room. You panicked. You followed, because you weren’t done. Not this time.

“Wait—wait!” you called, footsteps echoing as you chased after him. “I’m not here to fight, I swear—just listen to me!”

He shoved open the locker room door, and you didn’t even hesitate before slipping in behind him. The slam echoed through the tile like a slap. He didn’t face you. Not at first.

He yanked a towel off the bench, wiped his face, cracked his neck. Like you were just noise behind him.

“Megumi,” you tried again, voice thinner now, fragile around the edges. “Please.”

That made him freeze.

“Please?” he repeated, quietly. He still wasn’t looking at you.

You nodded. “I need to talk to you.”

“And I need you to get the fuck out.”

You stepped forward. “I need you.” Silence. That got him. He turned, finally, eyes sharp and hard and fucking exhausted.

“For what?” he snapped. “To be your emotional punching bag again? I am just a emotionless virgin to you after all."

“No. I'm sorry.” He stared at you like he didn’t believe a word.

“I just—” You exhaled, chest tightening. “I need you to know I’ve been trying.” He said nothing. You pulled your bag around and yanked out a wrinkled paper. “Gojo gave us an essay about constitutional rights. I finished it.” Still nothing. “And today, Nobara asked me a civics question and I—I remembered what you said. About the electoral process. About proportional representation in the Diet. And I said it right, I think. Mostly.” Megumi blinked, jaw twitching.

You pushed on. “And yesterday, I tried answering a question about Newton’s third law. You said, ‘equal and opposite reaction,’ right? I think I got it.” Still, he didn’t speak. He was looking at you now. Really looking.

“And physics? I remember... I remember you said momentum equals mass times velocity, and I tried—” Your voice cracked. “I tried. I’m still trying.”

You laughed a little, bitter. “I don’t even know why I care. Why I wanted to get better. It’s not like anyone expected me to.”

Megumi’s hands were braced against the locker behind him, shoulders still tense, like if he moved, he’d explode.

You lowered your voice. “But I did. I do. Because I wanted to prove you wrong. I wanted to show you that I’m not just some spoiled, shallow bitch who uses people.”

Your throat tightened. “And maybe at first, it was just about spite. But it’s not anymore.”

The locker room was too quiet now.

You bit your lip. “You made me feel like I was capable of more. Of being someone better. You were the first person who made me want to stop coasting.” Still, he said nothing.

You swallowed. “I know I said things I can’t take back. I know I hurt you.” Your voice broke again, softer. “But I never stopped thinking about you. Even when I wanted to.” You waited. His face didn’t change. He just… stared. And you didn’t know what that meant yet.

But you’d said it. You’d fucking said it. And now it was up to him.

You didn’t know what else to say.

You’d poured it all out—your voice raw, your throat aching, your pride shattered at his feet. And still, he just stared at you. Silent. Stone.

So you filled the silence the only way you knew how.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” you muttered, eyes falling to the floor. “But I need you to tutor me again.”

That caught his attention.

Your breath hitched as you pushed forward—too fast, too vulnerable now to stop yourself. “I meant it. I remember everything you said. All those little examples, your stupid metaphors, even that time you made fun of me for not knowing what a veto was—”

Still nothing. His hands were still braced behind him. Still staring.

“I don’t care if you think I’m a mess,” you whispered. “I just… I just want to be better. And you’re the only one who ever made me believe I could be. I need you to help me get there.”

You looked up finally. “Please.”

Silence.

Then—

He moved.

Fast.

A blur of heat and muscle and fury, Megumi was in front of you before you could even blink, grabbing your face in both hands and crashing his mouth to yours.

You gasped, and that was all the invitation he needed—his tongue slid deep between your lips, hungry, slick, and fucking claiming. There was no hesitation, no sweet slow burn. Just raw, unforgiving heat. Teeth and breath and everything you’d both been swallowing for weeks.

His hands dropped to your waist, yanking you flush against him like he couldn’t stand the space between your bodies a second longer. You moaned into his mouth, your fingers knotting in his damp hair, tugging hard, and he growled—actually growled—into the kiss.

He kissed like he hated you for making him want this. Like he was punishing you and punishing himself all at once.

His palms slid down to your ass, gripping hard, forcing you closer as he slotted a thigh between yours and shoved you against the nearest locker. The cold metal hit your back, but you barely noticed—your brain was too fogged, lips bruised, hips grinding down instinctively against the heat of his thigh.

“Fuck,” he muttered into your mouth, voice cracked open, wrecked. “Why do you have to do this to me?”

“I don’t know,” you whispered back, breathless, dazed. “I don’t know, but don’t stop.”

His hands were everywhere now—palming your waist, dragging over your ribs, up under your shirt, fingertips scorching against bare skin. You could barely breathe, barely think. His mouth found your jaw, your neck, biting hard enough to bruise before sucking the pain away, tongue hot and wet.

You whimpered, head falling back, thighs squeezing tight around his.

“God, you’re such a fucking mess,” he breathed against your skin, voice full of heat and hurt and everything in between. “But I can’t stay away.”

You kissed him again—desperate, wet, open-mouthed—and he groaned deep in his throat, like he was starving for you. His hands cupped your ass again, lifting slightly, grinding you down against his leg so good it made you gasp.

Your hips moved on instinct. The friction was dizzying.

You tangled both hands in his hair now, tugging, pulling him deeper, and he let you—let you own him for a second, just like you always tried to do. But this time, he gave in.

No more rules. No more distance.

Just heat. And tongue. And teeth.

And the crashing, furious kiss of two people who’d tried so fucking hard not to want each other—and failed.

You were still gasping against him when he broke the kiss, chest heaving, lips slick and red from how hard he’d kissed you. His hands gripped your waist like he didn’t trust himself to let go.

Your hand dropped to his shorts.

His breath hitched.

You looked up at him with wide, daring eyes. “Can I?”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything—just stared at you like he couldn’t believe what you were asking. And then he nodded.

Slow. Tight. Jaw clenched.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Fuck. Yeah.”

You sank to your knees.

He watched the whole thing—eyes dark and blown, hands falling to his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. You tugged his waistband down, and his cock sprang free—and holy fuck—you were right.

So right.

Big. Thick. Heavy. Veined. The flushed tip already slick, like he’d been aching for this longer than he wanted to admit.

You bit your lip, fingers wrapping around the base as your throat tightened with anticipation.

“Fuck me…” he breathed.

You glanced up.

He was staring straight down at you, hair messy, sweat dripping down his chest, jaw flexing like he was trying so hard not to lose it already.

“You look so pretty like that,” he muttered, voice low and cracked. “On your knees. Fucking perfect.”

You smiled, wicked. “Gonna let me make you feel good?”

He groaned—half growl, half prayer. “Please.”

You licked a stripe up the underside, slow and deliberate, tongue tracing every ridge and vein. His hips twitched. Your lips wrapped around the tip, suckling lightly as your hand stroked the rest, wrist twisting gently.

“Oh my god,” he hissed. “Your mouth—fuck—”

You took more. Inch by inch, pushing down until your throat clenched around him, spit pooling, mascara probably already smudging. He was so thick your lips were straining around him, jaw aching—and still you kept going.

“Jesus—fuck—just like that,” he gasped. “Shit—don’t stop, don’t fucking stop—”

Your tongue licked under the head as you sucked, hollowing your cheeks, letting him hear how wet and messy it was. Slurping. Gagging a little when he hit the back of your throat—but you didn’t stop.

You moaned around him instead.

His hand shot out, threading into your hair—gripping, tight, controlling.

“Fuck—fuck,” he growled. “You were made for this, weren’t you?”

You blinked up at him, tears starting to prick in your lashes from the stretch.

“You like this?” he bit out. “Like choking on my cock?”

You moaned again, harder this time—vibrating around him.

His hips thrust forward suddenly, and he groaned deep, watching your throat bulge, your jaw stretch wide around him. You gagged a little again—but fuck it, you loved it. The way he cursed. The way his legs trembled.

“Look at you,” he muttered. “All pretty and ruined, just for me.”

You sucked him harder. Faster. Spit dripping from your chin, his cock slick with your saliva, your fist pumping the base while your mouth worked him with obscene, wet sounds.

He was shaking now, barely holding back.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” he warned, voice cracking. “Fucking hell—don’t stop. I’m so close—shit—”

You sucked him deeper, letting him hit the back of your throat one more time, and that was it.

“Fuck—fuck!”

He came hard—hot and thick, spilling down your throat in long, shuddering pulses. You swallowed around him, gagging again as he groaned so loud, hand still tangled in your hair as his entire body trembled.

You held him there until he stopped twitching, until he was completely empty—then finally pulled off with a slick pop, licking your lips, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

He was still staring down at you, chest heaving, eyes wild and fucked-out.

“Holy shit,” he breathed.

You grinned up at him, ruined and satisfied. “That good, huh?”

He just groaned again and tugged you up by your wrist—dragging you into another kiss, filthy and full of spit and tongue and everything you didn’t say.

A few minutes later, the door creaked open.

You barely had time to adjust your shirt when a voice called out—lazy, amused, and way too casual for the situation.

“Yo, Megumi.” Your heads snapped toward the entrance. Yoshinobu stood just outside the locker room, one brow raised, arms crossed, clearly trying not to smirk.

“Toji’s gonna walk in any second,” he added, voice like a warning wrapped in a grin. “If you still want to keep that pretty little lady around for your tutoring sessions, you better hide.”

Megumi groaned under his breath, dragging a hand down his face. You wiped your mouth, slow.

Yoshinobu winked at you. “Hey, no judgment. I’d let her tutor me too.”

Megumi slammed the locker door shut hard enough to echo. “Get the fuck out.”

Yoshinobu just laughed and walked off, muttering, “You’re welcome, Romeo.”

As soon as Yoshinobu disappeared down the hallway, the panic kicked in.

“Shit,” you muttered, already bending to the floor. “Where the fuck���where did half my notes even go?”

Megumi was beside you in seconds, shirtless and flushed, sweat still clinging to his chest as he reached for your crumpled worksheets. His hand was still wrapped in bandages, movements tight and clipped as he grabbed a page and shoved it at you.

“You seriously brought all this to a gym?”

“Don’t start,” you snapped, snatching it from him. “Not when your dick’s the reason I dropped half my life on the floor—”

“Keep your voice down,” he hissed, eyes wild. “Do you want him to hear us?” Your mouth shut instantly.

You scrambled to shove the rest of your notes back into your tote bag—history quiz key, Gojo’s half-legible assignment sheet, your favorite black pen.

Megumi cursed under his breath. “Where’s your phone?”

“Under the bench—fuck—” He dropped to his knees, grabbing it just as the locker room door creaked again.

“Megumi?” came the voice. You both froze.

Toji. Your blood went ice cold.

Megumi’s eyes darted to yours, and without a word, he grabbed your wrist, pulled you hard toward the showers, around the tiled wall, and straight into the small, grimy private washroom stall. He shoved the door closed with his hip and snapped the lock shut in one motion.

The second the lock clicked, you were pressed together. Tight space. Too tight. Your back hit the tile. His bare chest brushed yours.

His hand was still wrapped around your waist. Warm. Big. He didn’t let go. You didn’t breathe. Toji’s footsteps echoed into the locker room like gunshots. Closer. Louder.

“Megumi?” he called again, annoyed now. “The hell are you hiding for?”

The stall was dead quiet. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears. Megumi’s chest rose against yours. He was breathing slow, controlled, but his eyes were locked on yours—burning.

His thumb moved once against your side. You swallowed, lips parted.

Outside, Toji’s boots scuffed the tile. He moved past the benches. You could hear him pause, like he was scanning the room. Listening.

“Thought I heard voices,” he muttered.

The air in the stall was thick. Hot. Oppressive. Your thigh was brushing his. His hand was still at your waist, tighter now, like if he let go, something would snap.

You looked up. He was already looking at you.

And fuck, that look—like he wasn’t just thinking about getting caught. He was thinking about what would happen if he didn’t stop. Right here. Right now.

Toji scoffed outside. “Brat probably bolted. Whatever.”

Footsteps. The creak of the locker room door. Then a slam. Silence.

You waited a few seconds after the door slammed before finally letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Megumi did the same, shoulders sagging just slightly as he backed up half an inch—but his hand stayed on your waist.

You waited a few seconds after the door slammed before finally letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Megumi did the same, shoulders sagging just slightly as he backed up half an inch—but his hand stayed on your waist.

You glanced down at it. Then up at him. Then cracked a grin.

“God,” you breathed, still half-giddy, “we really just sucked each other’s souls out and hid in a locker room washroom like porn extras.”

Megumi snorted, wiping a hand down his face. “I knew Yoshinobu was up to something the second he opened his mouth.”

“Uh-huh. And yet you still let me drop to my knees.”

He groaned. “Don’t start—”

“Oh, I’m starting,” you teased, voice syrupy and smug. “You were into it. You were talking, Megumi. Like, actual dirty talk. I almost dropped dead.”

His ears went red instantly. “You’re not gonna let that go, are you?”

“Oh no, babe,” you said, drawing out the syllables like velvet. “You called me pretty while I was choking on your cock. I’m gonna hold onto that forever.”

He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like kill me.

You laughed. The air lightened, just for a moment. But then Megumi’s face shifted. Softer. Serious.

“I… I meant it,” he said quietly.

You blinked. “What?”

He looked away, rubbing at the back of his neck with his bandaged hand. “The pretty part, yeah. But also—” His voice caught for a second. “I’m sorry. For what I said before.”

The words hung between you. Still. Gentle.

Your chest tightened.

He kept going. “I was angry. But not at you. Not really. I was pissed at myself, and I took it out on you. I called you shallow, I said you didn’t try, and that wasn’t fair. You didn’t deserve that.”

You stayed quiet.

“And I shouldn’t have…” His eyes flicked to yours again, raw around the edges. “I shouldn’t have lashed out like that. To you.”

Your breath hitched.

To you.

He said it like it mattered. Like you mattered. Not just because you kissed. Not just because you gave him head in a locker room. But because, somewhere in all of this—he actually gave a shit about you.

You blinked fast.

“Well,” you said softly, trying not to sound as shaky as you felt, “you were kind of right.”

He frowned. “That’s not the point—”

“I know. But it’s true.” You shrugged. “I didn’t try. I was mean. I used people to feel powerful. But… I didn’t want to be that around you.”

Megumi’s mouth parted, like he didn’t know what to say.

So you added, with a wry little smile, “Guess we’re both disasters.”

He gave a breathy laugh. “Speak for yourself.” You rolled your eyes—but the moment lingered.

You didn’t say anything else. But to you echoed in your mind. And you knew, without question, you’d remember it.

You leaned back against the wall, eyes drifting toward the floor. The heat had simmered down. Your pulse was slower now.

But the words were still in your throat.

“…I’m sorry too,” you said quietly.

Megumi looked up.

You didn’t meet his eyes. “For what I said. The virgin comment. That was…” You sighed. “It was mean. And low. I was just mad and stupid and lashing out like I always do.”

He was quiet.

Then, “It’s okay.”

You shook your head. “No, it’s not. I knew it would hurt. That’s why I said it.”

A pause. You looked at him again.

He didn’t look upset. If anything, he looked… calm. Maybe a little sad.

“I get it,” he said softly. “You were angry. I was, too. I didn’t even care what I said until after you left.” He shrugged. “I don’t really care about the virgin thing, to be honest.”

You blinked. “Really?”

“I mean,” he said with a weak laugh, “not anymore.”

That made you smile—just a little.

A warm silence settled. The kind that felt… earned.

Then you cocked your head, eyes drifting down his chest.

“So…” you said slowly, lips curling into a smirk. “Nerd boy’s a boxer? Way to break the stereotype, Gumi.”

Megumi groaned. “Here we go—”

“No, seriously,” you said, pushing off the wall, circling him a little. “All this time I thought you were just some uptight know-it-all with no social life, and now you’ve got this—” You gestured to his body. “—situation going on.”

“Please stop talking,” he muttered.

You ignored him. “If you really wanted to bag Miwa, you should’ve just taken your shirt off in front of her. Instant success.”

He frowned. “I don’t—what?”

You raised a brow. “You’ve got arms, Fushiguro. Do you even know that? Should I start a fan club? The Biceps for the Blue-Haired Girl campaign?”

He rolled his eyes, but you caught the faint pink in his ears.

“I don’t box to impress girls,” he said finally. “It’s not about that.”

You blinked.

He shifted, eyes dropping for a moment before he spoke again. “My dad’s really into it. He used to box when he was younger. I think… I think it’s his way of keeping me grounded. Especially since things have been rough with Tsumiki.”

Your teasing faded.

He continued, voice low. Honest. “It helps. Clears my head. Makes me feel like I’m in control of something. And he knows I’ve been struggling, so he’s trying to… I don’t know. Connect. Without pushing too hard.”

You stared at him, a little stunned. That wasn’t something Megumi usually said. Not something anyone usually said to you.

“…That’s really sweet,” you murmured.

He shrugged, looking away again. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is,” you said softly.

He glanced back at you, and you held his gaze this time.

There was still a teasing spark behind your eyes, sure—but it was quieter now. Warmer. You saw him. Really saw him, and you liked what you saw.

You leaned your shoulder against the tile again, biting back a smile of your own.

“So…” you said, voice light but curious. “Does this mean the deal’s back on?”

Megumi blinked at you. You raised a brow. “Tutoring. Both kinds.”

He scoffed, looking away like he wasn’t about to smile—but you saw it. The corner of his mouth twitched. Then curled.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Deal.”

You saw him by the lockers before he saw you—hair a little messier than usual, collar loosened, black glasses perched on his nose like he was born to judge the IQ of everyone passing by.

God, he looked insufferably smart. Pen behind his ear, shirt sleeves rolled neatly past his forearms like he had an oral defense due in five and a girl to make cry right after. No bandages today. No bruises. No gym sweat.

Just Megumi.

Back in his clean-cut, honor roll disguise.

You walked up slow.

Like prey turning into predator.

“So…” you said, voice lazy, teasing. “Your place free later?”

He didn’t even flinch. Just closed his locker like a professor finishing his office hours and looked at you over the rim of his glasses.

“No.”

You blinked. “No?”

He looked almost amused at your expression, but of course, didn’t smile. That would be too easy.

“My dad’s got people over,” he said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Old friends. Loud. Crude. You wouldn’t like them.”

“Oh,” you said. “And what? You’re worried they’ll scare me?”

Megumi looked you up and down—slow, unimpressed.

“No,” he muttered. “They’ll annoy the hell out of you. And then you’ll start insulting them and I’ll have to explain why my tutor is verbally assaulting grown men.”

You snorted.

“I wouldn’t even raise my voice,” you said sweetly. “I’d just call them broke and unimportant and move on.”

He sighed, looking away like he was trying not to laugh. “Exactly.”

The silence between you crackled. People passed by in little clusters—some staring, some pretending not to—but Megumi didn’t care. He just stood there with his sleeves rolled and his glasses slipping slightly down his nose, like he wasn’t the one ruining your concentration.

You hesitated.

Just a beat.

Then: “My house.”

His head tilted. Just slightly. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Megumi’s gaze lingered, like he was trying to read between the lines.

You lifted your chin. “It’s quiet. It’s clean. My dad’s out. And I’m not about to wait another week because your trashy relatives want to drink beer and yell at the TV.”

There was a long pause, then Megumi nodded once.

“Alright.”

That’s all he said. And then he walked off like he hadn’t just accepted an invitation into your damn world.

You stood there, watching him go, and tried to get your face back to neutral.

It didn’t work. You were smiling. Ear to fucking ear. Like a clown in Prada.

You could already feel the whispers behind your back as people glanced at you from the corner of their eyes, because yeah. Yeah.

Megumi Fushiguro? The nerd in the glasses? Him?

He was tutoring you, and now he was going to your house.

You caught one girl staring too long and raised your brow with a sharp little smile.

“What, bitch?” you snapped. “Yes, it’s Megumi. No, you can’t have him.”

Then you turned on your heel and strutted down the hallway like the queen you were, mentally rearranging your bedroom and maybe—just maybe—deleting the playlist labeled for fucking.

Because if he showed up? You wanted to be ready.

You barely made it ten feet before a voice you didn’t ask for slithered up from behind.

“Well, well,” Aiko purred, her tone all sugar and spite. “The queen bee herself. Slumming it now, huh?”

You turned slowly.

She stood there with her knockoff handbag, fake tan peeling at the collar, and a smirk like she thought she mattered. Her eyes flicked toward your retreating hallway glance—right where Megumi had gone moments ago.

“Him?” she said. “You’re really hanging around him now?”

You didn’t answer.

“Oh my god,” Aiko grinned wider. “Tell me this is, like, community service or something. Please say you’re not actually with Fushiguro.”

You blinked at her. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I mean…” She scoffed. “Come on. He’s a loser. Always has been. Total social suicide.”

You just stared.

Aiko kept going, not seeing the cliff she was running toward. “Like yeah, he’s tall and all, but what else? He’s got zero presence, always alone, and he wears glasses, babe. Not even the hot kind. He looks like he’s allergic to sunlight. And you—” she waved a manicured hand toward your outfit, “—you’re you. Everyone watches what you wear, who you’re seen with. And now you’re doing hallway strolls with fucking Fushiguro?”

Silence. Dead, heavy silence.

Then, You took a step forward. “Say that again.”

Aiko’s smile faltered. “Say what?”

“Call him that again.”

Her face twisted with something smug. “What? A loser? I mean, sorry, but he is.”

That was it.

You closed the distance, grabbed a fistful of her hair so fast she gasped—and leaned in close, voice low and sweet like venom in champagne.

“You listen to me, you crusty, clearance-rack bitch. The next time you open your mouth about him like that, I will ruin your life in ways you can’t even spell.” Aiko’s eyes went wide, terrified. She didn’t dare move.

“He’s more of a man than anyone you’ve ever begged to text you back. So watch your fucking mouth. Or I’ll show you what social suicide really looks like.”

Then you let go—slow and deliberate. Her breath hitched. Her lip trembled. You gave her a tight, pitying smile. “Now run along. Before I start listing your body count in front of the juniors.”

She practically bolted.

Nobara wandered up from behind, chewing gum like she’d just witnessed a crime. “Jesus. You need to be arrested for that one.”

“She called him a loser,” you said flatly.

Nobara blinked. “You yanked her hair like she owed you money.”

You shrugged. “I was being nice.”

And as you walked off, flipping your hair and smirking like you didn’t just threaten someone into silence?

You felt proud. Let them all whisper. Because yeah.

Megumi Fushiguro is tutoring you. He’s also making you lose your goddamn mind.

What the fuck about it, bitches?

The car ride over had been quiet.

Not awkward—just charged. You didn’t speak much, and Megumi didn’t ask questions. His fingers fidgeted with the edge of his notebook the whole way, like he was trying to remind himself this was still tutoring.

Not… whatever it had started to feel like lately.

When you pulled up to your house—gates sweeping open with the click of a remote—he blinked. Slowly.

“This is where you live?”

“Disappointed?”

He shook his head. “Just… surprised.”

You could see it—how he clocked the driveway lined with luxury cars, the fountain in the center, the perfectly-trimmed hedges that cost more than some people’s rent. You led him up the steps, pulling open the door with a toss of your hair. “Come on.”

The marble floor echoed under your shoes as you stepped inside, Megumi trailing close behind. His eyes flicked to the chandelier, the high ceilings, the art lining the walls.

“You can say it,” you said, glancing over your shoulder. “It’s a lot.”

“It’s…” He cleared his throat. “Nice.”

You scoffed. “You don’t have to lie. It’s ridiculous.”

He let out the ghost of a laugh. “Little bit.”

You smiled despite yourself. “Gets lonely sometimes,” you said, quieter.

Megumi looked at you—but before he could say anything, a familiar voice called out from deeper in the house. “Sweetheart? That you?”

Your heart dropped. You turned toward the hall. “Shit.”

“Yeah, Daddy,” you called, plastering on a smile as footsteps echoed.

Megumi stiffened beside you, And then your father appeared—tie loosened, whiskey in hand, and a brow raised when he saw your companion.

“Well, well,” he said, amused. “Didn’t realize tutoring came with the full door-to-door package now.”

Megumi immediately straightened. “Good afternoon, sir.”

Your dad eyed him. “Polite. Proper. Is this the boy who’s keeping you from flunking out?”

You groaned. “Daddy, don’t start.”

“What?” he said, smirking. “Can’t I be impressed that he’s not an airheaded jock or one of those weird artsy types who cry during movies?”

“He’s standing right here,” you hissed.

Megumi didn’t say anything, but you could feel the tension in his shoulders.

Your dad just sipped his drink, eyes still on Megumi. “Relax, son. I’m not grilling you. I’m just happy she’s letting someone else use her brain for once.”

“Oh my god,” you muttered, grabbing Megumi’s sleeve. “We’re going upstairs.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” your dad called after you.

“That leaves nothing,” you shot back, dragging Megumi up the grand staircase.

“You wound me, princess!”

“Go work or something!”

You didn’t stop until you were on the second floor, yanking Megumi down the hall toward your bedroom.

He was quiet—still a little stunned, maybe. You didn’t blame him.

“Sorry about him,” you mumbled. “He thinks he’s funny.”

Megumi adjusted his glasses. “He kind of is.”

You shot him a glare.

He shrugged. “In a terrifying way.”

You rolled your eyes and opened your bedroom door. “Come on, nerd boy. Let’s get this tutoring shit over with before he comes back up here and starts quizzing you on wine pairings.”

He walked in after you, looking around your room, quiet again. But there was something different in his silence now.

Not nerves. Not intimidation. Just… awareness. Of where he was. Of you.

Of the way you leaned against the edge of your desk, arms folded, watching him like you weren’t even trying to pretend this was normal.

Megumi sat cross-legged on the floor of your bedroom, textbook open, notepad ready. You were lying on your stomach across your bed, skirt flipped up just a little too high, feet kicking in the air while you squinted at the words like they personally offended you.

“…So mitochondria is not the nucleus.”

Megumi didn’t look up. “Correct. They’re two different organelles.”

You frowned harder. “Then why the fuck do they both sound important?”

“They are.”

“That’s dumb. Why not just combine them into a super organelle and call it the brain of the cell?”

Megumi blinked, sighed, and scribbled something. “Because that’s not how eukaryotic cells work.”

You groaned into your pillow. “I hate this. Biology can suck my dick.”

“You barely passed chemistry. Don't give bio a reason to hate you too.”

You flipped over onto your back, glaring at the ceiling. “I’m trying, okay? I actually remembered that thing you said about ribosomes last time.”

“Which was?”

You hesitated. “They… do shit.”

He stared.

“…Protein,” you muttered, pouting. “They build protein. Calm down.”

Megumi finally cracked a smile, just a small one. “I’m genuinely shocked.”

“Fuck you.”

“I mean it. That’s the first time you’ve remembered anything correctly without pulling it out of your ass.”

You stuck your tongue out at him. “Watch your mouth, nerd boy. I’m fragile.”

“…Okay, um… ribosomes build protein. And lysosomes are… the trash guys? Or whatever.”

You were laying flat on your back now, textbook propped on your stomach, one sock half-off your foot, a pencil in your mouth like a cigarette. You were trying. Sort of. Even mumbling the definitions to yourself like they might actually stick.

Megumi was still sitting on the floor, but he wasn’t reading anymore. Wasn’t even looking at your notes.

Just at you.

You didn’t notice at first. You were too busy frowning at the page like it had insulted you.

“...Endoplasmic reticulum. That’s the… protein highway thing. Right?”

Silence.

“Megumi?” You looked up.

He was staring.

“What?”

He didn’t answer right away. His jaw shifted like he was chewing on the words.

Then, finally—

“I want to do something to you.”

You blinked.

“…What?”

His voice didn’t falter. His eyes didn’t leave yours.

“I want to make you feel good,” he said, softer now, but still steady. “Right now.”

Your lips parted. “What—like—?”

“I want to go down on you,” he said, low. “I want you to teach me.”

The air left your lungs in a slow, involuntary exhale. The room felt suddenly warmer. He wasn’t even touching you, and still—your thighs pressed together instinctively.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, eyes narrowing slightly. “You… you serious?”

He nodded once. “You said you’d teach me. Right?”

You just hadn’t expected this. “Gumi…”

He exhaled through his nose when you said that. Quiet, but full of tension. “I want to know what you like,” he said. “I want to get good at it.”

You blinked, mouth dry, trying to find your usual smug tone—but it didn’t come. He leaned forward, kneeling beside the bed now, hands flat on the mattress.

“I think about it a lot,” he admitted. “What you taste like. How you'd sound.”

Your breath hitched. Heat rushed between your legs. “Shit…” You bit your lip. “You’re really fucking serious.”

