#the cursed lights in this class tho

[lascvitae]

FANTASIZE ✵ YU JIMIN.

❀ ༉ ‧ ₊ ˚ alt. I FANTASIZE ABOUT IT ALL THE

TIME IF YOU WERE MINE .ᐟ

ᝰ.ᐟ she said you were just gonna smoke. you said you didn’t wear the dress for her. you were both lying.

ᝰ.ᐟ pairing. nerd g!p!karina x kinda mean fem!reader ᝰ.ᐟgenre. smut (18+) there’s some plot tho 🙂‍↕️ ᝰ.ᐟwarning(s). cursing, drinking, smoking, karina’s had a crush on reader since forever, dom!karina, she’s kinda mean && rough, pet names (baby, princess, pretty girl), cunnilingus, reader’s kinda bratty, creampie, karina’s lowk a munch

ᝰ.ᐟ word count 8k

masterlist.

aeri’s place is packed. that’s no surprise.

she throws the kind of parties that people talk about for weeks. too many people, loud music, low lights, and expensive drinks that she didn’t even pay for. there’s a suspicious cloud of smoke leaving the balcony.

you walk inside with ning close to your side, nails dug into your forearm. she’s already tipsy (somehow), and you can tell by the way she’s smiling at everyone.

“we gotta drink. you’ve been so focused on midterms all week.” she says immediately, yanking you to the kitchen.

“i had practice.” you say in an uninterested tone.

“whatever. you’re not allowed to be boring tonight.” she’s already dragging you to the kitchen.

“try this.” ning hands you a red cup and you take it without question, giving her a lazy glance. you take one sip before taking another, downing it in one go. the liquor burns as it slides down your throat.

“what’s this?” you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and tilt your head.

she shrugged. “jake made it.”

you raise an eyebrow. “jake’s here?”

she smiled. “in the living room. he already challenged aeri to a shot contest.”

“and?” you hum, slightly interested.

“she’s winning. by a lot.”

“obviously.”

you smirk a little, both of you leaning into eachother in that way that says you’ve been through a lot together.

but still, the party is loud. bodies are packed shoulder to shoulder and the bass is shaking your entire body.

you scan the room, looking for someone else to talk to. or someone else that has tried to speak to you in class before.

and then you see her.

jimin.

she’s standing by the wall, awkwardly between the bookshelf and a dying houseplant. she’s holding a cup like it might blow up if she squeezes it too hard.

she’s dressed like she didn’t mean to come. she’s not talking to anyone.

you tilt your head, gaze lingering.

“you’re staring.” ning sings in your ear.

“i’m not.”

“you are. that’s the girl from your lit class, right? the one who got the higher midterm grade?”

“don’t remind me.” you roll your eyes. but you’re still looking.

“didn’t think anyone could outscore you.” ning laughs.

you’re still watching her. her eyes flick around the room like she’s trying to find an excuse to leave. you wonder how she even got here. you wonder who even invited her.

suddenly, jimin looks over at you. and instead of looking away, she holds it.

you hold her gaze, curious. waiting. testing.

then she looks down, cheeks turning pink.

cute.

you let the smallest smirk curve your lips.

you should leave her alone. she didn’t even mean to come.

but there’s something about the way that she looked away, like she wasn’t supposed to get caught staring. it makes it too easy. too tempting.

so you hand ning your empty cup, smoothing out your outfit and start moving across the room.

your steps are slow. people glance over, pretending not to look again when they realize who you are.

jimin doesn’t notice you at first. she’s prentending to scroll through her phone.

she’s prettier up close. you knew that.

you stop a step too close. close enough to make her stiffen then glance up.

her eyes widen slightly.

“didn’t think i would see you here.” you said.

“oh. um. yeah. i didn’t think i’d— i mean, i wasn’t going to come.”

“i can tell.” you tilt your head, letting your eyes drag over her outfit.

she flushed, looking down at her drink.

you almost laugh.

“you’re karina, right?” you ask like you don’t already know.

“i— yeah. i didn’t think you knew my name.” she looks up surprisingly.

“i know a lot of things.”

there’s silence and she’s clearly unsure if you’re flirting or making fun of her.

“i liked your essay. the one about obsession and restraint. that was you, right?”

“yeah. that was for the—“

“yeah. i know what class. you’re smart.” you say, licking your bottom lip.

she doesn’t answer right away. she just stares as if she could scare you off.

or maybe she’s afraid that you would stay.

you lean in more. your voice is low as if you were bored.

“you don’t really fit in here.”

she looks towards the crowd then back at you.

“i guess not.”

“this isn’t really your scene, huh?”

“i… don’t usually come to stuff like this.”

“let me guess. you came because someone dragged you out of your room? told you to loosen up?”

jimin just stares like that was exactly what happened.

“you’re predictable.”

“you barely know me.” she frowns just a little.

“don’t i?” you raise an eyebrow.

she opens her mouth before closing it. “you think you do.”

that makes you smile. you feel something in your stomach when she said it with just the tiniest bit of bite.

“i know enough.”

she stares at you.

“is this really what you wear when you want attention, though? because, baby… it’s not working.”

her breath catches and you can see her fingers twitch around her cup.

you smile again. the kind that says you know she’s flustered.

“cute doesn’t get you far at parties like this.”

“then why are you talking to me?” she looks up, startled.

“because i wanted to.” you say it easily like this is just a game for you.

maybe it is. that’s what jimin can’t stand.

she swallows.

“i’m not some… thing for you to play with. i don’t care if you’re popular— or hot, or whatever you think you are.” her voice is steadier than you expected.

you stare.

“hot? didn’t know you thought that.” you tilt your head.

jimin’s mouth opens and she blushes again. “that’s not what i—“

you take a step closer. “you sure? because you’ve been staring like you want to say something else.”

she swallows again. hard. but her eyes stay on you.

“i don’t like people like you. the kind who talk like everything’s already theirs.”

“and what if i said i like people who push back?”

jimin stares and her breath hitches.

“i like the way you talk when you’re mad. makes me wonder what you’d sound like if i really got to you.”

her eyes go wide. she holds back the urge to bite her lip.

and then—

“y/n!” ning’s voice calls out.

you pull away and you don’t even look back as you walk towards ning.

jimin is still watching you. of course she is.

you find ning in the living room, sprawled out on the couch with aeri practically draped over her shoulder. they look like they’ve been there for hours even though the party really started an hour ago.

“you’re back. took your time.” ning smiled.

aeri lifted her head, lip gloss slightly smudged. “y/nieeeee. tell me why jake tapped out after four shots. four! what happened to men being strong?” she slurred.

“gone with the patriarchy.” you mutter, taking a drink from the coffee table without even asking what it is.

ning watches you sip then she squints. “kay… what happened?”

“nothing.”

“you’re smiling like something happened.”

“i’m always smiling.”

“not like that.”

you raise your eyebrow but she’s already looking past you. “you talk to your little class crush?”

you don’t answer.

aeri hiccups beside her. “wait, who? the smart one with the face? with the eyes? the one who gets straight a’s?”

“karina.” you laugh.

“jimin. you like her. you wanna push her against a bookshelf and ruin her gpa.” she says dramatically.

“jesus. aeri, shut up.” ning laughs, covering her mouth.

“am i wrong?” she shrugs and sips her drink like it’s tea.

you just smirk behind your cup.

“she’s not your type.” ning says.

“i don’t have a type. i get what i want.”

“she looked like she was about to pass out.” ning mumbles but you can see the grin on her lips.

“she’ll be fine. she’s interesting.” you lean back, fully relaxing.

“uh huh. you’re not thinking about the final anymore, huh?” ning nudges your thigh with hers.

“nope.”

“good. now let loose a little. that’s an order.”

you hum, eyes drifting across the room. jimin is still in the same spot and she’s still holding the same drink like she doesn’t know what to do with it.

she’s talking to someone now. you can’t tell who, all you can see is how stiff her posture is.

you tilt your head, the taste of your drink still on your tongue.

she’s shy.

but you want to know what she sounds like when she’s not. when she’s desperate. when she has nothing left to say but your name.

and just like that, you decide you’re not done with her tonight.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

the living room is beyond hazy. the weeknd is playing now and the lights are almost low enough that the glow of someone’s vape looks like a strobe.

you’re sitting on the arm of the couch with your drink, hand lazily resting on jake’s shoulder. he’s talking, saying something about a failed midterm and a girl from his econ class, but you’re not listening. you’re laughing at all the right parts though.

jake eats it up. of course he does.

aeri stumbles back over with heesehng; laugh loud as she flops into the seat next to yours. heeseung follows, hopelessly smitten and trying not to look like it.

“we’re smoking. balcony. right now.” she announces, reaching into the pocket of heeseung’s hoodie and taking out a pre-roll.

“who’s coming?”

ning appears out of nowhere, looping her arm with yours. “we are. obviously.”

“me too.” heeseung says.

“cute.” aeri purrs.

you watch her eyes flick around the room before landing on someone who’s barely moved.

jimin.

she’s still holding a half full cup and she’s still too stiff. she’s moved a little but not much. she’s basically invisible. almost.

“jimin! come smoke.” aeri calls out loudly.

jimin looks up, clearly startled.

you can see the way she hesitates and you expect her to say no.

“come on, jimin. you don’t wanna just sit there the whole time, right? it’s not even that strong.”

“she’s such a liar.” ning laughs.

jimin hesitates. she looks at you but you don’t say anything. you don’t even smile.

and that’s when she finally speaks up.

“okay.”

aeri smiles. “that’s my girl!”

now you’re all crowded on the balcony. jake’s lighting the joint and aeri is in heeseung’s lap, giggling into his hoodie. ning is talking about some teacher’s assistant that texted her the other night.

you’re leaned against the railing, feeling the cold air against your thighs. jimin’s standing next to you. not close but close enough to pass the smoke back and forth.

she doesn’t cough the first time she inhales and you’re impressed.

“you’ve done this before.”

“once or twice.” she shrugs.

“liar.”

she looks at you. “so what if i am?”

you smile. the smoke curls between you.

she hands the joint back without looking at you and you take it, brushing her fingers in purpose. she pretends not to notice and you pretend you didn’t mean it.

the weeknd’s still playing inside and everything feels heavier out here.

“you’re obsessed.” ning teased heeseung.

“i am not.” he says, which only makes aeri giggle and smack his chest playfully.

“he’s obsessed. look at him. he’s ready to tattoo my name on his ribs.” she purrs, throwing an arm around his neck.

“don’t tempt me.” ning chokes on her laugh.

“he’d get your name tatted in cursive then cry about it when you ghost him two weeks later.” you say. heeseung just smiles like the masochist he is.

“you’re all so dramatic.” jake says, passing the blunt back to jimin. she surprises everyone by taking a deep inhale and not coughing.

“okay! karina with the lungs of a stoner!” ning cheers.

“jimin.” she corrects softly but you catch the way her lips twitch. and the way she’s checking if you’re still paying attention.

you are, unfortunately.

“so. what changed your mind?” you exhale.

“about?”

“coming out here. playing along.”

she shrugs again and you catch the way she’s avoiding your eyes now.

“figured it’d be… educational.”

“cute.”

“you keep saying that like it’s an insult.”

“no, baby. i like cute. just not when it pretends to be tough.”

“you think i’m pretending?” her jaw tightens.

“i think you like pretending that you’re above all of this. but you came, didn’t you? let me talk to you. even flirt with you.”

“you didn’t flirt.” she says.

“no?” you raise a brow.

“you teased me.”

“you want me to flirt instead?” jimin’s breath catches.

“you wouldn’t know how.”

you pause for a moment, tilting your head snd studying her.

“try me.”

“you’re mean when you’re high.” jake speaks up. he’s sitting on the floor now, one shoulder brushing your knee.

“you like it.” you look down at him.

“maybe i do.” he smiles.

“y/n flirts with everyone. don’t take it personally.” ning giggles.

“i don’t.” jimin says quickly. but she isn’t looking at ning— she’s looking at you. trying to figure out if you’re doing this for her benefit or just because you can.

“see? even karina thinks i’m charming.”

“that’s not what she said.” ning laughed again.

“don’t start putting words in her mouth. unless she wants to volunteer some.” you take a sip of your cup.

jimin takes the blunt from aeri, avoiding your gaze. she inhales again.

“you’ve definitely done this more than twice.” you tilt your head.

“maybe i just learn fast.”

“hm. i bet you do.” you smirk.

jake leans back, resting his arm over your leg now. his fingers tap against your knee. “you gonna keep teasing her all night or you gonna share the attention?”

“jealous?”

“curious.” he shrugs, watching you closely with dark eyes.

jimin goes still next to you.

“you’d die trying to keep up with me.” you say to him.

“you say that like it isn’t worth it.”

“careful, jake. i don’t play fair.” he just smiles like he wants the game anyway.

aeri suddenly gasps. “wait— wait. i wanna play truth or dare.”

“oh no. not this again.” ning groaned.

“yes this again! we’re high, we’re hot, and we’re bored! what else is there?” she kicks her legs excitedly, almost knocking over heeseung’s cup.

“feelings. consequences. dignity.”

“shut up, lover boy. we’re playing. c’mon. no backing out now.”

ning sighs dramatically but drops down onto the floor, pulling you closer. she downs the rest of her drink and immediately points at jake. “you go first. truth or dare.”

“truth.” he smiles, cocky as ever.

“have you ever hooked up with someone here?”

jake looks over at you for a second. “not yet.”

you raise an eyebrow, not saying a word. but jimin is watching you again. her stare is sharper this time.

“flop answer. y/n, your turn. truth or dare?” aeri says, already bored.

“dare.”

“i dare you to sit in jake’s lap for the next two rounds.”

you’re completely unbothered, moving without hesitation. jake spreads his legs and you sink into his lap. his hands settle lightly at your waist but his eyes flick to your mouth.

“comfortable?” he asks, voice low.

“for now.”

heeseung is next and he picks truth.

“would you let me spit in your mouth?” aeri asked sweetly.

“yes.”

ning nearly dies from laughter.

jimin coughs. it’s the only thing that she’s said in the past few minutes.

“jimin. truth or dare?”

she hesitates. “truth.”

“you’re all boring.” aeri sighs dramatically.

“do you think y/n’s hot?”

you turn your head slightly. not all the way but enough to make jake smirk. jimin’s face doesn’t change.

“yes.”

“about time you admit it.” you smiled.

she exhales like she didn’t just give something away.

“jake. truth or dare?” she says suddenly.

“dare.” he’s still cocky.

“kiss her. if she lets you.” her eyes are on you.

you stare.

it’s not like she said it to be cruel. or kind. it’s a challenge.

jake hesitates then looks at you.

you lean back, arms resting on his shoulders.

“what do you say?” he asks.

you turn to jimin instead. “you sure you wanna watch that?”

her eyes widen, just a little, and you can see a flicker of something. jealousy? nerves? but something tightens in her jaw before she turns her head, pretending that she isn’t flustered. pretending that she didn’t just give you exactly what you wanted.

you smirk deepens and jake raises an eyebrow like he’s waiting. but you don’t kiss him. not yet. you just slowly sip your drink, eyes never leaving jimin.

then you suddenly slide off of jake’s lap like you’re bored.

“i’m out.” you say, lifting your empty cup.

“i’ll get you another.” he stands eagerly.

“how sweet. you remember what i like, right?” you mutter.

“course.” he’s heading back inside. a little too quickly.

“that boy is whipped.” aeri watches him go with a grin.

you shrug, leaning against the railing next to jimin again.

“soooo… whose turn?” ning asks.

“karina’s. truth or dare?”

jimin looks at you like she knows this is a setup. maybe it is.

“…truth.”

“coward.” aeri coughs, half laughing.

you smile, slow and dangerous. “fine. truth. have you been watching me all night?”

she opens her mouth like she wants to lie. like she’s about to.

but then—

“yes.”

“cute.” you say softly.

she rolls her eyes but her neck is flushed. “stop saying that.”

“it’s your turn now. truth or dare.”

you raise an eyebrow. “dare.”

“if you won’t kiss jake then kiss the next person who passes you the joint.”

“you’re getting bold.”

“i’m returning the favor.”

you hold her gaze for a moment longer before reaching for the joint that’s half burned in the ashtray.

“fine.” you take a hit slowly.

“guess we’ll see if someone passes it.”

“you’re all pussies if you don’t.” ning speaks.

but jimin lifts it again before passing it to you.

you raise the joint to your lips and take another hit.

“you sure you want that?”

her eyes drop to your mouth. “yeah.”

that gets to you. you lean in, only to whisper in her ear.

“good girls shouldn’t talk like that.”

“you think i’m a good girl?”

you pause, studying her. the calm in her eyes makes it look like she knows exactly what she’s doing.

“you’d be surprised by how often i smoke alone.”

your smirk wavers for half a second. not enough for everyone else to notice, but she sees it. she sees all of it.

“you should come by sometime. if you’re not scared.” she says like a challenge.

you can’t even reply before jake reappears with your drink.

“here you go.” he says, cheerful and oblivious.

you take it with a smile, looking over at aeri.

“can we go back to your room? i’m cold.”

aeri perks up immediately. “finally someone admits it! i’m freezing my nipples off.”

“you took heeseung’s hoodie.” ning rolls her eyes. you don’t even know when that happened.

“and still freezing.”

you take a sip of your drink, eyes flicking back to jimin just for a second. a second long enough for her to see the way you smirk against the rim of the cup.

like you’re considering it.

“jake, grab the ashtray.” aeri commands, standing up and dragging heeseung with her.

“you good?” jake leans in slightly as you follow behind.

“perfect.” you hum, brushing past him and heading for the door as he holds it open for you.

you don’t look back.

you don’t have to. because you know she’s watching. and you know she’s still thinking about it, too.

you should come by sometime. if you’re not scared.

the challenge sits in your chest. you think about answering it.

but not yet.

aeri’s room smells exactly like vanilla body spray. the lights are dim, casting a glow over the mess of pillows and shoes kicked into random corners. you settle on the edge of the bed first, crossing your legs and jake follows you in without needing an invitation. he leans beside you.

aeri flops face first into her mattress, giggling like she already knows tonight’s going to end in disaster. ning steals her spot almost immediately, stretching out next to you and leaning back against the headboard like she owns it. heeseung just plants himself on the floor again, tossing a blanket over his legs, still not focusing on anything but wherever aeri is.

jimin’s the last to come in. she’s quiet but not unnoticed. she leans against the wall with her arms crossed, pretending like she isn’t watching you.

jake bumps his knee against yours. “so. back to the game?”

“obviously. jimin went last. that means she asks next.” ning pulls out her phone.

jimin almost immediately turns towards jake. “truth or dare?”

he smirks. “dare.”

it’s silent before she answers. “switch spots with me.”

jake’s grin falters, eyes turning to you like he’s trying to read your expression.

“why?”

“no questions. that’s the rule.” ning sings.

he hesitates for a second before standing up, brushing past her on the way to the wall. she slides into the space beside you.

you don’t look at her. not right away. you just stare at your drink and your pulse ticks up just a little. you feel her thigh brush yours, but she doesn't move away.

jake coughs from his new spot. “damn. cold.”

aeri lifts her head. “what? you jealous?”

“i mean— if she wanted company, she could’ve just said that.”

“i’m not company.” jimin says quietly. and for a second it sounds like she’s saying it for you.

you swallow, throat dry despite the last sip of your drink.

“well, it’s my turn now.” jake speaks up. louder this time, like he’s trying to remind you of his presence.

you lift your gaze to glance at him. he’s slouched against the wall where jimin previously was, arms folded behind his head with his eyes locked on you like he’s daring you to forget about him for too long.

“truth or dare, y/n?”

your leg is still touching jimin’s. just barely. but it’s there. she hasn’t moved an inch. you wonder if she can feel the way your breath hitches.

“truth.”

jake hums thoughtfully, but there’s a flicker of something in his eye. you can already tell it’s not going to be innocent.

“what’s the real reason you didn’t let me kiss you earlier?”

ning gasps. “oh, we’re doing this.”

aeri cackles into heeseung’s shoulder.

you don’t answer right away.

you feel jimin stiffen next to you.

and that’s what makes you smile. just a little. enough to stir the pot.

“i wasn’t drunk enough.” you say casually.

jake laughs before shaking his head. “liar.”

“it’s self control.”

“it’s fear.” he counters, tone teasing but sharp.

you open your mouth to snap back but jimin cuts in first.

“she’s not scared of you.”

everyone goes quiet for a moment.

you turn your head to her slowly. “you don’t need to answer for me.”

“i’m not. just calling bullshit when i hear it.”

your pulse ticks up. it only makes you want her more.

“damn.” ning mutters.

“what, you jealous or something?” jake leans forward, lips tugging into a smirk.

“she could’ve kissed you if she wanted to. she didn’t.”

you meet her eyes and you feel something in your chest.

“you two need to hook up already.” he raises an eyebrow.

“what makes you think we haven’t?” you smirk.

aeri lets out a squeal. “wait— what?!”

ning chokes on her drink. “you’re lying.”

jake stiffens, staring like he’s trying to do the math.

you don’t clarify. you don’t look away either. you just keep your eyes on jimin.

her expression is unreadable. her jaw clenches but her lips twitch like she’s trying not to smile.

her knee nudges yours. just slightly. you don’t move away.

“anyway. i have to pee. and i’m getting another drink.” you rise, leaving before anyone can say anything.

you make it down the hallway without looking back, and you pause in the bathroom. not to pee, but to breathe. just for a second. the mirror catches your expression, your eyes are half lidded, your lips are parted, and your eyes are red. you look exactly like you feel.

and then there’s a soft knock.

you already know who it is.

you open the door.

jimin’s there, hand still slightly raised like she was about to knock again. her eyes meet yours, calm, but it’s the kind of calm that hides something hotter underneath.

she doesn’t speak. she just tilts her head towards the door. like everyone else still isn’t partying. like they still aren’t upstairs. “come on.”

you don’t hesitate. you follow.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

the uber ride was mostly quiet. her place smells like her perfume and eucalyptus, the kind of clean lived in mess that makes you wonder how many people have seen this version of her. you doubt it’s many.

she tosses her house keys on the table and heads straight to the kitchen. “still want another drink?”

you shrug. “i could be convinced.”

she raises an eyebrow but doesn’t look at you when she pours. “convinced?”

you don’t answer. you don’t have to. she hands you the glass, brushing your fingers just slightly as you take it.

then she grabs the grinder from a drawer, pulls open a window, and wordlessly starts rolling.

you lean against the counter, watching her. “so you really smoke alone?”

“not tonight.” she doesn’t look up.

you smirk. “is that an invitation?”

she glances at you. “that depends. you still scared?”

you step closer. “you wish.”

she lights the joint, takes the first hit, and holds it in before passing it to you. the smoke curls between you and when you take it from her, her fingers graze yours again.

you take a slow drag, blowing it out the side of your mouth.

you hold her gaze through the smoke. her lashes are low and her eyes are dark.

“i wasn’t lying earlier. i didn’t let him kiss me because i didn’t want to.” you say, voice husky now.

her gaze drops to your mouth then flicks back up. “i know.”

“do you?”

“yeah. i was watching.” she leans back against the counter, joint balanced between her fingers.

you step in again, just enough to make her breath catch. “then you must’ve known i wanted you to say something.”

“i did. but i didn’t trust what i’d do after.” she admits.

you blink slowly. your smile is lazy and full of something that neither of you are trying to name.

“then you’re worse than i thought.”

her mouth twitches like she wants to laugh. “oh?”

“yeah. because i would’ve let you.” you take the joint from her hand and inhale. the smoke escapes your lips slowly, curling into the space between you. her eyes follow the trail then drag back to yours.

“and you still would?”

you take one more step. her perfume hits you but you don’t answer. you just hand her the joint again.

your fingers brush.

again.

“kiss me.” she says, low, like it’s not a command but a dare.

you lean in, but don’t touch her yet. just close enough that she can feel your breath. “what do good girls say?”

her lips part, but she doesn’t say anything at first. her eyes flicker between yours like she’s weighing the consequences of what comes next.

the joint burns between her fingers, forgotten.

you watch her.

she exhales shakily. “please.”

it’s barely audible but it shatters something between you.

you don’t give her a chance to take it back.

your mouth finds hers in a kiss that’s anything but gentle. it’s hot, slow, and deliberate. her free hand finds your waist, fingers curling in the fabric of your dress like she’s been waiting forever. the joint’s gone now, set carelessly on the counter as both her hands tug you closer.

you sigh into her mouth and it makes her press harder. like she needs to prove something. like she’s been holding this in too long.

as your mouth opens she forces her tongue into your mouth, exploring it like she won’t get another chance. you moan quietly, wrapping your arms around her neck.

she lifts you onto the counter by your thighs, breathing heavily as she kisses along the skin of your neck. you tilt your head to the side, giving her more access.

this was the side of her that you were begging to see.