He just looked at you. Still calm. Still intense. And fuck—you were wet already.

You swallowed and smirked, finally finding your voice again. “You want me to walk you through it? Like a lesson plan?” He nodded again, eyes hooded.

You dragged your finger slowly up your thigh. “Then get up here, Gumi.” His fingers curled over the edge of the bed. And he did.

Megumi climbed onto the bed, moving slow, like he didn’t want to startle you—like he was worried you’d change your mind.

You didn’t.

Not when he settled between your legs, arms on either side of you. Not when he looked at you like he’d waited for this—quietly, patiently. Not when he leaned down and kissed you.

God.

You weren’t expecting the kiss.

Not one like that.

It was soft. Intentional. His lips brushed yours once, then again, warmer the second time. He kissed you like it was something he needed to learn too, and he was determined to get it right. No sloppy tongue. No teenage teeth. Just slow, sensual pressure—like he was studying your mouth the way he studied your notes.

You made a soft sound against his lips. One that caught him off guard.

He pulled back. “Okay?”

You swallowed. Nodded. “Yeah. Just—kiss me again.”

He did.

Deeper this time. His hand came up, fingers brushing your cheek. Then your neck. And then—when he felt you shift under him, breath hitching—he let his hand trail down your chest.

“You’re warm,” he murmured.

You scoffed. “You’re laying on me, Gumi.”

But your voice broke halfway through.

His hand stopped at the hem of your shirt, hovering.

“Can I?”

You lifted your arms without speaking.

He peeled it off slow, letting his eyes take you in. And you didn’t hide. Not this time. Not when he kissed down your chest, not when his hands slid over your waist like he was memorizing every dip and curve.

When he got to your skirt, you reached down—silent—and helped him pull it off.

Your panties stayed on.

He stared at the damp patch darkening the center.

You turned your head away, suddenly flushed. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But you were thinking it.”

Megumi leaned down, lips against the inside of your thigh. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I was.”

You shivered.

His hands slid up your legs, gentle but confident. He moved slow, kissing from one thigh to the other, tongue grazing your skin like he already knew how sensitive you were there. Like he wanted to worship, not just fuck. You’d had boys go down on you before—but it was always a means to an end. Messy, fast, mechanical. You never came. You always faked it.

But this?

This felt different.

“Are you nervous?” you whispered.

He shook his head, pressing a kiss just above the hem of your panties. “No.”

You looked down at him. “You’ve never done this before.”

“I want to get good at it,” he said. “I want to make you come.”

Your throat went dry.

Megumi hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and looked up at you one last time. When you nodded, he pulled them down slow.

He stared.

You wanted to squirm under the weight of it—how intense his gaze was, how quiet he got. He wasn’t gawking. He wasn’t blushing.

He looked hungry.

“…Can you tell me what you like?” he asked, voice low. “What feels good?”

You exhaled shakily. “I don’t know. I don’t—I haven’t really…”

You didn’t finish. But you didn’t have to. Megumi understood.

You felt his breath first. Warm, right where you needed it. Then his lips, brushing so softly over your folds that your hips bucked before you could stop yourself.

He didn’t laugh. He didn’t tease. He just gripped your thighs gently and leaned in.

The first swipe of his tongue was cautious. Testing. He moved slow, tasting you. Then again. Deeper. He moved his tongue in long, languid strokes, growing bolder as you gasped, as your thighs trembled against his shoulders.

“Gumi—” you whimpered. “Fuck—oh my god—”

He hummed, low in his throat, and the vibration made your back arch. It wasn’t perfect—he didn’t know how to flick just right yet, didn’t know your tells—but god, the way he tried. The way he moaned quietly into your pussy like he liked the taste. Like he liked how messy it made you.

You threaded your fingers into his hair, tugging gently. “Right there—fuck—yes—”

He latched onto your clit with a soft suck, tongue swirling, and your whole body locked up. You weren’t ready. You weren’t ready to feel that pressure building, hot and dizzy in your belly, like something was going to snap.

You grabbed at the sheets, mouth falling open. “Wait—wait—Gumi—fuck—don’t stop—”

And he didn’t. Not once.

His tongue was relentless now, sloppy and eager, spit and slick coating your thighs, chin soaked, hands digging into your hips like he needed to hold you together while you came apart.

And then you did. Hard.

You came with a cry, louder than you meant to, your legs trembling and your chest rising in jagged gasps. It felt real. Raw. Like it had been buried inside you for months, untouched. No fingers. No toys. No faked orgasms in the dark.

Just him. You collapsed back onto the mattress, heart racing, breath shattered.

He stayed between your thighs, kissing them gently, like he wasn’t ready to stop. You looked down at him, dazed. Megumi wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, looking up at you like he hadn’t just rocked your whole fucking world.

“…Did I do it right?”

You let out a hoarse, shocked laugh. “What the fuck—”

He blinked. “You came.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Megumi crawled up the bed slowly, eyes never leaving yours.

“Teach me more,” he whispered, brushing your hair back from your damp forehead. “Please.”

You dragged him down into a kiss. Tasting yourself on his tongue. And for once in your life—you didn’t feel like the one in control. You didn’t mind.

The old gym echoed with the steady rhythm of fists against canvas.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Megumi didn’t say much when he was focused like this—wrapped hands hitting the punching bag with precise, brutal timing, sweat gathering at his hairline. His school shirt was ditched somewhere on the bench, tie loosened and hanging off one corner of the bag like a casualty of war.

You were parked cross-legged on a mat near the ring, textbook open in your lap, highlighter in hand—but let’s be real. You’d read the same sentence five times now.

“Hey, Gumi,” you called, flipping to the next page like you weren’t totally checking him out. “How do I remember which cranial nerves are motor and which are sensory?”

“Mnemonics,” he said between punches. “Or just don’t fail.”

You threw a marker at him.

He dodged without even looking. “Try ‘Some Say Marry Money But My Brother Says Big Brains Matter More.’ First letter tells you if the nerve is sensory, motor, or both.”

You blinked. “…Wait. That’s actually smart as fuck.”

He smirked, still striking the bag. “Glad you’re finally using that oversized head for something.”

You gasped. “Oh, so you do think I’m smart.”

“No,” he said flatly. “I think you’re loud.”

You grinned. “Loud and sexy. It’s the full package.”

He didn’t reply—just shook his head, a breathy laugh slipping out as he went back to punching.

You closed the textbook with a dramatic sigh. “You know, watching you box is kinda hot.”

He didn’t stop. “You say that about everything.”

“Not true. I didn’t say it about that weird Gojo lecture where he compared thermodynamics to heartbreak.”

“That’s because Gojo’s an idiot.”

You snorted. “Takes one to know one.”

“I think I could take you in a fight.”

Megumi wiped the sweat off his face with the back of his hand, chest rising slow and steady as he looked over at you. “You getting in or what?” he asked, nodding toward the open ropes.

You raised a brow, still sitting on the edge of the ring mat, textbook half-closed on your lap. “You think I won’t?”

He didn’t even blink. “I think you’ll talk more than you’ll swing.”

You stood up immediately. “Bitch.”

He just stepped back, giving you space. You climbed in, fixing your skirt, cracking your knuckles like you actually knew what the fuck you were doing. Megumi tilted his head. “That serious?”

You flexed both arms in the most unserious way possible. “I think I could take you in a fight.” He stared.

You grinned. “Better watch out, nerd boy.”

He stepped forward, slow, that usual blank expression curling just slightly into something smug.

“Whatever you say, pretty girl.”

You didn’t react. At least not outwardly. Your heart? That shit didn’t know how to act.

You narrowed your eyes, tossing your hair back like it didn’t affect you. “Hope you’re ready to get embarrassed.”

He just smirked. “You first.”

And fuck, you were in trouble. Real trouble.

You raised your fists like you knew what you were doing—which you absolutely did not.

Megumi stared at you, unamused. “That’s not even a stance.”

“Eat shit, Fushiguro.”

He sighed through his nose, rolling his shoulders back, completely relaxed. “Keep your hands up. You’ll get decked first swing.”

You tightened your fists, legs bouncing. “I am up.”

“Barely.”

“Ugh,” you groaned, stepping closer. “You talk like I won’t lay your ass out right now.”

“You’re five-two,” he said flatly.

You lunged anyway, throwing a punch directly at his side. He dodged, clean and fast.

You jabbed again, wild and reckless, and Megumi dodged like he was bored. That just made you madder.

“Stop doing that!”

“Doing what?”

“Dodging! That’s fucking cheating!”

He snorted, stepping just out of range like it was easy. “I’m literally just not letting you hit me.”

You lunged at him, swinging fast—and missed again, nearly tripping when he twisted around you.

And then— smack. His palm landed hard on your ass.

You gasped. “Megumi!”

He blinked, deadpan. “What?”

You turned, jaw dropped. “Did you just spank me?!”

He looked completely unfazed. “It’s a good ass.”

“You absolute slut—” You tried to swing again, but he caught your wrist and spun you with zero effort, stepping behind you and bending a little—

“Don’t you dare—” And then he hoisted you clean off your feet.

“MEGUMI!” Your body flipped over his shoulder, hair falling in your face as he held you with one arm like you weighed nothing.

“You’re insane!” you shouted, punching his back. “Put me down, you fucking bastard!”

“Nope,” he said, too smug for someone carrying a feral gremlin over his shoulder.

“You perverted little freak—!”

He smacked your ass again, harder this time. You shrieked.

“I WILL BITE YOU.”

He laughed. Actually laughed. That warm, deep, rare laugh that you only heard when you caught him off guard.

“Fucking nerd boy with muscles, I swear to god—!”

“I told you I boxed,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world while you kicked your feet like a goddamn cartoon character.

“YOU NEVER SAID YOU’D THROW ME AROUND LIKE A DUMBELLLLLL—”

And then— A voice. Lazy. Loud. Horrified.

“Oh what the fuck—” You froze. Megumi did too.

“Oh my god.”

You twisted—still slung over Megumi’s shoulder like a dramatic, designer handbag—and craned your neck as the voice echoed through the gym’s open doorway.

Yoshinobu stood there, a water bottle in one hand, towel slung around his shoulder, his brows lifted like he just walked in on a goddamn soap opera.

“I’ve seen a lot of sparring in this place,” he said, casual but amused. “But I’ve never seen that boxing move before.”

Megumi didn’t flinch. Just slapped your ass. Hard.

“Fushiguro!” you shrieked, legs kicking. “You absolute bastard!”

He had the gall—the straight-faced, gorgeous nerve—to act like nothing happened. Just hauled you up and dumped you like a sack of attitude flat on your back in the middle of the ring.

“You’re insane!” you coughed, sitting up and shoving your hair out of your face. “Feral! I hope you get athlete’s foot!”

Megumi just wiped the sweat off his chest with a towel like you weren’t actively losing your mind right there.

“Hit the showers, kid,” Yoshinobu called, half-laughing as he crossed his arms.

Megumi flipped him off without looking and strolled off toward the back, slinging the towel over his shoulder, his back flexing with every step.

And then— Silence.

You sat on the mat, breathing hard, heart still thudding, every part of you aware of just how deeply he’d rattled you. Then—

“You gonna tell me what that was?”

You turned your head.

Yoshinobu was leaning against the ropes now, one brow raised, his smile gone.

You rolled your eyes. “It was him being a dick. What else is new?”

But he didn’t move. Didn’t smirk.

“I’ve seen a lot of shit in this gym,” he said slowly, “but that wasn’t just a dumb joke.”

You scoffed, grabbing your water bottle and avoiding his stare. “Don’t start.”

“I saw the way you looked at him,” Yoshinobu said. “And I saw the way he looked at you.”

Your breath hitched. You stood abruptly, brushing invisible dust off your skirt. “He doesn’t look at me like anything. Okay?”

“You like him.”

You scoffed. “He’s just my tutor.”

“Right.” Yoshinobu nodded like he believed you. He didn’t.

“I’m serious,” you bit out, annoyed at how hot your face felt. “He likes—” You stopped. You didn’t even know who he liked. It didn’t matter. “He doesn’t like me like that.”

“I don’t care what’s happening between you two,” Yoshinobu said finally. “That’s none of my business.”

He took a step back from the ropes, grabbing a clean towel from the rack.

“Go easy on him..”

You blinked. “What?”

Yoshinobu turned, half-glancing back at you.

“He doesn’t talk much, y’know?” he said, voice a little quieter. “Doesn’t let people in easy. And when he does—he doesn’t have backup plans.”

You folded your arms, trying to look annoyed. “What makes you think I’d hurt him?”

“Because you’re scared,” he said simply. “And scared people bite.”

Your jaw locked. He gave you a last look—measured, unblinking. “He’s got a soft spot for you. Whether you like it or not.”

Then he walked toward the back, leaving you in the middle of the ring, staring at the mat beneath your feet, heart in your throat.

You didn’t know how long you stood there.

But the echo of his words didn’t leave.

He’s got a soft spot for you. Whether you like it or not.

And maybe that was the worst part. Because somewhere deep in your chest—you already knew.

parts, chapter 04

taglist, @crispycatt @littlevoidfairy @bookfreakk @1-rxse-1 @starzfaerie @zephyairies @moonmaiden1996 @simonexxx1 @pinkmeatball218 @evii1e @xavisbabie @maeviees @justanotherasiangirl @tiasd1ary @shioribuns @allysainz @mwrgwt @cookies-assemble @tiasd1ary @blu3-l0v3r @camy-yh @pinkmeatball218 @chokismom @01elle-sherlock @oidloid @holymolyyikes @haithamsbb @mysteriaqueen @fxngsfxgxrty @meiyinnaise

[salmonmakiii]

hi!!! i read god!phainon fic a solid three times. i'm chronically, terminally, unequivocally obsessed with the way you write. it's been so refreshing amid this patch which is... raw pain. however, possibly bc i'm conditioned to pain, i've thought that wifey is a mortal... so... basically phaichan has but a blink of an eye together with her... what's 50 years to him? but i was thinking of a fluffy and potentially comedic resolution to all this, and wondered if they just were their lovey dovey selves and with time (say, around 20 or 30 years into their marriage), mrs. khaslana noticed she doesn't age in comparison to her old classmates, her cousins, even her atlas looks older than her. and then she realizes that her hubby's "divinity" rubbed off on her... phaichan probably fumbling bc he neglected to mention that a god's presence tends to 'rub off' on mortals that spend a lot of time with them - maybe the temple priests have unusually long lives too, but obviously, not to such an extent as his beloved, as they are just that close and intimate, as a married couple should be.

- peachy anon 🍑🧡

Okay, since Peachy anon 🍑 and other anon's questions are similar, I hope you all don't mind if I answer them together in a post ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ Also, I'm really impressed that y'all are so smart with these asks?? like I didn't even thought of that???? So as a thanks for fueling my brain juice, here's a drabble for it!

I tried so hard for it not to be too angsty and more fluffy. But really, how does one make the immortality theme 'fluffy'????? I hope it was to y'all's expectations huhu ಥ‿ಥ

Again, I am referring to this fic!

Wc: 2.1k+

Cw: Mentions of sex, mentions of death, kind of angst?? MDNI!!!!!

Now, you and Phainon had... well... done a lot of intercourse- Oh, what the hell, we're all adults here - SEX, you've had SEX lots of times.

At first, it was nothing.

The temple priests would mention, in quiet pleasantries, that you had begun to glow in the mornings. A soft, golden sheen clung to your skin like morning dew clings to grass— barely visible to the naked eye, but to priests trained to read omens and divine signs, it was unmistakable. 

They said nothing outright, of course. Just subtle murmurs,

“Such radiance, even before morning prayers.”

“Lord Khaslana must be treating you very well.”

You brushed it off. Maybe it was just the afterglow of last night’s intimate session. Gods, he was affectionate, wasn’t he? Intimate moments with him often left you breathless and glowing in more ways than one. You didn’t think much of it. 

Well… until you started to notice the other things.

The love marks Phainon left, the ones you tried so hard to hide with shawls and powder, began to fade. Too quickly.

You’d wake with fresh ones, only to find them already disappearing by noon. A few hours at most. Even when you knew they were raw that morning. 

At first, you assumed Phainon was healing you in your sleep. Maybe it was just his way of doting on you, sparing you the discomfort. But soon, the phenomenon grew stranger.

Scars from childhood, a sign of your triumphant tree and wall climbing, were gone. Entirely! As if they had never existed at all. 

You didn’t get blemishes anymore, even if you were out in the sun for too long. You didn’t have eyebags after sleepless nights. Your skin remained unblemished, your body never sore, your energy strangely boundless (even after rounds of intimacy with Phainon, and you know you don’t usually last after round two).

Then years passed.

You were still young, but others weren’t. Friends begin to subtly shift as their faces grew rounder, some even sharper. Wrinkles crept in at the corners of their eyes and the edges of their mouths. Their laughter sounded the same, but their smiles were aging. 

And you… weren’t.

You still looked like the girl who arrived at the temple years ago. Your reflection hadn’t changed, and it wasn’t just your imagination.

Even Atlas, who was once clearly younger than you, now looked your age when you stood beside him. Time was grazing the world around you, but it was skipping you entirely. 

You wanted to deny it. Chalk it up to a trick of the light. Good fortune. Healthy living. Anything but the obvious.

Is being with Phainon… changing me?

The question haunted you, ghosted behind your lips every time you looked in the mirror.

You were going to ask him tonight.

But first, dinner. A long, filling meal in the temple dining hall left you comfortably full and just a little sleepy. You leaned back in your chair, stretching your limbs with a soft sigh. The thought of walking all the way back to your chambers felt… effortful.

Still, you stood, pushing back the chair, only for the world beneath your feet to suddenly vanish.

A rush of wind.

Weightlessness.

Then solid ground again.

You blinked, heart racing, when you noticed that you were in your chambers.

No footsteps. No corridor. No time passed between standing up and standing here. Your fingers curled in on instinct. The air shimmered faintly around you, sparkling with gold, like the aftershock of a spell just cast.

And sitting across the room was Phainon. He looked up from a book, startled, eyes wide in disbelief.

“Did… did you just—?” he began, slowly placing the book down.

“I–I was going to ask you that!” you stammered, breath catching. “I thought you teleported me here!”

Phainon stood quickly and crossed the room in just a few strides, his expression shifting from surprise to concern. His hands reached for you with reverence, like you might break under his touch. He cupped your face, brushed his fingers along your arms, checking you for any signs of harm or tampering.

You saw it then—the golden flickers still dancing along your skin. The shimmering residue of magic. His magic.

His frown deepened.

“I didn’t teleport you,” he murmured. “But this—” his fingers hovered just above your shoulder, where the light hadn’t yet faded, “this is my power. My exact signature.”

He stepped back, gaze locked on you as if seeing something for the first time.

He decided to ask Anaxagoras about this. 

The next day, you and Phainon journeyed to the Grove of Epiphany to visit the God of Reason, Anaxagoras. And today, Phainon carried a question that had quietly begun to terrify him.

Anaxagoras was already waiting, sitting atop his living throne—an immense, gnarled structure of divine wood and woven time, rooted deep into the heart of the grove. His form was human enough to comprehend, but his presence still felt divine.

“I heard you wanted to speak on something urgent,” Anaxagoras said dryly.

Phainon didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward and uttered the question that had haunted him since last night.

And the vein on Anaxagoras’s temple visibly popped.

“Khaslana, you absolute fool!” Anaxagoras barked, leaping from his throne so abruptly that the branches shuddered in response. “If you were my subject, I’d have struck you down with my gun!”

You blinked.

Phainon blinked harder.

“Could you explain it first and threaten me later?” he muttered, rubbing his temples.

Anaxagoras growled under his breath before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. But you’re not going to like the answer.”

He looked at you briefly, then gestured for Phainon to come closer.

“It’s your own doing,” he said. “Your powers, to be specific. Or in this case—your bodily fluids.” He shot Phainon a glare. “You’ve consummated the marriage, haven’t you?”

Phainon flushed, eyes darting away. “I mean… yes. A lot of times–”

Before he could say more, Anaxagoras reached out and flicked him hard on the forehead. The sound was crisp. “I do not need to hear details of that!”

You tried not to laugh. Truly, you did. You’d heard tales of how the gods interacted—centuries of shared chaos, rivalries, ridiculous escapades—but witnessing it firsthand was still surreal. The god of reason, flicking the god of worldbearing like a misbehaving child.

Then Anaxagoras turned to you.

Even in his mortal guise, he was intimidating.

But his voice, when he addressed you, was unexpectedly kind.

“I genuinely feel sorry for you,” he said. “Married to this fool.”

You blinked, unsure whether to thank him or agree.

Phainon groaned behind you. “You’re really not helping.”

“Let me be clear,” Anaxagoras said, turning back. “Our bodies—our fluids—aren’t like humans’. Ichor, divine essence, even our breath carries remnants of power. When exposed through repeated, intimate contact,” he emphasized, “it begins to leave a mark.”

Phainon’s brow furrowed. “So this is my fault?”

“Yes,” Anaxagoras said flatly. “Absolutely.”

“Will there be… side effects?” he asked, now more anxious than indignant.

Anaxagoras shrugged. “If you count slowed aging, accelerated healing, and a growing resistance to mortal harm as side effects, then yes. But she’s not immortal, Khaslana. Not truly. She’s just… out of sync with human time now.”

You had mixed feelings about this revelation, of course. But Phainon, knowing the pain all too well, would always comfort you whenever you had doubts. He felt sorry too, seeing as this was all because of him. But you reassured him, saying that you could be with him longer. He sighed, shaking his head. He knew you were just trying to put up a front, but he’ll play along with you. Talking about the things the two of you could now do with your extended time.

Now, talking about being mortal to divinity. Maybe at some point in your relationship, seeing as you are now aging differently, you might as well ask how to become an immortal like him. 

When you asked the question, Phainon’s smile faltered.

He didn’t answer at first. His lips parting before closing again. He looked away, as if trying to search for a gentler version of the truth.

“It’s not easy,” He said at last. “Becoming a god… means dying first.”

His voice trembled in ways you’d never heard before—not with fear, but love, tangled with the fear of losing it.

Immortality wasn’t something that could simply be gifted. It had to be earned, endured. Ascension wasn’t just glory; it was transformation. And death would be your final offering.

The ritual was ancient. It required the counsel of Castorice, goddess of death, and the consent of the other gods. 

And when approval was finally granted, he returned to you with a heavy heart and a golden chalice cradled in his hands.

The ritual took place in the Vortex of Genesis as you stood at the center of a magical circle, painted with Phainon’s golden blood.

The air shimmered, thick with power, and the light bent around your body like it already recognized your soul’s changing shape.

You stood there barefoot, wrapped in white, the chalice of ambrosia trembling in your hands.

Phainon stood behind you, arms encircling your waist, his face pressed gently into your neck. “You don’t have to do this,” he whispered, “not for me.”

But you turned to him with a steady gaze. “I’m doing this with you.”

And so you drank. The special ambrosia burned.

It wasn’t a drink—it was fire, a star condensed into liquid. It lit every vein in your body until you collapsed, convulsing, gasping as the pain overtook you. Your hands clawed at the air, and Phainon was there, pulling you into his lap, cradling you like something fragile and sacred.

“It hurts — Phainon, it hurts—!”

“I know,” He sobbed. “I know, I’m here— I’ve got you.”

He kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, and your hands. His tears evaporating everytime it touched your skin.

You screamed. Your body arched. And then—silence.

Phainon stared at your lifeless body, waiting nervously. Then, the circle glowed along with your body. 

Golden veins of light threaded through your skin, pulsing with divine rhythm. The hollows of your cheeks flushed with new life. Your breathing returned—slow, serene. You opened your eyes.

And though you were no longer mortal, your eyes were still human. Still you.

Warm. Alive.

Phainon exhaled with relief, tears still falling. He cupped your face, awestruck. “Welcome back,” He whispered, “Welcome home, my love.”

Then he kissed you, not with desperation, but reverence. 

After your ascension, Phainon chose to remain with you in Okhema.

He didn’t want you to make the same mistakes he had made.

For centuries, Khaslana had drifted through the divine currents of existence—distant, worshipped, untouchable. The god of worldbearing had carried the weight of creation across his back, but never the soft weight of a shared breath, or a mortal hand clasped in his own. He was praised by cities, prayed to by kings, but he had long since forgotten how to feel like one of them.

And over time, without even realizing it, he had let that distance hollow him out.

The more he watched from afar, the more he became something unfeeling. Something vast, and cold, and unreachable. He had thought it was the price of divinity—this quiet decay of empathy, this numbness that settled like frost across his soul.

But then you came.

And through you, your laughter, your mortal worries, your stubbornness, your warmth— he remembered. 

What it was to ache. 

To hope. 

To want. 

You brought color back to a god dulled by centuries of stillness. You touched him, and the world moved again.

Where once your relationship with Khaslana had been veiled in secrecy, now there was no more need to hide. You and Phainon walked openly through Okhema, your divine presence no longer a rumor, but a truth the people embraced. Hand in hand, you moved through the markets and narrow streets.

Your friends wept when they saw you. Some knelt. Others reached out to touch your hands, to make sure you were real. Your family embraced you with a kind of joy so deep it broke into grief.

And Atlas? He wept the most.

“Are you… Still you?”

You hugged him tightly. “I am,” you promised. “I will always be your sister.”

You and Phainon often returned to Okhema, walking through the markets, tending to the sick, healing when you could. Your powers were still new, still growing—but you used them with care, and with humility.

Just as Khaslana was the God of Worldbearing, to the people, you were now the Goddess of Humanity.

A goddess who still walked among her people, not above them, but beside them.

©salmonmakiii, do not steal my work or feed it to AI.

[elryuse]

Missed Opportunities

Chaeryeong X Male Reader

Tags : Drunk Sex, Childhood Friend Chaeryeong, Romance, Kissing, Teasing, Cheated on, Lots Of Kissing, Traumas, Creampie, Vanilla

Words : 2,884 Words

The rain was hammering down on the pavement as you stood there, frozen, staring at the scene unfolding in front of you. Jiyu, your girlfriend of two years, was laughing with a man you didn’t recognize. Her smile was radiant, the kind of smile you hadn’t seen in weeks. She leaned in, and your heart dropped as their lips met. It wasn’t a quick peck—it was deep, intimate, real.

Your chest tightened, and your breath caught in your throat. You wanted to look away, but you couldn’t. It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion. The man’s hand slid around her waist, pulling her closer, and Jiyu didn’t resist. She melted into him, as if she’d forgotten you existed.

You stumbled back, the rain soaking through your clothes, but you barely felt it. Your mind was racing, replaying every moment of your relationship. The late nights waiting for her to come home from work, the sacrifices you’d made to support her dreams, the way you’d believed in her when no one else did. And now this. Betrayal.

You turned and walked away, your footsteps heavy against the wet pavement. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, but you ignored it. You didn’t want to talk to anyone. Not yet. Not until you could process what had just happened.

But as you reached your apartment, the weight of it all hit you like a tidal wave. You sank to the floor, your hands trembling as you pulled out your phone. There was only one person you could call. One person who would understand.

“Hey,” Chaer’s voice came through the line, warm and familiar. “What’s up?”

You tried to speak, but your voice cracked. “Chaer… it’s Jiyu. She… she cheated on me.”

There was a brief pause on the other end, and then Chaeryeong’s tone shifted. “Hold on. I’m coming over.”

Less than thirty minutes later, there was a knock on your door. You opened it to find Chaer standing there, her hair damp from the rain, clutching a plastic bag filled with bottles of soju. Her eyes softened as she took in your disheveled state.

“Hey,” she said gently, stepping inside. “Let’s talk.”

She didn’t wait for an invitation. She made herself at home, pulling out two glasses and pouring them both a generous amount of soju. You sat down across from her, the weight of the evening pressing down on your shoulders.

“Tell me everything,” Chaer said, her voice steady.

And you did. You poured your heart out, recounting the moments leading up to tonight, the sacrifices you’d made, the love you thought you shared. Chaer listened intently, her eyes never leaving yours. When you finished, she reached across the table and took your hand.

“You did everything you could,” she said softly. “This isn’t on you. It’s on her.”

Her words were a balm to your wounded pride, but they didn’t erase the pain. You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I just… I don’t know what to do now.”

Chaer smiled faintly. “You’ll figure it out. You always do. Remember when you were nine and you promised to marry me if we both ended up single at thirty?”

You chuckled despite yourself. “Yeah, I remember. You said you’d hold me to it.”

“And I still might,” she teased, her eyes sparkling. “But until then, let’s focus on tonight. Let’s forget about Jiyu and just… have some fun.”