“fuck, jimin…” you mumble as she bites into your neck before soothing it with her tongue, hands rubbing the plush of your thighs.

she exhales shakily at that, pulling down your dress to expose your collarbone and attack it next. “you finally got the name right.”

you smirked. but she doesn’t give you time to answer. not with words, anyway.

her mouth is already dragging lower, lips brushing over the skin of your chest like she’s memorizing every inch. her touch is careful, but her eyes are wild.

“you look so pretty like this. on my counter. waiting.” she breathes, fingers slipping under the hem of your dress now, slow and teasing, like she wants to savor every reaction.

your breath catches as her hand ghosts along your thigh, edging higher.

“waiting for what?” you ask, voice thick with anticipation.

her smile is slow and wicked. “for me to fuck you.”

you tug her back in by the collar of her hoodie, crashing your mouth into hers again. it’s messy and hungry, like you’ve both been starved. she groans against your lips and the sound vibrates right through you.

when she presses forward, you wrap your legs around her hips, pulling her in close until there’s no space left. her hand finds your hair, holding you still as her mouth works over yours like she needs to claim it.

"you have no idea how long i’ve wanted this. how long i’ve wanted you.” she breathes out.

she kisses your jaw, then your throat, then bites just below your ear. you gasp, arching into her without thinking.

“do you know how many nights i’ve fucked my hand thinking about you? about you in those little skirts, mouthing off like you wouldn’t drop to your knees if i told you to? i’d touch myself and imagine you begging. imagine you soaked just from hearing me say your name.” her voice is a whisper, but it’s ragged. like she’s finally letting herself admit it and can’t stop now.

you rock against her without meaning to, chasing the friction and it makes her curse under her breath.

“you’re not the only one. but i’m done thinking.” you admit, panting.

“yeah?” she breathes, hands moving again. bolder now. hungrier.

you nod, lips brushing hers again. “please.”

and this time, it’s your plea that shatters something. because the second she hears it, she drops to her knees.

her hands trail down the backs of your thighs as she does, dragging your body forward until you’re perched on the edge of the counter. you’re trembling under her touch and she looks up at you from her lashes. her pupils are wide, her lips are swollen, and her hair is a little messy from where you tugged it.

“fuck. look at you. so perfect.” she whispers.

you spread your knees slightly, letting her settle between them and her hands trail up your legs again slowly. then again, higher, teasing you with her lips.

your fingers plant into her hair, tugging gently and she hums like that’s exactly what she wanted. “you’re shaking.” she says.

“i’m not.” but your voice betrays you. your whole body betrays you.

she presses her mouth to the inside of your other thigh, holding eye contact as her tongue darts out against your skin.

“it’s okay. i’ll take care of you.”

you whimper. the anticipation alone is making you unravel and she hasn’t even touched you where you need it most.

her fingers hook around the sides of your underwear, sliding them down with agonizing slowness. when they’re off, she doesn’t look away. not even when she leans in and kisses your inner thigh again, dangerously close.

“you’re so fucking pretty.” she whimpered, more to herself than to you.

your hips twitch and she finally, finally gives in, dragging her tongue through your folds in one long, devastating stroke.

your head falls back against the cabinets with a soft moan and she groans against you like she’s already addicted.

she eats you out like she’s making up for lost time. like she’s starving and you’re the only thing that could satisfy her. her mouth is hot and her tongue is relentless, licking and sucking like she wants to devour you completely.

and god, she’s good at it.

“jimin—fuck, jimin—” you cry out, thighs trembling around her shoulders.

she moans at the sound of her name falling from your lips like that, then she brings her fingers into it too— slipping one inside you slowly, then another, curling them just right as her tongue flicks over your clit.

“oh— fuck!” you moan louder, covering your mouth.

she hummed. “no, princess. let me hear all the pretty noises you make for me.”

she’s driving you insane.

“does it feel good? you like my tongue, hm?” her voice is low, coated in need. every word vibrates against you, and it’s too much. too much and not enough. your hips rock into her face before you can stop them, chasing the friction and chasing her.

“yes— yes! fuck, jimin—“ you gasp.

she groans like it’s the only thing she’s ever wanted to hear. and it makes her move faster. her fingers curl deeper and her tongue flicks harsher with more purpose.

“that’s it. take what you need.” she coos, voice muffled by your cunt.

you’re melting. falling apart in her hands.

her grip is bruising now, one hand digging into your hip to hold you still, the other one still fucking you open perfectly.

“you taste so good, baby. how did i go this long without this? could eat you for hours. days.” she breathes against your clit, lips dragging over it again.

you don’t have an answer. you’re not even sure if you can speak. all you can do is moan and shake and hold onto her hair.

you’re so close, and she knows it. she can feel it in the way you clench around her and in the way your legs tense.

“don’t stop— please, don’t stop—” you gasp and that’s all she needs to hear.

she doubles her efforts, fucking you with her fingers and licking you until your back arches.

“fuck— fuck, jimin! i’m gonna—“ you choke.

and she doesn’t stop. if anything, she gets messier. hungrier. licking and sucking with so much desperation you almost can’t take it.

“cum for me. wanna feel you all over my face. need it— fuck, need you—“ she begs again, voice hoarse.

and you do.

you fall apart with a helpless moan, thighs clamping tight around her head as you cum hard on her tongue. she groans like she’s the one breaking, mouth still working you through it.

when it’s over, she doesn’t even pull away right away. she licks you clean with lazy strokes of her tongue and only when you twitch from the sensitivity does she kiss the inside of your thigh and rise slowly, one hand on your waist to steady you.

your chest is still heaving when you open your eyes. her lips are slick and her pupils are still wide, but her smirk is proud.

“told you i’d take care of you.” she muttered as her thumb traced slow circles into your hip.

you huff out a breathless laugh, trying to level your head but failing miserably with her looking at you like that.

“fuck you.” you mumble but there’s no hate behind it. your voice is hoarse.

“you just did. or should i say… you let me.” she grins, then leans in to press a kiss to your jaw.

you roll your eyes, reaching up to tangle your fingers in her hoodie and drag her down for another kiss. it was slow and deep this time with none of the earlier frenzy.

her hand finds your bare thigh again and just squeezes gently.

“unless… you want more?”

her voice is low and husky. it’s right against your mouth but you feel it everywhere.

you don’t answer right away. you can’t. your brain is still fogged from the way she just ruined you and she knows it. she’s watching you like she’s waiting to pounce on you, eyes flicking down to your parted lips then your still trembling thighs.

her hand slides a little higher on your leg. just enough.

you bite back a noise. “jimin��”

she hums like a warning. “mm, say it again.”

you breathe out her name softer this time. like a confession. “jimin.”

her lips ghost yours. not kissing you, just there. “you have no fucking idea of how obsessed i am with you.”

your fingers curl into her hoodie again. “then show me.”

“you sure?”

you nod. but that’s not good enough for her. not this version of her.

“use your words, pretty girl.”

you swallow hard. “yes. i want more. i want you.”

the look she gives you after that? it’s hunger. pure hunger.

“good. because i’m not even close to done with you yet.” she mumbled before pressing a kiss to your temple, your cheek, and the corner of your mouth. everywhere but where you need it.

her hand finally slips between your thighs again, but it’s slow and teasing. she just rubs lazy circles that have you twitching from the oversensitivity.

“gonna take my time with you now. wanna hear all those sounds again. wanna memorize every single one.” she whispered.

you breathe her name again desperately.

and this time when she kisses you, it’s with that same obsession you feel burning inside of your own chest.

and when you pull away she doesn’t take her eyes off of you.

the hoodie she’s wearing hangs off one shoulder now, fabric twisted from the way you tugged her closer.

“you’re staring.” you mumble, voice a little hoarse.

jimin just grins, leaning her weight against the kitchen counter as her fingers drag slowly along the edge of your dress. “can you blame me? you’re wearing this little thing and expected me not to stare?”

you roll your eyes but you can’t help the way your lips twitch. “you literally invited me over.”

“yeah. to smoke.”

her hand slips under the hem of your dress, teasing along the back of your thigh and stopping just before the heat between your legs. you suck in a breath, leaning into her instinctively but she pulls back with a look.

“oh, you’re mean. you’re acting like you didn’t invite me over to fuck me.” you breathe, chasing her mouth with yours but she dodges it. she leans in just enough to brush her lips against your jaw instead.

her lips hover there. just barely glazing your skin. “i didn’t say that. but you’re eager for someone who came here just to smoke.”

you let out a laugh, tilting your head to give her more access. “jimin.” you warn, voice somewhere between a plea and a threat.

but she ignores it. her fingers skim higher, knuckles brushing the damp heat between your thighs but never pressing. never giving you enough. she wants you squirming. and you hate how well it’s working.

“you wore this dress on purpose, didn’t you? wanted to drive me crazy.” she whispers.

you scoff but your body betrays you, hips shifting forward without thinking. “like i knew you’d be there. i wore it because i look good.”

“mm. you look perfect.” she hums, mouth brushing just below your ear.

her praise makes your stomach flip, but you refuse to let her see how much it affects you. especially after she had you falling apart on her kitchen counter.

“still staring.” you mumble.

“still wet.” she fires back, cocky and quiet as her hand presses against your bare cunt again. just enough to make your breath hitch.

you don’t answer. you can’t. not when she starts mouthing at your neck like she’s claiming you.

and when she kisses you again, it’s slow and deep.

“you gonna keep pretending you didn’t come here to get fucked?” she mumbles against your lips.

you pull back just to glare at her, breathing hard. “only if you’re done teasing.”

she smirks, picking you up like you weigh nothing and walking towards the hall. “oh, baby. i’m just getting started.”

you yelp in surprise as she carries you. her grip on you is firm. like she’s been waiting to do this all night.

“jimin.” you breathe.

“mhm?” she hums, nose brushing yours.

you blink down at her, heart racing. “jimin.”

her name sounds too soft on your lips. it’s too sweet for how filthy her hands feel against your thighs as she walks you through the hallway like it’s nothing.

her bedroom door swings open with the shove of her foot. the second you’re inside, she drops you gently onto the bed, standing between your legs as she tugs the hoodie off. her eyes are wide and her chest is rising with every breath as she looks down at you.

and then that smirk returns. her fingers push your dress up and up and up, baring your thighs and everything between.

“still wet.” she mumbles again, thumb dragging slow and slick through your folds while her eyes stay locked on yours.

you shudder. you hate how good she is at this. hate how cocky she gets when she knows she’s wrecked you.

“you talk too much.” you mutter.

she smiles, leaning down to kiss the inside of your knee then higher. “and you love it.”

you don’t deny it. not when she’s sliding to her knees like she’s praying. not when she’s mouthing at the crease of your thigh. but she’s completely ignoring the place you need her most.

“fuck, you’re perfect.” she says, voice lower now.

you swallow hard, fingers twitching in the sheets.

and then she looks up at you, mouth inches from your cunt. “let me show you.”

her tongue just barely grazes you, hot breath ghosting your folds and lips brushing soft against your skin. it should be everything. it should. but it just isn’t enough.

your hand tangles in her hair, tugging gently.

“wait.” you breathe out.

she freezes instantly. her head snaps up, eyes wide with concern. “did i—?”

“no. no, just—“ you say quickly.

your thighs squeeze around her shoulders before you can stop them. she’s so pretty like this. on her knees for you, hands gripping your hips like she’s seconds from losing control.

but you want something else right now.

“i want you to u-use your dick, baby.” you mumble, not even meaning to sound shy.

her jaw clenches.

“you sure?” she asks, voice a little rough.

you nod, pulling her up by the hoodie bunched at her shoulders.

her weight settles over you, tugging her hoodie off and discarding it on the floor.

she kisses you like she needs to. like she’s been holding back all night and finally has permission to let go. and maybe she has, because the second her lips are on yours again her hands are tugging your dress up and off with almost no effort.

you let her. you want her to.

“you’re so fucking hot. always teasing me, acting like you don’t know what you do to me.” she mutters, eyes flicking over every inch of exposed skin like it’s the first time she’s seen it. and it is.

you lean back on your elbows with your legs still spread around her hips and you smirk. “and what do i do to you, jimin?”

her jaw clenches again, sharp and hungry, and you don’t get a real answer. not in words.

she pulls her sweats down, dick springing free, flushed and already slick at the tip.

the sight alone knocks the breath from your lungs. god, she’s huge. and she’s hard for you. all for you.

she strokes herself once, never breaking eye contact. “gonna let me stretch you out, baby? you want this now?” her tone is mocking but low with need.

you nod.

but you know she’s not satisfied. not when you’ve been running your mouth all night.

“use your words. you were loud enough when i had my mouth on you.”

you glare at her but your voice still cracks when you say it. “yes. i need you, jimin. want you to fuck me.”

she leans down and kisses you hard, like it’s a reward, like it’s a thank you, like she’s desperate to feel more of you. her hand slides between your legs again, spreading you open just enough, and then—

she pushes in.

you gasp, nails digging into her shoulders. the stretch burns but you want it. you crave it. she’s careful at first, slow and patient, watching your face the entire time like she needs to memorize it.

“there you go. taking me so well, baby.”she whispers, voice ragged.

you groan, eyes fluttering shut.

“eyes on me.” she murmurs.

and when you look up at her, her cheeks are flushed and her lips are parted. you can see the stunned awe in her expression as she bottoms out, and you realize she’s just as gone for you as you are for her. maybe more.

“you feel so good. so fucking tight— fuck…” she whimpers. her voice breaks at the end and she buries her face in your neck.

you feel everything. every inch of her, every tremble in her arms as she holds herself still inside you. like she’s trying not to lose it already.

you fingers thread through her hair, tugging gently and she groans at the feeling. her hips twitch forward.

“jimin.” you whisper breathlessly.

she pulls back enough to look at you again, lips still wet from the way she kissed you like you were hers.

“i’m not gonna last if you keep looking at me like that.” she says like a confession. like she’s ashamed of how bad she wants you.

you smile, but it’s slow and all mean girl again. “already?”

her breath catches. your hips roll up instinctively, grinding against her in a way that makes her hiss through her teeth.

her grip tightens on your thighs like she’s fighting for control. and losing.

"fuck.” she mutters, forehead pressing against yours now and eyes fluttering shut like she can’t handle you.

“awh. am i too much for you, jimin?” you coo softly, dragging your nails down her back.

she laughs shakily. “you have no idea.”

but then her eyes open again, and something shifts in them. she draws back just to thrust forward and the gasp that escapes your lips is immediate and involuntary.

you don’t even get a chance to say anything. her hips snap forward again— harder and rougher— and suddenly she’s pounding into you like she has something to prove. like she needs to ruin that little smile on your lips.

and maybe she does. because it only takes a few more thrusts before your smirk falters, lips parting with a moan as the pleasure catches up to you all at once.

“not so mouthy now, huh? where’s all that attitude, baby?” she mutters, breath hot against your skin as she fucks you into the mattress.

you wrap your legs around her, helpless against how brutal her pace is. and then her fingers find your clit again, rubbing in tight and practiced circles like she knows your body already.

“answer me.” she groans, voice low and strained.

“i— i can’t—“ you gasp.

“yes you can. c’mon, be a good girl. use your words.” her thrusts get deeper. rougher.

“jimin, please! ‘s so good— fuck!” you whimper, head falling back.

her name leaves your lips like a prayer. you can’t feel anything else except the way she’s filling you up so nicely.

“yeah? that’s what i thought. all that attitude just to end up a mess on my dick.” she pants, lips brushing your jaw, then your cheek, then your mouth.

you clench around her at the sound of her voice. it’s low, cocky, and desperate. and she groans at the feeling, pace stuttering just for a second before she fucks you harder.

“bet you’ve been thinking about this, huh? bet you touched yourself to the thought of me. acting like you don’t want it.” she breathes against your skin, hand sliding under your back to arch you up into her.

you can’t even form a real response anymore. just breathy, broken sounds. with her fingers on your clit, dick hitting that spot so deep you see stars, voice in your ear like she owns you, how can you?

“who’s making you feel good?” she demands, fucking you harder now.

you choke on a moan, head rolling back as your nails dig into her back.

“you are— fuck, jimin, you are—”

“that’s right. say it again.”

“you— fuck— only you! only you make me feel like this—“ you gasp, thighs shaking from how deep she’s hitting.

her lips crash into yours, messy and rough. like she can’t go another second without tasting you. and you let her. you give in completely.

she pulls back enough to speak, forehead resting against yours.

“you gonna cum for me again, baby? gonna let me feel you fall apart around me?���

you nod helplessly, everything tightening at once. your thighs, your core, and the way your fingers hold onto her.

“then cum. be my good girl and cum.” she whispers, barely holding it together.

and with one more thrust, you come undone, crying out her name like it’s the only word you know.

it makes her thrusts falter.

“babyy— i’m close— fuck, i’m gonna cum…” she moans.

“where do you want me?” her voice cracks when she says it, hips stuttering inside of you like she’s barely hanging on. you can feel how close she is. every twitch of her cock, the desperate way she’s gripping your hips, and the wild look in her eyes.

you cup her jaw, pulling her in until your lips are just barely touching. “inside. want you to cum inside of me, jimin.” you whisper.

her breath catches. her whole body tenses like she wasn’t expecting that.

“fuck—” she whines, burying her face in your neck. and then she’s cumming.

you feel it. the way she spills into you with a broken moan of your name, her body jerking with the force of it. her hips press down hard, as deep as she can go, and stay there as she trembles through it.

you’re both shaking. your arms wrap around her instinctively, keeping her close as she rides it out, soft whimpers spilling from her lips against your skin.

when she finally stills, she doesn’t move. just holds you like she can’t stand the thought of letting go. “still think i’m cute?”

you scoff breathlessly, rolling your eyes. “shut the fuck up.”

taglist — @saysirhc @prologue-ae @yuyuy90

[suigenerisisadiva]

"Who in the house would you not let your child date?" - Feat Batsis!Reader <3

Pairing: Batfam/Batboys x Batsis!reader Content: Swearing, use of Y/N, my first crackfic lolol, I believe 'ukhti' means sister!

For my pookie <3 : @inejinn (Sorry If I didn't fulfil your idea the way you imagined </3)

Rapid shuffling of feet ... Camera aggressively pointed in Dick's face

Steph: Dick, who in the family would you not let your child date.

Dick, immediately: [Y/N] cuz she's the reason New Jersey banned nunchucks, of all things

Steph: Jason who in the family would you not let your child date?

Jason, without missing a beat: [Y/n] because she called going to an unexplored island a "light field exercise"

Steph: Timberly, who in the fam would you not let your child date?

Tim: after some thought: Oh 100% [Y/N]

Steph: Why?

Tim, with an offended expression: Because she called me "middle class" as an insult, I AM RICH THO-

Steph: Duke who in the family would you not let your child date?

Duke: [Y/N] because she uses throwing knives as bookmarks, they were diamond-encrusted too. She and Damian have a lot more in common than you think...

Steph: Dames, who in our family would you not let your child date?

Damian, not looking up from his book: Ukthi because she's unhinged.

Steph: Elaborate?

Damian: I saw her sword fighting a mirror as she felt disrespected. My child deserves the utmost love and not nightly visits to Arkham Asylum.

Steph: Cass Cass! Who in the gang would you not let your child date?

Cass: [Y/N], dangerous, seductive, wore Prada to bust drug cartel.

Steph, entering Bruce's study: Yo Brucifer, who in the manor would you not let your child date?

Bruce: [Y/N], she may be my daughter but I don't want another lawsuit.

Steph: LMFAO WHAT WAS THAT ABOUT AGAIN

Bruce, rubbing temples: She took my jet to Milan because the boutiques were "calling her name"

Bruce: Also, out of all of my children, my baby girl is Selina's favourite, which is very telling, don't, under any circumstances, don't leave them together in a room.

Steph: [Y/N], out of everyone in our family, who in the house would you not let your child date?

Y/N: None of those motherfuckers, they're all genetically predisposed to fumbling some of the baddest bitches alive.

Y/N: What'd the rest of 'em say?

Steph: Oh you don't wanna know

Y/N: I mean, for Dad it's kinda warranted, I told him "GYAT" meant "Get Your Act Together" and he yelled it at the Titans plus Jon and they all doubled over laughing and he grounded me :\, but did they actually say me?

Y/N: I genuinely bet those hoes dragged my ass, they picked ME didn't they? YOU KNOW WHAT-

Hope you all enjoyed this! Likes, comments, reblogs and requests are highly appreciated! Requests are open!

Sources !-

Blue lines - @cursed-carmine Bat dividers - @sister-lucifer Batfam Header - Pinterest (Robin #6)

Property of suigenerisisadiva, do not repost my work pls & ty

[enjakey]

The University and the Dorms We Hate

Pairing: [Jake x Fem!Reader]!University!Found-family au

I LOVED WRITING THIS FIC (14K) like it's so funny and loving and sweet and cute- yeah just read it guys. Can you tell I incorporated Loose? Try and find it, lol. I love writing 02z, they're so adorable.

So, I don't want to call this fic dark because it deals with some heavy things like depression, bullying and suicide (in context of sunghoon) and death in general. Mentions of ghosts, if you're scared of that. Lots of crack tho, It's all very funny. And soft. And found-family esque with Jake, Jay, Sunghoon and Y/N.

Please enjoy reading guys. I always appreciate feedback! Can't wait to talk and meet some of y'all. Would love making friends on this app. I can't think of anymore warnings to give so- enjoy! Also does anyone hate the whole tags thing? I swear it takes so long.

Summary: in which everyone that went to your university hated it- it was low budgeted and whoever ended up there made the worse decision of their lives. They were so out of funds that the boys dorm building collapsed, leading them to move into the girls’ dorm. Jake and Y/N hover in each other's lives before finally crashing into each other- protecting each other and their friends, Jay and Sunghoon.

Everyone hated Remnant University- the students, the faculty, the janitors, the registrar, even the pigeons that occasionally dropped dead on the quad. It was a cursed place, built not from vision but vanity- the brainchild of a man with too much money and far too much cocaine. He’d once called it his ‘gift to the people.’ The people, in return, had cursed his name into oblivion.

After his death- a coke-fueled heart attack in the university sauna, if the legends were true- the institution limped on. Tuition was cheap, admissions were easy, and something about the place drew in a strange crowd: brilliant minds with nowhere else to go, the kind of people the world chewed up and spat out.

As years passed, graduates clawed their way out through fake recommendation letters, falsified research papers, and internships that didn’t exist. Meanwhile, the next batch of the naive and desperate arrived- wide-eyed, hopeful, and doomed.

‘To all the students of Remnant University — welcome home.’

Y/N remembered staring at the banner during her orientation, its letters in gaudy bubble font, fluttering above the cracked main gate. She'd felt a flicker of awe then. Two years later, she couldn’t look at it without imagining setting it on fire. Home, my ass, she thought almost daily. She hated her classes. She hated the professors. She hated the eternal mildew stench that clung to the dorm walls and the way the lights flickered like a horror movie just before someone dies.

The campus itself was a patchwork nightmare- brutalist buildings long past their expiration date, lecture halls with ceilings that leaked when it didn’t rain, and an willow tree near the western edge that, according to campus lore, was cursed: a student had hung themselves from it every decade like clockwork. The library was missing half its books, the science lab still ran Windows 95, the food in the mess hall tasted like regret, and the only working coffee machine was in the faculty lounge, guarded like a sacred artifact.

Still, somehow, the place endured. Professors- the decent ones, anyway- stayed not out of loyalty, but out of pity. They knew Remnant had no soul, only suffering, and tried to ease the burden where they could.

And so, another semester dragged on, the sun too harsh, the wind too bitter, the future too far. And Remnant University, like a dying star, continued to pull in the lost and the brilliant, one pitiful student at a time.

That year, the boys dorm had given up, its foundation perishing.

It started with the water- or rather, the lack of it. Then came the black mold that bloomed across the ceilings like ink stains in a Rorschach test. The final straw was the collapse of the third-floor corridor during midterms, taking down three bathrooms, two residents, and the only functioning Wi-Fi router in the building.

Facilities blamed the students for “reckless behavior,” the students blamed the university for “being held together by asbestos and prayer,” and the administration issued a memo with bold Comic Sans that read: “This is an opportunity for community building!”

And so, with nowhere else to go, the boys were moved- en masse- into the already half-empty girls’ dorm.

It was chaos. Instant ramen wrappers multiplied like cockroaches, and hallways began to reek of Lynx body spray and unwashed laundry. Someone brought a pet iguana named Carl that no one could prove they owned- he just roamed freely, occasionally found sunbathing under the corridor light fixtures like he paid rent. Room assignments were haphazard; some girls returned from class to find unfamiliar boys lounging on their beanbags, raiding their snacks, or claiming, “oh, I thought this was 3B.”

The fact that each room had its own bathroom did little to soften the blow. Instead of fighting over communal showers, the wars shifted to noise complaints, door-slamming at odd hours, and passive-aggressive sticky notes about ‘the walls are thin- I can hear everything.’