She poured another round of soju, and the two of you fell into easy conversation, reminiscing about old times. As the night wore on, the atmosphere shifted. Chaer’s laughter grew louder, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol. You found yourself noticing things you hadn’t before—the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled, the way her hair framed her face, the way her voice softened when she spoke to you.

At some point, she moved closer, her knees brushing against yours. Her breath smelled of soju, and her gaze was intense, almost… hungry.

“You know,” she said slowly, her voice barely above a whisper, “you deserve someone who’ll treat you right. Someone who appreciates you.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “Chaer…”

Before you could say anything else, she leaned in, her lips brushing against yours in a tentative kiss. It was soft, questioning, as if she was waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you deepened the kiss, your hands reaching up to cradle her face.

The world around you faded away, leaving nothing but the taste of her lips and the heat of her body pressed against yours. It was something you’d never imagined with Chaer, but now that it was happening, it felt… right.

She pulled back slightly, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice trembling.

You nodded, your heart racing. “I’m sure.”

And with that, the floodgates opened. Clothes were discarded in a frantic rush, and soon you were tangled together, losing yourself in the heat of the moment. It was raw, intense, and filled with an urgency you couldn’t explain. But amidst the chaos, there was a sense of comfort—a feeling that, no matter what happened next, you wouldn’t be alone.

But as the night stretched on, a single thought lingered in the back of your mind: What happens now?

Chaeryeong’s kisses trailed down your chest, her lips leaving a trail of warmth that made your skin tingle. Her breath was hot against your skin, mingling with the faint scent of soju that still lingered on her. She paused for a moment, her eyes locking with yours, and in that gaze, you saw a mix of desire and hesitation.

“Are you okay with this?” she whispered, her voice soft but laced with vulnerability. Her fingers hovered over the waistband of your boxers, waiting for your response.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. This was Chaer. Your Chaer. The girl who had always been there for you, the one who knew you better than anyone else. And right now, you needed her. You needed this.

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice barely audible. “I’m okay with this.”

Her lips curved into a small, relieved smile, and then she slid your boxers down, freeing you completely. The cool air brushed against your skin, but it was quickly replaced by the warmth of her hand as she wrapped her fingers around you. Her touch was tentative at first, but soon it grew more confident, her grip firm as she began to stroke you slowly.

You let out a shaky breath, your head falling back against the couch. God, this felt good. Too good. Chaer’s hand moved with a rhythm that was both teasing and deliberate, her thumb brushing over the tip in a way that made your toes curl.

Her other hand reached up to cradle your face, her thumb brushing against your cheek as she leaned in to kiss you. Her lips were soft, her kisses tender but hungry, and you responded in kind, losing yourself in the taste of her.

When she pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes dark with desire. “Let me make you feel good,” she murmured, her voice low and sultry. “Let me take care of you.”

Before you could respond, she dipped her head lower, her lips trailing down your torso until she reached where her hand was still working you. She glanced up at you, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and then she leaned in, her tongue flicking out to taste you.

The sensation was electric, sending a jolt of pleasure through your entire body. You groaned, your hands instinctively tangling in her hair as she took you deeper, her lips wrapping around you in a way that made your mind go blank.

God, she was good. Her mouth was hot, her tongue teasing and coaxing every ounce of pleasure from you. She moved with a rhythm that was almost hypnotic, her hand working in tandem with her mouth to drive you wild. You could feel yourself getting closer, the tension building in your core, but just as you were about to tip over the edge, she pulled back, leaving you gasping and wanting more.

“Chaer,” you groaned, your voice strained. “Please…”

She smirked, her lips glistening, and then she stood up, her hands moving to the hem of her shirt. Slowly, she pulled it over her head, revealing the smooth expanse of her skin. Her breath hitched as she reached behind her to unhook her bra, letting it fall to the floor. Her breasts were perfect, full and inviting, and you couldn’t help but reach out to touch her, your hands brushing against her skin.

She moaned softly at your touch, her body arching into your hands. “You’re so beautiful,” you murmured, your voice thick with emotion.

Her eyes softened, and then she leaned in to kiss you again, her body pressing against yours. Her hands moved to your shoulders, pushing you back against the couch as she straddled your lap. The heat between your bodies was almost unbearable, and when she rocked her hips against yours, you couldn’t suppress the groan that escaped your lips.

“Chaer,” you whispered, your hands gripping her waist. “Are you sure—”

She silenced you with a kiss, her lips firm against yours. “I’m sure,” she breathed against your mouth. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, and then she reached down, her fingers brushing against the wetness between her thighs. She bit her lip, her eyes locking with yours as she guided you to her entrance.

The moment she sank down onto you, you both moaned in unison. She was tight, her body clenching around you in a way that made you see stars. Her hands gripped your shoulders, her nails digging into your skin as she began to move, her hips rolling in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

“Kiss me,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Please, kiss me.”

You didn’t hesitate, your lips crashing against hers as you let yourself get lost in the sensation. Her body felt like heaven, her warmth enveloping you completely. You moved together, your bodies syncing in a way that felt almost too perfect.

But as much as you wanted this to last forever, you could feel yourself getting closer, the tension building to a breaking point. Chaer must have felt it too because she moaned against your lips, her movements growing more frantic.

“Don’t stop,” she pleaded, her voice barely a whisper. “Don’t stop…”

And you didn’t. You couldn’t. The world around you faded away until it was just you and Chaer, lost in each other, chasing the pleasure that only the other could give.

When it finally came, it hit you like a tidal wave, crashing over you and pulling you under. You cried out, your body trembling as you clung to her, and she followed right after, her body shuddering as she buried her face in your neck.

For a moment, you just sat there, holding each other, your breaths mingling as you tried to calm your racing hearts. And then Chaer pulled back slightly, her eyes searching yours.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice soft.

You nodded, your lips curving into a small smile. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I’m okay.”

But as she leaned in to kiss you again, the thought lingered in the back of your mind: What happens now?

Chaeryeong’s lips lingered on yours, soft and tender, but the heat between you was undeniable. Her breath hitched as she pulled back, her cheeks flushed, her eyes dark with desire. “Do you trust me?” she whispered, her voice trembling with anticipation.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Always,” you murmured, brushing a strand of damp hair from her face.

Her lips curved into a mischievous smile, and she leaned in close, her lips brushing against your ear. “Then let’s try something new,” she purred, her voice low and sultry. She took your hand and led you to the kitchen, her hips swaying with every step.

The countertop was cool against your palms as Chaer turned to face you, her eyes locked on yours. She guided your hands to her hips, her breath quickening as you gripped her tightly. “Bend me over the counter,” she breathed, her voice trembling with need.

You hesitated for a moment, but the look in her eyes told you she wanted this—needed this. You guided her forward, her hands pressing against the counter as she bent over, her back arched invitingly. Your hands slid down her sides, feeling the curve of her waist, the warmth of her skin beneath your fingertips.

“Take me,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of your racing heart.

You didn’t need to be told twice. Your hands gripped her hips tightly as you positioned yourself behind her, the scent of her arousal intoxicating. You slid into her slowly, savoring the tight, wet heat that enveloped you. Chaer let out a soft moan, her fingers curling against the countertop.

The rhythm started slow, deliberate, each thrust drawing a gasp from her lips. But soon, the pace quickened, driven by the raw need between you. Your hands gripped her hips tightly, pulling her back against you with each thrust, the sound of skin against skin filling the room.

“Harder,” Chaer moaned, her voice trembling with pleasure. “Please, harder.”

You obliged, your thrusts growing deeper, more forceful. Her moans grew louder, echoing off the walls as she writhed beneath you. Her hands fumbled against the counter, searching for purchase as pleasure coursed through her body.

“Slap me,” she gasped, her voice barely coherent. “Playfully. Please.”

You hesitated for a moment, but the look in her eyes—wild, desperate, filled with desire—told you she wanted this. Your hand came down on her ass with a sharp smack, the sound ringing out in the room. Chaer let out a loud moan, her body trembling as she pushed back against you, urging you on.

The rhythm was relentless now, each thrust driving her closer to the edge. Her moans grew more frantic, her body trembling as pleasure built within her. “Oh, God,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “I’m so close.”

You could feel it too, the heat coiling in your belly, the tension building with each thrust. Your hands gripped her hips tighter, pulling her back against you as you drove into her with everything you had. Chaer’s body convulsed as she came, her voice breaking in a high-pitched cry. The sensation pushed you over the edge, and you followed her, your release crashing over you in waves.

For a moment, you just stood there, panting, your bodies trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. Chaer slowly straightened, turning to face you, her eyes hooded with satisfaction. She reached out, her fingers brushing against your cheek, her touch tender and affectionate.

“Was that okay?” she asked, her voice soft but laced with a hint of playfulness.

You nodded, your lips curling into a smile. “More than okay,” you murmured, pulling her into a gentle kiss.

Her hands slid up your chest, her touch sending shivers down your spine. “What now?” she whispered, her breath warm against your lips.

You grinned, your hands sliding down to her hips. “Why stop now?” you murmured, your voice low and teasing.

Chaer laughed, the sound light and carefree. “Good point,” she purred, her lips brushing against yours. “Let’s keep going.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Her hands tangled in your hair as you kissed her deeply, the heat between you reigniting as quickly as it had faded. You lifted her onto the counter, her legs wrapping around your waist as you slid into her once more, the rhythm slow but steady.

Her moans filled the room as you moved together, the pleasure building once more. “You feel so good,” Chaer gasped, her fingers digging into your shoulders. “So good.”

You didn’t respond, your focus solely on the woman in front of you, on the way her body moved against yours, on the sounds she made as you drove her closer to the edge once more. Her nails dug into your skin as pleasure overtook her, her cries echoing in the room.

The heat built within you once more, the tension coiling in your belly as you drove into her, each thrust deeper than the last. Chaer’s body trembled as she came, her cries urging you on as you followed her over the edge, the pleasure crashing over you once more.

For a moment, you just stood there, panting, your bodies trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. Chaer leaned forward, her forehead resting against yours, her breath warm against your skin.

“What now?” she whispered, her voice soft but laced with a hint of mischief.

You grinned, your hands sliding down to her hips. “What do you want?” you murmured, your voice low and teasing.

Chaer laughed, the sound light and carefree. “You,” she purred, her lips brushing against yours. “Always you.”

[sinsinsininning]

Interrogation

Pt 2 of Spoils of Victory

Word count: 9.37k

Synopsis: Kid and Killer poke holes in your story, when new evidence appears and you refuse to fess up, Kid comes up with creative interrogation tactics.

Warnings: SMUT, so much smut, dubcon (at first, then it’s eager consent), fem reader, canon typical violence and swearing, toxic behavior, unhealthy coping skills, power imbalances, oral (fem receiving), rough sex, blindfolds, bondage/restraint, biting, soooooo much biting, jealous Kid and Killer, marathon sex, multiple orgasms (fem receiving), praise, slight degradation, pet names (baby, darling, baby girl, good girl etc), threats of violence, slight humiliation, hair pulling, mentions of choking, mentions of pregnancy, breeding kink, Kid swearing, Soft Killer (he’s so soft in this), Hard Dom Kid (he’s bossy mostly), Killer is honestly more of a switch in this, this is why Kid got a new coat/cape after the time skip, feelings if you squint, aftercare

Notes: yeah I’m not gonna lie this got away from me, idk how it got to be almost 10k words 😳 but I’m a big Kid fan and an even bigger Killer fan. This scenario was actually in my brain before Spoils of Victory and is why I wrote it. And yes I will be writing a real part two for SoV, I just needed to finish this one first.

Life moved quickly after Kid lost his arm, Killer and the crew worked hard while he healed, leaving him to tinker in his workshop for days on end. One afternoon he stormed onto the deck, sneering as he looked for you. It didn’t take him long, you had a sixth sense for knowing when you were needed. He shoved a new harness with a new Jolly Roger buckle into your hands, grumbling about not losing your shit again in the future.

In the days following the battle you’d done your best to keep a low profile, staying busy with projects and avoiding shore leave. Your crew, bless them, made that difficult, falling over each other to praise you. It was hard to stay mad at them for it, you were a rookie, less than 2 years on the sea and you’d managed to not only save your captain, but survive an encounter with an emperor.

But you didn’t want to remember the fight, your subsequent betrayal with Shanks. You’d scrubbed your body in the shower, hoping to rid yourself of any traces of the enemy captain, his scent, his cum. Looking over yourself in the bathroom, blissfully alone, you’d be pleased to see the marks were minimal. Some bruising on your wrists, scrapes on your arms and legs, nothing telling. Though the large red handprint on your ass made you pause, you hadn’t realized he’d spanked you that hard and only once too. The thought made you shiver and dress yourself quickly.

You stuck to longer shorts or pants until the redness faded.

Guilt ate up at you as killer sat you down to debrief a few days after. Asking for the run down, you fidgeted in your chair, uncomfortable with his masked gaze on you. You apologized, for breaking rank and abandoning your post, for risking the captain’s life without a plan, for worrying everyone when you’d disappeared. It made you feel better about what you couldn’t apologize for.

Killer had been surprisingly kind, assuring you he wasn’t mad, just needed to know what happened so he could tell the captain. At that you squirmed more, eyes wet as you tried to avoid looking at him. At his prodding you told a believable story.

You’d used the smoke as a cover to extract Kid, but he was too heavy and there was no back up so you hid in the woods. From there you patched up Kid as well as you could. Shanks caught you in the act, now your story started to divulge from the truth. You’d ran with Kid, again, stashing him behind the boulder in the hopes you could loop around and grab him.

Killer interrupted to tell you it was at this time he’d been informed of Kid’s injury, he and several crew members set out to find Kid. He’d only known you were missing when he found your pack beside the unconscious captain. He asked how you managed to escape.

You said you ran and ran and ran, no plan, no map, nothing. Shanks of course caught up to you. With a shudder you paused your recount, breathing hard, Killer came closer resting a hand on your shoulder. For a moment you wondered if you could tell him the truth.

Don’t tell Kid. You’d pleaded, but he leaned back, telling you he wouldn’t keep anything from his captain.

You nodded, deciding to maintain the lie and told him how you’d begged and cried when Shanks caught you, unbecoming of a Kid Pirate you weren’t proud, but it’d worked. You told him how the emperor was seemingly amused by you, you wondered aloud if the emperor could sense you had zero fighting skills. Killer nodded along, agreeing that was likely the case.

You felt sick lying to him, telling him Shanks had dragged you back to the beach by your hair. Mocking you the entire way.

Killer asked what the red haired pirate had whispered to you on the beach before releasing you. You gulped, unprepared and stared at your shoes for a while.

At his prompting you finally said he’d just told you ‘good luck groveling to your captain.’ You shivered as you avoided looking at him. ‘If you’d been on my crew I wouldn’t take you back after all this.’ It felt close enough to the truth, your own secret thoughts of yourself.

Killer was quiet, hand back on you shoulder as he reassured you, no one expected you to fight off an emperor and while some may look down on you for begging, in the end it didn’t matter because you’d survived. You asked him to still not tell the crew which he obliged.

As he let you leave he chuckled and said it didn’t matter what the crew thought, only Kid.

That didn’t make you feel better.

So you gave yourself punishments to make up for lying on top of everything else. More chores, the worst shifts, last to eat. Your crew joked that you acted like surviving an emperor warranted punishment. You laughed and said you felt bad ditching your post, though you stopped answering when the praise that garnered made you feel ill.

It was only a week after the incident when Kid decided on an island to make their home base while they trained. He’d begrudgingly acknowledged they weren’t ready for the grand line yet, but they would be.

It was a small island tucked away, only occupied by a small village. The kid pirates set up camp on the opposite side, for once leaving the civilians alone. When asked, Killer explained the benefits of the locals handling supplies and infrastructure for them so they could focus on training. The locals weren’t pleased to be forced to build their hideout, but after a few… displays of power, they agreed and buildings went up quickly.

You’d scaled back your self imposed punishment as days went on, the guilt easing as you worked hard. You studied as much practical medicine as you could and worked on your marksmen skills. Killer even helped you improve your combat skills, especially in close quarters, you’d spend mornings trying to wiggle your way out of various holds or blocking strikes.

It was during one of these mornings, maybe a month after the ordeal, that your uneasy peace ended.

“Mail’s here!” Quincy shouted from the dock, her voice carrying over the noise and bustle of the morning.

It distracted you just enough for Killer to hit you in the side with the blunt ends of his scythes. You wheezed, falling aside into the sand as the wind was knocked from you.

“Focus up.” He muttered, letting out a small chuckle as you whined pitifully.

“Killer, got some bounties here for ya~!” Quincy pranced over to you, playfully nudging you with her foot as she held the papers out, you swiped at her legs pitifully.

“Thanks.” He nodded to dismiss the bubbly pirate. “I’ll post them it a bit.”

While he shuffled the pages, you sat on the sand, he was usually fast at reviewing the weekly bounty updates. Once he was done your training would resume, the stinging from his strike had already stopped and you were ready to go again.

You watched as he paused shuffling, staring at the papers, his fingers tense.

“Bad news?” You asked, standing now so you could peek at the pages, he tucked them under his arm.

“Training’s done for the day.” He said flatly, taking off quickly down the shore.

You sighed deciding to start on your chores for the day, mopping the deck and galley. Not fun or glamorous, but at least it was fast.

You’d barely finished filling the bucket when Kid’s booming voice shook the ship. Everyone rushed to the deck, those outside gathered on the dock. You hung over the railing, watching as Killer placed a hand on the captain’s shoulder, too far to hear what they were saying.

“Everyone off my damn ship!” Kid yelled. “Now!”

You sighed, yet unsurprised, the captain had done this before. But it meant you were stuck in shore for however long until he decided to let crew back on.

As you walked past, a large hand grasped you by the harness. “Not you.” Kid growled.

Your heart picked up, thudding loudly in your ears. Some crew eyed you with sympathy as they passed, some with suspicion, but no one paused.

“Boss?” You asked nervously, but the red head just sneered at you, dragging you back onto the ship.

He held you by the back of your harness, you dangled like a kitten scruffed. You glanced back at Killer who followed closely behind.

You kept quiet as your captain dragged you down to the med bay.

He held you with his flesh hand and rifled through the drawer with his metal, you tried to peek at what he was grabbing. He shoved you into Killer’s arms, the blonde man kept an arm around your middle, your feet still not touching the floor. He felt warm and solid against you, it weirdly reassured you.

Without a word Kid marched out, down the hall to his workshop, yanking the door open. Killer set you down, just for Kid to yank you again to his face.

“Wanna tell me the truth?” Kid asked, voice a low rumble.

Your stomach clenched, tense as you tried to lean back. “What’re you talking about?”

That was the wrong answer, Kid growled, gripping you by the throat now.

Behind you Killer moved closer, his heat making you sweat nervously.

“Oh you’re playing dumb? That how you wanna do this?” He grinned, tightening his flesh hand around your throat, just enough to make you lightheaded.

“I- I haven’t done anything!” You tried to insist, gripping his wrist, trying to relieve the pressure.

Shuffling papers behind you and suddenly you see your own face, printed on a bounty.

“Your bounty went up to 200,000 Berris.” Killer said, shaking the page at you. “That’s 200,000 more than last month.”

“What?” You gasped, sucking in a small bit of air. “How?”

Medics don’t get bounties, or if they did it was measly amounts. It was pretty typical across all crews, plenty of your crew mates didn’t have bounties higher than 1,000.

“You tell me.” Kid growled, golden eyes searching your face. “A month ago you were a blip on the radar, now you’ve got a 200,000 Berri bounty!”

You shook your head, unsure how to explain it, though a thought itched in the back of your head. Could this have been about the battle?

“What’s more…” Killer flipped another page, this one was a photo, torn from a news paper.

“Is that…Shanks?” You sputtered, your face reddening as you looked over the picture.

Indeed, staring back at you was a picture of the emperor, grinning at the camera, head tilted just enough to reveal a purpling bite. It was angry looking and swollen, right at the juncture where neck met shoulder.

You wriggled in your captain’s grip more.

“What does that got to do with me?” You asked, trying to twist yourself, but Kid only clamped tighter.

“You bit the emperor didn’t you?” Kid hissed.

Killer pressed closer to your back, shoving the photo into your face more. “You were missing for nearly an hour, come back with a bloody mouth, you even said you thought you bit him!”

“You think I didn’t notice?” Kid looked manic as you gasped for air, he lessened his hold an itch. “You sneaking contraception from the med bay? In front of me! You think you’re slick!”

His hands held up the blister pack of birth control, the same one you’d pilfered and returned after the battle, missing two pills.

“I-I needed it because-“ You trailed off, eyes moving frantically between Kid’s irate face and the grinning photo.

“I was gonna let it go,” He grinned, voice dropping. “Fuck if I care if you’re fucking someone. You’re a good medic, I don’t care if you take a few pills without asking.”

“But all these little inconsistencies, your bounty increasing, a picture of Shanks just days after the battle with a bite, the missing pills.” Killer’s voice was so deep, so close you could feel it rumbling your body. “Your story’s not adding up.”

“I can explain-“

Kid cuts you off with a laugh. “I bet you could, clever little thing, bet you could convince a fucking fish to bite your line.”

“The only thing we know for sure is,” Killer muttered. “Is that you’re lying.”

You don’t speak, too scared to even open your mouth.

“You’re gonna tell us the truth.” Kid used his metal hand to grip your face.

You let out a squeaky moan, eyes shutting at the familiar pressure. Heat flashed through your body in shame and arousal, staining your cheeks red.

The room is silent, you felt tears gather at your lash line, eyes still screwed shut from shame and fear. Killer finally burst out into a wild laugh behind you, so loud and manic you felt it move up your spine.

Your eyes snapped open, meeting Kid’s bewildered expression. His pupils were blown out, face splitting into a grin.

“Ooohhh that’s real interesting.” He laughed. “You’re gonna tell me everything that happened on that island, if you behave I won’t throw you overboard.”

A part of you wondered why he didn’t threaten to kill you, but as he set you on your feet your focus shifted. Lightheaded and fearful, you sway on your feet, nearly crumpling as you clutch Killer’s arm. The first mate has stopped laughing, instead staring at Kid who sat on his workbench leaning back as he beckoned you forward.

You stumbled towards your captain, he spread his legs and you moved to stand between. Your hands shaking, his blatant arousal surprised you, hard on straining his pants. Wondering if you should sink to your knees, he gestured for you to turn around.

You did, facing Killer, your back stiff as you wondered what your captain had planned for you.

“Strip.” He ordered, breath ghosting again your shoulders.

“Captain, please.” You said, fists and eyes clenched. “Please I’ll be good, I’ll tell you everything.”

“Strip.” He repeated, voice lower, almost gentle. You’re tempted to turn around and pursue that softness.

“Kid.” Killer warned, you relaxed realizing he was just as lost as you.

Your captain sighed, like he was annoyed, and leaned back again.

“I called you in here to interrogate you,” Kid huffed, annoyed he had to explain himself. “But it’s clear you can’t be honest.”

You try to turn and argue, but he quickly put a firm hold on your hips

“Your moaning got me thinking,” You could hear the smirk in his voice. “Your pussy wouldn’t lie.”

Killer grunted, stalking closer now.

“So strip, little medic, and tell me the truth.” His hands were gripping your hips tightly. “You do that, I’ll forgive ya.”

“Kid.” Killer warned again, but didn’t move to stop him.

“Come on, be a good girl, let ya captain see how loyal you are.” Kid snarled, pressing against your back more. Even sitting, he still towered over you.

You hesitated, heart thumping, your thighs clenching. Something not lost on your captain and first mate.

“I know you fucked Shanks.” He said, you flinched. “Now’s the time to tell me the truth and beg for forgiveness.”

You nod, hands going to your pant’s button. Killer places a hand on your shoulder. You nod again, eyes watery as you look up at him, and you tug your belt loose.

“Help her out Kil.” Kid ordered, leaning back again.

Killer swiftly sinks to his knees, pulling your boots off before dragging your pants down. You place your hands on his shoulder as you step out of the clothing, still shaking.

You took off your gloves and accessories as he pulls your socks off one at a time. Just as you start to unbuckle your harness, Kid squeezed your hips harshly.

“Keep it on.” He ordered, voice smug as you leave his Jolly Roger on your skin.

Killer helps you shuffle your shirt off, then your bra, it’s awkward, pulling it out from under your harness. His hands skim along your skin, taking stock of any nicks or bruises he finds.

Kid snaps the band of your panties and you jump, letting out a small squeak. With a red face you let Killer drag it down your legs, keeping your knees together even as you step out of them.

“Good girl.” Kid cooed, you shuddered, clenching again at his praise.

His hands slide up to the harness, wrapping his flesh hand around it. He yanked you back to sit on his lap.

You squeak, arms crossed to cover your breasts as he hooked your legs over his knees. Killer watched, breathing heavily, as his captain spread you wide before him.

“There ya go.” Kid growled, sliding his legs open even more. “Kil start working her over.”

The first mate hesitated, you could see a blush reaching down his neck, but with his face covered you couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“Huh? Oh yeah.” Kid muttered.

He yanked your tank top from the ground, jostling you in his lap as he did. You grunted, but didn’t complain.

The fabric covering your eyes confused you, until you head the snap of helmet clasps. You managed to not flinch when his tongue first swiped up your slit, sighing as he laps at your slick. You try to slide your fingers into his hair.

“Don’t get comfortable,” Kid grumbled, metal encircled your wrist and yanked your arms back to hang around his neck. “You’re still being interrogated here.”

The position was a bit uncomfortable, your arms straining, but you could fiddle with the hairs on the nape of Kid neck. Killer pressed his tongue firmly on your clit and you let out a shaky moan again.

Killer squeezed your thigh and you relax a bit in the hold.

“Start at the beginning.” Kid ordered.

“I-um I saw you lose your arm, on- on the scope.” You began, stuttering as sparks of pleasure flick up your spine. “Killer was against Beckman, ac-across the field. No kid pirates near you, the on air crew was starting to retreat.”

Kid hums at your words, dragging his flesh hand up to grope at your tits. You sputter as he tugs on a nipple but continue.

“I shot smoke bombs, 3 of them, and went out to get you. I told my team I was doing it.” You tried to focus as Killer sucked on your clit, making you moan between words. “I knocked you over and ducked under th-the ah! Shanks blade.”

Kid gave your neck a kiss, surprisingly gentle and you arched your back.

“I tried to run bac-back but you ah shit you’re too heavy for me.”

Both men let out grunts of laughter, your skin vibrating under their lips. You let out a loud moan now, Killer redoubled his effort on your clit, sucking gently. Kid pinched your side, making you squeak again before continuing.

“Ah, I dodged some strikes, uh Shanks’ strikes, um and I headed into the trees for ah for cover.” You shivered, trying to rock your hips against Killer’s mouth but he held you in place. “I- I found a spot and hid, I field dressed your arm.”

You paused, nervous to continue, this is where your previous story and reality had differed.

“Come on, keep talking.” Kid nipped at your neck and twisted your nipple again.

“Fuck. Shanks was there, but- but I only had a knife. I stood to fight, but- but he knew I wasn’t a threat.” You tried to talk faster. “He said he was gonna kill you so I-“

“Ah ah ah.” Kid bit at your earlobe. “What exactly did he say? Don’t skip over anything, I want exact words.”

Killer slid one long finger into and you whined, twisting again.

“I- I don’t remember exact-Aaaaah!” Killer bit down harshly on your clit as you lied.

Kid wrapped his flesh hand around your throat and growled again. “When ya gonna stop lying? I know you remember.”

You squealed and cried, tears falling as Killer finally lets up. Suckling on you gently now like he was sorry.

“He- he said I was a sneaky little thing.” You stuttered, Kid’s hum of approval gave you a pleasant buzz across your skin. “And when I stood between you and him, he said I was loyal too. I told him no one would know if he let us go and that he’d obviously won.”

Killer crooked his finger to press against your g spot.

“I said- oh fuck- I said I wasn’t a threat. He said I’d tell everyone that he’d let me go and I’d ruin his rep.” You let out a shuddering moan, you were getting close to cumming. “I-uh I said I wouldn’t tell because-“

You cut off with a whine.

“Keep going.” Kid barked, you flinched in his hold.

“I said that I wouldn’t tell anyone because it’d ruin my reputation if my captain knew I’d begged him.” You whined, given up on rocking your hips for more.

Killer and Kid let out loud laughs at this, the pleasant vibrations bring you to the edge. You whine again and try to hold off.

“Ok fine, cum.” Kid groans into your ear. “Little reward for behaving.”

Hearing this, Killer moves his finger and mouth faster, you wailed as your orgasm washed over you. Your body clenching rhythmically as white hot pleasure shot through you. Killer fingered you through it, though he pulled his mouth off you as you came down.

“Ok, ok.” Kid huffed, letting go of your neck to stroke and fondle your sides again. “Keep going.”

It took you a moment to remember where you’d left off.

“I-ah, ah he laughed, then asked-um ’this is begging’ and he wanted me to actually beg. So- so I did, I didn’t want to but- but fuck Captain you were in pain and I thought-“ You let out a sob, a real sob of fear and panic.

Killer retracted his hand, instead stroking over your thighs reassuringly, kissing the skin he could reach.

“It’s alright, it’s alright.” Kid’s comfort voice was….not very comforting, but the familiar, gruff tone somehow made you feel better. “You’re doing good, keep going.”

You flushed at the praise, your fingers curling into the short hairs you could reach. He hummed and let you relax like this for a moment.

“I got on m-my knees and pleaded for your life, he…he said I was a pre-pretty sight even with the blood and dirt and- and my um my Jolly Roger harness.” You stuttered, Killer’s mouth returning to your cunt.

Kid growled, you could hear his teeth grinding, but he let you continue.

“I was scared, but I asked him what he wanted.” You went on. “He made me repeat it and I asked what he wanted in exchange for my captain’s life.”

Kid groaned at that, alternating between wet kisses and sharp bites on the skin of your neck. For the first time you notice him pressing his hips tightly to your ass.

“That’s my girl, hmmmm you are loyal.” He murmured to you.

Elated you sighed pleasantly at the attention, even trying to press your hips back to his. Killer kept a firm hold though.

“He asked what I was offering but when I didn’t answer he just said we both knew what he wanted.” You said, voice breathless and Kid pinched your nipples again. “He-he tried to undress me right then but I stopped him and asked how did I know he would keep his promise.”

“Smart girl.” Kid chuckled in your ear, before dragging his tongue over the skin of your shoulder.

“He took me to- fuck- someplace deeper on the island. I’m not sure.” You took a shaky breath. “He said the crew would find you soon and- and then he said I’d better hope they didn’t leave without me.”

You whined as Killer pressed his tongue into you.

You shuddered again. “He said if you did he’d keep me, if-if I did a good enough job.”

Kid growled into your ear again, Killer pulling back fully now, you could imagine their twin glares.

“Like hell he would!” Kid seethed, pressing you so tightly to him you felt the breath knock out of you. “He’s not stealing my medic!”

“We wouldn’t let that happen.” Killer placed a sloppy kiss to your knee.

You flushed under their praise and protectiveness, thankful for the blindfold now.

“Hey didn’t tell ya to stop.” Kid chided you, lightly pinching your hip.

“Ah, I didn’t say anything, I just tried to take his pants off so it would be over. Shit.” You hissed as Kid’s fingers pinch you again, his disdain clear. “He shoved me down and got angry, he said he didn’t say I could touch him and then grabbed my face-“

“That why you moaned?” Kid asked, biting your neck. “You liked when he did that?”

You continued, not answering him out of embarrassment.

“He- he said he was gonna use me until- ah- until he was happy.” You paused, blushing more before continuing. “He said until he was shooting blanks, if-if that was what he wanted and I was just gonna take it until he let me go.”

Kid grumbled again, but let you speak. Killer’s fingers returned to your cunt, sliding in two this time as you keened softly.

“He tied my wrists- ah- then he asked if I was a virgin.”

“Shit were ya?” Kid asked, like he was worried, you shivered at his words.

“No-no and I told him that.” You tried to say quickly.

“What then?”

“He cut up my harness and took my Jolly Roger.” You whine as Killer curled his fingers. “Then he um stripped me and -ah- he start to um eat me out.”

You squeaked out the last bit, embarrassed despite yourself.

Killer growled, the first time you’d heard him do so, he worked faster now. Trying to build up your orgasm now instead of teasing you.

“Ya jealous Killer?” Kid cackled, egging his best friend on.

The blonde just huffed through his nose, stroking circles with his tongue on your clit.

“Who’s better,” Kid asked you, jostling your face with his metal hand. “Killer or Shanks?”

You arch your back as you get closer and closer to the edge, whimpering out.

“Killer! Fuck! Killer is!”

The satisfied groan Killer let out pushed you over the edge, your captain whispering filthy words in your ear as you did.

As you came down a second time, you felt Kid’s flesh hand sneak down your body, pushing Killer’s head back from your cunt. Your first mate grunted a bit, annoyed, but slowly pulled away.

“Stop spoiling her, she’s not done yet.” He ordered, laughing, you assumed Killer had pulled a face. “Keep going, baby.”

The pet name made you twitch, panting hard as you tried to continue.

“I-hah- I tried not to enjoy it and he said he wanted me to cum on his tongue. Ho-how he could tell I wanted it.” You hesitated. “He said I was soaked, um I said it was from battle he said I was lying-Shit!”

Kid dragged his finger on your clit, the rough calluses catching the sensitive flesh.

“Don’t listen to that bastard.” Kid scoffed. “That’s normal.”

Killer kissed the inside of your thigh again.

“Stop stalling,” Kid ordered. “I can tell there’s more.”

You shiver nervously.

“I-I’m scared you’ll be mad.” You confessed. “At the things he said.”

“Probably.” Kid deadpanned, you whined. “But you’re gonna tell me anyways cause I said so.”

You swallow, breaking out in a sweat now.

Kid sighed, his hand pulling away now, Killer kissed over your clit gentle before pulling back.

“It’s alright, darling, I promise I won’t get mad.” He whispered to your skin, dragging his tongue through the mess on your thighs. “Wont let the captain yell at ya too much.”

You huffed out a laugh, his words actually relaxing you. Reminded you why you were doing all this, to prove your loyalty to the crew.

“I um I kept fighting to not cum and he got mad. I remember he grabbed his sword handle.” You paused at Kid’s growl, his grip tightening in anger. Killer’s hand slipped between yours and Kid’s legs, firmly squeezing the captain’s thigh. “Do I have to repeat exactly what he said?”

Kid bit down on your neck as Killer answers yes.

“He said I’d better cooperate, then he started f-fingering me-ah- me. He said- he said if I didn’t he’d go back and kill the crew and fuck me while-“ You twist in the hold, Killer’s mouth returning to your cunt. “Ah! While my dying captain watches.”

A squeal rips from you as Kid seethes, pulling your face to kiss at your lips. The stretch is uncomfortable but you sigh into his mouth, gripping his hair harder now. Between your legs, Killer keeps a steady, gentle pace, teasing your over sensitive skin.

“I’m sorry captain.” You whine against his mouth, voice wet and tears soaking your makeshift blindfold. “I’m-I’m so sorry!”

“Quiet ya crying it’s not your fault.” He muttered, pulling back.

“It’s- it’s not that, it’s that-“ You cut off with a whine. “I- he was fingering me and I was so cl-close! I came when he said that! I’m sorry!”

Kid barked a laugh, twisting your nipple.

“You’re a sicko huh?” He asked mockingly. “Ya can’t get your rocks off without some kinky shit?”

You thrash in his hold, distressed. “It wasn’t what he said! I promise I was just so close and- and-“

“Easy, love, I’m just teasing ya.” He muttered, tone annoyed but familiar. Like how he sounded checking on injured crew after a fight. He ran a large hand gently up and down your side.

“He laughed and said I must like it then and then he kept eating me out cause I came on his fingers not his cum.” You swallowed, Killer’s teasing touches turned firmer as you spoke. “I-I stopped fighting it and came again. Then he started fucking me and asked for my name.”

Kid clicked his teeth. “He must’ve been the one to up your bounty then, fuck I don’t know how else it could’ve gone up.”

“Wh-why would he do that?” You pant, trying to focus as Killer slips another finger into you. He pulls his mouth back just a bit.

“To track you.” He muttered, lips still brushing your throbbing clit. “With a sizable bounty, it’s easier for him to follow your movements and status.”

Kid growled, arm tightening around you possessively.

“Why the fuck would he want that huh?” He asked you. “Can’t find anyone else to fuck he’s gotta stalk my medic?”

You whimper, feeling a new wave of tears begin to form. “I-I think I know.”

“Well?” Kid asked. “Don’t hold out on us.”

You nod, trying not to shake in his hold.

“He um he and I kept fucking for a while,” You shuddered as Kid dragged a finger over your clit again, gently petting it. You writhed in his lap for a moment. “I- hah- I came and he started- oh fuck!”

You shuddered, Kid’s finger sped up as Killer’s slowed.

“What happened that made him up your bounty?” Killer reminded you.

“He-ah fuck- he kept saying he could stay there-ah in me forever and how he wanted to ke-keep meeee.” You squealed as Kid bullied two thick fingers into your cunt alongside Killer’s.

“Fucking bastard!” He sneered.

He took his fingers out and stood, hauling you up effortlessly as you cry out.

“How’d he fuck you?” He asked, pulling your arms off of his neck. “What position?”

“On my back, my-my knees to my chest lik-like a mating press.”

You could hear Kid’s laugh as he laid you back, just like you’d described, though he released your wrists from the metal. Killer’s hands helped you keep your knees up. The wood floor was rough, you must’ve flinched.

“Hold on.” Killer said, lifting you smoothly, you hear Kid’s startled ‘huh?’ And when he sets you down you’re on a much fluffier surface.

Kid’s coat, the thought makes you flush and you wondered if you should point out the deja vu.

Killer’s hands returned to your legs, he knelt by your head and held your knees to your chest. With your hands free you ran them up his arms, finger tingling as the pins and needles feeling faded.

Kid didn’t speak as he knelt down, his hands-metal and flesh- grabbed your thighs roughly. You squealed as he ran his tongue up your slit. Once, then twice.

He pulled back, grunting under his breath, you felt his tip against your clit. It’s leaking already, he rutted it against you, the added slick made you pant with want. Just as he pressed it to you, really pressed it, you cried out, hands coming up to his chest.

“W-Wait!” You yelped, surprisingly he does, pulling back fully. His hands were still on your thighs, Killer’s on your knees. “Can I have the blindfold off?”

You can tell they’re having a conversation, even without words you could feel the exchanged looks. Just as you were about to beg, Killer’s hand left your knee, and the blindfold was yanked off.

Your vision swam for a moment, spots of light dancing as your eyes adjusted again. The man above you was handsome, despite the nervousness clear on his face. You blushed as he stared down at you.

Oh shit, he’s hot.

Kid grunted, catching your attention as he ran his cock over your cunt again. The head slipped in easily, you were so wet from everything already, you gasped. Trying to stay still, you couldn’t help but twitch as he thrusted more into you. The stretch and burn as he pressed in more made you stiffen, halting his movements.

“Shit- don’t do that!” Kid hissed, gritting his teeth as he paused, waiting for you to relax again.

Killer slipped a hand to your chest, not twisting or pulling, just gently fondling. His thumb flicked your nipple, earning another gasp.

“It’s alright pretty girl,” His voice was deep, much smoother without the mask. “Relax for us.”

Kid bullied a few more inches, you already felt too full, but you willed yourself to relax. His thumb pressed on your clit, gentle despite his snarled expression. Killer talks you through it, until your captain’s hips are flush to your ass.

“Kid- oh fuck- Kid!” You squealed, trying not to squirm as the sensation of too full over whelmed you. “Please-hah- please please.”

He laughed, expression pinched as he drew himself out of you, pressing back in slowly.

“Ya already cock drunk, huh?” He mocked you, thrusting harder once, then twice, to watch your face tear up. “Look at her Kil, she’s fucking gone.”

You try to lookup at your first mate, but your eyes were hazy and crossed. Another moan punched out of you as Kid kept a steady pace.

Reaching up a shaky hand, you cup Killer’s bare face, flushed red with embarrassment, and whined.

“Hey, focus on me.” Kid growled, yanking your chin with his flesh hand. “I’m the one who’s fucking ya!”

You nod, dumb on his cock as he pistoned his hips. Fucking you further into his coat, you don’t hold back your whines and moans. You let Kid careen you towards a climax, letting your mind go blank as he did.

Kid doesn’t hold back now, whispering filthy words to you as he hunched over you more.

“Dirty fucking girl, bet you wanted this the second you came back onto my ship.” He groaned, eyes locked on yours. “You been aching for your captain’s cock? Bet if I told ya to ride me on that med cot and you would’ve. I’ve barely fucking started and you’re already a mess.”

He didn’t wait for you to respond, not that you could anyways, he just sped up. Your legs burn from the strain, eyes rolling back as you approach your climax.

“Ah! Ah! I’m clo- oh fuuuuck I’m so close! Kid!” You whine, hands moving to weakly grip at his arms.

“Come on, come on.” He growls, your moans making his hips move faster. “Be a good girl and cum for me.”

You nod along dumbly, breathes coming out in shallow puffs. Your eyes rolled back, locking onto Killer’s face as you came, screaming wordlessly as you did.

“Fuck, tightening up on me.” Kid sputtered, thrusts faltering. He swatted your thighs, laughing as you twitched and moaned, you clenched up more from the stings. “Just like that, good girl. Fuck!”

Tears were back in your eyes as you whined, overstimulated and sore, you wiggled in their hold.

“Kid please, too much!” You cried. “Please, I can’t!”

Your eyes screwed shut as you tried to ride out the last of your climax. Killer’s hands shifted off of you, you opened your eyes to see him pressing a palm to Kid’s chest. The captain huffed and growled, but slowed his thrusts, instead rocking into you gently. The change in intensity made you sigh and coo, shifting to meet his thrusts now.

“She still hasn’t finished.” Killer reminded him, voice low.

Kid’s face twisted into petulant confusion. “The fuck you talking about she just came.”

“I meant her story.” Killer deadpanned, voice flat with annoyance.

Kid groaned, pulling out of you completely now, cock still hard and shiny with your slick. You gaped at the size, how was that inside you? He dwarfed Shanks by several inches and you felt lightheaded again.

Letting go of your legs, the men let you relax, chest heaving as you panted. The lack of contact made you whine, grasping as Killer’s leg, your head spinning.

Kid pulled you to him, hauling you up into his arms, you wrapped your arms around his neck to steady yourself. He twisted and let himself fall to his back with a solid thump, jostling you as you sat perched on his stomach now.

He shifted you down to sit on his lap, your cunt flush with his still hard cock. You gasped and wiggled, the rough material of his pants biting at you, Killer’s hands returning to hold you in place. With you still, Kid began kicking off his boots, you could hear the thumps behind you, then he pulled his metal arm off. It was the first time you’d seen him without it since the loss, you looked away guiltily. Yanking his pants down a little more, he sighed as he felt your skin pressed against his more. You twitched your hips slightly, relishing in the noise of surprise he made, Killer chuckled as the captain’s face blushed.

“Shuddup!” He huffed at you both, his hand returning to your hip, lying just over Killer’s. With his devil fruit powers he pulled the metal bench of his closer so he could lean his back against it. Even leaning, he was still taller than you, having to crane your head up to meet his gaze.

“Comfy?” Killer asked, Kid glowered at him.

Before he could answer you leaned to kiss him, tugging on his hair and rutting your hips as much as you could in the blonde’s hold.

Pulling back Kid grinned wryly, sneering over your shoulder at his best friend. “Yeah I am, jealous?”

You peek over your shoulder at him, eyes still a little glassy. He flushed under your gaze and didn’t answer.

“Keep going, baby girl.” Kid pulled your chin to face him.

You stared dumbly for a moment, forgetting the entire reason for this scene. Killer moved your hips for you, briefly, as he whispered in your ear.

“You said Shanks wanted to keep you.” He supplied, you nodded, still dizzy but more focused.

“Yeah. Yeah, we were- ah we kept fucking and I came again, he asked if I’d…if I’d ever fucked my captain I said no and he got really-um I guess desperate? He wanted me to cum again, so he asked what I ne-needed to cum.” You gasped, taking a deep breath. “I think he was close and he- hah- he asked if I w-wanted to be choked or-“

Kid sneered, tsking under his breath, his hand moved you faster. You let out a squeal as your clit dragged along the prominent vein along his cock.

“Or-hah Kid fuck- or if I wanted to choke him.” You continued without prompting, Killer made a noise of interest behind you.

“Don’t even think of asking me that,” Kid growled, glaring down at you before his eyes shifted to the blonde holding you. “Killer though likes that shit, bet he’d let ya if ya ask nice and pretty.”

“Don’t get distracted.” Killer huffed, you weren’t sure who he meant, but you nodded dumbly anyways.

“He asked-um, if I wanted to ride him, he said he wanted to reward me a-and I asked to be untied and if I could-ah- could bite hi-him.”

Kid laughed, pressing his hips up to grind harder on your clit. “I knew you bit him, ya act innocent but you’re a fucking minx. Was it enough? Did ya cum?”

“Ah!” You whine, arching more now. “Yes, I did! I did!”

You’re lifted up slightly, just enough to stave off your climax, Killer pulling you more to his chest. His nose buried in your hair as you twist and whined, Kid groaned bellow you, trying to chase your friction.

“I bit him hard and he came, but it was inside me.” You mumbled, swaying your hips slowly, barely able to rub your clit up and down Kid’s cock.

Killer held you tighter, you glanced at his face, twisted into a deep scowl. You almost laughed at how alike to Kid he was under the mask.

“I-ah I asked him to pull out, bu-but he didn’t he said he hoped I get-hah-pregnant, that he wanted the kid to look like him.” You whined as Kid successfully tugged you back down to grind on him. Killer’s arms tightened on you. “He ah! He s-said-hah-“

One of Killer’s hands gripped your breast, tugging on your nipple as you tried to talk.

“Spit it out,” Kid hissed, hand trembling as he sped you up. “What’d he say?”

“He said-ohhhh- that I should tr-try to trick my captain, crawl into your bed when you’re drunk-ah ahhhh- so you think it’s yours.” You sputtered, climax so close you felt like you were on fire. “But that he-he’d know it was his.”

Kid yanked on your hair, pulling your face to his thick neck, he growled.

“Bite down, now.”

You shivered at his order, your thrusts awkward and short at the odd angle you’re in. Digging your nails into his chest, you bite down, not nearly hard enough to draw blood. Kid snarled at you.

“Harder! I want a bite in the same spot, matter of fact both sides! And Killer too!” He spat, egging you on to sink your teeth deeper. “Want this shit to scar.”

Killer’s lips are on your back and shoulders as you clench-both your jaw and pussy- he leaves wet kisses along your skin. You release when you taste blood, leaning back to pant and look over the wound. Kid shoves your face to the other side of his neck, you don’t wait for the order, sinking your teeth in deep.

“Shit, fuck just like that.” Your captain moaned, actually moaned, unashamed at the noise he sloppily maneuvers you so he can sink his cock into your cunt again. “Fuck, come on keep going what happened next?”

You slowly released your hold, blinking as he moved your hips for you. With your position and Killer still pressed against your back, he couldn’t really bounce you like he’d prefer, settling for lazy grinding.

“That was it, he dressed me, kept my panties and we were back at the beach.” You sighed, eye fluttering shut. “Killer was there, Shanks had me by the hair, he threw me and Kil caught me.”

Killer nipped at your skin, you squeaked, sitting up straighter now as you tried to focus.

“Wait no, he-hah he did whisper something-fuck to me, before throwing me.” You leaned back so your head could loll on Killer’s shoulder. “He- fuck- he said he’d k-keep tabs on me. Hah fuck!”

Kid had sped up his grinding, now thrusting with what little room he had to move.

“He said I- that he’d know if I was pregnant-hah! And that he’d c-find me-ah ah ah!”You keened as one of them brought a finger to your clit, thumbing it in tight circles. “A-and that I- I’d better not get rid of it or he’d- he’d fuck another baby in meeee fuck Kid!”

Kid gripped your throat with his hand, tugging you closer so he could kiss you. It was messy and rushed, his teeth tugging on your lip meanly. Pulling back you see the blood from his neck now staining his already red lips, you lean forward a licked at it, pushing your tongue into his mouth for another kiss.

“That fucking bastard, I’m gonna kill him!” He seethed against your mouth, gripping your neck tighter. You felt light headed, but it was welcome as your orgasm crashed over you suddenly. “Atta girl, cum for me, give it to me.”

You thrashed in his hold, caught off guard by the sudden pleasure, both men holding you tightly. Just as you worry you’ll pass out, Kid lessened his hold, letting you suck in desperate breathes.

“Kid.” Killer said, tone firm, the redhead ignored him, speeding up his thrusts. You were too out of it to realize he was chasing his own climax. “Kid pull out.”

You whimpered as Kid snarled again, jaw clenched as he ignored the blond.

“Fuck that, if she’s gonna get pregnant it’ll be my kid and it’ll look like me!” He groaned. Killer started to pull you up again, Kid shoved you back down with a feral growl. “You try to stop me and I won’t let you fuck her.”

Killer’s hands paused, for just a moment, but he tried again. This time you whined, pushing yourself into Kid’s thrusts, looking up at him behind you as you did.

“Please, Killer!” You panted, eyes glazed, sweat dripping from you. “Please, wanna fuck you so bad!”

He froze, eyes wide as he took you in, riding his captain with intention now, begging him to fuck you. His face turned red and he looked away from you, glaring at the door.

“Don’t-don’t say shit like that!” He hissed, shivering as you reached behind you to palm his cock through his jeans.

He was still fully dressed, hard since the moment you’d let him undress you, desperate for your touch.

Kid pulled your face to his kissing you as his thrusts turned sloppy.

“Come one, Kil, don’t you want her to give you your own bite mark?” He goaded the other man, grinning as he came closer and closer to his high.

Your hands found his shoulders, needing balance as Killer pulled back slightly. You pressed your fingers into the bites, sending Kid over the edge as he pressed your hips flat to his.

You squealed, clenching hard as you tried to catch your breath, ropes of his thick cum already leaking out of you. Kid kept his face in your neck, shivering as he rode out his climax. You kept grinding your hips, prolonging his high as he panted and groaned into your skin.

Kid sighed, high and breathy, shifting you slightly in his lap. He dragged his cock out of you slowly, relishing in the rush of cum that chased out of him.

“Kil?” You whined, leaning back into his chest.

Kid moved out from under you, pulling his pants back up while he watched.

“Yeah?” Killer asked, dragging his hands up your side, caressing your skin.

“Please!” You keened, trying to turn to face him.

He bent you over, shoving your shoulders and face down into the captain’s coat. The rough denim of his pants dragged across your skin as he draped himself over your back.

“Don’t look at me, I’m not gonna last if you look at me like.” He hissed, face red as he shoved his pants down to enter you.

You whined, eyes closed as his cock filled you, more cum leaking out to make room. His hands on your hips the only thing keeping you up.

Despite his words, his thrusts are gentle, moving slow and deep. The feeling of your walls dragging against his cock made him groan, cutting himself off by biting his lip.

“Ya look pretty desperate, Kil.” Kid laughed, you snuck a glance up at him, his grinning face leering down at you. “Be careful, she may not like shy guys.”

Killer gripped you tighter, giving you a sharp thrust now. You keened and tried to look back at him, he pinned a heavy hand on your neck, trying not to moan in tandem with you.

“Killer please! Please just-ah ah wanna see!” You cried, twisting sharply in his hold, still he held you in place, his hips speeding up.

“Yeah, how’s she gonna bite ya if she’s pinned like that?” Kid asked.

Killer shuddered, he let go of your neck but still didn’t let you turn. He draped more of himself over your back, his blonde hair falling over you like a curtain. His face right next to yours.

“Do you really?” He murmured. “Do you wanna bite me? Give me a mark like Kid?”

You nod, eyes teary as his thrusts kept pace, you sniffled and tried to turn.

“Yeah, I wanna- please hah, I wanna mark you.” You whined, voice low to match his. “Please, I knew you wouldn’t leave me, I knew you’d stay and wait for me. Wa-wanna see you please!”

Killer moaned pressing kisses to the side of your face and shoulders.

“What’s with the whispering huh?” Kid groused. “I paid for a show I’d better get it.”

You let out a huff of a laugh, trying to turn again and Killer let you. Sitting up, he pulled out of you slowly, watching your pussy try to cling to his cock, some of Kid’s cum still leaking. The sight made his blush even more.

He helped you turn over, pulled your legs onto his hip, still so careful with you, he placed his hands beside your head. When he hesitated, glancing nervously at your face, you reached down to grasp his length. His gasp spurred you on, you ran the tip up and down your folds.

Killer pressed his hips forward, sinking into you easily. You cant your hips up as he thrusts harder.

“Atta girl,” Kid praised you, kneeling down beside you with a grin. “Taking good care of my first mate, yeah?”

Both you and Killer moaned at his words, his thrusts speeding up. He pressed his face to your neck, red tracing along his cheeks down to his chest. You felt overwhelmed, pushed nearly too far, you wouldn’t be able take much more. Trying to get him to finish, you wrapped your legs around his waist, tugging him closer, pulling his hair.

He groaned into your skin, you bit down on his neck, the whimper he let out made you dizzy. You clamped down hard before switching to the other side, Kid groaned dirty praise as you did. Between the two men’s noises you felt your climax approaching, you couldn’t even tell what number you were on.

“Good girl, fuck, g-good girl.” Killer whimpered, pulling back to look you in the eye. “Fuck just lemme, hah fuck I’m close.”

You released your jaws, falling back to the ground, eyes barely open as you tried to chase your climax.

“Don’t pull out.” Kid ordered, sitting up on his knees now.

Killer shook his head. “Ca-can’t, fuck, can’t risk it, even with the pills.”

Kid tsked, grabbing your hair firmly, he tugged on it til you cried out.

“You want him to cum in ya?” He asked, you couldn’t nod, instead crying out wordlessly as you climaxed. “That sounds like a yes.”

Killer gasped as you clenched even harder around him, digging your heels into the small of his back.

“B-bad idea.” He collapsed onto his elbows, hips losing their rhythm.

“Come on, imagine next time Shanks sees her she’s got a blonde kid on her hip.” Kid said, laughing as you moaned out, overstimulated and crying. “Everyone’d know she was yours.”

His words are effective, you grip Killer’s hair again as he pressed into you as deep as he could. His cum is hot and endless, making you whine at how full you felt.

Your body went lax, unable to even sit up after everything, your limbs trembled slightly. Killer didn’t pull out right away, staring down at you for a moment, you could practically see hearts in his eyes. Finally he pulled out, watching closely, your pussy fluttering and leaking his cum.

“Ha, knew I could get you to do it.” Kid gloated, you smiled weakly, too drunk on euphoria to laugh.

“Shut up.” Killer muttered, pulling his pants back up and reaching for his mask. “She’s getting a double dose of birth control and I’m taking her to a doctor just in case.”

“You’re no fun.” The captain rolled his eyes, but dropped it as he hauled you into his arms.

Your eyes are shut, face pressed to his chest, whining as he jostled you.

“Don’t fuss, gonna take you to my cabin.” He said gruffly. “Killer will take care of ya, I gotta talk to the crew.”

A fleeting moment of panic took you, you shook your head.

“Calm down.” He scolded, but it wasn’t harsh. “Gonna tell them they can return to the ship, everything’s fine.”

It was weird being naked on the ship, as he carried down the empty halls, you shivered and pressed closer. You were just about doze off when he placed you on his bed, Killer followed closely behind, mask back in place. Kid’s room was messy and smelled like a soldering gun, it strangely comforted you as the blonde’s arms tugged you to him.

“Let’s get you a shower.” He muttered, you looked around the room dazed, Kid already gone. “You can nap after when Kid gets back and I’ll make you something to eat.”

You hummed, eyes closing again as he set you down to start the water. Swaying slightly you held onto his shirt to stay steady. You were vaguely aware of him passing you two pills, gulping them down with a glass of water.

The shower was a blur, barely paying attention as he helped wash you, and soon you were wrapped in a towel. By the time he carried you back to bed, Kid had returned, lazily lying with his hands behind his head, metal arm back on.

He practically yanked you back from the first mate, laying you across his chest.

“My coat is fucked.” He muttered, flesh arm wrapped around you.

Killer laughed, it was his restrained chuckle rather than the boisterous one from before.

“You’ll live.” He said as he left, presumably to make you some pasta.

Kid cursed at him as he left, keeping you pressed to him.

“So I’m not in trouble for fucking Shanks?” You asked, voice drifting as you fought to stay up.

“Don’t be dramatic, you were never in trouble for that.” He sneered, grabbing at your ass. “Lying to me is what fucking got you here.”

You chuckled, you wanted to stay up until Killer returned, but it was difficult with the captain’s warm body under you. Kid started talking, mostly to himself, about his plans for the future, how to prepare for the Grand line, and where they should look for the next poneglyph. You hummed, but mostly tuned him out, letting your body go lax. You’d worry about the future later, what this means for you and the crew, where you stand with either man. Slowly, you drifted off to sleep.