One girl woke up to find her mirror fogged with the message “YOU’RE NEXT :)”- it turned out it was just her neighbor playing a prank with a Sharpie and a blow dryer, but the girl moved out the next morning anyway.

Y/N had to share her hallway with a group of engineering boys who mistook deodorant for optional and thought whispering at 2 a.m. counted as being quiet. One of them set off the fire alarm trying to microwave a boiled egg. Another kept trying to convince everyone he was the reincarnation of Tesla. The hallway now smelled like socks, rejection, and desperation.

“Community building,” Y/N muttered as they stepped over a broken chair in the common room. “They should rename this place Lord of the Flies: Campus Edition.”

Still, no one left. No one ever really left.

The university had a grip on people- not because it was good, but because once you were here, it was like the outside world forgot you existed. Transfer applications got “lost.” Emails to other universities were mysteriously flagged as spam. Even the local newspapers referred to it as “that place near the quarry” like it didn’t deserve a real name.

And perhaps it didn’t.

Remnant wasn’t just a university. It was purgatory with a vending machine and barely functioning plumbing.

Y/N just didn’t realise this shift was some sort of ironic blessing in disguise.

A few months later, the chaos mellowed out.

The loudest, messiest ones either dropped out, transferred, or mysteriously stopped showing up- whether from burnout, academic probation, or just giving up and going home was anyone’s guess. The dorm slowly emptied again, and for the first time in a while, Y/N could hear her own thoughts past 10 pm.

The air felt different- less like a frat party gone wrong and more like a hospital wing during visiting hours. Quiet, but laced with an odd sense of shared survival. The broken furniture in the hallway had been cleared. Carl the iguana had found a permanent home in someone's terrarium (rumor had it, he'd been registered as an emotional support animal). The scent of chaos was replaced by something eerily neutral detergent, maybe. Or resignation.

Just a few rooms down from hers lived Jake, Jay, and Sunghoon- three boys who, unlike most, had managed to settle in without turning the place into a war zone. They were quiet, mostly. Not the awkward kind of quiet, but the observant kind. The kind that made Y/N wonder if they were secretly plotting to escape this university and hadn’t yet told her how.

She didn’t know much about them then- just glimpses. Jake had the habit of doing late-night runs down the corridor with music blasting in his headphones. Jay always walked like he had somewhere important to be, even if he was just carrying laundry. And Sunghoon, well… Sunghoon gave off the unnerving energy of someone who was either extremely kind or extremely dangerous, and no one had quite figured out which.

Y/N and Jake didn’t really meet at first. Not properly. They just… existed in each other’s periphery.

It started with ramen. Y/N had a ritual- 11:30 pm, kettle boiled, seasoning packets dumped in without reading, and a long sigh echoing in the kitchen like a ghost with finals. The dorm’s shared kitchenette was useless, claustrophobic, and smelt vaguely like burnt cheese, but it was all she had.

That was where she first saw him.

Jake didn’t say anything. Just stood by the fridge, half-asleep and barefoot, pouring chocolate milk into a chipped mug like it was whiskey. She glanced up from her noodles; he met her eyes for a second, then looked away.

No nod. No smile. Just shared exhaustion, briefly acknowledged.

After that, it happened more often. Hallway crossings, leaving the dorm at the same time- same shoes, different direction. One would always pretend to check their phone. The other would act like the floor had suddenly gotten really interesting. But neither of them turned back.

Once, she was walking down the corridor holding a stack of textbooks too tall for her arms. He was coming from the opposite side with a wet towel over his shoulder. Their eyes locked. For a second, Jake looked like he might say something. But then he didn’t. He just shifted to the side, brushing past her like she was smoke.

Y/N told herself it was nothing. Just dorm life. Just bad timing.

But still, whatever corner she turned, he was there- leaning against a wall, tying his shoelaces in the lobby, digging through the vending machine like it owed him money.

Then, the air-conditioning in the dorms stopped working. It was bound to happen eventually- the units had been blubbering like dying whales for weeks, dripping puddles of water and emitting an odd smell that lingered like guilt after a bad decision. But for them to break down exactly when the weather decided to become an inferno? That wasn’t just bad luck. That was spiritual punishment.

The dorm quickly descended into a version of hell Dante probably left out for being too pathetic.

People started dragging their mattresses into the hallway where it was marginally cooler. Fans were hoarded like black-market gold. The guy in 207 tried to build a swamp cooler out of a mop and an old table fan. It worked. Briefly. Until it didn’t. And then the smell got worse.

The warden and management were flooded with complaints, threats, and one very poetic hate email that ended with, “This is not an institution of learning. It is a slow death simulation.”

Y/N tried ice packs. They melted. She tried sleeping on the floor. It gave her a backache and a sudden understanding of her mother’s sciatica. And of course, that was when she started running into Jake more- always shirtless, always looking unbothered by the heat, as if his body had negotiated a secret deal with the sun. And she knew he noticed her too- always in her training bra, always in her shorts, always with her hair up and neck sweating, mouth apart from panting.

It was probably the sixth day of the heat-wave. Y/N felt like she was boiling alive inside her own skin. Her shirt clung to her back, her legs stuck to the sheets, and the tiny desk fan in the corner had just given up with a sad, final wheeze. The water bottle she’d frozen earlier had melted into a lukewarm puddle beside her pillow. She had tried everything- a cold shower, lying on the floor, holding ice cubes to her neck- and still, the heat sat on her chest like a curse.

It was 02:57 am when she finally gave up.

She pulled on the first shirt she could find- which might’ve been slightly damp from sweat, but everything was- and slipped into the hallway, craving movement, breeze, anything other than her room’s still, suffocating air.

The hallway light flickered.

As soon as she stepped out, she heard a soft click- another door opening just down the corridor.

Jake- shirtless, barefoot, hair a mess of curls sticking to his forehead. He held a can of something cold- maybe soda, maybe hope in liquid form- and looked just as defeated as she felt.

For a moment, they just stood there, both caught in the dumb surprise of seeing each other again like this- past midnight, wilted by heat, lit by that awful yellow dorm light. Their eyes met. And unlike the usual glances they shared- quick, embarrassed, almost performative- this one held.

Jake lifted his chin slightly. “You heading somewhere?”

Y/N didn’t trust her voice, so she just jerked her head vaguely toward the stairwell. “Roof,” she said. “Maybe it’s less hell up there.”

He gave a tired, crooked smile. “Mind if I tag along?”

She shrugged. “Sure”

They walked in silence. The stairwell was even warmer, but there was something about the quiet- the hum of bugs outside, the faint creak of the building- that made it bearable. When they finally pushed open the roof door, a wave of hot-but-moving air greeted them.

It wasn’t cool. But it wasn’t still. And that felt like enough.

They sat on opposite ends of the low concrete ledge, legs dangling, watching the silhouettes of nearby buildings flicker in and out of the haze. The city lights blurred at the edges, like everything was melting.

Jake reached into the pocket of his shorts and pulled out a popsicle- already halfway melted, the wrapper sticky and threatening to fall apart.

“Mango,” he said. “Don’t ask where I got it.”

He held it out halfway to her.

Y/N stared at it for a second, then leaned over, broke it in half with her fingers, and took her piece.

“Thanks.”

They sat in silence, eating sticky, sun-soft popsicle halves at 3 a.m. on the roof of a university that everyone hated.

After a long pause, Y/N said, “This place is a dumpster fire.”

Jake exhaled a laugh through his nose. “Yeah. But sometimes the fire’s kind of pretty.”

She looked at him sideways. He wasn’t smiling, not really, but his eyes had softened.

Y/N didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. The night felt suspended- like even the heat had paused, waiting for something to happen. They sat there until their popsicles were gone, until their sweat cooled into goosebumps, until the roof didn’t feel quite so unbearable. And when they finally stood up, heading back down the stairs without a word, something had shifted. They weren’t the awkward kids that bumped into each other in hallways anymore; they weren’t strangers who shared glances near the kitchen anymore.

“I need your help with this essay.”

Over the last month, as the heatwave dragged on like some biblical sentencing, Y/N and Jake had made a habit of barging into each other's rooms with whatever excuse they could make up. Sometimes it was batteries, or help with the half-dead Wi-Fi router. Other times, it was Jake showing up at her door with that half-grin, asking her to suffer through a regrettable movie because Jay and Sunghoon wouldn’t.

It had become an unspoken routine- something neither of them remembered initiating. It just… happened. Like the way dust collects on the windowsill, or how sweat clings to your back before noon. Natural. Unavoidable. Comfortable.

Now, standing at the doorway of Jake’s room was Y/N, clad in shorts and her usual training bra, waving her laptop like it was proof of a dying emergency. Jay and Sunghoon, shirtless, slouched on the floor with their phones and half a pack of chips between them, looked up with matching expressions of surprise. Not the “what are you doing here?” kind- more like the “we’ve seen this before but we’re still not used to it” kind.

Jake, catching their gazes and the sudden silence, didn’t even hesitate. He grabbed the first shirt in arm’s reach- one that had been lying crumpled on his bed for at least three days- and launched it at her face.

“Put on a shirt,” he grumbled, not meeting her eyes.

Y/N peeled the shirt off her face slowly, one eyebrow raised, and then looked down at herself like she was only now registering what she was wearing. “You’re the one with no AC. If I die from heatstroke, I’m haunting this room specifically.”

“You already live here anyway,” Jake muttered, trying and failing to suppress the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He put on the shirt that she had discarded and stood up from the floor.

“Essay, please! It’s urgent.”

Jake rolled his eyes but followed. No socks, no phone, no hesitation. Just him, trailing behind her like it was a habit carved into muscle memory.

Y/N’s room was already open when they got there. She didn’t wait. She just dropped onto the bed, cross-legged, her laptop opened before the fan like it might keep the overheating processor from catching fire.

Jake didn’t ask what the essay was about. He just sat beside her, back against the wall, shoulders barely touching, both pairs of eyes fixed on the open Word document on her laptop. She handed him the laptop, letting him take a few moments to scan the contents of her half-written, unplanned essay.

“This looks fine,” Jake raised a brow in confusion, handing her the laptop back. “What’s your doubt?”

She paused, hesitant. Then she glanced over her shoulder, hair falling in front of her face, hiding the sheepish curve of her smile. “I don’t know how to finish it,” she admitted, voice low, almost guilty.

Jake leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes with a sigh- the kind of dramatic groan he saved just for her. It was half-annoyance, half-performance, and all affection. “You, a literature major,” he said slowly, turning to face her with mocked disappointment, “are asking me, an engineering student, how to end a paper on Jane Eyre?”

“You know the best AI tools,” she shot back, defensive but grinning. “I just need help with how to use them.”

Jake gave her a look- that look- the signature one, all teasing arrogance with a hint of theatrical suffering, like helping her was both the bane and joy of his existence.

“And what do I get in return?” he asked, head tilted slightly, eyes glinting.

“Nothing,” she replied, without missing a beat, eyes not leaving his gaze, offering just as teasing a smile.

The first time Jake had said that line- what do I get in return?- she’d just asked him to grab her an egg from the communal fridge. He had said it with that same boyish grin and mock-serious tone, and Y/N, completely unprepared, had felt butterflies scramble in her stomach. She’d stammered, completely thrown off, her tongue fumbling against her words.

Jake had caught on instantly, and with wide eyes and flustered hands, rushed to explain that he hadn’t meant anything weird by it- that it was just a joke- harmless, playful. Ever since, whenever he threw that line at her, she’d shoot back with a dry “Nothing,” and he would always chuckle, always let it slide, like it was their little inside joke sealed in silence.

This time was no different. He just shook his head, a smile curling at the edges of his lips, and pulled the laptop onto his lap to open a fresh browser.

That night, during dinner, Y/N sat in Jake’s room, Sunghoon and Jay accompanying them like they do most nights. Jay cooked ramen for everyone to share, some protein and vegetables to bring out flavour. Silence, but the slurp of their ramen buzzed out the space of their room. A movie played on Jake’s laptop, some contemporary drama Jay had been dying to watch so they barged into his screening.

“Did y'all realize it’s the fourth decade,” Y/N said, mid-slurping her noodles, eyes fanning across the faces of the three boys that turned to look at her with bewilderment. “Who do you think the next victim will be?”

Jake and Jay passed each other a glance- a glance only the pair could decipher- and then looked at Sunghoon who was staring at Y/N. Sunghoon only gave her a shrug and finished the last of his ramen. “What, that willow tree-suicide thing?”

Y/N nodded.

Jake would never admit it, but he feared that the next victim of the university’s willow tree curse would be Sunghoon. He and Jay only followed Sunghoon to this godforsaken university for the safety of their friend- their friend who had been struggling with depression and suicidal tendencies since they were in middle school.

The three grew up together- the same neighbourhood, same school since kindergarten, same course interests and same love for each other as they grew up. But, in middle school, the dynamic between them shifted when Sunghoon was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder after a suicide attempt and suddenly, Jake and Jay were constantly in touch with Sunghoon’s parents to make sure he was safe and not a danger to himself.

When high school began, the two made sure, with all the power that they had, that Sunghoon wouldn’t succumb as a victim to their school’s increasing bullying issue. They were often put in positions where they had to trade their lunch to some of the bullies for Sunghoon’s safety or sleep with girls they didn’t want to, just to keep peace.

Then, it was time to apply for universities and Jake and Jay applied to every university Sunghoon had applied to, even if their ambitions were different. When Sunghoon first said he wanted to go to Remnant University, Jake and Jay shouted “same!”- like it was muscle memory, like they had been practising, rehearsing. But they didn’t really know much about the university.

Its website looked decent, offering all the courses they wanted and saying all the right things with words like world-renowned, engaging, innovative, expansive. The pictures that appeared with a quick Google search were hypnotising- a sprawling campus with expensive architecture students studying on patches of grass and canteens. It wasn’t until the day they had to move into campus that they realised they’d been baited.

As their time in the shitty university went on, the amount of rumours and legends they heard never stopped. There were rumours about the founder of the university and how he died a coke-addict and a student rapist. Then, there were the legends about the haunted computer lab and how the second computer to the left of the third row had never been used for two decades because the last time someone used it, they got hit by a bus and died in a tragedy. There was also a rumour about how the library was haunted and no one dared to stay in it past 2 am. Then, there was the legend they dreaded hearing about the most- the willow tree suicides and its ten year clock.

This was a conversation Jake and Jay had an ample amount of times after they heard the rumours. Words of concern and fright spilling out in hushed tones when Sunghoon wasn’t around to hear them- either sleeping or doing laundry. They hated thinking about it, to even visualise a world without their best friend- but their thoughts were often uninvited, like a nightmare they couldn’t sleep out of.

But was it truly a curse? Was it really something worth worrying about? It felt ridiculous, honestly- to lose sleep over an urban legend tied to a run-down university. The last so-called victim, according to the story, had died a decade ago. That meant ten batches had graduated since, and a hundred more rumors had spun into existence. No one even remembered the names of the last three. They were just stories, passed around during late-night conversations when there was nothing better to talk about- like ghost tales shared over a dying campfire.

The first victim, according to their university’s confessions account, was a girl whose name was marred with rumours and scandals of slutty behaviour and leaked sex-tapes. She had hung herself on the willow tree, her neck snapped in half with no note, no warning- just hanging there like an abrupt full-stop to a sentence. The media- or the newspaper articles, said that it was due to sexual exploitation and no one believing her. Others said that the story was bigger than that- bigger than them.

The second victim was an engineering student- much like Jake, Jay and Sunghoon themselves- who had failed his courses and had no money to pay for tuition. His scholarship was taken away from him, so he took his own life. He, too, left no note or no warning which left the public and his family in a spiral of bewilderment and confusion- no one really knew what the real story behind his death was.

The third victim was a boy in his final year of interior design. Unlike the others, there was no clear tragedy leading up to his death- no grades slipping through the cracks, no scandals or whispers of wrongdoing. In fact, most said he was the perfect student: brilliant, well-liked, always the first to show up and the last to leave. One morning, his body was found hanging beneath the willow tree, his shoes neatly placed beside him, as if he didn’t want to dirty the branches with a mess. No suicide note, no indication of struggle- just silence. Some said he was cursed with guilt, others said he saw something- something he couldn’t unsee.

In fact, they found him with his eyes open- dead and empty, horrifyingly still, like the life had been drained out from him mid-thought.

Three deaths. Three decades. Three stories, told and retold in hushed voices, embellished by fear and the passage of time. Would there even be a fourth death to add to the list of stories?

“That’s just a stupid rumour,” Jay dismissed Y/N quickly, cutting in before Jake could say anything- his loose tongue and panicked expression already halfway to betraying him. Stress had never been Jake’s strong suit, and Jay knew that better than anyone. Once, back in high school, Jake had tried talking Sunghoon down from a wave of sadness but fumbled his words so badly, it only confused Sunghoon more and triggered a full spiral. Jay had to step in, damage control already a familiar role by then.

“You don’t think it’s true?” Y/N asked, surprised.

“Nope,” confidently, Jay nodded, maintaining eye-contact like his life depended on it- like Sunghoon’s life depended on it.

Perhaps Sunghoon was too distracted, but Y/N felt the atmosphere shift around her. Her eyes darted between Jake and Jay, a question forming on the tip of her tongue, cautious and apprehensive yet curious and personal at the same time.

Jake, sensing her peaked senses, dragged her away with the empty pot of ramen and bowls in one hand and her forearm in his other. He led her into the kitchenette, two floors below their room, in the name of dish-washing duty while she struggled against his impossible grip.

“What was that?” When Jake finally let go of her and moved to wash the dishes, pretending like nothing out of the ordinary had happened, Y/N leaned against the counter with her arms crossed, staring at him like he owed her an explanation.

Jake tutted, tilting his head and staring at the remnants of ramen in the dirtied dishes, soapy water filling the basin. With his sleeves rolled up, he submerged his hands into the sink to start cleaning. “It’s just… it’s a sensitive topic for us.”

Jake refused to look at her, as though looking at her would make the conversation real, serious, heavy. He could still feel her gaze on him, now softened and apprehensive.

“Oh,” she sighed, letting her arms dangle to her sides. “Am I allowed to ask questions or do we move on?”

“It’s just,” Jake wasn’t sure what he could say- he wasn’t sure if he was even allowed to talk about it. This worry and fear for his friend was something he lived with for over seven years now, buried between blankets of secrecy between him and Jay. And now, for him to say the words out loud to Y/N almost felt wrong, illegal- like openly telling people who he voted for in presidential elections. “Sunghoon…”

“Oh,” Y/N nodded, chewing on her lips as the pieces clicked into place. It didn’t take a genius to understand why the topic was sensitive… she just kind of understood.

Sunghoon. Of course. The quiet, aloof, lost kid who looked like he carried the burden of the world most of the time- alright.

There was a moment of silence between them- just the hum of the old fridge, the soft slosh of water against porcelain, and the faint creaking of pipes somewhere in the walls. It wasn’t awkward, not quite. Just delicate.

Y/N straightened up, nudging his elbow gently with hers, her voice lighter this time. “You missed a spot,” she said, pointing at a stubborn noodle stuck to the bowl he was scrubbing.

Jake huffed out a breath, almost a laugh. “You’re annoying.”

“And you’re a terrible dishwasher,” she grabbed a sponge and joined him at the sink, her presence a quiet reassurance that she wouldn’t press further.

For a moment, they just stood there, shoulder to shoulder, warm water pooling over their hands and silence settling like a truce. Their hands sloshed against each other, consciously pinching and swatting, a grin cracking against both of their lips.

Y/N had a stash of mango flavoured candy that Jake had become addicted to when she first shared some with him. She didn’t know if it was a brand or if it had a name- she told him that she’s simply grown up eating it and her parents would buy it in bulk everytime it ran out. It was sweet and sour, a mix of tangy spice settling in as the aftertaste and Jake was absolutely smitten by its flavour. Seeing how obsessive he had gotten over them, she told him that she’d ask her parents to buy extra for him but for now, he had to suffice with the single piece she’d give him everyday.

However, it meant waiting for Y/N to come back to the dorm, which she usually did really late after standing around the college canteen with her friends, gossiping or complaining about their university. By the time she’d come back, he’d get impatient and complain. There were times he even wandered back into campus in search of her and her room key and her friends would find that weird about him.

“How are you that obsessed with this candy? We’ve all had it. It’s not that great.”

“You’ve got no taste.”

So, annoyed, Y/N gave him her spare key, along with her trust in him that he wouldn’t use it for anything other than taking her mango candy. No snooping through her things, no stealing her expensive packets of ramen and no playing pranks. Jake agreed, comically desperate.

His classes had ended early and he returned to the dorm, an overheated oven as the heatwave refused to subside even after two months. They were in a dry spell- it hadn’t rained since their airconditioners had broken down and the whole town was in a water crisis. This meant that the dorm only got a limited supply of water. If someone woke up too late, all the water would be used up and they’d have to suffice with walking around sweaty and sticky, wafting with the scent of heat.

Absentmindedly, like it was in his second nature, Jake walked towards Y/N’s room instead of his own, his bag slung over his shoulder and her key already ready in his hand. When he unlocked her door, however, he wasn’t expecting to find her still in her room, sitting on her floor still in her underwear. Her back rested against her bed, hair strewn across the mattress and clinging to her neck. When she saw him, she didn’t panic in her half-naked state. She had a pillow on her lap, hiding the parts of her she was most embarrassed of, scanning her laptop screen perched on the pillow.

“Didn’t you have class?” He asked.

Jake blinked, his brain buffering, but he didn’t say anything about her state. He didn’t need to. That was the unspoken rule now: you don’t acknowledge it. Not when everyone in the dorm had seen each other wilt under the summer heat like dying houseplants. Modesty had long surrendered to survival. Shirts were optional. Doors were left ajar for cross-breezes. Even the warden had started walking around shirtless, like he'd finally accepted the heat as god.

“Class got cancelled,” she said, leaning her head against her mattress like she was fighting for her life. The evenings were the worst when it came to the heat. She squinted her eyes close, feeling sweat dribble down her already wet neck and she reached to adjust her tangled hair on the mattress.

Chewing on the candy, Jake sauntered to sit on her bed, right behind her. “Let me,” he said, crossing his legs and gathering her hair in his fist. She leaned forward to give him more space, allowing him a brief glance at her glistening back. Silently, he started raking through the strands of her hair with his fingers, eyes slyly glancing at the Reddit tab open on her laptop.

“Why are you reading that?” He asked, referring to the r/remnantuniversity tab she had open. It was about the willow tree suicides, a whole discussion on theories and rumours and urban legends that surrounded it. He wondered if those contributing to these online forums belonged to his class- it could be the quiet kid that sat in the back like he was harbouring a familial secret or the overly enthusiastic girl who acted like she knew everything.

“It’s for an essay,” she said. “For my literature and sociology class- something about Verstehen.”

“And that’s the topic you chose,” his voice was calm, unwavering. He wasn’t bothered or angry, only a little scared and wary, like she was trending unexplored and dangerous waters. His hands moved to section her hair into three, attempting to braid it.

“Yeah, I just- I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It’s kind of perfect for our topic,” she sighed. “There’s an entire subreddit, everyone’s shit scared about it- look!” She pointed at her screen and Jake squinted, leaning forward to read what she was referring to.

Then she scrolled through the subreddit and there were huge paragraphs of what he assumed were explanations or speculations, newspaper clippings of what seemed to be reports of the suicides which he couldn’t decide if they were real or AI, and a video of a new channel reporting on an unexplained suicide by hanging in an unnamed university.

While Jake looked through everything she was showing him, his hands slowly braiding her hair, she chewed her lip in caution. “They’re saying all the suicides took place on April twentieth.”

“That’s barely a month away,” Jake said.

“Yeah.”

“Y/N, there’s really no way any of this is real,” Jake sounded like he was convincing himself more than her. “You know the internet, it’ll go lengths to make their lives interesting. All those creepypastas that were debunked- I’m sure this is one of those.”

“That’s exactly what many people are saying,” she nodded. “The sane ones, at least.” Y/N reached behind her to feel her hair that he had partly braided. He wasn’t struggling, just taking his time, working with care and warmth. “Hey, you didn’t mess it up,” she pointed out, teasing him.

“You’re annoying,” he rolled his eyes, continuing to braid her hair.

“Where’d you learn to braid hair?”

“My mom, I think,” Jake hummed. “My brother and I used to love braiding her hair.”

“You have a brother?”

“Yeah, he’s in Australia now,” Jake’s eyes sparkled at the thought of his family, his smile mirrored on the glassy screen of her laptop. She watched him through the reflection, arms crossed on her chest, lips spreading a smile herself. “He’s married with kids and everything.”