[ceyanabbiolo]

𝑮𝑹𝑼𝑫𝑮𝑬 | 𝑪𝑯𝑹𝑰𝑺 𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑶𝑳𝑶 [09]

Welcome to Vivianne Hall, in which....

Julianna De Francis is put together, perfect, and everything Christopher Sturniolo isn’t. He’s reckless, cocky, and the one person who’s always gotten under her skin. Raised in the same elite world but constantly at odds, their rivalry turns into something deeper as tension sparks into something neither expected. In a world obsessed with appearances, falling for each other could cost them everything...

Warnings: arguing

Chapter 09: You Ain't my Boyfriend, and I Ain't your Girlfriend

── .✦ CHRISTOPHER

By the end of the long weekend, I found myself already heading back to Vivianne Hall. The break had passed in the blink of an eye—just two extra days off, barely enough time to breathe, let alone reset. It wasn’t long before the quiet mornings and slow afternoons were replaced by the steady rhythm of campus life once again.

Before I knew it, I was back in the gym, the familiar scent of sweat and floor polish hitting me the second I stepped inside. The sound of sneakers squeaking against the hardwood, whistles blowing, and balls hitting the rim filled the air like a soundtrack I hadn’t realized I’d missed.

The coach didn’t waste any time either. The practice was in full swing—drills, laps, and all. My body was still trying to shake off the weekend haze, but there was no room for sluggishness here. We had a game coming up next week, and the pressure was starting to build.

I stepped onto the court and fell into rhythm with the others. I was focused—or at least I tried to be—but no matter how hard I pushed, my thoughts kept drifting. My body was here, running plays and listening to the coach bark out orders, but my mind? It was somewhere else entirely.

Every time the ball left my hands, I saw her. Jules. That night at her house played on repeat in my head like some movie I couldn’t shut off. The way her voice trembled. The look in her eyes when she finally let her walls slip, just for a second. I couldn’t stop remembering the way I was mere inches away from her. 

I hadn’t meant to stay that long. I hadn’t meant to care that much.

But I did.

"Yo, Chris!"

I snapped out of it just in time to catch the ball flying toward me. I barely got my hands up before it smacked into my chest. A few of the guys laughed, but I just shook it off, trying to pretend I wasn’t out of it.

"Get your head in the game," Coach barked from the sidelines.

I gave a nod, but my jaw clenched.

Get your head in the game.

Easier said than done when part of you’s stuck in a quiet bedroom, watching a girl fight to keep herself from falling apart. 

By the time practice ended, I headed straight back to my dorm, sweat clinging to my shirt and legs already aching. I had just enough time to shower and change before my first class.

This was my final year. No room for mistakes, no time to waste. I’d already had one slip-up earlier in the semester. That was the wake-up call. From here on out, I had to be locked in. If I wanted even a shot at getting noticed by NBA scouts, I had to be sharp, disciplined, and dialed in—on the court and off.

After a quick shower, I pulled on a clean hoodie, black jeans, and grabbed my bag. I slammed the door behind me and started walking across campus. 

Fall had officially settled in—crisp air, golden leaves scattered across the sidewalk, and students crowding the walkways with coffee cups in hand. I was just about to push open the door to the lecture hall when something caught my eye.

Off to the side, near the bathrooms, Jules stepped out, her hair a little messy like she’d been rushing; however, her outfit was perfect as usual. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, glanced around quickly, and then popped a mint into her mouth.

I paused.

Something about the way she moved didn’t sit right. The way her shoulders were slightly hunched, like she didn’t want to be seen.

I stepped away from the door and walked over to her. 

"Did you just throw up?" I asked, my voice low.

Her eyes snapped up to mine, like she didn’t expect to see me. "What? No," she said quickly, almost too quickly. Then she paused. "Why... does it look like that?"

I tilted my head slightly, studying her. "Kinda."

She looked away, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear and letting out a dry laugh. "I’m fine, Chris."

But I didn’t believe her. Not even a little bit. 

She turned on her heel without another word, her heels clicking softly against the tile. The hem of her skirt swayed with each step, purposeful and sharp, like she was trying to leave the conversation—and me—behind.

But I wasn’t done.

I caught up to her easily, falling into step beside her as we approached the lecture hall doors. She didn’t glance at me, but the way her arms crossed over her chest and her jaw tightened told me everything I needed to know—she was still annoyed. Still trying to pretend I wasn’t there. 

Didn’t stop me.

“You going to that party this weekend?” I asked casually, slipping my hands into my pockets. “Nick’s throwing it. Nothing crazy. I heard Eden’s going, so I figured that might be enough to get you to show.”

She let out a sigh, not quite annoyed but definitely uninterested. “No idea.” A beat passed, then she added, “But I do love Nick and Eden. So maybe. I haven’t decided.”

We stepped inside the building and made our way down the aisle toward the middle rows. She slowed a little, eyes scanning for open seats, and let out a quieter sigh.

As we stepped inside, we walked down the big room, and she let out a quiet sigh.

"Why are you sitting next to me?"

I just smiled slightly, shrugging as I slid into the seat beside her and didn’t reply to her question. She rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath, but didn’t move or tell me to leave either. 

I could sense the tension radiating off her as we sat side by side. Even though she didn’t say anything, the stiffness in her shoulders, the way her fingers tapped anxiously against her notebook, and how she hadn’t so much as glanced in my direction—it all gave her away.

I leaned over slightly, lowering my voice. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” she said quickly, eyes still locked on the front of the room. “Why?”

I narrowed my eyes on her. “You haven’t looked at me once.”

She gave a small shrug. “I don’t have a reason to.”

I watched her as she kept her gaze glued to her notes, pretending like I wasn’t sitting right next to her. Her handwriting was neat—almost annoyingly perfect. Every bullet point was underlined, every heading boxed in, her lines straight like they’d been measured.

But what caught my attention were the margins—delicate little flowers sketched in the corners of the pages. Tiny daisies, roses, and vines curling around the edges. It was subtle, but there was something so her about it. Soft, even when she was trying to be sharp.

Jules didn’t look at me the whole first half of the lecture, but that didn’t stop me from nudging her foot under the desk every now and then—subtle enough not to get caught, but enough to pull a tight-lipped sigh out of her.

"You're tapping your pen like you're trying to send Morse code," I murmured after the third time she flicked it against her notebook.

She didn’t look at me. "Maybe I’m trying to tell you to shut up."

I smirked. "And here I thought you missed me over the weekend."

She finally glanced my way, one brow raised. "Don’t flatter yourself.".

We didn’t talk much after that, but the silence wasn’t cold anymore. It wasn’t awkward either. Just… familiar.

When class ended, Jules stood, gathering her things, and without thinking, I slung my bag over my shoulder and walked out with her. No planning, no invitation—we just fell into step like it was natural.

“Yo, redhead.”

The voice cut through the chatter around us like a sharp snap.

I turned instinctively, and so did Jules.

A guy stood a few feet away, leaning casually against the brick wall outside the lecture building, one hand tucked in his hoodie pocket, the other waving lazily like we were old friends.

I recognized him immediately.

I didn’t know his name, but I didn’t need to. The smug tilt of his head, the cocky way he carried himself—I’d seen him before. That night. The party. He was the one who tried to drag Jules down the hallway when she could barely stand.

“Are you talking to me?” Jules asked, brows drawn tight in confusion.

He grinned like she’d just made his day. “Yeah. You don’t remember me?”

She blinked, lips parting slightly. “No?” she said uncertainly.

“That’s alright,” he replied smoothly, taking a step forward and extending his hand. “I’m Ben.”

Jules looked hesitant but polite, beginning to lift her hand.

Before she could, I reached out and gently pushed her hand down, stepping in between them without a word.

Ben’s smile faltered as his eyes shifted to me—and the second our eyes locked, I saw it. He remembered.

“Chris,” he said with a low chuckle, his tone turning mocking. “Heard you got benched for throwing punches at me. Guess your temper still needs work.”

Jules glanced between us, clearly trying to piece together the sudden tension.

I didn’t answer him. I didn’t need to. The moment didn’t belong to words.

Ben shrugged and turned his focus back to Jules like I wasn’t even there. “Anyway. You’re gorgeous. Can I get your number?”

“No,” I said sharply, stepping forward again until there was barely a foot between us.

Jules put a hand on my arm, trying to ease the tension. “Chris…” she murmured, her voice calm but confused. “Don’t be rude.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What? You her boyfriend or something?” He let out a bark of laughter. “Would explain the attitude.”

I didn’t say anything. I wanted to. God, I wanted to say yes.

But before I could open my mouth, Jules shook her head. “No, he’s not.”

Ben’s face lit up. “Perfect,” he said, grinning like a wolf. “So, red—how about that number?”

I stepped fully in front of Jules now, my voice low and cold. “Did you forget what I told you that night?”

Ben blinked.

I didn’t give him time to respond.

“You don’t touch her. You don’t talk to her. You don’t even think about her. Got it?” Those were my words for that night, they rang in my head this exact moment as well. 

His smirk faded, the memory clearly hitting. His mouth opened slightly, but I wasn’t done.

“I know exactly who you are now, and if you don’t back off, I’ll go to admin, title and name. And this time, maybe you’ll get worse than being benched.”

That was just a threat, the admin wasn’t doing shit. We all know how my conversation with the dean went. 

His jaw clenched, and he let out a dry, forced scoff. “You’re overreacting, man.”

“Am I?” I leaned in just a bit. “Because I remember already telling to never look at her again.”

He stared for a long second, then rolled his eyes, huffed out a breath, and backed away slowly, muttering, “Whatever. Not worth it.”

He turned and walked off down the sidewalk, pulling his hood up like that made him invisible.

I exhaled through my nose, trying to keep the rage down. My knuckles were still tight, my jaw sore from how hard I’d been clenching it.

I started walking again. Fast.

Jules hurried beside me. “Chris,” she said, breathless. “What the hell was that?”

“Nothing,” I muttered.

“Don’t give me that. You knew him. And he knew you. What was he talking about—that night?”

I kept walking.

“Chris.” Her voice was firmer now, trying to catch my eye. “What night?”

“I said it doesn’t matter.”

She grabbed my arm, pulling me to a stop just outside the quad. “You just threatened to report him to the school. You got benched because of him? You threw punches over me and didn’t even tell me?”

I looked at her then. Her face was flushed, her eyes wide—not angry, not ungrateful—just searching. Trying to understand.

But I couldn’t say it.

I couldn’t tell her that when I found her that night at the party, she was barely conscious, slurring her words, eyes unfocused—and that Ben had his hand up her skirt and was trying to drug her. 

I Couldn’t tell her that if I hadn’t walked by at that exact moment, she might’ve…

My chest tightened.

I looked away. “I handled it. That’s all that matters.”

She was quiet for a second. “Chris… won't you tell me?”

I stayed quiet for a long moment, eyes fixed ahead like if I just kept walking, the conversation would vanish with his footsteps.

But Jules wasn’t letting it go.

“Chris,” she pressed again, her voice sharper now. “What do you mean it doesn’t matter? You told him to stay away from me. That doesn’t exactly sound like nothing.”

I finally stopped, jaw clenched. “It’s complicated.”

Jules stared at me like I’d just said the sky was purple. “Complicated? How?”

“I’m telling you to drop it.”

“No,” she snapped, crossing her arms. “You can’t just say nothing happened and then act like you’re protecting me from some guy I barely remember. You already made it clear—he’s dangerous. So why are you suddenly walking in circles about it now?”

My jaw tightened again. My voice came out lower, quieter. “Because it’s better if you don’t know.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “Better for who? Me? Because I’m standing here, confused, clearly out of the loop, while you act like you’ve seen a ghost. I don’t even remember the party, Chris. Whatever happened—I want to know.”

I looked away. “You don’t.”

“You can’t just make that decision for me!” she shouted, her voice cracking at the end. “You don’t get to shield me from something that involves me.”

I turned back toward her, my eyes harder now. “I’m asking you to trust me.”

“And I’m asking you to be honest!”

There was a beat of silence. A cold, tense pause between us, like neither of us was sure what would break first—my silence or her patience.

Then she tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing. “You know what? Fine. If he’s not that bad, maybe I’ll just go find him and give him my number.”

She turned sharply, spinning on her heel to walk in the direction Ben had gone.

“Jules.”

She ignored me.

“Jules, don’t.”

She didn’t even slow down. This woman was driving me insane day by day. 

And that was it—my restraint snapped. I reached out and grabbed her arm, firm but not rough, just enough to stop her.

“Don’t,” I said, eyes locked with hers. My voice dropped, raw and tight. “Don’t do that.”

She looked up at me, hurt flaring across her face. “Why not?”

I froze. My grip stayed on her arm, not tight, just steady—like I was holding her there not just physically, but emotionally, keeping her from walking straight into something she didn’t understand. And for a second, I considered saying nothing again. Shutting down.

But the way she was looking at me—raw, betrayed, confused—it cut through whatever wall I had left.

She stayed silent, watching me like she was bracing herself.

I looked down, jaw clenching. My hands were shaking before I even realized it.

“Fine.” 

I finally gave in, the way her curious eyes were looking at me made something in me unable to say no.

“That party, the one after the first week of classes,” I muttered. “You were drunk.” 

She nodded, I can tell she recalled the night. 

I forced myself to keep going. “I saw him take you into a room. I was confused and I followed” I paused, forcing the words out even as my stomach churned. “When I walked in you were unconscious, he drugged you i’m guessing, he was all over you Jules. In ways you shouldn’t have been while you were in a state like that.”

I looked her in the eyes, hoping she understood what I meant. Jules didn’t speak. She didn’t move either, but I knew she understood.

I rubbed a hand over my face, trying to breathe through the heat building behind my eyes. “I hit him. Twice. Maybe three times—I don’t even remember. I got benched from practice that week. They didn’t ask questions, and didn't want the mess.” 

I looked at her finally, really looked at her. Her face had gone pale, her eyes wide and glassy, like she was trying to keep herself from unraveling.

“You got benched because of me?” she asked softly, barely above a whisper. Her voice was fragile, like she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer.

I shook my head, the weight of the memory heavy on my shoulders. “No, Jules. Not because of you. I got benched because I broke protocol… and punched another student in the face. That part was on me.”

The silence between us stretched, thick and suffocating. The breeze around campus carried the faint rustle of leaves, but everything else felt far away—like the world had narrowed down to just this moment.

Jules looked down at her feet for a second, like she was grounding herself, then slowly raised her gaze to meet mine. “Were you the one who… brought me back to my dorm?”

I didn’t speak. I just nodded. Once.

She stared at me, the realization sinking in, slowly settling into her chest like something heavy.

Her eyes flickered away, then back again. Her expression softened, but there was still confusion in it. Pain.

“You stayed?”

“For a bit,” I said quietly. “You were barely awake. I couldn’t leave you like that, so I stayed till you fell asleep.”

She nodded slowly, taking that in. Her hands were clenched in front of her now, knuckles pale.

“I didn’t know,” she murmured. “I just… I woke up in bed, and I felt sick, and I thought maybe I’d just had too much to drink or maybe blacked out or something—” Her voice cracked, and she looked away, swallowing hard. “I was so confused… I remembered going into a room with some guy. I couldn’t see his face, just flashes. Me and Eden… we thought something bad might’ve happened.”

She paused, her voice barely holding itself together.

“But my body felt fine. Nothing hurt. Nothing was… wrong.” Her eyes slowly lifted to mine.“And now I know why.” A weak smile touched her lips, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “ You helped me.” 

I exhaled through my nose, trying to keep the pressure in my chest from rising again.

“I didn’t do anything special, Jules,” I said, shaking my head. “I just did what anyone should’ve done.”

She stared at me for a long second, like she was trying to measure whether I believed that or was just trying to be modest. 

There were slight tears in her eyes I wanted to wipe away. She stared at me for a long second, like she was trying to figure out if I really believed the words coming out of my mouth or if I was just saying them to avoid the weight of the truth. Her expression was unreadable—somewhere between heartbreak and something softer.

Then, without a word, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me.

I froze.

Her head rested against my chest, her fingers lightly gripping the back of my hoodie like she needed something solid to hold onto. 

I stood still for a second, stunned. Jules wasn’t the kind of girl who let her guard down like this. Especially the guy she claimed she hated with her guts, 

She didn’t reach for people—not physically, not emotionally. But right now, she was holding onto me like she didn’t care who saw.

Slowly, I brought my arms around her and held her back.

She whispered into my chest, voice trembling, “Thank you.”

I exhaled, eyes falling shut for a moment. “No need, Jules. Anyone would’ve helped you.”

She shook her head gently, her cheek brushing against my shirt. “I don’t think they would’ve,” she murmured.

I sighed. It was a cruel world we lived in.

"Just don't talk to him," I muttered into her hair. Which, in fact, smelled heavenly.

She nodded, slowly pulled back from the hug, her arms slipping away from around me, but she didn’t move far.

Just a few inches.

Her hands lingered at my chest, and when she looked up, her face was right there—closer than I’d ever seen it.

We both froze.

Her eyes met mine, wide and still shining with what was left of the emotion between us. She didn’t back away. Didn’t flinch. Just stayed there, searching my face like she was trying to read something she hadn’t let herself see before.

And suddenly, all I could think about was how close her lips were to mine.

I’d always known Jules was pretty—that kind of effortless, magnetic kind of pretty. But this… up close, it was different. There was something about the curve of her mouth, the soft flush still on her cheeks, the way her lashes framed those big, vulnerable eyes. Something unguarded. Real.

And for a split second, the entire world around us dropped away.

I couldn’t help it—my eyes flicked down to her lips.

Just once.

Then back up to her eyes.

She noticed. I knew she did.

Because she didn’t move. Didn’t say a word.

And all I could think about—all I could feel—was this overwhelming pull to close the gap.

To kiss her.

But I couldn’t, because deep down there was still this fire between me and Jules. It's always been there. My breath hitched slightly, and the moment hung between us—suspended, fragile, electric.

She hesitated for a beat. Then—just the smallest movement—she leaned in.

Barely an inch.

But it was enough to make my heart lurch, enough for the world to go completely still again. And just when her lips were close enough that I could feel her breath brush against mine…

I backed away.

It wasn’t dramatic, just moved my head. Small. Instinctive. Like something in me panicked at the last second. 

Her expression shifted instantly. The flicker in her eyes dimmed. Her lips parted just slightly in confusion, and I could see the rejection settle into her shoulders like cold rain.

She blinked and took a step back. Then another.

Embarrassment was painted all over her face. Fuck. 

“Okay,” she said, voice quiet, trying to mask the crack in it. “Um… thanks again. For everything.”

“Jules—” I reached for her arm, but she was already turning.

She walked fast—too fast. Her heels clicked against the pavement, and she didn’t look back.

“Jules!” I called after her.

She didn’t turn around. 

She was speed walking across the quad now, hand pulling her bag up higher on her shoulder, her hair swinging behind her like she just needed to get away.

I stood there, frozen.

What the hell just happened? Why the fuck did I back away?

My hands were still warm where she’d touched me, and my chest felt hollow, like something important had just slipped out of my reach and I’d let it go.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to kiss her.

I did.

More than anything.

But something in me… panicked. Maybe it was the timing. Maybe it was the look in her eyes. I didn’t know what I felt for Jules, but I knew at this moment I wanted nothing more than to feel those plush lips against mine.  

She looked so hurt and embarrassed. I knew I messed up.

I also knew the chances of Jules trying to do that again were slim to none.

READ ALL RELEASED PARTS HERE!

[a/n: next chapter is going to be GOOOD! you can trust me *winks* - like and reblog! mwah] - ceyana

tags: @chynapleasehavemercy @sweetheartsturn @mattspillowprincess @oopsiedaisydeer @chriss-slutt @sturnsflirt @idkwhatthisis2009 @angelicsturns @fmg05 @enviedparty101 @cupiidsbows @malox12 @chrissturniolodailysluts @ribbonlovergirl @kitty-meow-meow44 @jaybirdie34 @mattscore @mattsfrenchtoast @sturnsobsessed21 @kingofeverythingmb @courta13 @slvtf0rchr1s @mattspillowprincess @thewizardfall @sturnsfluff @ifamils @le4hsblog @carrielovesmatt @mattysmrwrinkleton @sturnsplatter @idkwhatimdoinghereeeeeee @ellssturn @meatballlover10 @sagesturns @kiarasmaybank @malox12 @sturnsblogs @mattsdivaa

Comment taglist on this post to be added!

[captain-spooks-ahoy]

Hot chocolate

(Zayne x non-mc!reader)

❄️ 𓂅 ⋆❅‧₊˚ ☕️

Summary; You have hot chocolate with zayne and find out he infact likes you the same as you like him. Crush on crush type stuff, I’m bad at summaries take a chance and read it I promise it’s like half okayish.

Pairings; Zayne x Pa!reader (physician assistant)

A/n; This was actually written for my best friend (aka my sister) so I hope she likes it 🤞🤞🤞. This is supposed to be fluffy and MIGHT have multiple parts depending on how I go about writing this. Future me will add another note at the end like I usually do! Anyways, enjoy my jellyfishies -🦈

❄️ 𓂅 ⋆❅‧₊˚ ☕️

Prelude;

Cold was what it was right now- no actually it’s freezing. The cold was nipping at the tip of your nose and cheeks. Bundled up in a thick wool coat, a matching warm scarf that covered the lower half of your face. You’d been told last night you’d be working with Dr.Zayne. You hadn’t actually spoken to the cold looking man before but you had heard wonderful things about his work. Alas, you decided like any other morning you’d get hot chocolate from the cafeteria and wait the thirty minutes you had until you’d clock in.

You walk into the building and out of the cold, blowing warm air onto your fingertips and loosening your scarf. You’d took a mental note that you should probably get some thicker long sleeves for the winter time. It’s a mindless task getting to the cafeteria, you stand and wait for the café barista to see you. “Ah! Miss (name)!! hot chocolate and a cinnamon roll right?” The barista smiled warmly, you nodded “yes sir, you know me so well tim” you joke with the barista who playfully rolls his eyes. “Of course I know your order you’ve been getting hot chocolate the entire time you’ve worked here- ah I’ll be right with you sir just a moment!” You looked to the side lightly to see a white coat. Your brain ran extra hard before it clicked. “Dr.Zayne?” You say curiously, the Dr looks to you with a look that says ‘I didn’t even see you there’. “Miss (L/name).. you’re my new PA correct?” He was wearing a grey wool coat and a lighter grey scarf of the same material. You nodded with a smile “yes that’s correct, I hope to help ease the work load you’ve got going on-“ “ your hot chocolate miss (name) and your hot chocolate Mister Zayne. Your cinnamon rolls will be out shortly!” Tim said before getting back to work. Both you and Zayne were quiet for a moment. Before you giggled lightly “well I guess we have something in common!” You grab yours, as does Zayne. He’s quiet for a moment before he too speaks, “I suppose we do..”

❄️ 𓂅 ⋆❅‧₊˚ ☕️

Two years ago you’d say you had no interest in Zayne, aka your “Boss”. However it seemed you had steady fallen down the rabbit hole. Every morning you both spent it sitting in each others company. Of course having hot chocolate with a cinnamon roll. At first it was filled with silence, you would look out the cafeteria window at the courtyard while Zayne would simply look at his hot chocolate quietly. Then something happened one day, about four weeks into these silent mornings he’d started to ask you questions. They were work related at first, but eventually the two of you had thoughtful conversations. Which would continue after work while you were getting ready to head home. It was something you’d never admit to out loud. It was just weird, you hadn’t had a crush like this in years. You were so used to doing your routine that his presence messed it up.. albeit in a good way. Now you sit in Dr. Zaynes office. It was lunch, the two of you had opted for lunch inside unlike how you’d been spending them in the cafeteria.

“So how’s the patient in room 304? His surgery went well, so I’d hope his healing process is going just as smooth?” Zayne asked snapping you out of your thoughts. You form a small smile on your face as you recall “Mhm, he’s doing very well. His daughters came to visit him. It was quite a sweet moment I caught them having”. Soft fluffy moments like that always made your long days feel worth it. “I see, I’m glad to hear that..” Zayne trailed off, it seemed he was deep in thought. You took a few bites of your salad, it was the last meal you had planned before you would have to go to the grocery store again. “What’s on your mind Dr. Zayne?” You say, taking another bite. His eyes looked up lightly before he looked to you. “Would you like to have lunch with me this Sunday?” You almost spit your salad out. It seemed Zayne himself was taken aback by his own words. You covered your mouth quickly, finishing the food in your mouth before you responded. “Ahem.. what.. what brought that on? Not that I don’t want to I just- it’s odd for you to uhm..” you felt your cheeks dust pink as your eyes dart away from his. “I don’t..uhm…. I wouldn’t mind..”

The rest of lunch was filled with awkward but welcomed conversations. It seemed zayne had suprised himself quite a bit with that, though you had to admit you undermined what this meant. You convinced yourself throughout the rest of the work day that this was going to simply be a friendly lunch together. He probably just sees you as a friend.. right? Well you believed it. You refused to believe your coworker could see you in a romantic light. No one in the history of forever had ever heard of Dr. Zayne being in a relationship with anyone. Always rejecting people coldly, never making more than just acquaintances.

You were washing your hands off after helping one of the nurses with a patient. Minding your business when a nurse cornered you in a friendly manner. “You’ve got to tell me how you became friends with Dr. Zayne! The whole hospital is whispering about how you got through that coldness and became his friend!” You were drying your hands off and gave her a half turned confused look. “What are you talking about? We just work together” you dismissed. The nurse squinted her eyes, crossing her arms “really? So you don’t have breakfast and lunch with him everyday? Or have each other’s personal numbers?” You were at a loss for words, you weren’t a fan of the nurses in this department to begin with so this was just a topping onto the already dressed cake. “Look.. we’ve worked with each other the last two years. He and I are going to at least be friendly? Don’t dig into this too much because it’s really not that deep” you scratched the back of your neck hoping your response would satiate the curiosity of this nurse. She squinted at you again before sighing “if you say so.. but everyone can see how you two look at each other. It’s really easy to see you both like one another” before you could uttering another word the nurse left. You stood there for a moment, what were you to do? Ignore that everyone knew? You were so sure you hid it well, and what does she mean both? Drying off your hands you stew on it longer than you should.

At the end of your shift, you’d realized you had left your lunchbox in zaynes office. As you make your way to his office you realize just how screwed you are. Almost the whole hospital knows about your crush on him? Do they somehow know about lunch this Sunday? You were boiling alive in your own mind when you felt a tap on your shoulder. “Hey.. you seem a bit out of it, are you alright miss (name)?” You hear zaynes voice, you couldn’t help the soft smile spreading across your lips. “I’m alright, just tired.. gosh I cannot wait to go home and sleep” you false a yawn, Zayne shakes his head lightly. He must’ve also been heading to his office, “you left your lunchbox in my office.. I was coming to bring it to you.” He held it up, you hadn’t even taken the time to look at his hand that held the lunchbox. You were half suprised he decided to bring it to you. “Thanks! I was just coming to grab it, do you uh.. want to text me the plans for this weekend then? I’ll be heading home soon..” you feel sheepish, the more you think about it the more it feels like a date. You cannot help but rewind the conversation you had with that nurse. Him like you? Insane, impossible, just not realistic right? “I see, well I’m glad I decided to bring it to you. I’ll text you about it after I leave work in about an hour.. you enjoy sweets yes?” You feel your cheeks warm, you nodded “yeah, I like sweets and desserts.. if it’s got sugar I’m gonna like it” you leave out a small chuckle, zayne smiling softly. “That’s great, I’m sure you’ll enjoy our date then-“ zayne was interrupted when he was called away over the intercom. You quickly took your lunchbox and parted ways with Zayne who looked genuinely upset your conversation had gotten cut short.

“Wait a minute did he say date?” You say out loud to yourself as you stop dead in your tracks.

❄️ 𓂅 ⋆❅‧₊˚ ☕️

Over the weekend you had finally gotten off, you panicked. You and zayne, a date? A date? You couldn’t believe that this was happening. You were excited but terrified. You had seen how zayne would reject people, he was less than kind. Not rude of course but not nice either, just cold. You were currently getting ready for your lunch “date” with zayne. You had three outfits picked out that all looked similar in style. You settled for a cute dress that stopped at about your ankles, paired with a soft cardigan, some cute flats, and a cute hair clip that matched your soft dress. It was overall a cute soft outfit. Perfect for the cool fall weather where it could be cold one second and warm another. “Does this look okay?” You mumbled to yourself, you looked at yourself in the mirror a little longer. You’d put on the smallest amount of makeup, unlike at work. You hoped Zayne wouldn’t mind, you weren’t sure of his preference. Not that you cared, you could do what you wanted to. However the thought of him liking you the way you are was a thought you couldn’t shake. *Bing* your phone buzzed, was that him?

Zayne ; would you mind if I came to pick you up?

You stared at the text for a moment, lost completely, he wanted to pick you up? You quickly typed back.

You ; I wouldn’t mind at all! Here’s my address (——————) thank you for offering to pick me up!

You quickly sat your phone down. He was going to come pick you up, you were panicking now. Where is your purse? Do you smell alright? Every thought ran through your head causing you to spiral until you heard your phone buzz again.

Zayne ; it’s no problem, I have to admit I didn’t expect you to agree to go on a date with me :)

You looked at the message with a deadpan for a moment.. had he thought you didn’t reciprocate this whole time? You were so nervous and excited. You could not believe your eyes. It really is a date, and he must really feel the same. Right?

You ; really? How could I ever say no to you?

You sat quietly on your couch, your eyes fixated on your phone, he must’ve been driving by now right? You sat there twiddling your thumbs until you had the bright idea. You should probably walk downstairs since it would not only kill time but make it easier for you to get to him without wasting anytime. You grabbed your keys and purse, shutting the lights off then locking the door behind you. As you walked to the elevator you felt your stomach twist with butterflies. A date.. with zayne. You felt like you were in a dream, you felt pretty today too so that just made this so much more dream like. You spaced out a little too long and found yourself almost missing the ground floor and going back up. You felt your phone buzz, you continued to walk towards the front of the lobby. Pulling your phone out you saw another message from zayne saying he was here. You quickly walked out to see he was waiting outside of his car with a soft smile you’ve only seen him share with you when in the confined space of his office. You couldn’t help the blush that warmed your cheeks. “You look wonderful, don’t overthink it” zayne spoke reassuringly. he seemed to always know when you were spiraling in your own head. You let out a chuckle “is it that noticeable?” Earning a chuckle from him. You finally felt like you’d won, you were going on a date with the nicest man you’d ever met. Someone who seemed to truly see you.

❄️ 𓂅 ⋆❅‧₊˚ ☕️

That’s the end :P if you want a part 2 I’ll gladly write it but I wasn’t sure how to end it 😭😭. This was sitting in my drafts for a hot minute, I thought I had posted it but I guess not 😟 welp here is it and I hope you enjoyed it :> I’ll be working on some more works (can guarantee they’ll probably be Drabbles and blurbs)

[preemptivejustice]

Arthur’s fingers stayed steady, despite the way Kane’s lashes fluttered, the way that arm curled so gently around his shoulder. The weight of it was warm, human - it was trusting, again striking at something sharp and deep in him, something that he hadn’t looked at in years. 

He applied the ointment in smooth, slow circles, letting the salve do its work. It was good at what it did, he knew it was - it was the same thing he used on his leg, when he felt like treating himself in any kind of way. A rarity, but something he sometimes did - an action that caused guilt, anger over himself for believing he deserved living without pain. 

His thoughts were drifting, again. He pulled them back on track, getting another small bit of the ointment and pressing it gently into the next bruise. It was just in time for the question, another moment where Arthur wondered if Kane could somehow hear his thoughts; his eyes sparkled softly in amusement. 

He didn’t mind it, almost, if the alien did have a way to peek in his head. He trusted Kane with his thoughts. 

Arthur hadn’t paused at the question, but he didn’t immediately reply. He reached for a patch, instead, peeling off the adhesive back and pressing it gently to the man’s skin; it covered this first bruise, protecting it. 

It would warm up after just a bit, offering more relief; he left it, moving on to the next. 

Gentle fingers began working salve into that next bruise, still focused on the ones that weren’t quite as severe; working his way up, slowly, moving over his form. 

“Yes,” he answered; his voice was slow. It wasn’t something he would normally talk about - he wouldn’t be talking about it now, were it not for the drug making the ache of memory fade. “I felt it.” 

His voice was slow, like it had to travel through something before it could exit him. He gave another breath, his fingers continuing to gently work; he was slow, he was gentle. “I was living in a small village. We were raided - they thought we were hiding rebels. It was a really… tense time, in that area. We weren’t doing anything wrong, but…” he trailed off, gave a shrug. “Some people don’t care about that.” 

Six hadn’t cared about that. People who cared for power often lacked in caring about other people - likely because to love one meant the loss of the other. Six didn’t have a good heart, not in any way - every bruise was proof of that. 

The sight of it was close enough for the thoughts to all bleed together, for past to mix with present. Once again, he found himself holding someone he cared about, doing his best to take care of him, while knowing deep down that death was on the table. 

They’d kill Kane, here. He knew that. And now, there was nothing keeping his mind from slipping into that thought. 

He shook his head a bit, again pushing his thoughts back on track. “The pain wasn’t the worst part of it. The pain sticks, my leg… it feels a lot like this.” Maybe worse, maybe not. He was used to it. It didn’t matter, in the same extreme of it mattering more than anything else; nothing had defined his life more than that one night. 

His fingers moved carefully, grabbing another patch, pressing it gently over the next bruise. He moved onto one of the worse ones, next, one of the ones laced over the man’s ribs; he opened up the other containers because of it. The one meant for deeper aches, one he could mix with the first. 

“It’ll fade,” he promised. “The pain. And I’ll make sure you don’t feel it again, even if we have to… hm.” He didn’t need to say that. Even if he put together a solid plan for how they could escape, he couldn’t say it out loud. 

He shouldn’t’ve said any of that out loud. 

“Sorry,” he loosely apologized, briefly rubbing one wrist over his face. “I’m not thinking as clearly as normal. Take two of the pills, here - drink the tea with it.” 

He leaned over just enough to grab the tea off of the floor, using his non-dirtied hand; he held it out to the man, allowing him to take it before he returned to the bruise. “Do you remember what Kane took them for?” 

Kane had expected these ointments to have been bought, commerically made by whoever made these things in the first place - a drug store, perhaps something similar. He doesn't know what a drug store is, but at the same time he does - another bit of information that pops up out of nowhere, yet is ignored in favor of what's much more important:

Harrow made these himself, it seems. He did not only bring in something he'd found somewhere, collected from another place, but... made them himself. Mixed ingredients together until they would do whatever he wanted them to do---

And Kane feels unexpectedly struck by that realization, which causes his dark eyes to flicker briefly as they widen, taking in the sight of each tin and glass that's pulled out to be shown off to him.

He isn't too sure whether he's satisfied with the extend of the other's explanations - whether he seems to be able to remember enough, or if the sedative that has been given to him affects him worse than what Kane thinks is comfortable, reasonable, humane - so he cannot really think on that too much, not anymore. Cannot judge whether he's supposed to remain skeptical, wary, worried; His focus shifts back to the fact that Harrow brought self-made ointments instead, his voice gentle and kind as he tells about the purpose of them, followed by what is not self-made, but should bring relief anyways.

Heating pads. Painkillers.

Tea, ointments, balms, heating pads, painkillers.

Harrow brought it all in for him, for Kane only - has brought them with him because he'd expected there to be pain, to be injuries. Wants to help, wants to make it better, wants to be there for Kane, not-Kane, it.

Something close to a sob begins to build again, somewhere deep inside his throat; Kane swallows it down, prevents that intense emotion rising behind his sternum from being noticed, licks his split bottom lip instead as he sits a bit more upright - bends his torso to make it easier for Harrow to reach the bruise he's working on...

Because Kane trusts him. He trusts this man to know what he's doing, even when being partially sedated.

It's worse than it looks, the other had said before, and perhaps he's right. While Kane does not want him to worry, he realizes that there's knowledge existing from the Doctor's side, knowledge that tells a bit more than those words may seem at first glance; He did go through pain himself, some time ago - got buried under concrete, his leg injured to this day.

There must've been bruises on his body as well, back then. Back when he'd made it out alive, continued to survive, trying to recover from whatever had happened to him...

---A gasp at the coolness against his skin, those fingers that touch and cover irritated tissue in a layer of something soft and delicate. As startling as that coolness is at first, it brings a quick relief that feels almost heavenly on top of that bruise; Eyelids flutter as Kane's gaze flicks away and turns a bit distant, an arm finding its way back to Harrow's shoulder, curling around it to hold on, to keep himself upright.

"Okay." Perhaps a bit too late, with most of that conversation having already happened, but Kane, not-Kane, it, says it anyways - he's okay with this, with everything that has been said - with the ointments, the heating pads, the bandaging, the... painkillers.

Yeah, perhaps he's truly okay with taking those pills, even. He vaguely remembers the feeling of them kicking in, in a way he cannot describe; Kane must've taken a lot of them in his life, has survived on them for a while, went through trouble that required medicine to be consumed on the regular.

"...He took them as well." Kane does not know why he says it, because it doesn't matter - yet here he is, inhaling, exhaling, as he works himself through the sensation of Harrow applying that balm to his heated skin. "---The painkillers, I mean. I think... I think Kane took them quite often - I guess that means that they helped..."

The pain is severe, each breath stinging as if a knife cuts through his ribs, his stomach, his lungs. He doesn't like to admit it, but... it's a lot, despite having been able to not focus on it too much ever since Harrow had arrived, taken him into his arms.

But everything returns to him now, and his mind can barely stray away from thinking about how fucking awful it is.

Breathe slowly. You'll be okay.

"Yeah, I..." A nod, a pair of eyes almost closed, but not quite, jaw tense. "...I should take those. Maybe. Perhaps." The longer he speaks, the more breathy those words sound; The ointment feels good against his skin, very calming - so is the scent.

Honestly, the scent might be what helps the most - but it does, reaches him somewhere deep, allows taut nerves to mellow out a little.

"Did you... --- did you feel the same, when you were... ---when you were trapped, back then? The same pain?"

[haikyu-mp4]

Telephone – Tsukishima x reader wc 2202 – gn!reader, twin!Yamaguchi written for @tsukisangel – summer fic exchange<3

Being the manager of Karasuno’s boys’ volleyball team wasn’t always easy, but it felt like the time of your life when you got to be with your best friend, Yachi, your twin brother, Tadashi, and your childhood friend, Tsukishima.

The four of you became something of a quartet, especially during your second year, as any time outside of training and school was spent stopping at Ukai’s shop for snacks, exploring together, and hanging out at each other’s places. It felt perfect, so perfect that you had to ruin the balance by falling for a certain nerd.

“Tsuki, what are you most excited for?” you asked him, knees planted in your seat on the bus so you could look at him in the seat behind you. He looked to the side, out the window, in nonchalance.

“Going back home.”

You rolled your eyes at the expected answer, looking at your brother instead when Yachi asked him the same question. “How about you, Tadashi?” She had also climbed up in her seat, so the two of you looked at them side by side.

While they talked, you reached a hand between your seat and the window, making a heart with your fingers only for Tsuki to see. He glanced in your direction, then quickly turned back to the view. You smiled happily and tried to play it off as a reaction to whatever Tadashi said, mentally noting how Tsuki put his headphones on to cover the red tips of his ears.

Yeah, you hadn’t told your brother that you were dating his best friend.

The bus ride to training camp wasn’t very eventful, but your heart raced a little every time you managed to subtly flirt with your secret boyfriend while your best friends sat right beside each of you. It honestly marvelled you how Tadashi and Yachi hadn’t realised.

If only you knew, those two had a plan of their own for this week at training camp.

Mission: get Tsuki and y/n together.

On the first day, Yachi and Tadashi sat down on the same side of the table for breakfast, somewhat forcing you and Tsuki to sit beside each other for the natural distribution of the friend group. It was also preferable not to sit beside Hinata and Kageyama, who were always bickering.

“Will the first years be playing today, you think?” you asked.

“We’ll probably rotate a little so the first years don’t lose interest, but it’s most important for the starting players to practice for the qualifiers,” Tadashi answered, already giving you a glimpse into his potential as a captain. With a light blush, he suddenly shrugged. “That’s just what I think, anyway.”

“You’re probably right,” Yachi encouraged him, wincing as Noya and Tanaka somehow got even louder at the other end of the room. “The third years are quite lively today. We have our work cut out for us.”

You smiled and nodded in agreement when she directed her words at you. Holding up a hand for a high-five, you ended up bumping your elbow into Tsukishima’s shoulder and quickly apologised.

“Don’t mind,” he muttered and kept nibbling at his lunch.

While Tadashi and Yachi giggled to themselves, thinking their plan was in action, you snuck your hand into Tsuki’s under the table, smiling as his thumb rubbed over your skin in a soft comfort.

After a long day of refilling water bottles, there was nothing quite as nice as sitting down in a quiet corner away from the main buildings. While everyone was still either cleaning up after dinner, hitting the hay, or heading to the gym for some extra evening training, you found it was easy to sneak away without any watchful eyes following. The evening summer air was calm, a soft warmth that let your thoughts stir without boiling them.

“Hey,” Tsuki said as he sat down beside you on the little ledge by the fence. It was obvious he didn’t find it comfortable, as he leaned more onto his bent legs than the actual seat. “How was today?”

You bumped the side of your knee into his and hummed, eyes tiredly falling shut every five seconds before you forced them back open. “I’m so glad you’re not that energetic,” you admitted cryptically, replaying scenes of the Karasuno crows jumping around the whole day, even when they weren’t playing.

“What? I thought I was the mood maker,” Tsuki joked with absolutely no emotion in his voice. There was only silence for a second before you snorted a laugh, covering your mouth with your hand.

“I don’t think a team full of Tsukishima’s would work either. The collective negativity would have Hinata’s shoes glued to the ground,” you giggled, and Tsuki, despite completely agreeing with you, poked your sides until you were squirming for him to stop. “Kei!”

Like a switch, the call of his given name from your lips made him stop, and these were the moments you treasured. The ones where he looked at you with tenderness, like he had so many thoughts he wished he knew how to put into words. Tsukishima wasn’t known for being particularly emotional or affectionate, but through spending time just the two of you, he showed you how he felt for those he cared for.

“Yes?” he responded, a little sarcastically. The teasing tilt of his head as he leaned closer to you made you melt, pecking his cheek before pushing his face away with playful lightness. He adjusted his glasses and was about to ask something when footsteps alerted you.

“Tsuki? Y/n?” You looked up when you heard Tadashi’s voice, wide-eyed and heart racing like a Formula 1 car. “Are either of you out here?”

Looking around, you found an adjacent door and snuck inside, crouching below the window's edge without even saying goodbye to your boyfriend first, so used to prioritising the secret that you ran away on autopilot.

After you left, Tsukishima’s heart fell, and he took a second to recognise the feeling of regret at how you had to run from your own brother. “I’m over here, Yamaguchi. I just needed some air,” he told his friend calmly. They were walking back towards the third gym together when Tsuki gripped his pride with both hands and admitted to Tadashi that he thinks he might possibly have developed some totally uncharacteristic feelings for you.

The next day, your brother offered to help fill up the second round of water bottles during the break. You thanked him and picked up two baskets, letting him grab the rest and leading him out the doors. “I’m so happy to see you on the court more often.”

A light flush pinched his freckles. “Me too, and I’m getting better at receiving. It’s always a pain when my serves get cut off because they aim an attack at me.”

You hummed in understanding, having spent several evenings talking about it and rewatching games with him at home. “Yachi said your improvement shows. And Kei always blocks with more determination when you’re serving.” With a smile, you started filling up bottles and handed them to him so he could fit them back in the basket.

“Yachi is too kind,” Yamaguchi brushed off. With a keen eye, you nudged him with your elbow and wiggled your eyebrows.

“Oh? What’s that tone?”

He groaned, pushing your shoulder carefully before rubbing his arm like a comfort blanket. “As if you have anything to say, when did you even start calling Tsuki for Kei?”

You froze, swallowing nervously while the water spilt over the edge of the bottle as it overfilled. “I didn’t, you must have heard me wrong.”

Tadashi frowned, taking the bottle from your hands and screwing the lid back on. “I totally didn’t, but I’ll willingly let you gaslight me for the purpose of being a good brother.”

Halfway through the camp, you had avoided meeting up with Tsukishima too much in private, worried that your brother would find out before you could tell him.

Still, you could be found hiding under your sheets after the others fell asleep, texting away with Tsuki about everything that happened that day. It was mostly him complaining, but you had to admit you often felt the same. After shaking off your last laugh, you slowly typed out the question that had lingered on your mind.

Do you think we should tell them? Especially Tadashi.

Tsukishima’s writing bubble appeared and disappeared about three times before the much too short answer came through.

I have an idea.

While preparing for the first games the next day, Yachi went over your schedule while you pretended to listen, simultaneously frowning over at your boyfriend for short periods at a time.

What the hell did he mean by an idea? That’s entirely too concerning.

You see, while Yachi has been too nervous to do very much about their matchmaking plan when you two were in private for managing duties, Tadashi had been entirely too obvious in his intentions while talking about you to Tsuki. Your boyfriend quickly caught on, and an idea developed to fix this without you having to admit to lying at all. If he could convince those two that he was confessing to you today, you wouldn’t have to tell them about any part of the secret relationship.

To make everyone calm down a little, and with the supposed purpose of improving their communication skills, Yachi encouraged the team to do a round of broken telephone. It’s the game where everyone sits beside each other, and a phrase is supposed to be passed from one end to the other by whispering in the next person’s ear.

With intent unknown to you, Tsukishima pulled you with him to the end of the line, letting go as soon as you went to sit down.

“Okay, everyone, it’s important you listen to the message you’re given!” Yachi encouraged them. Although this was all a scheme, she hoped it could help make the crows calm down. Ennoshita hadn’t quite mastered calming down the team like Daichi did, even though he was an excellent captain.

Tadashi’s smile slowly fell as it took three tries before the message even got more than halfway through the line. Tsukishima was less than patient and thought it might never reach him. As you giggled at his expense, he closed his eyes and leaned back on his hands, doubting his choice of trusting these idiots.

“Tsukishima,” Kinoshita whispered eventually, making him open his eyes in slight surprise. “The message?”

Blinking in disbelief, Tsukishima leaned in to finally hear what the message was, even though he didn’t need to remember it for the plan.

“The crows climb the water lilies to victory.” With a scrunched nose, Tsukishima leaned back and looked at his senpai in disbelief. Kinoshita could only shrug, none the wiser. “That’s the message I got.”

His eyes followed down the line, where the others watched in anticipation, some also with evident guilt.

Tsukishima sighed and turned to you, forcing himself to ignore how his ears burned while he leaned in again, cupping his hand around your ear.

“Go out with me, no secrets this time,” he whispered before leaning back with an almost too neutral expression for the cliche move he just pulled. Kageyama mumbled some complaint about the whispers sounding too far off, but Yachi just giggled and clapped her hands.

“What was the message, y/n?” she asked. Your brother leaned forward somewhere at the beginning of the line, curious eyes begging for an answer.

You chuckled, putting together some of the pieces of Tsuki’s idea, but figuring you would save the remaining bit of his ego.

“The managers are the coolest part of Karasuno?” you pretended to recall, making the whole team groan. “That’s so nice, you guys!”

“Our communication sucks,” Hinata declared and got up, much too restless to try another round. With his retirement, the others followed, leaving you, your best friend, your brother, and your boyfriend.

“Did you put him up to this?” you asked them, pointer finger brushing against Tsukishima’s hand where it lay flat on the floor beside him. “It wouldn’t be very nice to get my hopes up for a prank.”

Yachi’s giddiness was palpable, and Tadashi was no better. “Tell her!”

Tsuki sighed, turning his head away and mumbling something. Not hearing him quite well, you leaned in closer with a questioning hum. Finally, he faced you and gulped at how close you were, glancing at your lips. “I meant it,” he admitted.

“Then yes, I want to be with you.”

“Woah, slow down,” Tadashi scolded you, already pulling Tsukishima’s arm so they could get on with warm-ups along with the team.

Yachi helped you to your feet and pulled you in the opposite direction from them, skipping along. “Our plan went so well!”

“Maybe I should take inspiration from that plan to set you up with my brother?” you teased her, but she stopped walking abruptly.

“Sometimes people should find love at their own pace, y/n.”

Now you were the one pulling her, your laugh echoing off the walls of the hallway. “The call is coming from inside the house, dear Yachi!”

masterlist

[theegyal]

𝗙𝗜𝗘𝗟𝗗 𝗕•𝗧𝗖𝗛 ❀

Part 1 ; part 2 ; part 3

Part I,

⚠️: infidelity, interracial relation, NSFW, public sex, anti-blackness

Her mama done told her: “You best keep clear of them Smokestack boys.” Said it with her mouth full of corn liquor and tobacco leaves, sitting on the porch with her legs open to the breeze. People across the Delta were wary of those boys — all big hands, evil charm, and trouble slick as oil —. Lord, seven years gone from their home hadn’t changed a shit of what folks feared.

Judith should’ve listened to her old woman. Obeying might’ve kept her out this damn mess — crouched in the dark of some rickety hostel closet, breath caught in her chest like a coon stuck in a wire trap. Her thighs cramped. Sweat clung to her back like wet linen.

She ain’t know Stack had a woman. Truth is, she ain’t wanna know. That nigga was too fine to be sitting lonely — tall with sugar-melt eyes, voice like molasses dripped over hot stone. She saw him in town and thought, God loves the sinners.

But she sure as hell didn’t expect his woman to look that unseasoned. Pale as dishwater, hair slicked brown, smelled like rosewater and department store soap. Judith could tell from the way her heels clicked she’d never walked barefoot through cotton rows a day in her life.

“I was lookin’ for you,” the white woman said, cool and clipped. “Little Sammy told me you’d be here.”

“You in town, Mary?” Stack said, trying to sound surprised, too late.

“Well as you see” she replied, arching a brow.

“Yeah…cool.”

Mary’s eyes scanned the room. “I saw a pair of shoes outside. You here with someone?”

“Huh ? No, no. Must be one o’ ‘em field bitches forgettin’ their shit everywhere. Prolly dropped ’em off while they cleaned up.”

Judith stiffened inside the obscurity of the closet. Field bitches huh ?

Her jaw locked. Probably he forgot his mama must’ve been one too. Same goes to the kind of women who wiped his nose with skirt hems and broke their backs so he could learn to stand tall. And parade a racially ambiguous chick around.

It hurt.

One could expect that kind of talk from a white woman — they’d been born to look down. But not from a Black man. Not from Stack.

Not after he done spreading her thighs and ate her pussy like happy meals after a Sunday sermon.

Not after be bent her over and shoved his fat cock inside her cunt, pounding the cake as if he’d been a baker all his fucking life.

Mary looked at him a long time. Judith couldn’t see her face from where she stood, but she could feel the doubt bleeding out the room. And just when it seemed Mary might push further, Stack stepped in close, placing hands on her waist.

“You really think I’d bring some mess around with you in town? C’mon now.”

Mary sighed, softening.

“No,” The white woman answered, her doubts totally gone.

Mary sniffed once and stepped back. “I just— I don’t like being made to feel crazy. Not by you.”

Stack ran a hand down her arm. “Ain’t no one sayin’ you crazy, baby.”

They both moved toward the room’s door. Mary paused before leaving.

“Pay attention to these girls. I see how they looked at you babe. They all wanna taste the beast”

They laughed mockingly. Stack more nervously and then the door clicked shut.

Judith felt foolish.

Her mama had warned her. About the Smokestack boys. About men who’d never call you by your name in daylight, only whispered it at night between four walls.

Bitter, Judith crawled out the closet, her mind foggy. Knees popping, eyes glassy. She didn’t look at Stack. Didn’t want to see the guilt he might fake or the shame he’d never own.

Desperately she searched for her drawers under the bed, ignoring the stuttered breath of the man behind her.

Stack cleared his throat. “Look, Jud… I can explain, okay? It’s just— it’s complicated, you see—”

She didn’t stop moving. Already knew the story before he told it. Every sentence had already been lived and left behind in too many bodies before hers.

Panties on, then the bra, her floral dress. She was ready to get out there.

“Got some cotton to pick. Gotta go” She spit, her long feet hitting the doorway.

“Hey—hey, please, mama, look at me,” he said, reaching out like a fool.

He gripped her shoulder.

She turned and slapped him.

So hard the noise echoed in the tight room.

“Damn,” she hissed. “Better not touch the field bitch, huh? We ain’t got no manners, sir.”

SLAM

Two days later, Stack and his twin, Smoke, opened a juke joint . Nothing fancy — just blues music, cheap liquor, and enough space for people to sweat and grind. The place was packed, bodies moving under dim light, cigarette smoke thick in the air.

Judith didn’t want to go. Told her friend Mabel straight. “Huh huh, ain’t goin’. Don’t want no problems Ma’ ”

Mabel waved her off. “Ain’t nobody gon’ touch you, girl. You gon’ let that white bitch scare you out your own town.? We Delta here, not Chicago”

Judith had no answer for that. Pride did the rest. An hour later, she was in front of the mirror, pulling on a short black skirt, a tight brown laced top, and heels tall enough to cut glass. She glossed her lips, let her brown titties sit high, and oiled her thighs so they shined.

When she stepped in the juke, all eyes turned. Men whistled. Some lurked at her rounded ass. She gave them a show : bouncing and wiggling her cake, her thick thighs squeezing lasciviously. One old man grope his crotch whispering prayer, another one brush his lengthy tongue on his bottom lip.

Judith ? She just smiled and kept walking straight to the bar.

Stack saw her the second she came through the door.

He was posted in the corner with a drink in hand, cheek still sore from the slap. She avoided him for two fucking days and now here she was.

Bouncing tit, ass like a Sunday roast, every man in the place staring like they wanted a piece. She didn’t even look his way. Just leaned into a man with gold teeth and dice scars on his knuckles. Laughed at his dumb jokes. Sucked her drink down while her tongue played with the rim of the glass.

Stack told himself to ignore it, that she was just playing.

But then he saw her kiss the man. Not the gentle, childish poke on lips. Nah, she drove her tongue in that drunkard mouth, rolling it perversely. The guest got a hand around her waist, pulling her fluffy body closer to the bulge swollen in his jagged ass pants.

Stack snapped.

The cup he was holding broke in his grip. Blood ran down his palm but he didn’t care. Ain’t even feel it. He moved through the crowd, charged like a bullet. Folks stepped aside—afraid.

“Judith!” He roared, rough.

She turned, around leisurely. She’d been expecting him.

The — no longer lucky — man beside her smelled the fight coming and stepped back.

Judith rolled her eyes annoyed.

“What ?”

“The fuck you think you doin’?”

She stood up, just enough to make her hips tilt with the music.

“Boi ? Zip it. Ain’t ya got two goggles on ya face to see ? I’m havin’ a good time. Ain’t that what this joint for?”

Stack sucked his teeth, spitting out the toothpick he had between his lips. That woman was playing with fire but why he the one burning ?

“You think shit funny?” he growled.

Judith stepped closer. He could smell the brown rum and sugarcane in her breath.

“No,” she said. “But you are.”

Then she reached down and adjusted her top — pulling it up like a tease, then down again just enough to show a sneak peek of her large brown areolas.

Stack hand hit violently the bar.

“Come outside,” he said.

“Why?” She sucked on her pouty lips, eyes sparkling mischievously. “You ain’t got no angel in da house to entertain tonight, Stack ?”

His name in her mouth sounded like a dare.

He grabbed her wrist.

The crowd went quiet.

Pearline stopped singing mid-key

Annie shook her head knowing.

Smoke called from upstairs

“Ay, Stack—!”

But he was already dragging Judith out the backdoor, into the swampy Delta night, thick with crickets and moonshine scents.

Judith stumbled once in her heels but caught herself, never breaking eye contact.

Outside, she yanked her hand free and shoved him hard in the chest.

“So you mad now ? Got your little white bitch all nice and dumb, but I kiss one man and suddenly I’m the whore?”

“You ain’t just kissin’!” Stack stormed back, invading her space. “You out here fuckin’ with me, makin’ me look like a fool in my own goddamn joint—!”

“You are a fool!” she spat. “Callin’ me a field bitch, lyin’ to that white lady, lettin’ me hide like I was dirty—!”

Her voice shattered on the last word. Judith knew her worth. She ain’t planned that at all. She wasn’t ready to fall for another woman lover. Fuck that shit ! He should’ve act like his brother if he didn’t want anyone to move on him.

Whole delta knew Annie was Smoke woman. He claimed her, paraded her like the finest treasure he ever had. Damnit he honored the fuck outta woman.

Why did Stack hid his girl ? He should’ve been forefront too.

Stack reached for her, but she slapped his hand away.

“I gave myself to you Stack. Every goddamn part of my body. And you made me creep in a fucking smelly closet. Shit— we ain’t even greet

at morn’ when we bumped on each other in streets or markets.” She snapped. “You’re embarrassed. Yeah. Ashamed of that shit ya got wit me”

He didn’t answer.