Y/N, turned around to pass him the rubberband on her wrist, expression of awe. “You’re an uncle? That’s adorable.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolled his eyes, shuffling to lay down on her bed, his arms crossed under his head. He turned to look at her, watching her as she went back to her research.

Almost unapologetically, his eyes trailed down her exposed neck, admiring the braid he did for her, before locking onto her arms and her chest. This wasn’t the first time Jake looked at her like this, confused whether it was lust or just the fact that he was a boy staring at a half-naked girl in front of him- if it was passion or second-nature to him as a man. When he thought about it, he’d almost feel disgusted, to ever wonder what was under that pillow on her lap, what more could be discovered under those black panties she thought she successfully covered. Then there were her legs and her hands, slender and welcoming, like they were waiting for him to slide into.

Jake cleared his throat and pulled out his phone, attempting to distract himself. The heat didn’t help him and he knew if he took his shirt off now, his brain would run into overdrive.

“Jay and Sunghoon want to go bowling,” he said upon reading his missed messages. “Do you want to go?”

She didn’t say anything- just hummed like she was considering it, but was already reaching for a shirt. He knew that hum. It meant yes.

And a few hours later, they were standing under flickering neon lights in a bowling alley that smelled like bad nachos and better memories. Jay and Jake ended up destroying them- like, embarrassingly. Jake wasn’t even trying that hard. He bowled like it was something his ancestors trained him for. Sunghoon was busy trash-talking instead of actually aiming, and Y/N kept getting distracted by her opponents’ coordination- and the way Jake’s muscles flexed, the way his smile overpowered the room and the way his hair matted to his sweaty forehead made him look like something out of a magazine. But Y/N wouldn’t admit this, not to anyone, not to herself.

“Don’t laugh,” she said when the ball slid into the gutter with a tragic thud. “It curved. I saw a curve.”

“Yeah, it curved straight into failure,” Jay said, bumping Jake’s shoulder like they were on the same team in a war. They high-fived like idiots.

Later, they went out to eat at this cramped little diner Jay liked, the one with flickering menus and sticky tabletops that smelled like ketchup and some kind of old, overused oil. It was half nostalgia, half heartburn. Thank god both the bowling alley and this diner had air conditioning, because they swore they would’ve melted if they had to sit through one more minute of sticky air and heavy clothes clinging to their backs. Jake kept dramatically fanning himself with the laminated menu, Jay had unbuttoned his shirt two notches down, and Sunghoon was debating sticking his head in the freezer behind the counter.

Y/N, like clockwork, ordered ice cream mochi- the same kind she always got when they went out. It didn’t matter what mood she was in or what place they were at. If mochi was on the menu, she was getting it. She pulled apart the sticky rice covering with her fingers like it was a ritual, the cold mist clinging to her fingertips. She popped one half into her mouth and let out a small hum, eyes fluttering shut for a second.

Jake watched her without meaning to, elbow propped on the table, chin in hand.

“You’re really acting like this is gourmet cuisine,” Sunghoon said, deadpan, as he unwrapped a sad-looking cheeseburger.

“It is,” Y/N replied, all wide eyes and pure belief. “This is the good kind. The outside’s chewy and the ice cream doesn’t taste fake. Jay, taste this.”

Jay held up both hands in refusal. “I’m not about to get emotionally attached to frozen rice balls, thanks.”

Jake didn’t say anything, but when she wasn’t looking, he stole the other half from her plate and popped it into his mouth. Cold exploded on his tongue, sweet vanilla cream wrapped in the soft, elastic chew of mochi.

She caught him mid-chew. “You’re so mean,” she said, flicking a wet napkin at him.

He just grinned, cheeks full. “You’ll live.”

Then the conversation drifted, as it always did, to the three boys groaning about their engineering classes- Jay going off about a professor who mumbled formulas like they were lullabies, Sunghoon lamenting the four-hour lab that ruined his Thursdays, and Jake trying to convince them all that thermodynamics was a scam invented to humble mankind. Y/N didn’t say much, just listened, her eyes darting between each of them as they spoke, like she was watching some low-budget sitcom unfold right in front of her. She forked through her pasta lazily, twirling it around her utensil with quiet interest, smiling to herself at the way they all spoke over each other- complaining, defending, occasionally throwing fries across the table like punctuation.

Jake had a habit of overpowering his thoughts with his loud voice, like volume could somehow make his point more valid. There was always a grin on his face, dimples peeking through as he defended his case with the same stubborn energy he applied to everything else. He’d shake his head when he got frustrated, flinging his hair out of his eyes in that dramatic, boyish way that made him look like he belonged in some coming-of-age film. Jay, naturally, would shout back- voice rising almost on instinct- calling Jake delusional or dumb or both, words laced with exasperation and fondness. Their arguments were always the same mix of chaos and choreography, like they’d done this a hundred times and had the rhythm memorised.

Sunghoon would just sit back with his drink in hand, lips curled into a crooked smile, chuckling as he watched them bicker like an old married couple. He’d throw in dry commentary about how they could channel all this passion into actually studying, but that only made him a target. The teasing would shift seamlessly to Sunghoon, Jake and Jay now joining forces to poke fun at his notes or his caffeine addiction or the way he took forever to reply to messages. Sunghoon would roll his eyes, flipping them off, but his voice would get just as loud, defending himself with the same fire he mocked them for. And through it all, Y/N just watched, resting her chin in her palm, half-amused and half-softened by the sheer comfort of it all- how familiar and stupid and warm it was.

Then, like clockwork, their voices would taper off- first Jay slumping back in his seat with a huff, then Jake sighing dramatically like he’d just won a war, and Sunghoon smirking into his drink as if he’d been above it all from the start. They always found their way back to quiet eventually, their chaos softening into something slower and easier. One of them- usually Jake- would nudge Y/N with an elbow or flick a piece of napkin her way, and ask, “What about you, nerd? How’s your academic crisis going?”

Y/N perked up slightly, spearing a piece of her pasta and chewing it slowly, as if deciding where to start. “I have to write a new essay for my literature and sociology class,” she said between bites, shrugging. “I thought I’d write about our university and all those legends and rumours. There’s a lot on Reddit.”

Jay blinked. “Why?” he asked, already picturing the tab on her browser- r/remnantuniversity, a whole rabbit hole of conspiracies and dark theories, deep dives into campus lore. The willow tree suicides being one of the most talked-about topics on there, wrapped in layers of myth and fear. Jay remembered seeing the posts himself once- some of the comments read like ghost stories, others like diary entries from students who claimed to have seen strange things, heard whispers, felt watched. He found it oddly fascinating in the way only things that unsettled you at 3 am could be.

Y/N nodded, holding up her phone to show them a post she’d saved. “It’s perfect for what we’re studying. There’s so much there- collective fear, urban myth, ritualised grief. And people are still so scared of that place. Look at this: Reddit says the library isn’t actually haunted, it’s just psychosomatic, like mass suggestion. One of the seniors said they slept there overnight and nothing happened. But then someone else said their roommate went missing for four hours and turned up outside the willow tree. Like, how does that even happen?”

Sunghoon’s fork froze halfway to his mouth. “Why would you want to write about something like that? Aren’t y’alls essays meant to be filled with research paper citations and shit? You can’t cite Reddit.”

“I have my ways,” she rolled her eyes. “Besides, it’s interesting. I’ve always found conspiracies fascinating- that’s all I watch on Youtube.”

“You’re one of those girls,” Jay commented, letting a chuckle past his lips as he brought more food to his mouth.

“Screw you.”

Jake shook his head slowly, voice low and steady. “Now you want to test it out?”

Y/N didn’t say anything at first, only reached for another mochi, her fingers brushing against the cold plastic. “Just for a bit. Past 2 am, that’s when the weird stuff is supposed to happen. But I won’t go alone,” she added quickly. “I mean, unless none of you want to come.”

“You’re actually dumb,” Jay muttered, leaning in. “Like, stupid in the head.”

“She’s possessed,” Sunghoon mumbled, rubbing his temple. “This is how horror movies start. Girl writes a paper, disappears in the library, we all get haunted. No thank you.”

But Jake didn’t say anything right away. He just stared at her across the table, lips pressed together, something flickering in his gaze that wasn’t quite fear, but wasn’t exactly comfort either. Because even if he thought she was being reckless or ridiculous or completely out of her mind, he already knew it in his gut- he was going to follow her anyway.

“If I die in that library, I’m haunting you first.”

Y/N and Jake arrived at the doors of their university library at midnight, a bag of snacks and their study materials tucked under their arms, gripped not just with fear, but with the strange thrill of doing something they weren’t supposed to. The campus was quiet in the kind of eerie way that made your ears ring from the silence- no motorbikes revving in the parking lot, no late-night couples giggling behind the hostel blocks, not even the occasional scream of someone who'd just finished an assignment. The whole place felt still, like it was holding its breath just for them.

It had taken Y/N two whole days to fully convince him- two full days of persistent poking, half-hearted bribery, the promise of free candy, and a dramatic monologue about academic integrity and sociological curiosity that made Jake pretend to gag. Still, he showed up.

She had texted him “you don’t have to come, it’s okay” more than once, but he always replied with some version of “shut up, I’m already on my way.”

The library loomed ahead, grand and cold under the fluorescent lamps. The old sandstone walls cast long shadows, and the columns looked more imposing at night, like they belonged to something older than the university itself. Jake glanced sideways at Y/N as they stepped closer, her face lit by her phone screen as she reread one of the Reddit threads, eyes wide, smile crooked.

“You’re still reading those?” he asked, amused but tired.

“Just refreshing my memory,” she whispered. “Someone said if you walk in after midnight and ask the librarian’s ghost to help you find a book, you’ll see a girl in a red scarf standing in the philosophy section. But if you follow her, you disappear.”

Jake rolled his eyes, trying to hide his growing fear. “And you still chose this over writing a boring essay about Durkheim.”

“It is about Durkheim,” she grinned, holding the door open for him. “Just the cursed, Reddit version.”

They entered with hesitant steps, the automatic doors hissing behind them. The air inside was cold and clinical, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. The security guard was either asleep or didn’t care- they had a green light to wander. The library looked the same as it did during the day: rows and rows of tall shelves, the study desks with their tiny lamps, the far-off corners cast in deeper shadows. It wasn’t as hot inside, enveloped by cool wiring of a half-broken cooler.

Jake exhaled slowly and reached for a Kit-Kat from their snack bag, unwrapping it as loudly as possible just to break the silence. “You know,” he said, “if a ghost shows up and asks me about APA or MLA, I’m out,” he joked, trying to lighten his nerves.

Y/N snorted, nudging his arm as she pulled out her notebook. “Shut up and help me figure out if I’m insane or if sociology is.”

“Both,” Jake said, mouth full of chocolate. “Definitely both.”

They picked a long wooden table near the back, one with uneven legs and names scratched into its surface- past students immortalised in ballpoint pen and frustration. It was the kind of spot no one really liked during the day, too far from the outlets and close enough to the vent that it got way too cold, but tonight it felt perfect. Quiet. Tucked away.

Y/N opened her laptop and got to work, fingers tapping against the keys with the rhythm of focus, eyes scanning Reddit threads, cross-referencing journal articles, her screen glowing dim blue in the otherwise sterile yellow light of the library. Jake pulled out his textbook with the face of a man who had already accepted his own fate and flipped it open to the chapter on thermal systems. He highlighted in pink and underlined in green, switching colours like it meant something, mumbling equations under his breath that didn’t make sense to either of them.

Every ten minutes or so, Jake would glance at his phone and say something like “One hour and ten minutes till we die,” in a mock-dramatic tone that made Y/N flick a pencil at him. Sometimes, he’d whisper the most absurd lines from his textbook like it was poetry- “Entropy is a measure of disorder,” he whispered once, “just like your essay outline.” When she didn’t react, he’d nudge her ankle with his. “Laugh,” he’d whisper, “or I’ll actually start crying.” She snorted and kept typing.

Every ten minutes, they’d count down the time. Jake would glance at his phone, tap the screen, and announce the minute like they were waiting for New Year’s. “1:20,” he’d say. Then, “1:30.” Then, “1:40,” a little more hesitant each time.

By 1:50, the jokes slowed down. The air felt… weird. Not cold, exactly, but too still. Like the quiet had layered itself on their shoulders. Jake was no longer reading- he just stared at the same page, eyes unfocused. Y/N’s fingers hovered above her keyboard. The laptop’s fan hummed a little louder.

At 1:59, they looked at each other. Nothing dramatic. Just a glance.

And then, 2:00 a.m.

The moment it hit, the lights didn’t flicker. The shelves didn’t creak. No whispers crawled through the air. Nothing dramatic happened- not even a gust of wind from a cracked window or the soft echo of footsteps from an unseen hallway.

The library remained stubbornly ordinary. Books stayed tucked in their places, monitors blinked patiently, and the only sound was the quiet hum of the air conditioning and their ragged breathing. Y/N stared at the time on her laptop- 2:00 am sharp- and then looked up, almost disappointed.

Jake leaned back in his chair, stretching with a yawn. “I was kind of hoping a book would go flying off a shelf,” he muttered. “Or like… the ghost of some stressed-out PhD student would show up and slap me for not citing properly.”

Y/N snorted, pressing her fingers to her temples like she was trying to read the silence. “I’m so disappointed,” Y/N murmured, smiling a little. “Should we stay longer?”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “God, no. I came for the haunting, not an all-nighter.”

Still, neither of them packed up. Not yet.

They waited until 3 am, just to be sure. Just to say they’d really done it. That they’d stayed past the hour of whispers and shadows and all those ridiculous Reddit warnings. They didn’t speak much, just packed up their things in a hurry- it felt like they were kids again, afraid of the dark and needing to run to the kitchen for water in the middle of the night to escape whatever monsters were under the bed. The air still held that heavy stillness, like the library didn’t want them to go. But they left anyway, pushing the tall doors open with a little too much caution, stepping into the cooler, quieter night like survivors of something no one else had witnessed.

Their walk back to the dorms was quieter, too. Not tense. Just… quieter. Their hands brushed more than once, knuckles bumping awkwardly in the half-lit path, and for a while, neither of them moved away. Eventually, Jake gave in. His arm came up slowly and draped around her shoulders like it was something he’d been meaning to do all night. She didn’t say anything, almost relieved- just leaned a little into him, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You know there’s gonna be a shooting star tomorrow?” He said, voice low, almost sleepy. “Well, a meteor shower. Something like that.”

She hummed, looking up at the hazy sky.

“Everyone’s gonna be up on the dorm roof to watch it,” he added. “Jay and Hoon are bringing snacks and everything. You should come.”

She smiled without looking at him. “Are you inviting me, or telling me?”

Jake grinned, tightening his arm around her shoulders just slightly. “Both.”

The next night, Y/N climbed the rusting fire stairs to the dorm’s roof, drawn by the distant hum of music and the smell of sweet soda gone sharp with alcohol. The entire rooftop was full- blankets sprawled across the concrete, bodies tangled into lazy heaps, everyone dressed in their pyjamas like it was some kind of unspoken theme. Their university might’ve been falling apart at the edges, but somehow, they always knew how to make the best of it. Laughter echoed into the night, soft and unbothered, like the rooftop was a world of its own. People were singing, laughing, hugging and swaying with the music, glasses of alcohol lifted into the air. Somewhere, she saw the domestic Carl the Iguana perched politely on someone's shoulder.

She didn’t know who handed her the cup of spiked fruit punch- one moment her hands were empty, the next, something cold and red was slipping into her fingers. It tasted too sweet, a little too strong, and sticky like childhood. She moved through the crowd, eyes scanning for anyone familiar.

That’s when she saw them- Jake, Jay, and Sunghoon, walking over with the same crooked grins and half-lidded eyes. The night had painted everyone softer.

Jay raised his drink in greeting. “Congrats on surviving the haunted library,” he said, bowing slightly. “A scholar and a ghostbuster.”

Sunghoon snorted into his cup. “So… can we conclude all the legends are untrue?”

Y/N shrugged, the corners of her lips tugging up. “Probably,” she said, but she didn’t sound entirely convinced.

“Told you so,” Jake grinned and nudged her shoulder with his.

The heatwave had finally started to let up. The air was breathable again, and the rooftop was cool in that perfect way that made them forget how miserable the days had been. The sky above stretched wide and navy, dotted with slow-moving clouds and the faintest glow of city light bleeding into the edges. The first streak of silver split across the sky like a knife, sharp and sudden and dazzling. A soft gasp rolled through the rooftop, voices falling quiet as everyone tilted their heads upward, caught in the spell of it. More followed- long, brilliant trails of light cutting across the darkness, each one different. Some quick and flickering, others steady, glowing like they were made to be seen. The stars looked close enough to reach, like if you stood on your toes, they’d fall into your palms like warm coins. It was the kind of sky that made you feel small in the right way, like you were part of something old and beautiful.

Jake stood behind her, arms curled easily around her waist, the curve of his body slotting into hers like they were puzzle pieces. His breath was slow, brushing against her temple in warm waves, and when he rested his chin lightly on the top of her head, it was without hesitation. His glasses had slid halfway down his nose but he didn’t care- he was smiling too wide to notice, one of those real smiles that crinkled his eyes and pushed his cheeks up high. There was something boyish in the way he watched the sky, like all of this reminded him of something he’d once dreamed about.

Y/N leaned back into him, soft and quiet, her body folding easily into his. Her pulse, which always seemed to buzz around him, slowed into something steadier. Their hands weren’t even touching, but the closeness was warm and whole. She could feel the steady thump of his heart through his chest, the rise and fall of his breathing against her spine. It wasn’t new, the comfort, but it felt like something had settled.

Eventually, the sky quieted again, and the spell broke- softly, like waking from a dream you weren’t ready to let go of. The crowd shifted, people stretching their arms above their heads or collapsing into conversations, their voices warming back into the air. Someone from her literature class- Priya, maybe?- tugged Y/N into a half-circle of people sitting cross-legged on the rooftop floor, laughing over something mildly stupid. She smiled, nodded, and added a comment when she needed to. Her fingers were still a little sticky from the punch, and her cheeks felt flushed, but not from the drink.

Still, every few seconds, her eyes would stray- like clockwork, like gravity. Across the rooftop, past the swaying silhouettes of friends in old pajamas, through the mess of curls and blankets and blinking fairy lights tangled along the railing- until they found him.

Jake.

Leaning back against the concrete wall, hair a little messy, arms crossed. His glasses were back in place now, pushed up lazily with the back of his hand. He wasn’t smiling this time- not in that big, goofy way- but there was something soft in his face, his gaze heavy and quiet and locked onto her.

He didn’t look away. And neither did she.

It wasn’t dramatic or loud, no fireworks, no slow motion movie moment. Just a series of glances. The kind that made your stomach curl. The kind that felt like your whole chest had been pulled a little tighter. The kind that made you feel seen.

Her heart fluttered against her ribs like wings, like something light and dangerous had taken flight. And when he tilted his head at her, just slightly- like he was asking, “you good?”- she smiled. Not a big one. Not one meant for the crowd. Just a small, secret thing. And he smiled back.

The night came to a gentle, sleepy end. Laughter started thinning out as people yawned and stretched, peeling away in twos and threes, voices fading down stairwells. The rooftop cleared like a tide going out, and soon only the distant sound of someone’s playlist humming from a dorm window remained.

Y/N padded back to her room, still barefoot from the rooftop, pulse soft from the stars. Her door creaked open and the quiet inside was immediate, a contrast to the noise they’d just left. Behind her, Jake followed- not invited, not uninvited either. He leaned against the frame of her doorway, arms crossed over his chest, one shoulder raised slightly like he wasn’t sure if he was staying or just passing through. But he didn’t move.

He watched her tie her hair into a bun, the movement familiar and unbothered, like he wasn’t even there. She pulled her shirt over her head with a lazy yawn, tossing it to the chair by her desk, and moved to sit cross-legged on her bed. The room was dim, a pool of moonlight stretched across the floor, and she looked up at him like he’d been standing there forever.

She grinned. “Candy?”

Jake huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head as he stepped further in, finally letting the door close behind him with a soft click. He crossed the room, slow and deliberate, and stopped in front of her.

“Why do you seem so tense?” he asked, voice low, like a secret passed through a crack in the wall. His fingers twitched like they wanted to reach for her but didn’t.

Y/N tilted her head. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

She shrugged but didn’t argue. There was something in the way she looked at him then- barefaced and tired and warm- that made his chest pull in strange, careful ways. Like he wasn’t sure what line they were walking, only that he didn’t want to step off it.

She shifted, patting the space beside her. “Then sit. Maybe I’ll feel better.”

He sat down, his hands brushing her shoulders before he started to knead the knots there- careful, light, like he was asking permission. “You gotta let loose a little,” he breathed, eyes lingering on her exposed skin, words hanging between the space between his lips and her ear.

Y/N knew where this was headed- she wasn’t stupid. It was all the eye-contact in the hallways, the brushing on their hands, the way he hugged her, the way he looked at her, the way he spoke to her like she was the most important thing in the world. And somewhere along the way, she fell into the little game he started, grinning back with tease, letting her hand snake around his arm when sitting together and watching movies, leaning into his touches.

Softly, she tilted her head towards him, eyes lowered and focused on her navy bed sheets. “You know, you don’t need to use cheesy lines, right?” She murmured, still not meeting his lines.

Jake’s hands stilled for a second on her shoulders, thumbs pressing gently into the dip of her back before sliding down, slow and tentative, like he was testing gravity. His voice followed after a pause, low and uneven. “Oh, yeah?”

That made her look at him.

And he was already staring- like he always was. Like he couldn’t help it. His gaze swept over her face, soft and deliberate, until it landed on her lips and stayed there just a little too long. He’d been patient, perhaps too patient, all this while, waiting to touch her the way he was now, fingers ghosting against the clasp of her bra, lips just about to touch the curve of her neck.

There was a flicker in her chest- sharp and golden, like something about to ignite. She bit her lip, pulse stammering, and Jake exhaled like he felt it too.

“You’re not gonna kiss me, are you?” she whispered, teasing.

He leaned in, the tiniest bit, until their foreheads almost touched. His breath was warm, sweet from the leftover punch. His hands were still on her waist now, grounding them both. “Not unless you want me to.”

The silence between them was louder than music, thicker than the night. She could feel his heart pounding through the space between them, or maybe it was hers. They were close enough now to share breath, to blur edges.

“I can tell how bad you want it too,” he said, and it wasn’t cocky- just honest. The way she pressed her thighs together, fisted the bedsheet, chest heaving silently at the thought of whatever he was about to do next.

And at that moment, she wanted to close the distance. Wanted to crash into him with all the force of those stolen glances, those unfinished sentences, that first night in the library when his hand brushed hers and neither of them moved away.

But instead, she smiled- slow and lazy, like the heat of the night had melted her bones. “Then, what are you waiting for?”

And that was it. That was all the sign he needed.

Jake moved without hesitation, like he'd been holding his breath for weeks and finally got the chance to exhale. His lips crashed into hers, not rough, but urgent- hungry in the way someone is when they’ve wanted something for too long. One of his hands slipped into her hair, the other stayed anchored at her waist, pulling her in like she was gravity and he was done fighting it.

Y/N responded just as fiercely, threading her fingers through his hair and tugging him closer, chasing the warmth of his mouth, his neck, every inch of him that had lived in the corners of her thoughts. She barely remembered shifting onto his lap- just the way his hands found her hips like they’d been there before in some dream, the way he murmured her name against her skin like it was something sacred.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t messy. It was everything that had built up between them- every brush of a hand, every late-night stare, every almost-kiss, every heartbeat that stuttered when they were alone. He touched her like he was memorizing, like he was afraid she’d disappear. She kissed him like she’d been waiting for the world to stop just long enough to feel this.

They kept their voices low, stifling laughs and gasps against each other’s skin, the thin dorm walls reminding them that the world was still asleep just beyond the door. The sheets twisted under them, breaths hot and tangled, every touch deliberate- like they had all the time in the world but couldn’t bear to waste a second. It wasn’t rushed or clumsy, it was careful and full of heat, the kind of night that felt inevitable. Like the universe had been pushing them toward this moment all along, and they had finally stopped resisting. And when it was over, when their skin was slick with warmth and the room was quiet again, it didn’t feel strange or wrong. It felt like destiny.

Jake and Y/N fell into dating the way you fall asleep on a train ride home- slowly at first, then all at once, like it was the most natural thing in the world. They weren’t flashy. They didn’t need grand declarations or picture-perfect Instagram posts. What they had was quieter, deeper, built out of real things: shared glances, inside jokes, sleepy conversations at midnight when the rest of the world was still.

Most of their dates were just the two of them- Jake was big on “quality time,” as he liked to say. He’d take her to cozy little restaurants tucked away in corners of the city, the kind with dim lights and too-good desserts. They’d sit in booths for hours, sometimes just talking, sometimes just existing in the same space- knee brushing knee, his thumb tracing patterns into her palm beneath the table.