“Ya know wut ? Go back inside, wait for ya lil white shawty, kiss her baby-soft skin and clean perfume.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he growled.

“Make me.”

That was it.

Stack grabbed her throat, pulling her close, his mouth on hers. Their teeth clacked. Tongues tangled. She bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Stack moaned, he liked it.

He slammed Judith against the wall behind the joint. She didn’t flinch, just stared him down his throbbing swollen cock restrained in his dandy pants.

“You want that dick Jud ?” he asked.

“You know I fuckin’ do.”

He turned her around and bent her over. Yanked her skirt up to her waist. That phat ass. Her cheeks were big, round, plushy. They wiggled when he put his nose in between, spreading the fleshy meat to smell her cunt and asshole.

Judith clapped her cake on his face, choking him from both sides.

“She ain’t make it bounce like this. Huh daddy ?”

Stack groaned gruffly , mumbling something against the cotton string covering her tight brown-ish bootyhole and cooze.

He tucked her panties to the side and spat on her squishy cunt. He then spread her labias wide with two fingers —her coochie gaping to extremes, so flare he could see her creaming. Air penetrated in her vagina making it blurted bubbles and queef.

“Mmh—shit all da cream babe,” he drooled, sliding four fingers inside. Her walls fluttered around his grip, compressing it.

She arched her back more. “Fuck—gimme that dick now”

Stack spilled free his fat, arched veiny. He ran the tip through her folds, once, twice, dragging it up to her meaty clit, then back down.

She pushed her hips back. “waiting for permission now?”

Stack grunted and rammed his length in.

His thrusts came needy, violent, hitting deep inside her core.

Judith cried out, face pressed to the wall, nails scraping the wood.

Her pussy walls trapped him, knotted around his penis like it didn’t wanna let go.

“Ye—yeah — Fuck Jud, you so tight”

He fisted her hair, yanked her head back, and penetrated her vagina deeper and aggressively.

The base of his cock squelching, soggy, on the sensitive button inside her cunt.

His semen-full balls slammed her ass cheeks with every thrust. She reached hungrily between her legs and rubbed her clit fast.

“Shit—yass Stack— don’t stop. Mmh— it’s right here—fuck me harder”

“You let that nigga kiss you,” he growled.

“You mad about a kiss?” she bit her lips trying to prevent the drool leaking out her mouth. “After what you did?”

“You thought about me doin it ?” he grunted.

She looked over her shoulder, eyes glassy. “I thought about this dick.”

She kept rubbing herself, moaning lewdly, her wet tongue out.

He pulled out for a second and slapped her ass hard. Watched it jiggle. She bounced back into him, spreading her legs wider to take more of his huge dick.

“Aaargh—F-fuck”

She came hard. Almost collapsing on the wall.

Judith voice broke, her pussy swallowed his cock, milking him.

Behind her, Stack barely held on. He kept fucking her through it until his legs started to lock.

Then he drove it out. Stare at her ruined creamy ass, pussy drenched of his sperm. Her tight cunt was so damn gaped he sure could thrust his fist in.

With one expert hand, Judith grope her left peachy cheek and stretched it.

“Naughty boy. It’s wut ya wanna see so bad ? Wanna fill my hole up huh daddy ?”

Stack grunted, turned her around, and pushed her to her knees.

She looked up at him. No hesitation.

He shoved his cock in her mouth.

She took it all, spit leaking from her glossy lips. Hands on his thighs. Head bobbing slow, faster, then rough as he took over.

He held her face. Fucked her mouth like he didn’t care who saw.

He came with a groan, loading her throat with his semen. She didn’t pull back. She swallowed everything.

When he let go, she wiped her mouth with her thumb and stood up.

“Damn Jud, you’re so magic. Fuck—”

“Nah. Just a field bitch Stack.” She fixed her skirt and top.

“Jud listen please—”

“—you said it well.”

She turned her heels away and disappeared inside the juke.

He didn’t follow. Just stood there, pants half done, dick softening, hands twitching useless at his sides.

Inside, the music had picked up again. Folks laughed, danced, drank, like nothing had happened.

Judith stepped back through the rear door, headed straight to the bar. Mabel caught sight of her and raised both brows, but didn’t say a word. Just slid her a fresh glass of bourbon and looked away.

Judith took it down in one swallow. Her face barely moved.

“You good?” Mabel asked.

“Don’t ask me that.”

Mabel shut up.

Across the room, Smoke watched from the upstairs balcony. He nodded to his wife Annie, who stood nearby with arms crossed, eyes narrowed with faint smile.

A/ N : This story is already full written. I’ll post the parts one by one.

[sur-i-ki]

Okay another one shot because I am losing my damn mind. I think I've lost it, officially.

College AU, nerd reader, smitten naruto. Can you tell I have favourites? Edit; holy 2.0k words. I don’t like it, which is why it’s left where it is. Idk do we want a part 2?

Naruto wouldn’t consider himself to be dumb.

At least, not anymore. Sure, when he was younger he didn’t have the best grades, but his poor, overworked and underpaid teachers couldn’t be bothered to give him the extra attention he needed. Thankfully, two teachers, Mr. Iruka in middle school and Mr. Kakashi in high school, gave him the guidance and tools he needed to excel. And excel he did.

Now as a pre-law student at a prestigious university, Naruto was doing well. Not perfect, like Sakura, a rising pre-med student with a double major in criminology and neuroscience, or particularly skilled, like Sasuke, who was at a neighboring police academy, bringing in top scores, especially in detective work, just like his older brother. Naruto had his own strength: his hardwork and his charisma. He could talk to a wall and get it to move, and had formed a strong networking circle, built off of his parents’.

And it didn’t hurt that the three of them always had study sessions together. There were others he met, during breaks and stuff, keeping in touch with his high school friends who moved away as well.

Naruto remembers one instance very well. It was the summer after first year of undergrad, and he had a few days to catch up with everyone before he began his internship. Imagine his absolute surprise when he walked into a cafe and saw Shikamaru completely transformed. Hair long but tied up in a half-up half-down, a baggy shirt and matching pants. Basically, he’d completely transformed, and in such a way, Naruto even noticed the girls walking in giggling and glancing at their group. And he knew he needed tips. He’d pulled up in stained, black sweats and a minecraft hoodie, for goodness’s sake.

“Shi-ka-ma-ru!” each pause accented with a smack to the back, “What the heck is this?”

That got him the nastiest side eye ever, but Shikamaru grumbled out a reply regardless.

“Me and Chouji finally ended up listening to Ino about fashion. Landed three interviews and a couple of dates when she dressed us, and we just” he shrugs, “kept to it, I guess. It’s such a drag though.”

He hadn’t even finished speaking when Naruto's phone was already out in his hand, fingers flying as he texted his favourite (and only) blonde friend.

Needless to say, Ino worked her magic, and taught him because “God, Naruto, I swear you’re the only one who ever listens! Sakura’s always too busy, and I still dress the boys because sometimes, they’re so-” and viola! Naruto’s fame skyrocketed on campus. Along with this and his position on the varsity basketball team, he always walks out with flowers, chocolates, and cards after every game. Of course, he made an effort to style Sakura and Sasuke as well, which they didn’t mind because they had one less thing to worry about.

All of this is to show that, you know, he lives a life. Good social circle, tight-knit friends, a tad bit of popularity. Maybe it got to his head a little. Gave a swagger in his step he didn’t have before. Few well placed smiles and a couple of details remembered, and he could have a dinner date with any girl on campus.

Well, almost any girl.

They were about half way done the fall term, when there was a new addition to the study group. Sakura dragged you into the room, making quick, whispered introductions as you smiled at them, phone glued to your ear and a laptop in your arms, bag swollen and bursting at the seams. His initial thought was that you were another Political Science student, as he vaguely remembers seeing you in some of his classes, but based on the intense science-y jargon you were spouting into the phone, he feels slightly confused.

But what really caught his attention, as you put your stuff down and shook everyone’s hand, is that you were the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. Nothing like what you see on social media, although he would not bring that beauty down, but an ethereal, unique type of beauty that would’ve started wars in the past. He definitely would have, no questions asked. Your hands, surprisingly, had calluses, and the smile you flashed at him as you wrapped up your call could have made him fall over, if he wasn’t already sitting.

You introduced yourself in earnest. Another pre-med, doing a combined engineering and economics major, and had bumped into Sakura at a volunteering event. The two of you had immediately hit off, and when Sakura realized you went to the same university, she invited you to join their study session as well.

“I hope I’m not intruding…” You said at the end, giving a shallow nod to the three of them.

“Of course not, the boys don’t mind, right?” Sakura replied, kicking both of them under the table with a smile that promised death if they disagreed.

As Sasuke mumbled out some words of agreement, Naruto took this opportunity to get a few words in.

“You said you were taking economics as well? I think I saw you in my 356 class last year, with Professor Anko?” and your body gave a faux-full-body-flinch at the name. He chuckled at your reaction, realizing you were just as dramatic as he was, and loving it.

“Please never say that name around me again, I’m pretty sure I just got a PTSD flashback.” you laughed, and then the two of you were quick to start talking, bonding over shared classes and trauma. He thought he was getting somewhere. Clearly, there was a vibe, with the way you smiled at him, the eye contact, and with how much you laughed at his jokes. He was sadly mistaken, because you were just that attentive with the others, and behaved the same with everyone, to make them comfortable.

Case in point, when asked about your calluses, you brought up the martial arts classes you take, and training at a nearby gym, which caught Sauske’s interest. He soon joined the conversation as well, the both of you talking. You mirrored him completely, down to the accurate pauses, lack of energy, and calm overtone. He watched as his socially challenged friend flourished under your attention, talking more and letting his personality shine through. You adapted, matching his energy and vibe.

Contrary to popular belief, Sasuke was not shy, just quiet and not very well versed in the art of small talk. Once he got to know the other person, then it was smooth sailing, but he had, more than once, said something a little too bluntly, and suffered for it. Telling an aunt that she needs to stop feeding her baby less because “I’m pretty sure that’s an unhealthy BMI for an infant.” is not appropriate thing to say five minutes into meeting someone, and “Jeez, Sasuke, can’t you have just a bit of tact,” with an elbow in his ribs from his cousin Shisui. Naruto had folded himself in half from laughter during that, hiding in the corner.

But here, he can see the sure confidence in Sasuke’s words, and you take every savory and unsavory comment and question in stride. The same thing occurred when Sakura finally looked up, joining in after her readings. So you were social, clearly. It didn’t mean he didn’t have a chance.

You two had one class together, which he offered to walk to you, and you accepted. Win. Then as you dove into your world of AutoCAD and differential equations, he debated asking if he could walk you back to your dorm. Which at the end of the session, you accepted as well. Another win.

Except, as the semester progressed, he realized that as much as you were smart and social, you were severely lacking in the matters of the heart. Which is his pouty, whine-y way of saying that you were either unfazed by his moves, or just didn’t take them for what it was. Walking to class, brushing shoulders, as he bent his head down into your space to ‘hear you’? Oh, wow, you had a friend hanging off your other side. One on one coffee dates? Well, apparently engineering majors carry laptops everywhere, and soon Sakura and Sasuke crowded into the booth as well, making it an impromptu study date. Smiles, fueling your caffeine addiction, late night calls and playing roblox, anything, everything, nothing worked.

For the longest time, he thought he had no hope, until one day, during winter break, he talked to Sakura. He was promptly swatted on the head.

“Smart girls require a different approach to romantic attention, idiot. Besides, maybe if you opened your goddamn eyes, you’d be singing a different song.”

And open his eyes he did, because this semester he had three classes with you, which meant more opportunities to make headway. Stretching after sitting in a particularly long lecture, he didn’t squeeze his eyes shut. No, this time, he watched you, out of the corner of his eye, and saw you eyeing him with interest. You glanced at his abs peeking out, just a bit, before moving your eyes away to pack. He was on cloud nine the entire day.

Naruto is exceptionally good at hyperfixating. This time around? Studying you, without outright interacting with you. What style, color, body language makes you look at him a bit longer, a bit more with intent. He slowly adapted, learned that if he spent an hour before the lectures learning the content, you’d give him a wide eyed stare when he answered your questions like nothing. Saw you looked at him more when he listened, asked when he didn’t know. Seeing him being confident, slightly more cocky made your ears turn red. And the day he found out you thrived on verbal sparring? His foxy side came out, and class became a series of whispered wars and giggles. It made you touch him more, hands on his arms, ruffling his hair and what not.

Something shifted, and somewhere in all of this, he realized you were getting bolder. The both of you had become this flirty friendship thing. No longer were “study dates” crashed by other friends, walking in the halls with just you, doing side quests together to ‘unlock’ secret places on campus. And the times when you were in a particularly sweet mood, you’d complement each other, genuinely, and sometimes your sincerity had him turning his head away to hide his blush. The two of you grew closer together, and he knew where you were and what you were doing almost always, and vice versa.

One instance had even Sasuke staring at him flabbergasted, with Sakura’s jaw hanging opening when she had asked-

“Where is she? Did she get lost?”

Naruto glanced at his watch. “Nah, she’s probably getting her coffee and protein shake from the cafe, should be here in 10.” as if he was conversing about the weather. Sasuke pinned him with his incredulous look.

“...Why do you know that?”

Sakura chimed in, “And how did you answer so quickly?”

He smiled sheepishly, but didn’t elaborate.

Some nights, he'd lay in bed thinking (daydreaming) about you, about how you leaned into his space more, tilting your head up while stepping closer, or pulling him down by the collar to point something out in the crowd. He’d obediently nodded along, trying to hide the fact that the smell of your perfume made his head spin in the best way, drunk and intoxicating him until all he could think, hear, and feel was you.

But you were so infuriatingly dodgy! It drove him insane, made his head spin with thoughts of just bursting out his feelings for you during the tense moments.. His hand would be next to your’s, and he sees it twitch, knows that maybe, you want to close the gap too, but don’t. And he doesn’t know why. He can feel your stare on him sometimes, can see the way your bright eyes follow him when he decides to go shirtless for a run, can see the way you glance at his mouth. But you flake on him, you call him “a great friend” and sometimes he feels like he’ll die, trying to decode you to understand.

He doesn’t care though. Can’t care, not when you smile at him like that, saying his name in that voice of your’s, and that new nickname makes his brain stop working.

You’re so oblivious. Good thing he is a patient man (he isn’t, but for you…)

⇝ 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥! 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯

[lemmesayimyourbiggestfan]

difficult - kim jong-hyeon

kim jong-hyeon x reader

you can find the second part here

word count: 2,1k

i'm so obsessed with good boy but my obsession with lee sang yi has been strong since bloodhounds, always the second male lead, my shayla 🥹

requests are open!

You didn’t tell anyone. Not that you were sick, not that you hadn’t eaten in over a day due to the loss of your appetite and energy, not that your head felt like it was stuffed with wet cotton and your body ached like you’d been sparring for hours. 

It might have something to do with the recent streak of messages that you exchanged with your quiet, methodical, unreadable colleague with a stick in his ass - Kim Jong-hyeon. His messages were always short, never sentimental, but they still managed to drive you crazy. Don’t skip lunch today (that one time you’d been avoiding the canteen food because you had been punched in the gut on a mission so hard you felt for days as if you were going to throw up), Your caffeine intake is above normal this week. Drink water before 3 p.m.; Meeting got moved to 11:40. Bring actual notes this time, or maybe the worst of them that made you not speak to him for a week: Forecast says wind gusts over 20. Don’t wear the skirt you wore last Thursday. 

The last one said: Weather says 4° and raining. Don’t be stupid to wear that thin coat. 

Well, as a proof of your stubbornness, you decided to wear said coat and also said skirt, just to piss him off. But seeing his calm, indifferent expression was not worth laying on your couch while contemplating your life choices. 

You had worked with Jong-hyeon for just under a year in the inspection division of the auditor’s office - long enough to know he preferred actions to words, silence to sympathy, logic over anything that could be considered as warmth. You joked around him anyway, prodded him with sarcastic comments just to see if he would twitch. He rarely did. 

You had heard of his lost golden medal, the eye injury, the breakup between him and officer Ji Han-na. You once saw that he still had a picture of her in his wallet - smiling, radiant, the photograph worn in the edges. Such a heart-throb, you thought, breathing out loudly through your aching throat as you moved to your side, shivering even beneath the blankets. 

One thing that you could say about Kim Jong-Hyeon was that he was observant - which was probably the most dangerous thing about him. He noticed everything. 

Which is why, at exactly 2:13 p.m. on your second sick day - the second one you didn’t tell anyone about, didn’t put in the system, just disappeared without a word - someone rang your doorbell. Wearing socks that didn’t match and sweatpants that had become a second skin, you crawled out of the comfort of your living room, fully prepared to yell at a delivery guy for waking you up from your fever nap. 

Except when you had cracked the door open, it was not a delivery guy. It was Jong-hyeon. 

In plain clothes, black hoodie, hands in his pockets like he had every right to be there and none of the intention to explain why. 

You blinked once, stupidly. 

He blinked back, then lifted a small white plastic bag in one hand and said, “You didn’t answer your phone.” 

You didn’t remember your phone ringing. 

You blinked again, slower this time, like your brain was buffering under fever and disbelief.

“You called me?” you rasped, voice barely hanging together, every syllable like gravel scraping your throat.

“I called twice,” he said, calm as ever. “And messaged. You read them but didn’t respond.”

You stared. Not because of what he said, but because he was here - on your doorstep, in casual clothes, carrying the plastic bag like it was just another checklist item. Like tracking down your half-dead, flu-ridden body on a Tuesday afternoon was standard procedure.

“You tracked me down,” you said slowly, your fingers tightening around the edge of the door. “Like I’m some kind of fugitive.”

“You weren’t answering your phone,” he repeated flatly.

“Maybe I didn’t want to be found.”

His eyes narrowed behind his glasses - just slightly. A flicker, gone before it settled. “You didn’t want to be found,” he echoed, dryly. “While shivering, with a fever, probably half-delirious, and definitely stupid enough to skip three meals.”

“I had two oranges.”

“That’s not food.”

You sighed, gave up. Stepped aside.

He walked in without another word.

Your apartment wasn’t messy, just… uninhabited. Like you’d curled up in one corner of it and abandoned the rest. Jong-hyeon’s footsteps were quiet, but your awareness of them was loud, like your body remembered the sound of him even when your mind was still sluggish.

He made himself at home - not comfortably, not with ease, but with precision. Shoes by the door, hoodie sleeves rolled up, bag unpacked in a neat row on your kitchen counter. Medicine. Sports drink. Rice porridge in a sealed takeout bowl. A digital thermometer still in its box. A packet of heat patches. Your go-to coffee order with the right amount of milk, syrup and sugar. You had no idea how he had picked up on that. 

You watched him from the couch, cocooned in two blankets. Your throat ached, your joints ached, but your pride ached the most.

“So you just showed up. Because of a missed text?”

“Because you don’t miss texts,” he said, glancing up just once. “And you don’t skip work. And you don’t disappear for two days without a single complaint, unless something’s wrong.”

He placed the porridge on your coffee table. Didn’t look at you. “And because I told you not to wear that damn coat.”

You opened your mouth to respond - something cutting, probably, something to match the heat crawling up the back of your neck - but then he turned to you with a plastic spoon and said, “Eat while it’s still warm.”

You did.

You hated that it tasted good. That it soothed your throat. That your stomach, traitor that it was, grumbled in appreciation. You hated even more that he sat across from you in the armchair and didn’t speak, didn’t comment, didn’t pry. He just watched, calm and unreadable, and somehow it was that silence that cracked you open.

“Do you… do this for everyone?” you asked, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“No.”

“Right,” you croaked. “Just the sick, stupid ones who ignore dress code warnings.”

He didn’t look up from the notes he had started scribbling in the margins of a folded case file. “You make it very difficult to ignore you.”

There it was. Almost a compliment. Delivered like a reprimand. Wrapped in that clinical tone that tried so hard to be impersonal, and failed so spectacularly when he looked at you - really looked - and you felt it.

Noticed.

Registered.

Held in the kind of gaze that always made you feel a little like you were under a microscope and a little like you were falling.

You dozed off at some point. Fever dragged you under like a tide, and when you woke, the light had changed. Dimmed. Shadows stretched longer across the ceiling. The bowl was gone. Your blanket had been tucked higher over your shoulders and there was an unfamiliar hoodie in your lap. 

Jonghyeon was sitting on the floor, back against the couch, legs stretched out in front of him, now only in his t-shirt, typing on his phone with one hand and sipping something from your mug with the other.

“My cup,” you said hoarsely.

“I washed it,” he replied.

“You don’t drink tea.”

“I do when there’s nothing else.”

You stared at the back of his head. His hair was still slightly damp from the rain - the fine strands curling at the nape of his neck. You could smell the faint, clean scent of whatever he used: something herbal, practical, expensive. You hated how well you knew it. Hated how you pulled the hoodie closer.

“You can go,” you said after a beat. “I’m alive. Crisis averted.”

“I know.”

But he didn’t move. Didn’t glance at his watch. Didn’t sigh in annoyance or reach for the hoodie you were now clutching like it belonged to you. He just sat there, on your floor, absurdly calm for someone who broke into your sick day like a one-man intervention.

“I put a new bulb in your lamp, it was flickering.” he finally said, unbothered.

“Oh.” Oh. “Thank you.”

The silence stretched - long enough for you to feel it settle between your ribs, heavy and real.

“You’re staying?” you asked, quieter this time.

“For a while.”

You should’ve rolled your eyes. Thrown a pillow. Said something cutting and clever about how he was hovering like a ghost with control issues. But your head was too heavy, and the fever had softened your edges. You didn’t want him to go. Not when his presence was the only thing in your apartment not swaying with the fever.

“You’ll get sick,” you murmured, turning on your side to face him more fully.

“I won’t.”

“How do you know?”

He tapped his phone screen once, checking something - maybe his schedule, maybe a case, maybe the exact second he planned to return to pretending he didn’t care.

“I don’t get sick from people like you.”

You furrowed your brows. “What the hell does that mean?”

He looked up. Finally. His gaze was level, unreadable.

“You run yourself into the ground before asking for help. You’ll skip meals before asking anyone to check on you. If I didn’t come, you’d still be lying here with two oranges and a mild death wish. That’s not contagious. It’s just infuriating. And stupid.”

You blinked. And blinked again. “Is that… supposed to be concern?”

He stared at you for a beat. Then:

“Don’t fish for sentiment. I brought medicine, not flowers.”

You let out a broken laugh, too hoarse to be pretty. “Thank god. I’d be really worried if you showed up with tulips.”

Another silence. Softer this time.

You didn’t remember closing your eyes. Didn’t remember your hand moving, either - until your fingers were brushing the back of his head. Just a light touch. Unthinking. Fever-drunken instinct. His hair was soft, softer than you expected, still faintly damp, curling slightly at the ends.

He froze - not sharply, but like a system processing something unexpected. He didn’t stop you.

You carded your fingers through once, twice, and felt the muscles in his shoulders tighten fractionally. It was a small thing, a private betrayal of a man who prided himself on control. You smiled into the pillow.

“You really do smell nice,” you murmured.

He exhaled through his nose. “You’re delirious.”

“Mm,” you hummed, letting your hand drop. “Maybe.”

And still, he didn’t move. Even when your hand slipped off his shoulder and back into the folds of the blanket. Even when your breath slowed again and your body curled back into itself, comforted.

He stayed. Sitting on your floor, staring straight ahead.

You drifted again, half-asleep, but not quite gone. Somewhere between the heat of the room and the weight of the blankets and the quiet company of a man who refused to name the way he cared, you felt it. That subtle shift. Like gravity had pulled him closer.

“Why her?” you asked, voice rough, barely audible, unable to stifle your curiosity and maybe something else. “Why Ji Han-na?”

Another long pause.

Then, low: “She made sense. We were in the same place.”

You waited.

“But?” you prompted, eyes still closed.

“We just are not anymore. There’s nothing more to it.”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

“I thought I wanted quiet,” he added. “Turns out I needed someone stubborn enough to ignore me. And sharp enough to know when I’m lying.”

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t. The ache in your chest wasn’t from the virus anymore.

“Do you still carry her photo?” you asked, almost childishly.

“No.”

A beat.

“I got rid of it last month.”

You opened your eyes.

“Why?”

He looked over his shoulder at you then - finally, fully - and for the first time all day, something in his expression cracked. The edges softened. The wall dropped an inch.

“I met someone more difficult.”

You let out a sound - half-scoff, half-wheeze. “That’s your type now? ‘Difficult’?”

He tilted his head. “Apparently.”

You turned your face into the pillow, cheeks hot for a reason that had nothing to do with fever. The hoodie he’d left on you still smelled like him.

“You can sleep,” he said, standing now, walking to the kitchen without ceremony.

“I already did.”

“Then sleep again. I’ll still be here.”

You blinked at the ceiling, voice low. “Why?”

He didn’t turn around.

But he said, simply:

“Because you didn’t ask me to stay.”

And then, in the quiet, you heard it - the sound of your kettle starting to boil.

You smiled.

Because for a man who never said what he meant, Kim Jong-hyeon had just said everything.

[larapluma]

SOMETIMES I WISH THAT I COULD GO BACK IN TIME AND SAVE YOU. 

What if it happened to you on a different day? On a bridge where there wasn't a rail in the way? Or a neighborhood street where the little kids play? Or the Angeles Crest in the snow or the rain? What if you weren't alone? There were kids in the car What if you were remote? No one knows where you are If you changed anything, would you not have survived? You're alive, you're alive, you're alive The 30th - Billie Eilish

Some nights like tonight, Andromeda could fell the grief trying to eat her alive. She knew grief intimately… it had haunted her since she was a child. Grieving the kindness of her family, her sisters and cousins, that slowly dried away because their parents were so good at that ; taking, taking, taking… everything until they, the children, were as cold as them. Until they were the perfect children for The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, until they didn’t have anything else that was good about them. She knew grief intimately… Andromeda has spend half of her life grieving her family, Regulus ; the little boy she had once known, Bellatrix ; her older sister that had madness in her eyes , Narcissa ; her baby sister that she couldn’t save, and of course, Sirius ; her cousin that was just like her - an shame for The Family... an disgrace for the House of Black because just like her… he had left. 

Some nights, Andromeda could felt Regulus’s ghost haunting her... Her little star had died one year ago. (It wasn't true, in fact he would die tonight and she would never know… his death would be a secret more deadly that the secret of the reason he had died. Maybe years later, she would learn the real reason that Regulus Arcturus Black died, the reason that she lost her little cousin months later that she thought she had. And she would prepares learn, that she had could save him, if only she had given him an reason with why he should trust her… Maybe then she would learn that she hadn’t save him, when she had the chance too and now it was to late… 21 years to late.) She remember everything about Regulus, all those little details that made him how he was… who he used to be, he wasn’t the same person that when he was a child, she knew that. He was just like her sisters, instead of like Sirius… It was too late, she couldn’t save him from the Family madness. 

She remembered when she had read in the paper that Regulus had been declared dead… Nobody in her family had taken the time to write to her, tell her what had happened. She was disowned, she wasn’t part of the Black family anymore. And most nights she wouldn’t mind it, she wouldn’t mind it because she was free from their madness. She had never thought that she would miss being her parents's daughter. But she did, because tragedy had stroked ; a child, her little cousin, was dead and they hadn’t taken the time to write to her. She knew it was because she was disowned, because she didn't want to be part of the Black Family anymore… And during that first week, she had wanted to do nothing more than take back her words and come back to the family. She wanted nothing more to save her baby cousin. But it was too late... he was dead.

She could fell it in her bones the hurting form his dead… Even if if it had happened a year ago, it didn’t matter. Even when she would be old, she would still fell the hurt, it wouldn’t matter. It would never matter the time that would have passed, since he was dead. HE WAS DEAD. And she hadn’t saved him. Didn't know that she could save him. (Tonight, he was alive but she couldn't save him.)