Bookstores became a frequent spot, too. Jake had a soft spot for poetry (though he’d never admit it to Jay or Sunghoon), and Y/N loved the feel of worn-out covers and marginalia. They’d walk through the aisles shoulder to shoulder, flipping pages and pointing out titles to each other. She’d lean into him as they read the backs of paperbacks, his hand resting on the small of her back like it belonged there.

Arcades were chaotic in comparison. Jake was competitive and loud, and Y/N loved the way his eyes lit up when he won. She’d laugh so hard when he lost at air hockey that she’d nearly fall over, and he’d spend far too many tokens trying to win her that one lopsided bunny plushie she swore was “ugly cute.” She still kept it on her bed.

And then there were the days they weren’t alone.

Jay and Sunghoon had a sixth sense for crashing dates. They’d text “wyd” ten minutes after Jake and Y/N sat down somewhere, and somehow always appear wherever they were, drinks in hand, ready to clown.

One night, they all ended up at a rooftop café with fairy lights strung across the beams. Jake had his hand on Y/N’s thigh, their legs tangled under the table, and Jay groaned so loud the waiter turned to look.

“Do you two have to be so disgustingly in love all the time?” he asked, sipping his drink with way too much judgment. “I came here to eat, not to watch The Notebook: Live Edition.”

Y/N just grinned and stole a fry from his plate. “You’re just jealous.”

Sunghoon leaned back, arms crossed. “Y’all make me wanna throw myself off the side of this building.”

“You love it,” Jake shot back, completely unfazed.

“Unfortunately,” Sunghoon muttered, but they all laughed.

Still, despite the teasing, the group hung out constantly. Movie nights on the common room floor, late-night walks to the convenience store in pajamas, sharing playlists and trading clothes and collapsing into each other like family.

Jake never stopped being soft around Y/N. Whether they were alone or not, he always found her hand, always kissed the top of her head, always listened like she was the only voice in a crowded room.

One night, as they sat on a park bench eating ice cream- because Y/N insisted night walks deserved dessert- Jake turned to her with a look of adoration. He had a lot he wanted to say, all sappy words of love and affection and things she loved calling “cheesy filmy lines.” But he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“What is it?” Y/N coaxed, eyes wide with curiosity, tongue poking out to lick her popsicle. A chilly breeze went past them and they welcomed it, pushing out the heat wave successfully.

“It’s the twentieth in a few days,” Jake reminded her.

“Oh, yeah,” she nodded. “Don’t wanna risk not believing it?”

“Yeah,” Jake admitted. “It all feels so stupid.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” she looped her arm with his, moving closer to lean her head on his shoulder. They sat that way in silence, eating ice cream and watching the leaves of trees rustle with the wind. Cicadas grew louder and their chests rose and fell in the sync. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Just a few more weeks ‘till summer break.”

April 20th fell on a Saturday.

Jake didn’t say anything when he saw the date on his phone that morning- just stared at it for a beat longer than usual. The sun was already warming the floorboards under his desk, and somewhere in the building, someone was blasting a bad remix of a pop song that had been stuck in his head for three days. But even with the normalcy, the date sat heavy in his chest. He knew Jay slept in Sunghoon’s room that night, just in case, just to protect him or make sure he didn’t go off wandering into the campus.

But the rest of the day was still left.

He sent one message to the group chat- movie night in my room. 7pm. mandatory. no excuses.

Jay replied in all caps complaining about how he had plans (he didn’t), and Y/N sent back a heart. Sunghoon left it on read, as usual.

By 7:03, they were all squished into Jake’s too-small dorm room, the air already thick with the smell of popcorn and the low hum of some indie movie playing in the background. The lights were low, a throw blanket covered every surface that could physically hold a human, and the window was cracked open just enough to let the cool evening air slip in. A quiet playlist hummed beneath the noise of Y/N complaining that Jake had no good snacks (he did, she just liked to say that) and Jay dramatically tried to balance six cans of soda in his hoodie pocket.

Y/N had kicked her shoes off the second she walked in and claimed Jake’s bed like it belonged to her. She was now half-buried under one of his sweatshirts, legs tucked underneath her, hair messy and smiling softly as she scrolled through his playlist. Jake was on the floor by her feet, back against the bed frame, watching her like she was the only thing worth looking at.

Sunghoon, oblivious as ever, plopped beside her with a bag of chips and a hoodie that clearly wasn’t his (Jake’s, of course), already halfway through the first movie of the night. Jay sprawled across the carpet like a Victorian fainting woman, holding a worn-out deck of cards in the air.

“Okay, I’m gonna need full participation,” Jay announced dramatically, flicking cards across the floor like a magician. “If I’m giving up my imaginary date night, we are playing.”

“We never said we wanted to,” Y/N grinned, but reached down to grab her hand of cards anyway.

“You never want to,” Jay deadpanned. “And yet, I’m here. Suffering. With all of you.”

Jake snorted, leaning back against the wall beside the bed, one foot propped on the edge of his desk chair. “You’re so dramatic. You love us.”

“No,” Jay said flatly. “I love cards. You’re all collateral.”

The night went on like that- easy and dumb and warm. They played two rounds of Uno before Sunghoon started cheating just to piss off Jay. Y/N made Jake pause the movie at least three times to change the playlist. Someone spilled soda on the rug. No one got up to clean it.

Then they played Speed, then Jay’s own twisted version of Poker that had way too many rules and made Sunghoon suspiciously good at bluffing. At some point, they forgot the movie was even playing in the background. Laughter bubbled out of the room like it was overflowing. And it was enough. Not a grand gesture, not a revelation. Just the four of them, tangled up in a night full of stupid games and old music, and the simple magic of still being here. Y/N fell sideways against Jake, clutching her stomach at something stupid Jay said. Jake leaned into her without thinking, resting his chin lightly against her arm, grounding himself in the closeness.

But beneath the noise, beneath the ridiculous banter and snorting laughter and snacks spilled on the rug, there was a quiet kind of watching. Jake’s eyes flickered to Sunghoon every so often- not too much, not enough to notice, but enough to make sure he was still here. Still with them. Still laughing. The way his head tilted back when Jay said something dumb. The way he wiped chip crumbs on Jake’s hoodie sleeve like it was his birthright. The way he didn’t seem to know that today mattered at all.

They didn’t talk about it. Didn’t even hint at it. There was no heavy moment, no obvious pause in the night. Just warmth. Just presence. Just staying.

As the night dragged on, Jay announced he was going to physically die if he didn’t get water, and Jake followed him out to the vending machine. When he came back, he had two bottles, one he handed to Y/N wordlessly.

She blinked, reaching out and taking it. Her fingers brushed his. “You okay?”

Jake sat beside her again, this time close enough for his thigh to press against hers. “It’s past midnight.”

Y/N looked at the clock on his desk. 12:17.

Behind them, Jay was yelling about reverse carding his own reverse card, and Sunghoon was fake-snoring on the bed.

That night, out of pure fear and dissatisfaction, Jake had pretended to fall asleep hugging Sunghoon, forcing him to fall asleep too. Jake hugged onto him so tight, he was sure he wouldn't be able to breath for the rest of the night. Y/N covered the pair in a blanket before leaving the room with Jay. They shared a glance, a small understanding and gratitude before parting ways to go to their respective rooms.

The airport buzzed with that familiar kind of chaos- luggage wheels scraping the floor, boarding announcements echoing overhead, and the constant shuffle of people going places. But in the middle of all that noise stood the four of them, frozen in their own little bubble of time.

Finals had wrecked them. Jake looked like he hadn’t slept in three days before this morning. Jay had nearly cried over his last theory paper. Sunghoon dramatically claimed he forgot how to read halfway through exam week. Y/N's fingers were sore from typing essays and projects until 3 a.m. every night, fueled by vending machine coffee and bad lo-fi playlists. But they made it.

Somehow, they made it.

Now they stood in front of the departure gate, suitcases stacked on trolleys, backpacks slung over tired shoulders, the weight of an entire semester pressing softly on their backs.

“Well,” Jay said, clearing his throat like he didn’t want to admit he was getting emotional. “Don’t die.”

“Wow. Inspirational,” Y/N snorted.

Jake laughed, slinging an arm around her and pressing a kiss to her temple like it was the most natural thing in the world. “He means: we’ll miss you. Come back in one piece.”

Sunghoon was leaning dramatically against his suitcase. “Same floor, same rooms next semester, right? I can’t have anyone else stealing my shampoo. It’s personal at this point.”

Y/N reached over to smack his arm. “I only borrowed it twice.”

“Twice a week,” he muttered, but his smile was soft.

“I’ll bring my mom’s kimchi when I come back,” Jake announced, remembering an old bet between Sunghoon and him. “You know, to prove that it’s better than the dorm’s kimchi.”

“That’s a low bar, Jake,” Jay deadpanned. “A literal shoelace would taste better than dorm food.”

There was hugging after that- tight ones, lingering a little too long. Someone may or may not have cried a little (Jay denied it firmly), and for a second it felt like a weird coming-of-age movie ending, the kind that faded out into a bittersweet pop song.

Jay and Sunghoon wandered off after that, joking about who’d forget the group chat first (Sunghoon swore it would be him, and no one argued). Jake pulled Y/N aside for one last moment before their flights were called.

Y/N looked up at him, taking in the soft mess of his hair, the crinkle at the corner of his eyes from too many sleepless nights, and the way his lips parted like he was trying to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. Her throat burned, feeling her eyes water.

“Hey,” Jake, noticing her lips quivering downwards, stepped closer to her, a hand on her shoulder and head leaning closer to her face. “It’s just the summer,” he tried.

“But I won’t see you every day. Or at breakfast. Or brushing your teeth with your eyes half open.”

Jake laughed, that small, breathy kind. “You’ll miss me brushing my teeth?”

“I’ll miss all of you,” she whispered.

Jake reached out, gently tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. His touch was warm, grounding. “Y/N,” he murmured, like her name was something sacred. “I know I joke a lot, but I really mean it. I’ll come visit. I want to see your town, meet your friends, and walk the streets you grew up on. And I need that goddamn mango candy.”

Laughing, Y/N but back a sniffle. “You’re not just saying that?”

“I don’t lie about such things.”

She smiled, watery and small. “Then I’ll visit yours too. I want to see where you had your first kiss.”

“That was awful,” he laughed. “But sure, I’ll take you to that playground.”

And then he leaned in.

Not rushed, not like he was trying to prove anything. It was soft, slow, and sure- the kind of kiss that tasted like every unsaid word, like laughter under moonlight and movies shared at 1 am, like late-night card games and secret glances across the room. It was the kind of kiss that said I’ll miss you and I’ll wait for you and I’m so damn glad I met you.

Around them, the airport moved on. People passed, announcements echoed, planes took off. But for a second, they didn’t move. The world didn’t exist. There was only the warmth of his hand and the feel of her lips and the way their hearts beat just a little too loud.

When they pulled apart, her forehead rested against his.

“Go before I cry,” she whispered.

“You cry, I cry,” he muttered, trying to smile, but his voice cracked just a little. “Group breakdown in the airport.”

She laughed, even as she blinked hard. “I’ll text you when I land.”

“You better.”

And then, she turned and walked toward the gate. He stood there until she disappeared past the security check. Only then did he finally exhale, breathing words of love she couldn’t hear. Behind, Jay and Sunghoon were hollering for him to their gate, paying they needed to board “before the plane fucking leaves.”

And then there were final waves from Y/N, airport glass doors sliding shut, security checks and goodbyes swallowed by distance. But something about it didn’t feel sad.

Because they knew they’d be back.

Same floor. Same rooms. Same people. Just a little more grown.

[dolphin-diaries]

Death Of The Woman

Originally posted on the Dolphin Diaries substack.

The following essay is not my usual fare. It’s my personal story as a detrans woman, and as such, it will lack in abstracted theory or argumentation. After this I will be publishing a special interview, and then I’ll return to my usual programming.

For now though, be advised this isn’t quite light reading material. There is some cursory description of sexual violence. If you do not feel like you can engage with that, skip from the paragraph beginning “At one point, …” to the next titled section.

Girl/Flesh

Before there is an adult, there is first a child—a not-so-blank slate, a state of being with an expiration date. Boys must be made men; girls must be made women. To the end of that becoming, childhood is a prelude and adolescence a ritual.

Contemplate for a moment, without any input from me: how is a girl made a woman?

My upbringing was rather feminist, compared to the average for my country. My mother did not take my father’s name; she earned more; they had a whole and loving marriage. A husband-and-kids were expected of me eventually, but ever nebulously and not quite yet; my own family’s example seemed perfectly encouraging. For the time being, the biggest expectation placed on me was intellectual accomplishment. You might think a boy child would be preferable to such an endeavour, but it was quite the opposite. Boys will be boys, after all: rowdy, willful, lascivious, ever in need of someone else’s care. Handed gently from the mother’s hand to a wife’s, they’re basically eternal children. But girls? Girls are born older. Mature faster—biologically, essentially, fundamentally. Girls listen. Girls obey.

By all accounts I was a fantastic foundation for such a purpose. Tallest, strongest, bursting with curly dark hair. You couldn’t possibly mistake me for a fragile doll, no, not like some other, more childish girls; I was obviously ready for responsibility. And not just in superficial appearance. Speech came to me quickly and easily; writing flowed from my fingertips with perfect calligraphy; I made art worthy of fridges and walls; I took to learning with all the energy of an insomniac puppy.

Did other kids like a fat, moustachioed girl that beat them at everything, and after class also won at arm-wrestling? Fuck no! But that was alright. I was born into intelligentsia, and envy was our natural curse, one to be proud of. At any rate, someday puberty would come. A body-shedding into something physically desirable; combined with all this accrued talent, it would ensure I’d have the pick of good men. Though I didn’t yet know men, only the irksome boys from whom they hatched. I lived for the attention of adults and for making other girls laugh—if clever ogres are good for nothing else, it’s humour. There was something transcendent in seeing someone fae-pretty and so unreachable be made happy by my effort. Even if they bullied me after. Of course, that meant I was too rowdy—oh, and too stubborn. Girls are supposed to understand the rules of the world exist for a reason; I didn’t. I needed things explained before I obeyed.

The rule I didn’t understand most of all was touch. I was brutish, and my brutishness marked me for disgust—and yet, I was constantly touched, even as I was told I’d never be touchable. My body burgeoned with entirely too much flesh, and every hand was drawn to grab it, to pinch and assess it in some unannounced Try-Before-You-Buy. Teachers, children, family members. It would not stop and it made my skin crawl, but it was also normal. The adults I liked did it. My peers did it. No one remarked on it.

When womanhood was yet a distant prospect, I dreamt of something ethereal. Power-suited. Someone that looked like mother, or like Barbie. Someone untouchable. Because surely this was all a growing pain. I was a girl, and that meant all the things that made me revolting, naive, and unruly would be purged by shed blood.

That’s not how that goes, though. How is a girl made a woman?

When adolescence finally arrived, it was rather early, eleven or so. I always was an overachiever. And I discovered I was not yet becoming something better. I was just myself, but more. More flesh. More hair, in all the wrong places. Same moustache, same swollen face, same ungainly buffoon demeanour, only now with hips bursting through trousers and a boyish deep voice.

The leering and touching did not cease—they got worse. The older I grew, the older my mother dressed me, dolling me up in heels and arse-hugging skirts with the vicarious glee of someone who got another chance at making a woman, and who was emboldened by the powerlessness of my ‘no.’ The dress-up had a goal in mind, of course. Same as my obligation to intellectual accomplishment; the only difference was, I was now failing, while the prospect of adulthood loomed ever closer. So I had it spelled out to me: it was all to ensure I could return to my family the debt I incurred with the costs of my existence. To birth them a child and uphold their reputation. If I was unfeminine, untouchable, unfuckable, they would not get a return on their investment. If I preferred girls—which, big surprise, I did—that would invite untold humiliation on the family name. That I was given to choose my would-be boyfriends, nudged to enjoy the makeup and skirts, was a just bit of carrot to the whip. If I sneered too much at the carrot, I’d get the whip.

So on I wobbled, a fleshy, moustachioed doll. Every new softness and curve invited a groping hand or a disgusting comment. Every fault of my body was bared as proof I should be happy to get this much at all. In old deformity and in newfangled woman-ness, I was just a girl.

I sought other ways of being. An escape from the barbed chain link of The Family. I had limited recourse in my small town, but the internet is a wide-reaching thing. No lesbian community existed for miles, but I could still read about the ring and the hanky code and whatever else. I could look at pictures.

(Although those were at times alarming, because all these lesbian women I glimpsed looked rather like me—whereas I had hoped that, by the time I grew up, I’d be something better.)

Regardless, I tried the codes and the cargo trousers, as much as I could—which wasn’t much. I stoked fascination in my classmates with giddy and secretive coming-outs. Only some showed me compassion and dignity, but I was even happy enough to be seen as a weirdo monster. At least they saw me. Worse was their dissecting vigilance. Their attention to the way I moved or spoke. The moment I’d do something girly, they’d cry, they knew it! I was just a girl. I did have a boy crush, and I should admit it; I was surely—as they put it—a faggot. Yes, really, literally ‘faggot,’ that word precisely. Even when I flicked my wrist like so while all dolled-up from head to toe, no one seemed to quite stomach believing me a real woman.

Giddiness over coming out doesn’t last. Disobedience brooks punishment. Through the listicles of lesbian identities and vocabulary, you dig through to testimonies. To rape. To abjected and dysphoric butches. To abuse at school, university, work, home. To the loss of all those things. To death. Elsewhere lesbians sometimes got their happily-ever-afters, loving families and the luxury of walking free, but here, we have not earned it. Visa-barred from leaving, doomed to die fighting for a future we would never live—even as far away, someone already got it just for having been born.

When I Saw The TV Glow

2011. A documentary, in all the glory of 480p. I’d heard of trans women before in concept—dear, some men just become women, it happens, okay?—but I’d never heard of trans men before. Never conceived of it.

I watched the screen like it was a revelation. A man in a white tee tucked into light jeans, cut like a Ken doll, strutting down a springtime street in low resolution.

Before then, I’d accepted that the burgeoning breasts and hips was simply something I had to contend with. That the way the boys around me were growing stronger while I was ever-groped was simply nature asserting itself. My body was proof of my place in the world.

I looked at the screen and thought, So that was a big fat lie.

The moment I knew it was possible, I wanted it like nothing else. The broad shoulders, the muscles, the dapper swagger. I wished for my body to take the shape of my being, instead of my being contorting to the body’s mould. Perhaps I could be loved for all the things that made me a deformed monster. Perhaps I didn’t need to watch every step to prove I wasn’t just a girl. Here was a place already in the shape of me, rather than a stifling lot I had to constantly fight against.

How could one go about changing sex? According to the documentary, it started with a psychiatric assessment—and so, my little twelve-year-old self took to studying the DSM. As I scoured it, I learned I could not be described by its standards as a true transsexual. I’d never before thought of myself as a boy nor had wanted to be one. Yet in the same breath, the DSM claimed no girl could ever desire physical masculinity beyond what came naturally to her. It was either transsexualism or some fetish or self-harming disorder. I had neither of the latter. My desire to inhabit masculinity was undeniable and crystal-clear, and the only kind of person that could’ve felt this way was a transsexual man—so that meant I must’ve simply remembered my life wrong. Or interpreted it wrong. If I twisted my memories this way or that, discarded one as an anomaly and repainted another in baby-boy blue, it would all make sense. It had to. Trans people online talked about a sense of mis-belonging, and I did feel like an outsider among the girls—what did it mean to feel like a gender, at any rate? I only knew what I felt like. And I felt like something sorry and misshapen.

Somewhat later, circa 2013, I did hear of weirder gender concepts in the distant West, mostly as just definitions of words. Genderqueer, nonbinary, et cetera. I comprehended them rationally but I did not understand or relate to them. Wherever I read about it, genderqueerness was described in a manner parallel to transsexuality—the sex-changing—or else as an exotic alternative to hormones and scalpels. But I desired body change so desperately, and regardless, I could not envision living as a nonbinary gender in my own country. Maybe in the West that was possible, but here nothing but derision would entail. It just wasn’t for me.

Naturally, trans men’s testimonies of hardship met and rivalled those of cis lesbian women. But the vast majority of them were concentrated on the times before and during transition. After that—sure, all of medicine reviles you and you’re at risk of a heinous hate crime. But the same has been true before; now though, when you walk down the street or meet a new friend, when you live, you’re just some guy. Your life is tinted by your queerness as much as any other sex/gender-deviant, but that constant, unabating struggle against a blistering torrent of humiliation, of being forced into the place of a woman? That seemed to end. Eventually. And then—who knows? Move to a new town, a new country even. No one need ever know who you had once been.

At that time though, I was still very young, and the thing about discovering a solution to a problem you thought inescapable is that it makes the problem itself feel that much more acute. So I did the stupidest thing imaginable: come out.

Dear reader, it wasn’t a good idea.

It is, after all, rather trivial to exact whatever punishment one desires upon one’s queer children, for children are parents’ property. It is true everywhere, but if ‘in some fucking America’ there is something called ‘child-protective services,’ here nothing short of murder, starvation, or exceptionally unsubtle and repeated rape could possibly broker an outside intervention. The debt you incurred to your parents for being born still holds, and you’ve just betrayed its very foundation. A woman still needs to be made of you. And anyway, who are you gonna call? The police? For what, total social isolation? For derision and humiliation? For the hours spent unmaking all your agency, all your desire as nothing more than delusion brought on by that damned internet? For total control over you, over every movement, every manner, every gesture, every word? For what you claim was assault? For what you claim was an attempted murder? I mean, it’s all rather sad, but it’s not a crime; not provably. Not against faggots.

I Win, Bitch

I am first and foremost a problem-solver. Even in total solitude, without access to the internet or to kindred spirits, there are plans to be made. I did not want to die, and I was still in the questionable position of being my family’s pride. Had to be. My parents couldn’t have any more children; they had to get it right with me.

So of course, if I got free admission to a prestigious university many kilometres away, and if I proved I’d learned my lesson enough to be trusted with leaving—who was to gainsay me?

Getting out was a decision I made almost the moment my abuse took on a corrective and violent turn. I knew what I had to do, even if it cost me immeasurably. Overnight I had to call quits on any remnant of childhood and learn to steal money to ensure future independence. Had to play my woman’s part convincingly. Had to look as if I’m enjoying it, convincingly. If I’d found the role stifling before, now it was as razors under my skin. Everything that ‘woman’ encompassed had been weaponised for my constant abuse, and I could not stomach a second of it—but I had to. Until I broke free.

Besides the severance of any familial support, financial or otherwise, my psyche was thoroughly shattered. All the times I’d been told, at length and for hours, that I was suffering a dangerous delusion, that I had to be forced to conform to my true nature—every single time, I knew that it was wrong. Even when I was as young as twelve, I knew I deserved none of it. I knew it was abuse and injustice. All the same it broke me. There was no pride and no resilience strong enough in me to withstand years and years of it. For a while I could barely look at women that whatsoever resembled me; the very concept, the very idea was a trigger. When it came to my own mind, I struggled to tell what was real, what I did and did not feel. Everything laid under panes and panes of ice, and that disassociation was the only way I could maintain a grip—or else everything erupted in screams.

The worst of my C-PTSD would be dealt with in the ensuing years thanks to NGO-sponsored therapy for queer patients. Unpacking pane after pane, unwinding coil after coil of the rage I had to swallow, piecing together shards of abandoned and dissociated memories. But I’d be paying mental dividends on my damage for longer still, and in ways I couldn’t even imagine.

For now though: I won.

Social transition was easy for me. It took little more than cutting my hair and swapping out wardrobes to pass as a man pretty reliably—well, a teenage boy, but I was only seventeen, so it didn’t raise eyebrows. I felt freed. Like I could walk and speak and make friends without chains attached to me. Only the softness of my shape gnawed at me, how it had shifted from despicable womanly maturity to boyish youth. I hated not having my coming adulthood recognised. Hated that other young men got to grow stronger and larger while I was stuck in perpetual pseudo-adolescence. I was free, I was no child, no property of adults; I wanted to be seen.

But it was also the first time I discovered queer spaces in person. Mixed and trans ones—especially trans ones. For the first time, I walked among people who understood. Really understood, the dysphoria and the otherness and the abuse and the whole lot. I’d found my home amongst the gender criminals; we talked feminism and activism; we braved protests despite threats of alt-right retaliation; we stumbled through relationships. Like most trans people, I harbour no nostalgia for my childhood or early youth—but for that time, I do. Not because it didn’t have its share of struggle, but because of my then-partner A. and my friends. Because it was the first time I felt the mutability of sex/gender, and breathed the freedom that entailed.

Things don’t last though, especially not in youth. Relationships fall apart; social circles reshuffle. I was leaving university to pursue a career—after all, I could not afford to be on HRT without income.