It was late in the afternoon, Ted was taking care of Nymph when she heard the news... She hadn't cried that day ; Not when Ted had asked her why she was so pale. Not that night in her bed, her husband at her side and her little baby girl in the other side of the wall. Not when Sirius had called her in the middle of the night, his voice broken - she would later learn that he had spend hours screaming for his little brother - and tears drowning his words... It would be the last time that she would listen him cry (and grief) the child that Regulus was... the child that Regulus used to be. No... she had broken down days later when Nymphadora had decided to look like Regulus in the hope of making her laugh... (Andromeda used to laugh when her daughter copied the people body in the photographies that she would find laying around. This time she hadn’t, because this time, it was Regulus. And it would be the last time that she would see the fallen star.) Nypmedora didn't know who the black haired boy was... She didn't know that this was her uncle… she would never meet her uncle, because he was dead and it was that realization that had made Andromeda Tonks broke down. (She wasn't Andromeda Black, because she hadn’t been a Black in years. It come with getting out of that house and losing her babies ; Regulus, Sirius and Narcissa. She had been the baby of Bellatrix, before. Everything... )

The rest of the weeks were passed in a blur that only heavy grief could do to a person. More the days passed more she would be haunted by the little boy Regulus used to be. Quiet laughter and an silent presence (they all had been forced to be silent but Regulus was the only one that could do it a perfection) and it seemed that even after his dead, he would continue doing this. Haunt her with his silence, in the thoughts that would eat her head. In the things that she thought that would made her cry (in silence, alywas in silence. She still didn’t know how to make noice, even after all those years.) She was haunted by his kindness that had soon become coldness... She was haunted by his habitude to appear out of nowhere and scare the shit of the other people that was in the room, that her daughter had copied, even if she knew nothing about the boy that used to do this. Andromeda sometimes hoped that he would do this, appear out of nowhere. (Regulus didn't know that she wanted that... he thought that she didn’t want anything  to do with him, just like Sirius. And after tonight it would be truly too late, he was going to be date... drowned under water.)

Sometimes, she would surprise herself by wishing she could go back in time, go back to her childhood so she could save Regulus from their family, form himself. Go back to that night, where he had taken the dark mark. Go back to the night, when he had taken the order from The Dark Lord to go in mission. Or even just go back to the day he had left, to make sure that he didn't leave. But it was impossible, she couldn't go back in time. She couldn't save him and she hated herself for this, for not saving him before. During her teenagers years, Andromeda had thought about it a lot, forcing her siblings and cousins to come with her... drag them out from that house that was eating them alive. But she couldn’t do this now, it was too late, they were already dead. She couldn't save them from their own fate. She couldn't save them from wanting to be their parents child. She couldn't save them from the dirty blood that run in their veins. She couldn't save them from the fate of their bloodline ; for the Black madness. It was too late, she couldn't save Regulus from their family - he was already dead. (He was in fact dead... he had drowned in the water of a cave doing a brave act that nobody would know he had done. It was the end of the tragic story of Regulus Black.)

I hope you like this. It's two of my favourite angst, Regulus Black dying and of course the Black Family. Have an wonderful day and thank you for reading :) @genderfluidluna : I hope you don't mind, the idea was to go not to be exploited :)

It was actually Andromeda who mourned Regulus the most.

She didn't grow to resent him like Sirius did. When Andromeda was disowned, Regulus was only twelve. She didn't watch him join the death eaters, she didn't see the cruel person he grew into. She just remembered the gap-toothed boy she read to sleep every night, and wondered if she could have saved him.

If she'd stayed, could she have led him away from the path his parents were pushing him down? (She wouldn't have survived staying, she knows that, but she still wonders if there was something, anything she could have done.)

Bellatrix and Narcissa assumed he died fighting for Voldemort; though they grieved, they were proud. Sirius pushed his grief down until he could barely feel it at all, he'd accepted that he'd lost his brother long before his untimely death. But Andromeda just mourned the child she knew. The boy she wished she could have saved.

[hargreeves-duncan]

OMG I JUST READ IT HAD TO BE YOU WITH BUCKY AND PLEASE PLEASE COULD YOU WRITE A PART 2??? LIKE HE OBVIOUSLY GETS CAPTURED BY HYDRA ETC, BUT READER ALSO GET FREEZED OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT MAYBE WITH STEVE OR SOMETHING AND HE ACTUALLY GETS THAT DATE (i don't really know where could you place this like in Civil War, or maybe even in TFATWS, I DON'T KNOW PLEASE SURPRISE MY DUMB ASS) 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻❤️❤️❤️PLEASE I'M CRYING 😭YOUR WRITING IS SO GOOD❤️❤️ obviously if you don't want to write it just ignore my request 😄😘

pt. 1 | pt. 2 (happy ending)

visual is for vibes only, reader’s appearance is nondescript!

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: bucky finally gets that date, even if it’s not quite you

warnings: mentions of canon-typical violence, death/grief

word count: 2.2k

a/n: thank you for your request!! unfortunately for you, my lovely anon, i chose violence and strayed away towards angst so good luck 😭 (however, if you’d like a happy part 2, let me know, as i’d be happy to write an alternate ending!)

There was no easy way to put it: His life had been stolen from him.

Bucky had accepted that almost immediately after his memories had returned. There’d be no reclaiming the time, no undoing what Hydra had taken.

His family - all of his sisters, his mother and father, his grandparents - were long gone. A fact he’d learnt through a friend-of-a-friend whose name he didn’t even know, as if the loss alone wasn’t hard enough.

Having his memory back did him almost no good. What good was remembering, when all it did was remind you of who you’d lost?

You were among the people he’d searched for too. But, like all of his kin, you were gone.

Not because of Hydra. Not because of some world-ending event. Just old age. You’d lived to ninety, just five years shy of him having the chance to see you again.

And you’d had a hell of a life in his absence.

You’d dedicated every second of it to helping others and Bucky couldn’t say it surprised him. You had been one of just five Army Nurses who’d received a Silver Star after the war.

Shortly after his disappearance, and presumed death, you’d requested a transfer further down the Italian coastline to assist a core overrun with wounded as they made their way home, still under fire.

When others had fled, you’d stayed. You’d put your life on the line that day, saving six men.

Bucky could almost hear your voice; “Well, what was I going to do, leave them?”

He couldn’t be prouder of you. He also couldn’t help the ache in his chest when he thought of everything he’d missed.

Your life had been so full of good. In your story, he’d barely have made a paragraph.

You’d never married. Never had children. You’d given your life to the cause. To helping others. With Peggy’s help, you’d co-founded a foundation for the families of those killed in action.

And at the headquarters of that foundation, a long memorial wall bore the names of the lives it had touched.

His was the first name carved.

There was even a photograph of you, from the newspaper, carving it yourself. Stood at the top of a ladder, caught mid-laugh as you etched his name into permanence.

That photo had broken him. You’d looked after his family. After him. And he hadn’t even been there to thank you.

You were so wonderful in so many ways. He’d never deserved you.

He’d stared at that photo for hours, the first time he’d seen it. Something about the joy on your face, even in the act of memorialising him, struck him painfully in the chest. It was so you to find light even in loss.

He wondered what you’d think of the version of him that existed now.

He certainly wasn’t sure what to think of the new version of you.

Five years after your passing, the foundation had partnered with Stark Industries to create a digital memorial. An interactive exhibit to be incorporated into the Captain America Smithsonian wing.

To commemorate the legacy of your service and to inspire future generations.

That was the slogan they were pushing.

Steve had told him about it weeks ago, in a way that one might approach a wounded animal. He’d explained it as plainly as he could.

You would be what was now called a ‘hologram’.

A three-dimensional likeness, designed to talk and interact with visitors. Now, you were made of archival footage, interviews, letters.

“They wanted it to feel like… like her.” Steve had said.

Bucky had refused, at first. Just the thought made his stomach turn. You, smiling, moving, and talking, like you weren’t dead. It felt cruel. Wrong.

He’d seen enough ghosts in his lifetime. He didn’t think he could face one more.

Especially not you.

But once Steve had told him about it, he couldn’t get you off of his mind.

Most nights, he’d lie awake, staring at the ceiling and twirling the access pass Steve had given him between his fingers until dawn broke.

He thought of your voice and how you were caring but never babied. All the quips you used to make to keep him in line.

He thought of your eyes. All the times he’d caught them lingering on his arms, and how he’d pretended not to notice, just so you’d keep your attention on him a little longer.

He wondered what you might say to him now, if you could. If you knew what had happened to him. What he’d done. What had been done to him.

He mulled over Steve’s words too, “If anyone were to be the first to see her, it should be you.”

And, so, on the anniversary of his fall, he caved.

The exhibit hadn’t opened to the public yet. It was barely dawn. The museum was deserted, save for the security team, who let him through without a word once they saw his pass.

At the entrance, a black marble pedestal bore a gold plaque with your name etched into it.

And, as Bucky stepped closer to it, your hologram flickered to life, having sensed movement. And then, piece by piece, from toe to head, you were stood in front of him again.

He stopped breathing.

You stood there, or rather something like you, in the middle of a museum, surrounded by artefacts from a life that had once been his.

In the soft light, you looked real. Real enough.

He could pretend.

“Oh! Hello, there,” you smiled brightly, placing your hands on your hips, “I didn’t see you!”

And suddenly, Bucky was back there.

As you walked back to your station, your eyes met Bucky and your lips parted softly, “Oh! Hello there, I didn’t see you. Are you alright?”

Bucky had been caught staring.

He cleared his throat, laughing awkwardly as he gestured to his shining bruise around his eye, “Uh, yeah, hi, sorry, I needed some help."

You clicked your tongue softly, walking over. You cupped his face, looking it over with a small sigh, “Nothing much we can do for a black eye, but we'll get some ice on it."

Then, with a gentle nudge to his arm, you added, “Come sit."

And then you were gone again, replaced by your hologram as she proudly announced:

“Welcome to the Captain America Smithsonian Exhibit. We’re glad to have you here!”“What’s your name, soldier?” you asked with an eerily cheery smile.

“James.” Bucky muttered, wringing his metal hand out.

“Well, isn’t that a coincidence!” you laughed, “I knew a young man by that name, back in 1945, working with the 107th.”

“Come to think of it, you look an awful lot like him too!”

“You’d better not stick around too long or I might start getting attached.” you winked at him.

You didn’t recognise him.

He should’ve guessed. You were a program, after all. You had limitations. You weren’t you.

Still, it didn’t hurt any less to have you this close and still be unreachable.

Bucky swallowed hard, his throat tightening as he fought to find the right words.

“I don’t suppose you’d remember much about him,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

The hologram tilted its head, eyes shimmering with a quiet fondness, “On the contrary, soldier. James Barnes was quite the character.”

“He was incredibly brave,” your smile softened, “His bravery… his kindness… Sergeant Barnes’s impact on my life is why I developed the All Flower Foundation with Peggy Carter.”

“Today, the All Flower Foundation supports the families of those who lost their lives protecting our great country.”

Bucky nodded, finally swallowing the lump that had grown in his throat.

“He would’ve been proud,” he whispered, his voice growing tighter with every word you said.

“He always was, of me,” you smiled, “He was impressed by my rank when we first met, but can you blame him? Lieutenant’s not too shabby.”

That wasn’t right.

The real you wouldn’t have said that. Not the girl he knew.

You were humble. You always downplayed your accomplishments, wanted everyone on the same playing field. This wasn’t you at all. You didn’t brag.

Bucky’s jaw clenched. Part of him wanted to shut the whole thing down, to walk away and leave the ghost behind.

But he didn’t.

“You really don’t know who I am, do you?” he asked softly, rooted to the spot.

The hologram tilted its head again, leaning closer and watching him with gentle sympathy.

“I’m terribly sorry, soldier, but I don’t believe we’ve met. You do remind me of someone… someone very dear.”

He felt tears beginning to burn.

“James Barnes,” Bucky said gruffly, trying not to lose his patience with you, “That’s who you’re remembering, doll.”

He stepped closer.

“You’re remembering me,” his voice broke.

“I’m here. It’s me, doll. I’m James.”

The hologram paused. There was a flicker in your eyes and a red sheen passed over them for a moment.

A security alert. Bucky felt the change instantly.

His tone. His posture. Elevated stress signals. He’d been flagged.

You saw him as a threat.

Whatever was left of you was only trying to keep him calm until someone came to take him away.

And that, somehow, hurt more than anything else.

You didn’t want him there. Or, at least, this version didn’t.

“James,” you said softly, “I’m glad you came. There’s so much you should know… and not enough time for me to tell it all.”

He closed his eyes, chest heaving. This wasn’t real. You were gone.

And his heart broke all over again.

“I’m sorry,” he said, stepping back, “I shouldn’t’ve come.”

The hologram smiled gently, tilting its head. It was trying to be kind but it was hollow, performative.

It wasn’t you. It’s wasn’t you. It wasn’t you.

“Don’t be,” the hologram replied, “We’re grateful for every visitor who carries the memory of our soldiers.”

The words were empty. They weren’t meant for him. They were meant for field trips, tourists, strangers. Not for the man who loved you.

He’d come here thinking he could handle it, but there were some wounds that didn’t scar over and you weren’t something that he could replace.

He turned away.

Your voice followed him down the corridor.

“Take care, soldier. And thank you for your service.”

He wiped the tears from his face.

He felt like he was trying to escape a maze, one whose walls were formed of the life he’d lost out on. It was a whole other type of torture. He feared it was never going to end as he walked on.

Dozens of rows stretched before him: memorabilia, placards, curated histories. Medals behind glass. Field uniforms on mannequins. Black-and-white photos arranged in neat chronological order.

He stopped in front of one wall: “Heroes of the 107th.”

There was Steve, clean-shaven, smiling, and his arm slung around Bucky’s shoulder. And there he was too: Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.

Below the image, a placard read:

James Barnes, presumed KIA, 1945.

Remembered for his valor and service. An integral member of the Howling Commandos.

He let out a humourless laugh.

Presumed dead. Not wrong, per se, just incomplete. No mention of the years in the dark. No mention of what he became afterwards. They’d tied his story up with a beautifully patriotic bow. What else did he expect?

He moved on.

Peggy had her own corridor. Steve too. Rows and rows of artefacts in their names.

Then he saw it: “The All Flower Foundation”

Your face was represented in a mosaic at the entrance, built from hundreds of tiny images.

Patients you’d treated, families you’d supported, soldiers who’d returned because you stayed behind when others didn’t.

This you would’ve liked. Not the shell of you in the room he’d left behind. His chest constricted again.

A quote ran across the top of the archway in a font that mimicked your handwriting:

“To remember the fallen, we support the living.”

He hadn’t known you’d said that. Maybe you hadn’t. Maybe it was just something they’d attributed to you because it looked nice on a plaque.

The exhibit was composed of projections across its walls. They flickered to life as he stepped inside, bathing him in sea of soft light and sound.

Grainy footage played first, reels from the war. You were standing in a muddy field, hair tucked under your cap, sleeves rolled up to your elbows. You shooed the camera away, smiling amusedly at the person behind it.

“You’re wasting film,” you’d teased, laughing.

They’d subtitled the video. There hadn’t been sound back then, not with the kind of portable cameras the Army could afford.

Bucky stood still.

He remembered that day. The higher-ups wanted recruitment material and morale reels. You’d refused to stop treating the wounded long enough to pose.

The projection changed. A different reel now, one he remembered very dearly.

“James!” you shrieked, voice full of delight, as Bucky scooped you up into his arms.

A younger man, some Sergeant whose name Bucky could no longer recall, laughed from behind the camera.

You were howling, clutching at him as he spun you once, twice, then set you gently down. You swatted at his chest but he just caught your hands, pressing a kiss to your fingertips.

You rolled your eyes, smiling, and he leaned in to kiss you properly. A chorus of whistles and cheers erupted from the men offscreen. He smirked against your lips and turned you away from the crowd, arms wrapped tightly around you.

“Alright, show’s over, fellas!” the younger version of him had been grinning like a fool. If only he knew what little time the two of you had left together.

The projection flickered, and the scene shifted again, this time to something newer. He couldn’t see what it was through his tears.

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚒 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚎? || 𝚊𝚣𝚣𝚒 𝚏𝚞𝚍𝚍 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which one small act of kindness finds its way back to you again and again

It was a Wednesday in late September and campus was steeped in that particular shade of golden warmth that only early autumn brings. The air was soft but cool, sunlight gently spilling between the trees, catching on the edges of brick buildings and fluttering against the sleeves of sweaters and windbreakers. You were walking across the street with a bouquet of roses cradled delicately in your arms, eight red, three white. You’d gone a little overboard at the flower shop down the hill, but it felt right. Professor Monroe had believed in you last year when no one else had. And though she would never ask for thanks, you’d decided this morning you’d give her some anyway.

You weren’t in a rush. You were humming something under your breath, watching the petals dance with every step you took, and not looking where you were going.

“Oof—!”

The impact knocked the air out of you. You stumbled back, the stems of the roses catching on your jacket as you tried to steady them, but a few blooms tumbled to the pavement. You bent down in a blur of apology and nerves.

“I’m so sorry—so, so sorry, I wasn’t—” you started.

“It’s okay,” came a voice, low and calm. Warm like afternoon sun through a glass window.

You looked up and froze.

She was standing there with one hand slightly outstretched as if she’d meant to catch you but hadn’t quite gotten there. Her hoodie was half-zipped, black UConn backpack slung over one shoulder, dark curls tied into a lazy bun. Her eyes flicked down to the bouquet in your arms and softened.

“I should’ve been paying attention too,” she said, the corner of her mouth lifting.

You blinked. Your heart was still galloping.

“No, I—uh, these weren’t supposed to hit anyone. They were just for…” You looked down at the flowers and then, without thinking, pulled one of the red roses out of the bunch and held it out to her. “Here, as an apology. And maybe a thank you, for not letting me fall on my face.”

She looked at the rose, then at you and smiled. Not a flash of teeth or a practiced kind of grin. Something real. It lit her whole expression in a way that made your stomach shift.

“You’re giving me a rose?” she asked softly, as if the thought alone could bruise her.

“Yeah.” You laughed, a little awkward, a little shy. “Just one. Unless you want all twelve, and then I’ll really be in trouble.”

She took it from your hand with care, her fingers brushing yours.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

You stood there for a second too long. Or maybe just long enough.

“I’m Azzi,” she added. “Fudd.”

You nodded, trying not to stare too much at the way her eyelashes caught the light. “I know. I’ve seen you play.”

She laughed, quiet but full of surprise. “You follow basketball?”

You shrugged. “My roommate does. So now I kind of do. Plus… you’re hard to miss.”

Azzi flushed, and you tried to pretend you hadn’t noticed. She adjusted her grip on the rose, twirling it between her fingers once before looking back at you.

“I never got your name.”

You gave it to her and she repeated it like she wanted to keep it somewhere safe in her mind.

You parted ways not long after. She walked off toward the gym, and you finally made it to Professor Monroe’s office, a little breathless, cheeks warm. You told yourself it was from the sun, not the girl with the rose.

That should’ve been the end of it. One accidental collision, one rose, a name exchanged in the quiet of campus.

But the next Wednesday, as you walked into the library café for your usual pre-class tea, she was there. Same warm smile when she caught your eye.

“Hey,” she said like it hadn’t been a week. Like you were someone she’d known longer than five minutes. “You always come here this time?”

“Yeah,” you replied. “Routine.”

She looked at the menu, but her voice was tilted toward you.

“I liked the rose.”

Your heart twisted in a strange, unfamiliar way. “I’m glad.”

You started seeing her everywhere. Not in the obvious places, like Gampel or the rec center, but in quiet corners. The edge of the quad. The back table of the student union. Twice outside the Co-op, both times holding a smoothie. She never seemed in a rush. And neither were you.

Each time you crossed paths, it lasted a little longer. A conversation about classes. An offhanded joke. A compliment on your shoes. A question about her favorite book.

You brought her another flower a few weeks later. This time on purpose.

“Call it a tradition,” you said, handing her a pale pink one from your backpack as you met her outside the fine arts building.

She looked at it, at you, and tilted her head like she was reading something written across your face.

“What’s this one mean?” she asked.

You shrugged. “I didn’t check.”

“Good.” She tucked it behind her ear. “I’ll pretend it means whatever I want it to.”

Winter came quietly to Storrs. The air turned crisp and the days shorter, but your connection with her only grew softer, steadier, more constant. It wasn’t about big declarations. It was coffee she brought you on a rainy afternoon, the way she walked you to your dorm even when hers was in the opposite direction, the way she always waited for you to speak first but only because she liked the sound of your voice.

You never asked her to define what was happening. She never pressed either. You were both content to orbit gently, bound by the same gravitational pull, by glances that lingered and hands that brushed without apology.

One night in January, you found her on the hill behind the rec fields, sitting on a bench with a blanket wrapped around her legs. You weren’t sure how you’d known she’d be there. You just… did.

She looked up when you arrived, and smiled without surprise.

You sat next to her. Shared the blanket.

There was silence. “You always bring me flowers,” she said quietly.

“Is that a complaint?”

“No.” Her voice dropped. “It makes me feel like someone’s thinking about me. Even when I’m not in the room.”

You turned your head toward her, heart fluttering like petals in the wind. “I always think about you.”

She met your gaze. Eyes soft. Certain.

“Can I ask you something?” she whispered.

“Anything.”

She looked down at your hands, resting near each other on the blanket.

“Can I call you mine?”

You blinked. Swallowed. You reached over, gently threading your fingers with hers.

“You already do.”

And in the silence that followed, cool air between you, quiet stars overhead, you leaned your head to her shoulder and she leaned into you like a bloom in sunlight. Not fast, not loud. Just right. And soft. Always soft.

Spring came like a promise whispered in your ear.

It crept in slowly, birds singing before sunrise, patches of green on the campus lawns, windows cracked open just enough to let the warm air in. You started wearing lighter jackets. Azzi started showing up with iced drinks again. And somewhere between midterms and the melting of the last snow, something unspoken between you had begun to bloom.

Not in the dramatic, head spinning way of a college fling. No. What you had with Azzi was quieter than that. It wasn’t fireworks. It was a candlelight. Warm hands around a mug. The way she looked at you when you laughed like you were the only person in the world worth watching.

It was the way she texted you during away games just to say “I miss your voice or I saw a flower that reminded me of you.”

You had started tucking small flowers into her gym bag when she wasn’t looking. A daisy one day. A marigold another. No note or explanation. Just something soft to carry with her. She always found them. And she always smiled when she did, even if she never said a word about them out loud.

Until one evening in April.

She met you at the hill with two smoothies in hand and a daffodil tucked behind her ear.

“Your turn,” she said, holding out one of the drinks. “I brought you something.”

You laughed. “The daffodil?”

She shrugged. “Thought I’d return the favor.”

You took the flower and slipped it behind your own ear without hesitation. She blushed.

Neither of you spoke about what it meant, not out loud, anyway. But when she sat beside you in the tall grass and leaned her head against your shoulder, it didn’t feel like silence. It felt like something very full.

“Do you think,” she asked softly, after a long moment, “that things can grow just because they’re loved?”

You tilted your head toward her. “Like plants?”

“Like people,” she corrected. Her voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t answer right away. The wind curled gently between you, rustling the stems.

“I think people grow best when they’re loved,” you finally said. “Not because of it. But... in it.”

She closed her eyes. And for a while, neither of you said anything else.

By May, your worlds had braided into each other.

She left her books in your dorm. You knew her coffee order by heart. You knew which nights her knees ached, which music she listened to when she needed to get out of her head, which hoodie she wore when she missed home. And she knew you just as well.

Azzi never rushed you. Even when her eyes lingered longer. Even when her fingers stayed on your waist just a few seconds more than before. She gave you room to feel it all.

And you did.

You felt it in your chest when she’d find you on campus and smile like you were something rare. You felt it in your hands when she’d let them tangle with hers under the table at the dining hall. You felt it in the quiet moments, when she didn’t say I love you, but said everything else instead.

“Call me when you get back.” “Tell me what song’s stuck in your head.” “Let me carry that.” “Stay a little longer?”

And then one night, just before finals, you found yourself walking with her down a side path near the chemistry building. The moon was high, and campus was asleep.

She reached for your hand without asking. Her thumb traced the back of yours like she was memorizing it.

“I’ve never felt like this before,” she whispered.

You stopped walking. So did she.

“Like what?” you asked gently.

Azzi turned to face you. Her curls were caught in the moonlight. Her rose colored hoodie hung loose around her frame. She looked at you like she was standing in front of something holy.

“Like I want to give someone everything,” she said. “And not because I’m scared of losing them. But because... I’d still give it even if I did.”

You stepped closer. Slowly, carefully. Your voice came out softer than you meant.

“You don’t have to give me everything.”

She smiled, just barely.

“I know,” she said. “But I want to.”

And maybe it was the warmth in her voice. Maybe it was the way she looked at you like you were a secret the world wasn’t ready for. Or maybe it was the first time you truly believed she meant it, that she’d take her time with you, no matter how long the season.

So you reached up, fingers brushing her cheek. Her breath caught.

“You gave me a rose,” she whispered, like she was remembering it in real time. “The very first day.”

You nodded.

“I didn’t know why then,” you said. “But I think I do now.”

She leaned in slowly, eyes locked with yours, lips just inches away.

“Why?” she murmured.

“Because I wanted you to feel chosen,” you whispered back.

Azzi closed the space between you with a kiss that wasn’t hurried or sharp. It was quiet, thoughtful. The kind of kiss that feels like the first page of a long story. The kind you don’t forget.

And when you pulled back, your forehead resting gently against hers, she exhaled like she’d been waiting all semester just to breathe like this.

“Can I call you mine?” she whispered again, the way she had that night on the hill.

You nodded. “You always could.”

[justrootingforus]

Z4 Zeddison Post Someday Reprise:

“You know, I was worried that zombie-ing out was going to be it for us. Bye bye Zeddison, bye bye happiness, hello brains.” Zed muttered into Addison’ hair, face masked by the darkness of the cabin.

Turning in his arms, Addison brought her hand up to lightly stroke his cheek. “Zed, surely by now you know that this is something real. I’m not leaving you for things outside of your control. Besides, you’ve stuck by me as i’ve gone through several existential crises and haven’t gone running.”

Pulling her closer, the two sank back into silence. Both grateful that Willa and Eliza had insisted on giving them some space following the stress of the day.

Breaking the now comfortable silence, Zed stated I love you. I know we’re still way too young to really start making plans, but I hope you know I fully plan on marrying you someday.”

“Someday, huh? Someday sounds good. let’s maybe get through college first, but I fully intend on being Mrs. Necrodopolis a few years from now.”

Pressing a kiss to her boyfriend’s lips, Addison let herself imagine their future together. Three more year of college, a wedding, a house, maybe a couple of childen— and hadn’t this past week proven to be good practice for that, with Nova and Victor proving to be mini versions of them?

Pulling herself from her thoughts, she said “You know? I’m glad we ended up here. Like, this has been crazy, but somehow this chaos has actually made me feel so much more secure about just, like, life in general?”

Zed suddenly snorted. cracking a grin, he responded. “Totally. We’ve figured out how to prioritize the things that really matter, and got the answer to one of the biggest questions in any relationship.”

Laughing as the absurdity of their camping trip turned pseudo parenting unpaid counselor job hit fully hit him, he choked out, “Hey Addy, would you still love me if I was a worm?”

Cocooned in the darkness of the cabin, with the soft laughter and conversations of the teens outside filtered through the walls, all Addison could do was pull him into another kiss.

[meebles]

WIP Tuesday

(Because I’ve been thinking it’s Wednesday all day today oops)

Another snippet from what I’m officially labeling my Love Letter Fic, which is a fleshed-out version of this post I made almost 2 years ago exactly. Have another mildly angsty flashback while Cody does some contemplating:

But he thinks perhaps, there has been one time where Kenobi had wanted to confess something to him.

He’s laid out on a hover-stretcher, immediately critical wounds attended to but certainly not out of the woods quite yet. A medic who’s so shiny he doesn’t even have a name is pushing their General onto an evac LAAT while Cody runs beside them, one hand clasped in Kenobi’s, pressed to the man’s chest.

“Cody,” he repeats. “Cody, Cody, Cody… ”

“I’m here, sir,” Cody says. “You’re going to be fine. We’re getting you out of here.”

Kenobi blinks, eyes haphazard and wild before they meet Cody’s own with such startling focus. Cody counts three long breaths, gaze held taut between them before Kenobi sighs, shoulders rolling back as his eyelids flutter closed.

“Cody, I, I… ”

His voice peters out, lips going slack as he then passes out, laying still atop the stretcher.

He had, of course, been fine in the end— hadn’t even needed the tank. Cody had thought about asking Kenobi about it later, once he was recovered enough to be demanding his datapads be delivered to him in the medbay. Ultimately he decided against it, feeling rather foolish. Kenobi had been seriously injured and it felt a disservice to the man, to be so concerned about the words he was rambling in the throes of his pain. It felt grossly selfish to be hopeful about such words, such thoughts, to hope that they could possibly be a mirror to Cody’s own inexpressible confessions.

Besides, it’s not like Kenobi had been saying anything even halfway-concrete, he’d just been repeating Cody’s name over and over again…

…and yet, the way that Kenobi had been staring at him felt as if he was staring directly through to Cody’s soul, and possibly finding something of a kinship to his own.