Moreover I felt… insecure, you could call it. Most of my social connections were to trans people and/or women. But I was a man. Shouldn’t I—commit? Make an effort? If cisgender men did not accept me as one of theirs, didn’t that make me a kind of impostor? I chafed in the body of an eternal adolescent, and the rift I felt between myself and cis men salted the wound.

Brain/Worms

The first problem was easily addressed with exogenous testosterone. Starting it was a euphoric experience—the rapid swelling of muscle, the spike in energy and hunger and libido. I loved the changes to my body, and I wished all traces of insidious womanhood would wilt from me.

The second issue was more difficult. I’d always felt at an arm’s length from cis heterosexual men, and never got much closer. No matter what, I simply felt other. That made sense, though. Once I re-conceptualised my gender as male, I did not identify as straight. I didn’t feel so sure anymore I was solely attracted to women, and that feeling only solidified the more I transitioned. If gender and sex were uncertain, how could I be so sure? I had no genital preference. What did it mean to be attracted to a ‘man’ or a ‘woman’ anyway? Some men could be as pretty as women. Wouldn’t giving a definitive answer be a little bioessentialist? Aren’t we all, as they say, a little bisexual?

Yes, I thought, it made perfect sense that I, a bisexual man, would find no belonging among cishet men. And the more I thought about the sort of relationships I desired, the more I realised I could not possibly be fulfilled in a straight relationship. I attempted facsimiles of a straight man’s role, and they all left me feeling hollowed. The attraction and relationship calculus of straight women was an arcane language to me. The sorts of women I liked were distinctly dyke-y; sure, some of those happen to be bisexual, but if they were to date me, they’d still be dating a man. I’d hate that as much as I’d hate not having my manhood acknowledged or recognised. And that’s to say nothing of how sleazy and dishonest it felt to intrude on queer women’s dating scene as a man. Now that I lived as a man, what made me so different from cis men? Innate birth-assigned woman-ness? Misogyny-flavoured childhood trauma? The vagina? All excuses felt like pathetic, opportunistic self-humiliation. Debasing myself by appealing to someone else’s cissexism so I could appear like something I wasn’t.

So naturally, I pursued community and companionship with gay men. As any gay trans man will tell you, it is usually a thankless and annoying task; transphobia is insidious and oft-unchallenged in gay male circles. The way they treat trans men ranges from hostile to patronising to weird. But overall I had a better time of it than most, and cultivated a few long-lasting friendships. The gay men around me had more class consciousness than average. They were not shy about liking me, even after apologising for speaking ill of vaginas. It was ego-boosting. But I was still afraid that when we took our shirts off, they’d stop seeing me and find a woman in me. Fuck me like one. Erase me.

A new ghost began to haunt me. It’d coalesced from pieces that already existed within me, but never before had this shape. What were fragments of my desires and thoughts coalesced into a singular fixation that constricted all of my libido, all of my sexual being. Fantasies of being fucked into womanhood invaded my mind and would not let go of it. In them, men were personless and barely corporeal, but the women existed in graphic detail. I myself was either completely disembodied and not present, not even as a voyeur—or else oddly, vaguely within the woman, both me and not-me at once.

I was horrified. Not even by the fantasy itself; its contents were murky and not particularly original. By my singular lust for it. I felt as though I’d discovered a monster within. A violent misogynist puppeteering the woman’s image to quench a fetish for sexist humiliation. A depraved and lowly creature fed on my own abuse.

But it made a kind of sense, I thought, the horror aside. I’d experienced plenty of misogynistic violence, the sexual kind included, and I guessed I’d sublimated it. Except—

There was a problem with that interpretation. That coercive return to womanhood, what I feared men might do to me—it was not the same as what aroused me. In the fantasy, I was not returning or reverting; I was not giving in to transphobic violence, which these scenarios notably lacked; I just was.

Despite all my efforts, this creature within responded to no self-insight, no cross-examination, no rationalisation. Everything I learned from the handbooks of either trauma therapy or kink-positive thinking failed utterly. I could not unlearn shame. I could not arrive at an epiphany. Like a hungry tapeworm, the unnameable thing inside me gnawed and gnawed, and any attempts to understand my desire, to make it less dissociative, only caused it to mutate to something more esoteric. The images morphed from banal patriarchal brutality to anonymous men forcibly feminised via sex by domineering, ultra-feminine women. Once my mind arrived at image, it sank its teeth into it so completely that it began to hollow my waking life, which now paled by comparison to the fantasy. And yet the thing still resisted knowledge even as it drained blood from me. I could not comprehend what pleasure I derived from this, what desire this fulfilled. When looked upon in the light of day, beyond the haze of arousal, the monster within me became only fear, a terrifying and nameless anxiety that liquefied all efforts to understand it.

In any case, the only ‘gay man’ I ended up dating long-term was a severely closeted trans woman. I failed thoroughly at sourcing validity from gay male partners as I realised I never wanted them in the first place; it’d all been a self-delusional charade whose only purpose was to forestall loneliness and to quench the thing within. So I settled on helping a girl find her gender. My perversion remained my little secret. No one in the world could’ve possibly shared it, and if they did, it was probably for the best that I did not know them.

A strange and nameless discontent festered. Past the initial joy in well-sculpted shoulders, the more virilised my body became, the more difficult it was to differentiate myself from the Average Cishetero Man, or even the Average Gay Man (which do not, in the end, look that different)—and it felt existentially important to be differentiated somehow. Looking like that made me feel dead. Whatever ‘that’ was. I found myself confusedly wishing for jewellery and makeup and feminine fashion—things that were once violently forced upon me. So the desire itself made me squirm. At the same time though, it’d been a while since my abuse. Years. Therapy, time, et cetera. I knew it was normal enough for someone later in transition to mellow out on strict gender expression, now that doing it ‘incorrectly’ no longer threatened misgendering. I’d met plenty of people with that exact experience. So, I thought, maybe that was my damage. Desire for gender-nonconformity, which I’d repressed in a bizarre manner.

Of course, experimenting with being a feminine man in public would get my head kicked in; discovering a craving for femininity was very inconvenient for me. I wasn’t pleased to regress back to stifling my gender presentation for social security. But no one could stop me from crossdressing in private—so, bit by bit, I tried.

When I finally built up the courage to order proper womenswear and put it on, I looked in the mirror and saw a man in a dress. I did exactly as I wanted and achieved exactly what I thought I would. Except, instead of relief or joy, a wave of such profound disappointment hit me that I could neither understand nor describe its nature. I could only comprehend it as a compulsion to tear my skin off. As dysphoria.

Well, duh. I was a trans man. Of course dolling up would make me dysphoric. Especially after all that’d happened to me. What did I expect? This had all been a waste of fucking time. There was nothing to discover behind my desires. I abandoned my pursuit, resigned to the daily kaleidoscope of sexual depravity that I couldn’t stop my mind from spinning; I’d given up on understanding the source or goal of any of it; I would simply entertain it in the privacy of my head and carry it to my grave.

Or at least, I’d try.

At one point, a cis woman took an interest in me. That interest was not reciprocated; something about her person was off-putting to me. She acted towards my friends with extreme jealousy, and even though I rejected her advances in no uncertain terms multiple times, she would not stop offering. At the same time though, now that I realised I did not belong among gay men, I felt extremely alone. And revolting. How many women were out there that’d even want to touch me? I really shouldn’t look a gifted horse in the mouth.

We were drunk, and I a complete mess. I’d bristled before when she pointedly asked if I knew she was bisexual—the implication being, she wasn’t afraid of vagina—because there was nothing un-straight about a woman wanting a trans man. But with so much wine in my veins—you know, maybe I wasn’t such a trans man after all? Maybe I was—I dunno. Like a girl—like, only for sex, though. I had stockings and lingerie in my bedside drawers and shit. If you squint and turn off the light.

I remember a shift in her gaze, once it finally sank in. From giggling and alcohol-addled to something sharper. Not quite homicidally disgusted, but still vicious; like I’d been made a thing. I didn’t know what I did wrong; I didn’t tell her about any of the truly despicable things—I was still me! Wasn’t she bisexual? Wasn’t she queer? We don’t have to do it, I said, forget it.

The next thing I remember is a body forcing me down. Vicious, gleeful lust. “Oh, you’ll be a girl, alright.”

My whole body stiffened. I snapped at her to stop, tried to push her away, but she only pressed down harder, fingers sinking into flesh.

When I threw her off me to the floor, blood split her lip. She cried and shrieked. So much for a feminist man! How dared I hit her! She just did as I asked!

I yelled at her to get out, but once the door slammed shut, I thought of the unending parade of rapacious fetish in my head. Of how well I knew this woman didn’t take ‘no’ for an answer, and how I caved to her anyway. And, well, I couldn’t help feeling like—

Didn’t I ask for it?

Unmoored

A few years later, I found myself abroad. Far from family, and from most friends—except one. Shortly before I moved, I had met my once-partner A. from my university days and felt drawn to her all over again. Our relationship rekindled, and hand in hand, we flew westward. It was a dark time for unrelated reasons, but in a twisted way, it granted me as much of a ‘clean start’ as I could’ve ever hoped for. I was untethered from traces of growing pains I left all over the city I once called home, from the messy parts of transition—it’d been, at that point, well over five years since I started.

No one here needed to know who I’d been.

I’d never doubted it. In fact, I was then in the process of fighting bureaucracy to re-ensure my access to hormones. They were the only way I could ever hope to rid myself of that bodily displacement I’d been feeling. That was how it went with trans men; it helped them, so it should help me.

Only I’d already been on T for a while then. Whatever ‘feminine curves’ I had left, had melted away; a beard had sprouted from my face, which now increasingly resembled my father’s. Even if I stripped naked, I looked more like an intersex man than anything else. That was basically what I’d expected. I’d always been rather cold-blooded about my transition expectations and proud of that fact; I’d sourced my information from many sources and first-hand accounts, and I neither underestimated the changes nor hoped for the impossible. All in all, I got what I sought. The thing I kept waiting for had already happened.

And I felt nothing. The disappearance of features I used to despise evoked naught more than a quiet oh well. My photos seemed oddly unfamiliar. A numbness had subsumed me, as if I’d been encased in wax.

But I had more pressing problems. Relocation, unemployment, the lot. Dealing with a subtle and unnameable depression seemed like a waste of time. Perhaps there was just something broken about me—that much had been clear for a while now. If I just kept a lid on it, I could live a happy enough life. On and on years went.

Lesbians In My Phone

What to do, when you’re hopelessly unemployed and feeling like there’s a black hole inside you threatening to swallow it all? Try to find a Discord to distract yourself, of course.

E.: mostly girlies in here so I hope you won't feel too out of place! we do strive to be an inclusive place

Me: haha i hope i got here thanks to a diversity and inclusion programme

My excuse for entering a transfem-majority space was an invitation thanks to my writing and editing. I’d put out a short story myself, and I was eager to help fellow authors. Of course, I was still a community outsider on the gender side of it, so I didn’t expect to get much out of that space personally. It just felt good to be involved in something, anything.

But, it turned out, many of the women on that server were good and easy company regardless. Unfamiliar subcultures are easily learned when its members are not hostile to you; they seemed to like me.

Most of the server members were transfem lesbians writing and reading sexually explicit fiction—some of which resembled my personal nonsense kaleidoscope, if… unpacked, let’s say. It was rather surreal to see the sorts of things my mind inflicted upon me being discussed in jest or dissected for the purposes of creating more elevated, self-conscious art. When I thought about it from the perspective of a trans woman, escapism via fancies of forced feminisation only made sense. Trans women internalise what society deems to be the place of women as much as anyone else, but also, trans womanhood is violently flagellated for existing in any way whatsoever. The fantasy would then revolve around removing the element of choice from it—so you could not be punished for wanting it.

Intellectually fascinating, but why it appealed to me made no more sense than it ever had. I wasn’t a trans woman—quite the opposite. They just wanted to be women; what the fuck was my problem? Although it calmed me somewhat to see normal people have experiences so similar to mine, I still felt like an intruder, stealing away pieces of someone else’s intimate life for my own shallow pleasure. I spoke nothing of it. No one would take kindly to me skin-walking their innermost desires this way.

As I spent my time in the company of trans lesbians, silent or not, I was still exposed to a stream of art and stories and images. Their depictions of women differed drastically from what I’d seen before. Two metres tall, or tiny as a gnome, or more muscular than a Greek god, or more voluptuous than a fertility idol, or werewolf-hairy, or covered in scales, or made completely of metal. A thousand melodies in fractal variations of flesh, all desired and lauded. I was no stranger to ideas of body positivity or ‘celebrating queerness’, but that all came wrapped in stipulations and activism. Always a statement, a process of battling or quieting shame. Never before have I experienced such utterly shameless, sincere, and carnal fanfare for everyone and anyone who claimed the space of ‘woman,’ in such a way that ‘woman’ meant nothing more and nothing less than simply ‘human.’ Not for statements. Just because it made them happy.

It was as alien as it was beautiful.

It’s not that I felt like I was missing out. Or that I wasn’t sufficiently fanfared. There were other spaces that did the same for men, run chiefly by gay transmasculine people, and they seemed to be having a great time of it. I just didn’t personally care for them one bit. I wanted this.

Naturally, it was all only fantasy. Art and books. That’s great, but that’s not real. In reality I was a twink with a receding hairline. It seemed prudent to know my limits rather than get too hung up on the fact I couldn’t be a two-metre-tall lesbian cyborg.

Except that some of it is real. Not the cyborgs and werewolves, but the diversity of body; the desire for its freedom and customisation. Women discontent with taking simply what they’re given. Through acquaintance and anecdote, I met lesbians with the same ‘unnatural’ desire I’d had. Lesbians on testosterone, desiring embodiments which, according to all I’d ever known, were never meant to be. Lesbians who wished for phalloplasty or for top surgery or both; lesbians that went on T temporarily to drop their voices and grow more muscle and body hair. Lesbians that weren’t women at all. Only there was no DSM attached. No packaged deal of ‘total’ transition, no script, no chain of demands that followed one to another.

No requirement of man.

It felt like anathema—and like a revelation. Whereas before genderqueerness seemed hypothetical and divorced from my reality, now I suddenly understood it. Now that I saw it, I knew it.

And I felt only directionless, ennui-steeped anger. As if someone stole the last ticket to a train that would never again leave my station. I didn’t know—how could I have known? No shit the things that helped trans men didn’t help me. I looked at all the past incongruences I’d revised and sanded over to fit the fucking DSM transsexualism diagnosis, and found only someone groping in the dark for a path they couldn’t even imagine existed. Except this realisation was arriving some fifteen years too late. Had I been younger or born elsewhere, then sure, I could’ve been one of those lesbians middle-fingering gender and microdosing T. But I wasn’t. I was a man. And when I dared think of relinquishing my grip on manhood, memory clawed at me. The assault. The humiliation. The un-personing. What would I be asking for? And what would that even yield? Look in the mirror, idiot. You are a man.

It wasn’t a rational calculus of consequences. It was a buzzing storm inside my head, pitch-black, impenetrable. I’d long stopped seeing women in their totality as my conversion-therapy prison, but even still—to see myself attached to ‘woman’ even slightly, even tangentially, even if I wanted it—this all evoked visceral, horrible fear.

But: knowing that a problem has a solution only makes it that much more impossible to ignore. My off-handed remarks and jokes about my miseries had my transfem friends looking funny at me. As if they recognised something.

T.: do you mind if I ask what you conceptualize your specific gendered deal as, or is that invasive?

Me: great question, i’ll get back to you in 5 to 10 business years.

Although I still loved the early changes I received from my HRT, everything I’d accrued since then was undeniably eating me alive. It was becoming difficult to dismiss dysphoria as mere vanity or body image issues; through all my attempts to make peace with my flesh, nothing helped even slightly. When I stopped binding, that felt better. When I lowered my T dose, that accomplished nothing in particular, but it felt comforting in a placebo sort of way. I tried to schedule laser hair removal—and that was too much. I panicked. Too obvious. What if someone noticed? What if someone asked why? I couldn’t deal with it. What if my partner noticed? She didn’t sign up for this shit. She was dating a man. What if—

No, it couldn��t go that badly. My partner wasn’t like that. Still, I felt paralysed. If I just did nothing, it couldn’t get worse. No one needed to know.

T.: hey, what’s up with the depression beard? do we need to get you laser?

Fuck it. I understood what my friends were seeing in me now. At first I thought myself definitionally far-removed from any transfeminine experience, but now that I’d met trans lesbians in truth, I couldn’t stop noticing patterns. And I wouldn’t have treated a transfem friend with the same denial or nihilistic abjection that I reserved for myself. She would’ve deserved help. A way out.

Didn’t I, too?

Detransition, Lady

The date I mark as the start of my detransition is April 16th, 2024, although I wouldn’t be calling it that for a few months yet. It was the first time I told anyone I was not a man, and that I was a lesbian, even though I didn’t exactly feel like a woman. On the surface it seemed a small thing. I had not yet decided on any particular body modifications (except laser—god, someone flay that thing off my face), and I felt deeply uncomfortable changing my gender presentation too much. So it seemed almost a question of semantics alone. Inside me though, it was a titanic shift: I allowed myself to name that which I’d been avoiding at all cost. To voice a desire I thought would brook only disgust, humiliation, and exile.

It did not.

The reaction of my partner and friends was, across the board, positive—none of my worst fears came to pass. Apparently I’d been far too obviously depressed, despite my best efforts to hide it—and now, I was far too obviously happy and, as some put it, ‘unclenched.’ Nothing in my loved ones’ behaviour should’ve led me to believe they would ridicule and hate me; still, it felt monumentally difficult to stop seeing myself as uniquely undeserving and pathetic.

I pursued my detransition incrementally. I pinpointed sources of dysphoria and addressed them. Laser, first. When my droning bass baritone started getting on my nerves, ensuring as it was that I’d always be gendered male—voice training. Soon I discovered that, despite the kinship I felt with transmasculine lesbians, I did not quite belong with them; whereas they relished the virilisation they’d carved out for themselves, my situation was different. I’d lived as a man for far too long to experience the world the same way they did. Most of them did not share my degree of distaste and distress at getting dude’d and he/him’d; they did not quite match my flavour of alienation from ‘woman.’ They usually strove to distinguish themselves from the category that would have them stifled and consumed—whereas that category now repelled me almost definitionally, whether I liked it or not. When I braved the outside world, there was no amount of social signalling that would make strange cis women see me as akin to them, or at least as not akin to men. Often not even lesbian cis women. Markers of an androgenic puberty singled me out as something categorically Other, and I’d not yet been in detransition long enough to change that.

Only among the transfeminine was I witnessed. Trans women I didn’t know loudly and protectively she/her’d me. The pronouns I actually used at the time were they/them, and my internal gender was nil with a side of ‘dyke,’ yet I found myself unwilling to correct anyone who decided I was a woman. Trans women that did know me playfully teased me for being ‘transfem-coded.’ Beyond initial recognition of repeating patterns, I’d started to realise that of all the people I knew, I belonged with them the most.

It was… confounding. In a way, it made no sense at all. And there were clear lines that delineated us: they would not relate to my visceral hatred of my first puberty, and I would not relate to theirs; I did not share their childhood of a girl trapped among boys. My ever-unchanged legal sex now granted me a degree of protection they could never take for granted. My birth sex gave me leverage to sacrifice trans women for a shred of acceptance—to shriek that I, unlike them, was a real woman. Even when no one but them saw me as one.

But in my daily existence and in much of my psychology, I was indistinguishable from my transfem peers. I’d transitioned a decade ago, right out of school; socially, I’d once been a girl a long time ago, but never a woman. Now I danced a dance I’d only before witnessed as an outsider; longed for and imagined, never performed. I had not the same continuity of belonging that cis women did, and nor did cis women know what it was like to walk among men, a secret alien, slowly realising every step you take is wrong.

I supposed, it made an intuitive kind of sense. Transition works. Not my now-distant history, not my birth, and certainly not my chromosomes or genitals had made me somehow more innately or inexorably woman. As all transsexuals learn sooner or later, lived experiences and hormones trump the rest of sex/gender with ease. So, although I wasn’t a trans woman, when I applied the same logics to myself, it simply worked. Despite the imperfect match, all my current problems had answers from the same solution sheet, from the way I treated myself to the way others treated me.

Well, almost all my problems.

Now that I compared myself to women and not to men, body insecurity cut much deeper and bloodier. I despaired no one would ever believe I was anything woman-shaped; they barely did before I took testosterone. Which I was still taking. I looked at the small dose of T gel I’d been applying, then at the finasteride pills I’d been chasing that with. And I thought, What does this even do? What is this even for anymore?

Stasis. It was for stasis, and a little placebo. I feared that if I stopped T, I’d tumble all the way back into the spiral of dysphoria I felt as a teen and young adult. That my body—for all its flaws still mine, still fought-for, still tailor-made—would dissolve again into an adolescent blob hatefully sculpted by others into the image of a future child-bearer. Only now I hated most of my virilisation and would claw at walls if I received any more of it—and my fear was not exactly rational, was it?

I breathed out. The testosterone wasn’t going to spoil the moment I put it away. I could try, and if it didn’t work out—a short period of a second-and-a-half puberty could not be that extreme. Whatever new changes I’d cause would likely revert fast.

For a while, nothing much happened. Nothing dissolved or melted. But little by little, my skin smoothed; my face softened; my wiry limbs lost their mesh of veins. My hips and breasts, once so maligned, swelled and enveloped muscle. I didn’t look the way I used to—of course not. I was stronger and a decade older; all the things I’d done to build my own self did not vanish, but merely, well—feminised.

I’d never met myself in an adult woman’s body before. In a self-made body. Although this flesh too did not feel mine, but for a different reason; I felt as if the moment I looked away, it’d all be gone. It wasn’t mine because it couldn’t possibly be. I wasn’t allowed this, I was never allowed this—the only shape of woman allowed to me was future-husband’s broodmare, mummy’s doll. I wasn’t allowed this.

But I did want it. And now I knew I could have it. Now, that gnawing monster inside my head had dissolved like it was never there at all. No disassociation, no torment, no total death of all other desire, no compulsion to retreat from the real world into a singular fantasy. Just… me.

At almost midnight I walked into mine and A.’s bedroom rambling. What does it fucking mean to feel like something, like a category; I only ever feel like me; what does it mean when you’re a forever-outsider; what does it mean when it’s been used to fucking hurt you, how can you then feel like anything at all; but what if I want it, what if I want it anyway. What if I want to be a woman anyway, the way my friends are women. The way lesbians are women. What if I want to belong among them? How do I know if I feel it? How do I know I’m real? How do I know I deserve—

In a space where freedom is possible, how is anyone made a woman?

Blearily, A. looked up from her Crusader Kings and said, “Look, uh—it doesn’t have to be that deep. If you want to be a woman, you can just do that.”

Could I?

I knew my transfem friends could. They built new shapes of ‘woman’ to their liking, in spite of all outside insistence they cannot. I had no reason nor unkindness to believe that their efforts amounted to less or more than mine. If they could, so could I. If I saw them, they would see me. They already did.

Perhaps sometimes, what makes a woman is who she calls a sister.

Recommended Reading

On embracing the constructed nature of one’s sex/gender: Susan Stryker, My Words to Victor Frankenstein above the Village of Chamounix: Performing Transgender Rage.

On the asymmetric forces behind patriarchal gender enforcement: Talia Bhatt, Degendering and Regendering.

[spidybaby]

Leaked

Summary: A few leaked pictures revealed the truth about your relationship.

Warnings: cursing, mentions of cheating, gaslight.

Part Two

"One pic." You smile at him, eyes begging. "Just one, c'mon."

You try to take the polaroid of him, but his hand brings the camera down.

"Kylian!" You pout. "It's for me. I won't show it." You smile. "I wanted a picture of you with the beautiful sunset." You say, hugging him and bumping his nose with yours.

He shakes his head, smiling at you.

You love him very much, even tho sometimes you feel like being secretive about your relationship was a big burden.

He tries his best to make you feel loved and to let you know that no matter what, you are important to him.

"It's so pretty." You say, admiring it.

"Pretty like you, mon amour." He says, smiling at you.

You blush at his comment. You love compliments, especially if they came from him. Even better.

"Want to go back to the house?" He asks, taking his key out of his pocket. "Want to see my driving abilities?"

"No, sir. I would love to make it to dinner." You laugh. "Can I drive?"

"Maybe later." He smiles.

You two walk closer to his car, he opens it, giving the key to his chauffeur. He opens the door for you.

You grab a bottle of water from the small cooler the car has. You love Madrid, but the weather not so much.

It was hot as hell, even if Kylian says he loves it because he gets to see you in more sexy clothes, you just can't agree.

"I feel sticky." You joke with him. He places his cheek on top of your shoulder. Moving it up and down. "Iugh, Kylian!" You laugh.

"Now I'm sticky too." He laughs with you. "And I smell like paradise." He sniffs the air.

You roll your eyes at him. Placing your hand on his cheek and moving your head to give him a kiss con his forehead.

"Want me to make dinner?" You ask.

He nods, he loves your cooking. It was something he always asked you to perform. "I'll miss you when you are back in Paris." He pouts.

"Me too, baby." You copy his pout. "I can be here for your first Champions League match." You smile at him.

"I'll get you the ticket as soon as we get home."

That's the easy part, you mention something and he get it for you.

Do you like the new Van Cleef bracelet? Okay, it's being delivered to your door in the next few hours.

> But Kylian, it's over 11k euros <

It doesn't matter, that's pocket change for him.

Did you retweet something about a Kelly bag? Done, it's yours.

You loved that. It was amazing how he would spend anything just to see you happy. The best part was that he never expected anything in exchange.

He did it by heart. Even when you tell him that it was too much, that it was just a tweet, it was just a like on a insta post. It was just a comment about his new bracelet.

He didn't care, he would get it for you.

You sometimes wished that he could do that with his time. It was the downside, a weekend, and then back to Paris. A game and back home.

You loved that he got you vip tickets. You loved the first-class airplane tickets. You loved that he would look for you at the stadium.

You didn't love the rumors about him and other girls. Influencers who wore his jersey were making headlines about a possible romance.

He always reassures you. It's all a lie. You trust him. Plus, he was with you.

"Can you pass me the pijama that's on my closet? Please." He asks, seating in bed after eating.

You nod, walking to the closet. You turn the lights on, being greeted by a big white bag with golden letters.

"Seriously?" You ask him, walking with the bag in hands.

He looks at you smiling. "It's nothing." He chuckles.

"This is a lot." You whisper. "You just gave me one when we were in Paris." You remind him.

"But this is a tote. You can take it with you to class, or if you want to go out and take a lot of things." He smiles. You take the box out of the bag, open it, and take the bag out. "Don't you like it?"

You nod. "Thank you." You say walking over to him, kissing him.

"Do you like the orange one or the white one?" You ask him.

"We are using the white one, but that orange one is gorgeous on you." He takes the white one away from your hands carefully.

He throws the jersey on the bed, taking the orange one. He asked you to lift your hands, dressing you with his jersey.

"You look amazing." He smiles, grabbing your waist and kissing your lips. "My gorgeous queen."

You turn to the mirror, his hands on your waist, his face on the crock of your neck. You smile at his reflection.

"If I score, it would be for you." He says.

You blush at his comments, you love the way your cheeks heat up for him. It was something so normal yet so personal.

"Are we doing something after the game?" You ask, hopeful that he would say yes.

"My family is at home." He says, separating from you. "And I have a recovery sesion very early tomorrow."

"Oh." You mumble. "It's okay, I get that you are busy."

He nods, kissing your cheek. "The driver I hired for you is downstairs, just call him when you are ready to leave. He'll also wait for you to take you back here after the game and then to the airport." He instructed.

"Wait, I'm leaving today?" You ask, confused.

You understand that he would be busy with recovery, having his family who you don't know at home, and even being tired after the game.

But when he booked you the ticket, he asked you to bring clothes for more than just a night. So you did, you have a suitcase with different types of outfits.

"Yes, mom wants me to spend some time with them. Sorry." You just nod, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. "Wish me luck." He smiles.

"You don't need it, Kyks." You smile back. "Go, it's going to be late for you." You say, grabbing his cheeks and kissing his lips quickly.

You see how he leaves the room, leaving an empty feeling behind. It was starting to feel like a pattern.

You brush the thoughts out of your mind. Waiting for the right time to leave. He sent you over the contact of the driver.

You feel weird. It's been a good time since you two became a thing. Sure, he never asked you to formalize anything, but you thought that maybe by now you won the meet the parents prize.

He always talks about them, how he loves spending time with his little brother. He talks about his niece and nephew.

You hear him ramble about them, their little adventures. How much he loves them. And you are happy with that. You love hearing those stories.

You just feel that after a year and a half, you were meeting with them at some point.

You aren't going to ask him. If he wanted, he was going to invite you to meet them. It didn't have to be forced by you.

You retouch your hair and a little bit of your makeup, texting the driver that you were ready to go.

The stadium felt so alive, it was the teams' first champions league game. The vibe was high and the feelings were too.

realmadrid

Estadio Santiago Bernabéu

Liked by 1,100,384 others

realmadrid 💥 KYLIAN MBAPPE💥 #UCL

The game was good, it was crazy how the second half was so different from the first one. Kylian scoring just seconds after it started was unreal.

You texted him that you were back in the hotel, picking your things to leave to the airport. You thank him for inviting you to the game and asked him to text you when he was free.

> it's like being a ghost <

You remember the words of your friend. She was the only person who knew about him and you.

You shake those things out of your head. He was busy and wanted to spend some time with his family. They lived in Paris and he barely even see them.

You can always come back.

You take a quick shower, taking the sweat away. You need to be fresh and clean for the flight and also because as soon as you land, you want to go home and sleep.

You pack the things you took out, making sure you won't forget anything. He texted you back, wishing you a safe flight and to text thing when you are home.

The driver took you to the airport, kylian texted you the plane ticket right after he left the hotel room.

You call your friend to ask her to pick you up from the airport. You already know what she's going yo say.

"Hey, how's Madrid?" She asks, happy to hear you.

"I'm actually waiting for my flight to Paris." You say, trying to act as if you planned it. "I have to be on an important meeting, and I have to cut short this trip."

"What?" She says. "Your boss doesn't have another employee to bother?"

"He does, but I have the documents, and he felt like having a meeting." You lie. "Kylian was very understanding tho."

"That's sad. Do you need me to pick you up?"

"Can you?" You ask, tired. "If not, I can order an Uber."

"Nono, text me the ticket info so I can pick you up." She says. "See you."

You say your goodbyes to her, hanging up the call and texting her what she asked. You waited a good hour before your flight took you back home.

"Do you want to try paella?" Kylian asks you.

He kisses your shoulder, he scoops water from the pool into his hands, and wet your head. You laugh, shaking your head.

"Is it good?" You ask, turning to him.

You hug him, bringing him as close as possible to yourself. His warmth combined with the water of the pool and the salty air is making you feel in paradise.

"It's so good." He smiles.

He presses his hands on your cheeks, smiling at how cute you look with your hair all natural, you blushy cheeks that are colored by the sun.

"You will love it." He says, kissing your cheek. "I know an amazing place, I can order it and we can eat it here while drinking something nice.

You frown lightly. "Isn't it more comfortable if we eat there?"

"Don't get me wrong, it is." He sighs. "But I don't want people to ruin our night."

You understood that people know him very well. So, for him, it was easier to order the food, order the things, or ask his chef to make it.

"Okay!" You smile, pecking him. "Order it now so we don't stress or go hungry later." You push him lightly, swimming away while you smirk at him.

You two enjoy the rest of the evening on the private pool you have. It was so fun getting to travel with him to where the games are taking place.

"Do you think you are winning this game?"

"I think we have a chance." He says, passing you the towel as you two exit the bathroom after a shower. "Don't you?"

"Don't get me wrong, but this team is really strong, I'm surprised."

"They are." He laughs. "But they don't have me on their team." He smiles cocky.

You laugh at his cocky self. You find funny and kind of cute that he is, he really believe in himself and trust his instincts.

You change as he orders some drinks from the bar of the hotel. You get your hair ready even if you were just staying in the room with him.

"I order you a piña colada pie." He smiles, hugging your waist. "Love your pajamas." He chuckles.

"I know, they match yours." You laugh, hip bumping his. "They have cute fish on it."

"The food would be here in a few, I think it would be a competition between the food and our drinks."

"Do you want me to pick it up from the lobby?" You ask, applying your cream.

"I'll ask my bodyguard. Don't worry, amour." He says, texting his bodyguard. "That cream smells amazing." He sniffs you from afar.

yourusername has added to their story

"I'm tired." You yawn.

You rest your head on his chest, the sound of his heart is calming you even more.

"Sleep, mon amour." He whispers, hands caressing your back and your arm. "We can sleep until late tomorrow."

"That sounds amazing." You whisper back, eyes shutting off.

You feel his heart and his hands on your body. Relaxing you enough to fall asleep.

The only thing that takes you out of your relaxed state is the vibration of your phone. You open your eyes, searching for your phone.

You kick it with your hand, making it fall from the bed. You groan, letting the phone vibrate while you throw the blanket over your head.

"Ky, can you turn the ac off?" You ask, morning voice very evident. "Ky?"

You take the blanket off of you, turning your head to his side, he wasn't there.

"Ky, are you in the bathroom?" You ask, a little louder.

You shrug, not giving it mind. He sometimes has an early meeting before a match. It was a common thing.

You were about to fall back to sleep when your phone started vibrating again. You groan, stretching to pick it up from the floor, it was your friend.

"Good morning sunshine." You joke with her.

"Check my message." She says, stern tone.

You frown, putting her on speaker and opening your messages. "Are you okay?" You say while searching her message.

"I am, I just want to make sure you will be." She says as her tone stays the same.

"What?" You noticed she was texting you very early. Without success to get an answer from you. "What is this?"

You click on the link she sent you, the wifi from the hotel making it very hard.

"Girl, it's not loading." You say.

"Then try again, fuck!." She nervously say.

After a few tries, the page finally opened. You feel your heart sink.

Leaked pictures?

Leaked video?

Who was this girl who people now say is his girlfriend?

"Y/n?" Your friend calls you. "Are you still there?"

You don't answer, scrolling down to search the pictures. The page doesn't really show them.

"I'll call you back." You say, voice cracking. "Just give me a minute." You hang up the call.

You open X to search for the info you want. His name is a trending topic on X. Different variations of it. The name of the girl is also trending.

You press with shaky fingers on his last name.

The first thing you see is a collage of the "leaked" material. A compilation of very risky and sexy Polaroids.

The video, but not one, two.

Even when she has dark hair on the pictures and videos, she is the girl from the article. It was obvious.

One is this girl filming herself adjusting her clothes, she smiles at the camera and shows her middle finger, she then rotates the camera showing kylian sitting on a chair he has on his room in Madrid.

You know that chair, you helped him pick it up when he moved.

The other video is him filming, the girl now has a red lingerie set, you can't really see her face but you know the hands are his.

He was putting her in handcuffs, her hands on her back as he maneuvered to click the cuffs with only one hand.

What's sticking in the video is the gold bracelet you know he has. That because you were the one who give it to him.

She has pictures with his family, with his nephew and niece, and with Ethan. She has a picture with his mom and dad.

You can't help but cry, feeling sick. You let the phone fall back onto the floor. You sob the hurt your heart is feeling.

You don't know how much time you spend in the same position, crying. You heard the door opening. Making you shiver.

He closes the door slowly. Maybe he thinks you are still sleeping. He walks slowly to the doors that reveal the bed area.

He finds your eyes looking at him. The tears in your eyes, your wet cheeks. You take your sight away.

There's no point in lying.

You want to ask him, want to confront him, but you don't even know what to say, what to ask.

He sits back on the bed, he's silent.

The room would be dead silent if it weren't for your sobs. You have your head in your hands as you cry.

You get up, walking towards the bathroom. You slam the door. You keep crying there. You don't want to be in the same room as him.

You wash your face and brush your teeth. You try to get it together, even when you look like shit. Even with puffy eyes and a red face from crying.

You open the door, walking towards your things. You start packing your things. He's just looking at you.

"How long?" You turn to see him. "How long were you pretending to have me like this?" You ask him.

He doesn't answer. He only hang his head low.

"We were together for a year and eight months, Kylian." You sob. You try to calm yourself, taking a deep breath. "And I know, you never asked me to be anything, but I thought that after all the time we were together, you somehow cared about me."

"I do." He finally answer. "I care about you."

You shake your head, not believing his audacity. "You call this." You point at him and then back at you several times. "Caring?"

He shrugs. "She doesn't mean what you mean to me."

You laugh. He shivers at how your laugh sounds so different from your usual one.

"You can tell yourself that I mean a lot, but you introduce her to your family, you take her to your family trip, she knows the kids of your brother." You start to point all the things he did with her. "I don't even know your friend Tchaga." You whisper.

You feel humiliated, how you really thought that you matter for him. How you told yourself time after time that he didn't introduced you to his family because he wasn't ready.

"I feel so stupid." You whisper, trying not to cry. "I thought you loved me." You sob. "Cause I do, I love you."

He gets up from bed, walking over to you, but you shake your head no, taking a few steps back.

"I love you." He says. "I really do."

"I don't believe you, Kylian." You shake your head. You can't even look at him for longer than ten seconds.

"I hide our relationship because it was nobody's business." He explains.

His excuses felt like knives on the heart.

"Does she have any humor?" You ask, making him frown from how random was your question. "Does she laugh at your jokes? Can she look past the rumors? Does she know how it goes?" You keep asking him.

He doesn't even have time to process the questions you asked before you start questioning him again.

'Did you ever feel bad while you were doing what you did?" You question him. "Did you ever think of me while you were with her? Did you ever cared that I was in Paris, waiting for you?" Your eyes fill with tears. You try to blink them away. "I am in love with you."

"I'm in love with you too." He whines. "You need to believe me."

He tries to get closer once again. You walk away from him. Grabbing a change of clothes as your lock yourself inside the bathroom.

You quickly change off of your pajamas, not wanting to spend any more time with him. You were going to accept that he did what he did and that you can't change the fact that he lied to you.

When you exit the bathroom, he stands up from the bed. "We can fix this, please." He begs. "Don't do this to me."

You scuff. You push him away from you as you grab your shoes and put them on. You throw the pajama inside your luggage.

"If I ask you something, can you at least be honest?"

He nods, the glossy shine from his eyes almost making him look innocent.

"Was she worth losing me?"

[kayywaiii]

good person !! ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

{prohero!izuku x neighbor!reader}

summary : after a particularly shitty night and a heroic sleep rescue leaves you keen over a mysteriously kind man, you find him again after a run in with his very not allowed cat.

mood song : carnival - the cardigans (- w - )

words : 3.3k wrds

warnings : light cursing, FLUFF, kissing, tan curly haired izuku agenda, mentions of scars+injury, crushing izuku, light themes of stalking, (not really tho) izuku goes feral for reader, reader has a dog, izuku has a cat, next door romance

authors note: i literally stopped a wip for this bc i just saw the vision like in my near future ... also like i made this cute banner and for what now i had to finish it !! also i was probably riding on the motivation of knowing izuku's the number 4 hero now uh hell yeah

You weren’t making it to class on time tomorrow, you were sure of it. 

God, could their arguing get any louder? Why this late at night? What could it possibly even be about?

Something about rent… and then something else about another girl. Then an entire monologue about heroes and villains… was this guy serious? You stared at your apartment ceiling, two pillows pressed against your ears and a hopeful thought that a lighting strike would just take both of them down ringing through your head. Maybe then you could get a full night's rest, or at the very least, enough for your class tomorrow morning. You promised to yourself that you weren’t normally that violent, just particularly sleepy– and to be fair to them you weren’t a fierce arbiter of the complex rules either. There were three:

No Loud Noises After 10pm Keep Respectful of Complex Property  Absolutely No Pets 

It’s not like you strictly followed all three… you were housing a small dog, Kiwi, even though your landlord made it personally clear that there were no pets allowed. And you tried to get rid of her a few months ago when you first moved in, you really did. But her floppy ears, spots on her cheeks that were reminiscent of freckles, and lightly browned fur had you swooning, and before you even knew it, you were already hiding her toys during inspections. 

So, maybe it felt a little hypocritical to wish death upon the couple on the breezeway outside. Still, you had half a mind to go out there and lecture them until they both worked out whatever grudge they had against each other. A dog was one thing, especially if she never barked, not even once. But these people outside— they did a whole lot of barking. And you almost got up too, clad in your pajamas and all, ready to stumble into the outdoor hallway and curse until your point got across.  But a voice, smooth and decadent interrupted their yelling, so sweet you could practically hear the soft smile he wore. The man coaxed the both of them not only to calm down, but apologize too. And… god, was he making them hug? You were baffled by the sheer volume of the diplomatic people skills this person must have been sporting, you were sure it must be their quirk. Whatever it was it got them quiet enough for you to drift off to sleep, sullen and dreaming about a man that would whisk you away with a smile.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

A shuffling at your window the next morning awoke you, dazed and confused after the best sleep in your life. Something about that guy’s voice just brought you there, damn there hanging off your twin sized bed and drool swept against the inner corner of your mouth. You lifted your head, running a hand over your hair before sliding off your bed to make a quick coffee. You muttered something about a breezy shower and– was the sun shining a little brighter this morning? You swore your copious amounts of house plants looked fuller with life today, your posters of various heroes illuminated and basking in the glory of the bright sun. You swore your small studio looked bigger in a sense, more light as you took out your takeout from the fridge. You stood at your counter, shoveling noodles into your mouth and breathing in this much needed– and much limited– time of peace. 

Another shuffling at the window just above your bed startled you, setting the takeout box down and climbing on top of the bed built into the nook of your room between the apartment and bathroom wall. A small cat purred at your window, eyes wide and big and brown, brushing its fur at the glass. It meows loudly, putting its paw over the hatch and seemingly gesturing you to open your window. Candles and small potted plants lined the ledge of the window, making it hard for you to find the lock to click it open. When you finally did, the small thing leapt through the opening and straight onto your bed. You scoff, bewildered. You weren’t the only person in the complex breaking the rules, you guessed. 

“Hey there, sweet thing…where's your owner?” You scrunch your eyebrows together, watching the cat hop down from your bed and stretch over your floor like it owned the space it sat. It let out a soft meow, large eyes blinking back at you as it skipped over your furniture and picked at your plants. Then, that voice– rugged and clearly fatigued called out from the open corridors outside. 

“Neko?” He spoke, the sounds of clattering pots and keychains ringing from right outside your apartment door. He swore faintly when a pot shattered on the ground. Swept potting mix scattered under your door at the attempt of a makeshift cleanup, the whoosh of stray dead leaves catching the cat's attention and it scratched at the door.  “Neko, come on– I’ve got work…” 

“Is that you? Are you Neko?” You mumbled, clicking open your door. Reflected green shot across your vision, sun rays passing through his curls and painting your apartment walls like the Sistine Chapel. A light breeze whisked past the green’s hair and led your eyes to his tan, freckled face, one that knocked the thoughts right from your skull. He smelled of vanilla and freshly groomed puppies, like something soft you could just flop into, sleep for a little while. He swore, eyes widening at your sudden appearance, and carding a hand lightly through his tresses. Then he groaned, trying to brush white broken clay shards into his gloved palm. 

“Crap, I’m– I’m so, so sorry… I’ll replace this.” He hurriedly muttered, flicking his head down and furrowing his brows in contained frustration. Your breath left your body, face warming in silent attraction as you cleared your throat and leaned over him to check the damage. Hundreds of tiny bits of argil sat at his feet, littered across the breezeway and towards the edge of the corridor. Bits of thick pieces you’d hand painted sat face up on the concrete, and so did the small bud that had been slowly inching towards the complex ceiling for weeks.

“Don’t… stress about it, ‘s fine. Not your fault I was too lazy to take it inside.” You choke up and force a smile, playing with a pimple on the base of the back of your neck. God, you knew you were jittery, watching him stand to his full height and cup the pieces of pot in his clunky gloves. You were hardly able to force out a coherent sentence, nevermind keep up a steady conversation with your next-door neighbor. 

Here he was, donning his hero armor and flowing yellow cape that he barely tucked under grey sweats. Chunky red shoes and gloves that clanked against his midriff, and the designs on his chest were faded and worn out. “You’re– Deku… aren’t you?” 

“Ah–Izuku,” He gives you a soft smile. “I, uh…  don’t think there’s a need for titles, we’re neighbors.” You dorkily nod, keeping your eyes anywhere but his. His presence felt overpowering, yet friendly, fit for the number four hero who not only rocketed in the ranks, but in popularity too. 

“Oh– well, thank you.” You curse internally, wishing this morning would already end. He chuckles, and that only seems to make it worse for the raging embarrassment seeping deep into your chest. He lets out an exasperated huff, shaking his head and keeping a strict eye on the doors down the hall. “I should be thanking you for sweeping this little one up.” He scoops his cat up from the floor beside you before opening his door and pushing him into the room. “He likes to roam.” A fond grin crosses his face.

“Actually– I wanted to thank you… for last night?” Your eyes bounce back up to his, taking in the way his biceps flex with every indifferent movement. Your neck heated up when his yellow scarf, faded and caked in dirt stains, fluttered behind him in the chilly spring wind. And God, you wished he was still tired and didn’t notice your shameless, obvious– and oh so necessary– ogling of him through his hero costume. “It was you wasn’t it? I– was actually able to get the best sleep.” You gushed, fighting the urge to drop to your knees and thank him raucously until the neighbors filed a complaint. It was just that important to you. Your sleep, that is. 

 He stared at you for a moment, before looking at his shoes in modesty and giving you a weak thumbs up. “It’s… no problem, really. It’s still kind of my job even if I’m off the clock.” He shuffled his feet and looked away, curt wind rushing through your thin sweater and making you shiver like a stray dog. You nodded awkwardly, about to retreat back into your studio when his voice called out again.

“I’ve got another way you could thank me!” He suddenly and practically yelled at you, catching a wrist in his blushing hand before dropping his fingers and clearing his throat.

You paused, eyes widening as you looked back at him. His face was visibly red, eyes darting with a nervousness you’d never seen displayed on a pro hero. You flushed, lashes fluttering and you felt so sick. Were you seriously about to throw up in front of him like this?

“Sorry?” You manage to mumble.

“Would…a date be okay?” He swallowed hard, bringing a calloused, gloved hand to his neck and playing with a curl. Your fingers clenched around the handle of the door, blinking in surprise and pure confusion as he watched you carefully, awaiting an answer. The silence was deafening, save for the soft meow and scratching of Neko at the door and the calm breeze whisking past the both of you in waves. Something about his clear nervousness calmed you, giving you enough courage to nod and say, “That’d– be great.”

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

Izuku never had great luck with his words, his passionate spiels saved for the nassiest of villains who’d he believed deserved redemption. He just wanted to be a good person, someone that people regarded as a good man, like All Might. With that, his love for saving others always speaks for him, quickly leaving his mouth in perfect and persuasive sentences. With you, however? It was the most challenging thing he’s ever attempted. It'd been months before he finally spoke to you, and he was sure you hardly even knew he lived there due to your clearly starstruck expression. He’d watched you move in, heard you cursing up a storm over university homework, lugging in packages of dog food– which he knew you weren’t supposed to have. And yet still, he only hyped himself up in the expanse of his apartment, opting out of actually getting to the part where he might ask you out.

And so, he only watched you from afar– that was until today, when he’d haphazardly left his bedroom window ajar for his cat to sneak out and hop onto the flower boxes from flat to flat, keen on taking a rest in a particular someone’s bed. And now here you were, Neko languidly stretching at your feet like he hadn’t just ruined Izuku’s life. 

And Jesus did you look pretty, a thin sweater flanking a tank and pj pants hanging low on your hips. That was it, his life was ruined. He had no idea what to say to you, you who now looked at him with what he could only guess was annoyance at his breaking of your pot. And then you gave him a smile, assurance lacing your tone and a familiar excitement prevalent when you spoke again. 

“You’re Deku, aren’t you?” 

That just about killed him. And you were oh so pretty when you spoke– and when you thanked him profusely– that just about killed him too. 

Izuku scoured his brain, unable to flip through carefully picked notes and instead having to remember ounces of dating advice from Kacchan and Kirishima. His palms sweated and he brought them to wipe on his sweatpants. God, he felt like a highschooler again, that same dork who stuttered over every syllable. Kacchan would be confident, wouldn’t he? Loudmouthed, cocky– there was nothing keeping him from what he wanted. Izuku just had to channel all that. And that should be easy, right?

Shit, she’s walking away! He grimaced, feeling bile rise in his throat, catching your wrist, tongue finally betraying his mind’s first thoughts. 

“I’ve– I’ve got another way you could thank me.” He swallowed and allowed himself to meet your gaze, if only for a split moment. 

“...Sorry?” 

“Do you want to go out with me?” He tentatively asked, breach catching in his throat at your stricken expression. Your face was red, eyes widening in either shock or pure amusement. A cold wind passed, a moment passing seemingly even longer than that. And his breath all but left his body when you nodded and spoke, a smile widening on your face. 

“Okay.”

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

His apartment was quaint, similar layout to yours, save for the bathroom adjacent to his small bed. It was a wonder he could even fit in it, you thought, looking over his height and large arms as he stood at his kitchenette opposite of the door. This setting was a lot more intimate than the first few of your dates a few months ago, your first one being to a nice restaurant, and then a lunch picnic at his agency. He always said he wanted to cook for you, which is why now, a few months into your relationship, he finally felt confident enough to do so.

 The room smelled of sizzling chicken and boiling noodles, the green bouncing from appliance to appliance muttering recipe ingredients to himself. You watched from the small arm chair he’d forced you to take a seat in, a practically offended look on his face when you offered your help.

“Are you kidding me?” He’d gawked. “Sit, I’ll cook for you.” 

So, instead you stared at pictures hung high on his apartment walls, some of his mother and others of his former classmates. Dynamight still wore his signature scowl, even as a teen, and Shoto timidly smiled for the camera. Izuku, clad in his UA uniform beamed bright, messy curls hardly kept like bright, flickering fire catching a swift air. It reminded you of your friends at secondary school, enthusiastic and eager for the world the new heros had promised. And Midoriya’s passion all but reassured you that promise would be kept. 

A short curse came from the man and the sound of glass shattering made your eyes flick up to him, his eyebrows scrunched tightly wound as he tried his best to flick the pain from his hand. You rose, quickly moving to where he was crouched near a broken glass jar and a large gash was present on his palm. Neko stretched atop the counter, eyes slit and a guilty meow coming from him. You sank next to Izuku, looking over his wound and bringing a cloth hanging from the oven to his cut. “Thanks…” He muttered, an embarrassed look in his eyes when they finally flicked up to you, to your sympathetic focus. He had to admit though, you looked really pretty up close like this. 

“Damn Neko.” He chuckled and you followed suit, helping him up and to his bathroom. It was a simple four by four, the mirror decked with motivational sticky notes and inspirational All Might posters. He blushed even more, clearing his throat and coming to a stand in front of the mirror, standing taller over the posters. “Bandages?” You asked, too preoccupied with his palm to tease him about it. “Under the sink.” He answered, voice cracking and eyes widened when you sat him down on the toilet. A comfortable silence washed over you and you as you rushed warm water over the previously used cloth and pressed it to his hand. His hands were warm, soft– apart from the countless scars littering his skin. This one, this one was just another notch added to his countless array. 

“I never pegged you for the rule breaking type, Midoriya.” You raised an eyebrow, giving him a teasing smile and he gave you a soft one back.

You rummaged through his cabinet while he watched in barely contained awe. He held his wrist, now dripping with blood and a swallow bobbing his throat as he nodded. “He’s a stray. It was cold– and it was raining… I couldn’t find it in me to leave him alone.” 

“That… sounds just like you… actually.” You chuckled, running the cloth under the water again and watching the clear liquid turn crimson. 

“What, a hero?” He wore a half-hearted smile, eyes flicking between you and his palm.

“Mm… a good person.”

His heart stuttered in his chest, breath slowing while he watched you press the bandage across his rough skin. He didn’t wince, not because it didn’t sting, but because he couldn’t help but redirect all his senses to you. His chest warmed, spreading throughout and up his throat like a liquid. You were too good and apparently you thought he was too. 

“A good person, hm?” 

“Of course.” You hummed, oblivious to the rising warmth of his cheeks and the goosebumps prickling on his skin. Did you not know how much you affected him? 

And he can’t help but lean down and capture your lips with his, leaving his bandage half lifting in the hurry of his passion. He pressed his hand to your thigh and then under it, effectively lifting you and on to his lap. Izuku tilted his head, delving deeper as you cup his freckled cheeks and giggle a soft, surprised sound. 

“Izu–” 

A strangled groan left his lips at your nickname, a knowing grin smiling into his mouth. You pushed back with just as much fervor, running your fingers over his scalp and sinking them deep into his curls. You whined when he pulled back, pressing chaste pecks to your neck and collarbone and cheek, seemingly drunk off the mere thought of you. His eyes were glazed over, hair tousled from your fingers running through it and he kept pulling you closer like you were about to disappear. He’s clearly timid, shy– but he clumsily presses his lips onto yours like he’d known to do this his entire life. 

It’s only when he hears the smoke detector ringing that he pulls away,  slipping you off his lap. He presses another kiss to your face before going to the kitchen where smoke pillows, lifting off the now burnt food and straight into the detector. He curses once more, fanning away smoke like his life solely depended on it, trying to calm the device before it annoyed the neighbors enough to contact the landlord. He carded a hand through his hair, watching you softly giggle at the entire fiasco. He let out a somewhat dejected sigh, giving you a sloppy grin and sliding across the room to cup your face. 

“I’m– sorry about dinner, love.” He exhales, but can’t help but give you more kisses on your jaw and cheek. He seemingly couldn’t pull away, large hands locked onto you like a wayward lifeline. 

“It’s cool, Zu… let's order takeout, mhm?” 

And Neko yawned, meowing in agreement atop his wooden dresser.

[gloomygumi]

quirks - satoru gojo x gn!reader

summary: part two︱you like to think you’re aware of all of satoru’s quirks, but shoko thinks you may have missed a few.

contents: fluff, newly realised feelings, highschool!gojo, he's honestly not even actually there for a lot of it, shoko and geto are tho, honestly a little bit of whipped gojo, probably ooc but definitely self indulgent

word count: 1.2k

a/n: how are we coping since 236 guys ????? wrote this feeling like i’d been widowed so i guess this counts as my coping mechanism 😭 hope you enjoy anyway, constructive criticism and any ideas or opinions you have are always welcome !!

in your past year of knowing satoru gojo, you’d made a note of his multiple quirks.

you noticed how when the group of second years went out to eat together at the weekends, he would whine about how good everyone else’s food looks until everyone at the table took pity (or annoyance, in suguru’s case) and spooned some of their meal onto his plate.

you noticed how when he was in class, listening to yaga drone on about the different types of curses, he would never let all of the legs of his chair rest on the ground. he was constantly swinging back and forth. it’s a miracle that he’s never fallen back, you think.

you even noticed how he somehow kept a momento from every single hangout and mission, each of them stored in a little wooden box he kept on his bedside table back in the dorms. in the past, you’d seen him slide seemingly worthless ticket stubs and receipts into his pockets, and when the curiosity finally got the better of you and you asked what he did with them, you only received a cheeky grin and a wink from your friend.

so, when shoko finally told you some of her own observations of his behaviours and habits during your lunch break one day, it’s safe to say it shocked you.

“i think it’s pretty obvious that he likes you.” she speaks casually, as if her words hadn’t caused you to choke on your own food. she passes you her bottle of water and pats your back. “you couldn’t tell?”

after gulping down half of her water, and spluttering a few times, you finally found your voice, letting out a strangled “he’s my friend - he does not like me like that!”

the look shoko gives you is one of ridicule, but before she can say anything else, you quickly continue.

“how’d you even come to that conclusion anyway, you’re not usually much of a gossip. that’s suguru’s job." you attempt to joke, but you feel the strained smile drop from your face as the boy you mentioned approaches the table and plops down beside your friend.

speak of the devil...

you see shoko's eyes light up, but before you can even attempt to cut her off again, she turns to suguru. "geto! back me up here, isn't it so obvious that gojo likes (y/n)?"

"mhm." he hums, barely even acknowledging the fact that his confirmation has sent you spiraling for the second time. "he's not exactly subtle about it."

"you guys are being ridiculous."

now it's suguru's turn to look at you like you've suddenly grown two heads. "you really didn't know?"

shoko lets out a laugh at his genuine confusion, and reaches into her bag to pull out a cigarette. you quickly hand her a lighter you keep on hand just for moments like this and she quietly thanks you before continuing. "have you never noticed how he's always touching you in some way?"

"that's just how he is!" you defend. "he's always hanging off of suguru too!"

the pair in front of you share a look, before geto continues. "what about how he never lets you walk closest to the road?"

you stop for a second, trying to pinpoint an occasion - just one - where he had only to come up empty handed. in fact, the more you think about it, the more sense it makes. you replay your moments walking back to the dorms after class with satoru, with his arm always casually wrapped around your shoulder. you remember how he always looked comfortable and at peace. you even remember how he would gently bump you closer into the sidewalk if you were walking with someone else, sticking his tongue out at you and ruffling your hair if you voiced a complaint at his behaviour.

your mouth dries up as you try to come up with another excuse to brush off your friends' observations, but you start to question yourself.

maybe they're right...?

you shake you head, as if trying to clear your head of these thought. "he does that for everyone, you guys are just reading too much into it."

between drags of her cigarette, shoko chuckles. "he's never done it for me." geto leans forward from his seat across from you and gently flicks in between your eyebrows. your hand immediately clamps down on the spot, and you groan at him. "what was that for!?"

he ignores your dramatics. "why are you so sure that we're lying?"

his genuine question makes you stop to think. it wasn't that you didn't like gojo, in fact, you hadn't dedicated much time to thinking about him in that way at all. your friends being so insistent on the fact that he liked you made you slowly start to realise that maybe you did share some affections for the ill mannered boy.

you continue to mull over as many interactions and memories that you have shared with satoru, slowly connecting the dots in your head. he always was more gentle with you, never polite but always kind. he regularly brought you souvenirs back from missions that you weren't assigned to and he always insisted on sitting next to you on the train home, offering you the window seat every single time.

almost as if they can hear your inner monologue being to spiral, shoko pipes up once more. "he gave you a different ring tone so he'd know every time you call."

you feel your heart stop for a second, unsure as to why this in particular made you finally believe their words, but before you even have the opportunity to dismiss them again (now in an attempt to convince yourself more than them) you feel the seat beside you sink with additional weight and a familiar arm flung around your shoulder. you barely even register the smug smile shoko is flashing you from across the table as you focus on attempting to cool your face.

"i can't believe you guys started eating without me!" satoru whines, leaning even more heavily into your side. he makes quick work of plucking a large chunk of meat out of your bento, sending you a sly grin as you look up at him in dismay. "what were you guys talkin' about?"

suguru meets your eyes, raising his eyebrows as he meets your glare, urging him to shut his mouth. "oh nothing." he hums, before completely changing the subject.

the conversation from moments prior is still fresh in your mind, and you're now very aware of the soft glances gojo keeps sending your way. you suddenly feel a lot more awkward in his presence, and you barely notice how you're fidgeting with your hands under the table and not participating in the conversation anymore.

that is until you feel warm hands grip your own, effectively halting their movement. "you okay?" you can barely hear satoru over the blood pumping in your ears, and you're unaware of the laughs shoko and geto are trying desperately to hold back whilst watching the scene as you try to speak.

you start to wish your friends had kept their observations to themselves.

[kierewrites]

What Would Karma Do... when a cruel teacher attacks your class?

navi - masterlist

Karma Akabane x Reader

Mood Song: judas

Summary: Remember the beloved Assassination Classroom anime? This is pretty much that, except you enter the picture of Karma's chaotic school year. Let's see just how compatible the two of you are.

Warnings: depictions of violence, cursing, karma being a psycho (when is he not tho), angst with a tooth rotting sweet ending :3

"Woah! Is that..."

"I..It's cake!"

"Hand made eclairs too!

That was just a few of the many comments from your classmates as you all ogled over the picnic blanket full of sweet treats from all around the world. 

Most of the time your P.E. classes consisted of intense training regimens or one-on-one combat lessons with Karasuma, but today played out so much differently than any class before.

Though even with this bizarre change, you couldn't say you were upset. Today had already started rough when you learned Karma was skipping class all day, even though you begged him not to...

"Karma.. staying up late.. isn't an.. excuse for you to.. ditch.. classes!" You whined in between kisses that were surely meant to shut you up.

Karma simply rolled his eyes before pinching your nose and smirking lazily.

"You're the one keeping me up so late angel~"

Pinching your lips together into that adorable pout he loved, you smacked his hand away and narrowed your eyes down at him, "Yeah but I'm still going to class tomorrow."

Karma let out a low growl at this, flipping you over so that he was on top of you now. He tried nearly every tactic he could to convince you to ditch school with him, but even he should’ve known nothing could stand between your academic resolve.

So since your little rascal decided to truly ditch as he promised, you couldn't help but smile for the first time all day upon seeing the lovely treats before you. There were even a few custom treats from back home that you recognized.

"T..These look sorta pricey sir, are you sure?" Isogai questioned nervously, seeming to be the only student that hadn't fallen under the trance of the sweet assortments.

The new P.E. teacher simply boomed with laughter, offering a warm smile to the class.

"Yeah! Chow down kiddos!" The teacher spoke with a large grin, "I didn't break the bank so we could stare at these babies all day!"

"You really know your way around branded sweets dontcha?" Yada spoke with a grin.

Your new teacher simply smiled before closing his eyes,

"Trust me when it comes to the good stuff.. it's love~"

All of the students were in awe at such a generous and kind teacher, not that Karasuma was mean or anything, but this was not your typical day in the Assassination Classroom.

"So you're gonna take over P.E. to help Mr. Karasuma get caught up?" Nagisa questioned, though his eyes were still glued to the chocolate eclair in his hands.

"Yup! Those are my marching orders!" The teacher declared as he looked back at the blue haired boy, "Poor guy needs some time to himself."

The students all seemed to smile at that. Admittedly it felt like Karasuma was running a one man show over here. Sure Korosensei and Professor Jelavic were around, but most of the time it felt like Karasuma was even babysitting them too.

"Wow these treats are truly amazing, thank you so much-" You began, only to be interrupted by a pink blob quite literally drooling over your new P.E teacher's shoulder.

"Ah! This fellow must be Korosensei!" Your teacher exclaimed excitedly, not even minding the literal drool dripping down his shoulder, "Please help yourself!"

Those words seemed to be the final string holding your teacher back as he wildly dug into the treats on the blanket.

"You know sir, being colleagues, you and Mr. Karasuma are night and day." Kimura spoke with a tilted head, Hara joining in with a smile,

"He's nice to us and all but you're like the neighborhood dad!"

The teacher's eyes seemed to light up at that as he let out another booming laugh before dragging you all into his arms with a tight hug.

"Dad.. I like the sound of that!"

All of your classmates seemed to laugh in unison, everyone enjoying the warm embrace and not seeming to worry about the strangely kind personality the teacher had.

-

"Alright everybody here?" Your teacher spoke with a smile, standing before your classmates ready for class.

"Now things are going to be tougher than usual but stick it out like the champs I know you are and we're talking more sweets!" Mr. Takaoka spoke with a grin.

"For us? Or are you really just saving them for yourself?" Nakamura sneered.

"Nope nope..." Mr. Takaoka said with a sheepish smile as he stuck his tongue out and patted his large tummy, "Don't wanna ruin this girlish figure!"

With that the class howled into laughter. This guy was almost too good to be true. Plenty generous, good sense of humor, a true care for the craft he's teaching. He really was like a big old papa bear.

Looking around you noticed your classmates seemed happy enough, nobody was ever really smiling during P.E. class, rather panting and trying to catch their breath. Maybe this would be a good change for you guys?

"Okay then, along with your new training regimen comes a new schedule!"

You along with the rest of your students looked up to the colorful paper your teacher was holding up before raising a brow as he began to hand them out.

The schedule before you was.. chaotic to say the least. 

Almost every period was P.E. class, many of your academic electives now switched to training. Along with that instead of your normal school day length, the training went on until nine o'clock at night!

Looking up with wide eyes you noticed your classmates all looking around with the same bewildered faces. Maybe he was just joking around with you again?

"We have ten periods now?!"

"We train till nine pm?"

Your classmates all threw thirty different questions at the man who stood before you, his smile never faltering as everyone expressed their concerns about the new schedule.

"That's the idea, little grasshoppers!" Your teacher exclaimed with a smile, his joyful personality contrasting with the reality of the situation, "Don't be glum, think of the payoff! This curriculum will turn you into lean, mean, killing machines-"

"Wait hold up hold up, this is ridiculous!" Maehara interrupted, Mr. Takaoka's smile faltering, "First off this is school, we gotta think about grades too."

Mr. Takaoka simply smiled sheepishly while scratching the back of his head. Maybe this guy was just so hardcore he forgot you guys actually had to take academic classes.

"I mean come on we can't go by this! We're supposed to stu-"

The boy's words were cut off when the teacher placed a gentle palm on the top of his head. Everyone seemed to raise a brow until he lifted his knee up and slammed Maehara's chin down onto his knee with a painful crack.

The entire class gasped, your hand flying to your mouth as you backed up on your knees. Was this some sort of sick joke? Did he and Maehara practice this skit? The way his practically lifeless form dropped to the ground really didn't make it seem that way.

"Rule number one, we don't do can't." Mr. Takaoka spoke in a dark voice, his smile still spread across his lips proudly as he watched the boy twitch on the ground in pain.

"Rule number two, we are a family and I'm the dad," He continued to speak, his continuous use of the word "dad" suddenly backfiring on all of you, "Show me a family where dad ain't in charge and I'll show you a family in crisis."

The man began to lecture you all, ominous smile still spread across his face as he walked around your group with his hands expectantly behind his back.

"A father loves each of his children unconditionally, the thought of even losing one of ‘em breaks his heart. We're gonna save the world kids, and we're gonna do it as a family." Mr. Takaoka finished, gathering Mimura and Kanzaki in his arms.

All of you seemed to flinch when he did this, especially your two classmates in his embrace. The sight of both of their cringing faces made you feel hot inside, not in the good way.

"I.. Actually sir, to tell you the truth.." Kanzaki spoke nervously, tugging herself out of his embrace and standing up with her arms nervously clamped together, "I'm not much for P.E. If I have to do it, I much prefer Mr. Karasuma's class!"

You couldn't help but smile at Kanzaki. Even in such a tense situation she always made sure to remain polite and cheerful as she smiled up to the aggressive teacher.

But as soon as you saw Mr. Takaoka lick his lip you knew this wouldn't end well.

Without hesitation he smacked his hand across her face so hard she flew backwards and rolled against the dirt with a cry.

"Kanzaki!" Your classmates cried as a few rushed over to her trembling figure.

"Looks like we're having a bit of a communication gap!" Mr. Takaoka said with that same dreadfully cheerful smile. The sight made your fists clench, Nagisa already seeming to notice the gears in your head turning as he placed a gentle palm on your wrist.

"The only answer here is yes-"

"NO!"

Your sudden shout caused the teacher to pause, his head tilting as a sadistic smile formed on his lips.

"Oh?"

"You can't keep hurting our classmates just because we don't do what you say. You aren't our real teacher and your training regimen is borderline insane! How are we supposed to pass our exams with your foot up our ass till the late night hours?"

Your teacher simply chuckled as he looked at you with wide crazed eyes through his hooded expression.

"Bothers you that much little grasshopper? Come show me what you're gonna do about it then!"

Letting out an annoyed growl you got low, ready to pounce until Nagisa grabbed your wrist more firmly this time.

"Y/n don't bother, he's going to seriously hurt you! This guy clearly isn't a regular gym coach."

Ignoring what he said, all you could do was glare into this man's beady little eyes that only fueled your fire.

"Let go, Nagisa." You hissed before snatching your wrist out of his grasp and darting forward.

Nagisa along with the rest of your classmates watched nervously. As sweet as you were, some of Karma's reckless traits were really starting to rub off on you. Ever since you all had gotten kidnapped, you swore you would get stronger so you could protect everyone, but of course that didn't stop the class from worrying.

Darting forward you blocked his first swing, quickly maneuvering your footing so that you spun behind him, forming your palm to be firm and flat before chopping your hand on the back of his neck right where the pressure point is.

After watching Nagisa and Karma train together, and even getting to train a little bit with them whenever Karma would finally give in to your whining, you learned a few tricks from both of them.

Nagisa was definitely a defensive fighter, more so focused on strategic attacks and blocking. Karma was a hands on offensive attacker, he wasted no time to give the opponent a moment to think.

Finally it seemed like your training had paid off as Mr. Takaoka let out a shout of pain as he stumbled forward onto his hands and knees, your strike seeming to make his vision blur.

"Nice hit Y/n!" Nakumura shouted, your classmates all cheering for you as you wiped a blade of sweat from your forehead.

"It's just like Karma taught me, it's not about the power of your strike but the precision!" You said with a smile, giving the gym teacher one last glance.

A small part of you felt giddy about the experience as you began to rehearse in your head how you would brag to Karma about taking down a grown man. Finally your training was beginning to pay off.

As you began to walk back to your cheerful classmates you felt life almost go into slow motion when you saw Nagisa's smile begin to drop, his eyes widened as he screamed your name and pointed behind you.

Before you could even turn your head back a quarter of the way you felt a strong grip on the back of your ponytail causing you to yell out in pain when the hand tugged you backwards.

"Not so fast you smug bitch." Mr. Takaoka growled with a psychotic smile as he swung his leg up and over your body before cracking it down on your abdomen hard.

The feeling alone had the breath knocked out of you before you could even hit the ground. You let out a sharp scream until your back hit the ground so hard you bounced up from the sheer force, a garbled choke escaping your lips before you officially fell to the ground.

"Y/n!" Your class shouted, Nagisa already sliding on his knees towards you as you struggled for air, loud chokes and gasps filling the air while you shriveled up holding your abdomen in pain. The lack of air wouldn't even allow you to cry as you felt your vision grow blurry.

Nagisa quickly lifted your shirt just enough to see a dark purple bruise forming across your skin, the feeling of something warm and wet being coughed up onto his hand that was keeping you upright.

His eyes widened at the sight of blood, his eyes frantically looking down at you as more of your classmates began to try and help you up.

How had your cheerful P.E. class turned into a bloodbath?

-

Karma continued to huff out profanities as he shuffled up the dirt hill, hands shoved deep in his pockets as a scowl formed on his lips.

"Dumb angel, always making me feel so damn guilty..." Karma mumbled as he kicked a few stones on the way.

It was weird, before he met you he never really cared about anything when it came to academics. He wasn't even depressed or stupid or even lazy, he just didn't quite care.

Where was school going to get him anyway? Graduate next year and go to college to take the same brainwashing classes he's taken since he learned to walk? To get a piece of paper that says congrats, now you can make money!

It was all ridiculous to him.

But ever since your stupid adorable ass showed up into his life, he saw things differently. 

He wanted to have goals in life just to impress you, he wanted to go to college wherever you were going so you could grow together. He wanted to see the world with you, always be at your side so he would never lose you.

He could see it now, both of you finally done with all this school bullshit and sitting along the edge of a cliff that overlooked a vast blue sea as the sun would set along the dazzling colorful sky.

You would be sitting in between his crossed legs as he held you in a tight warm embrace.

"I love you Karma." You would whisper ever so gently from those sweet lips of yours as you tilted your head back so your sparkling hues could stare into his own.

Karma would smile down to you, watching as the ocean breeze danced through both of your locks as he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"I love you too Y/n." Karma whispered aloud, the sound of his own voice snapping him back to reality as he let out a growl and shook his head.

You were like a demon haunting his mind except quite the opposite, more like an angel from heaven always clouding his mind in the best way possible. You truly were going to be the death of him.

Once finally making it up the hill, Karma came up with the excuse that he forgot his textbook for when his classmates would surely ask why he decided to show up halfway through the day. He would never admit it was just so he could see your pretty face before the day's end.

As he shuffled up the steps lazily he raised a brow when he saw a few students outside, crowded around Mr. Karasuma and some other large man that seemed to be smiling a bit crazy.

Raising a brow he shrugged with a smirk, assuming they were doing some strange training routine.

Sliding the wood door open he walked down the hallway until he saw class 3-E and slid the door open, awaiting to see the rest of his classmates studying silently, only to find the room completely empty.

Freezing he narrowed his eyes around the room, something wasn't right.

There were only about half of his classmates outside training, you not being one of them, where could the rest of you have been? It's not like they split the boys and girls up, he saw a mix of them all outside.

Shutting the classroom door, he decided to make his way back outside until he heard a voice come from down the hall.

"Y/n you have got to stop being so reckless, it's going to get you killed one day!"

The very sentence froze Karma in his tracks, his ears perking up at the sound of your name.

Your weak cough filled the air sending chills down his spine as you spoke up.

"But I..I didn’t die, did I? I had to do something, he was going to hurt all of our classmates!"

The redhead slowly turned his head around with grit teeth, his eyes falling on the door where all the sound was coming from, only to see it was the nurses office.

Karma was praying for his sake and your sake that you just played some crazy prank on someone and that you didn't actually do something reckless. But knowing you, he was sure that wasn't the case.

"So you thought it would be better if he hurt you?" A voice spoke up, "You know Karma's going to kill you for this."

Crescent shaped moons began to form into the redhead’s palms as the very thing he worried about had been confirmed, someone hurt you. Quickly he began to storm down the hallway, ready to slide the door open before he heard your pathetic voice.

"Well I didn't plan on him crushing my spleen," You spoke out stubbornly with another cough, Karma's vision slowly starting to turn red with anger, "Besides, Karma skipped today so Karma will never find out about this. Got it?"

At this Karma froze as a sadistic smile quirked upon his lips, you sneaky little fox.

Putting on the most neutral face he could even amongst his slow boiling anger, he slid the door open causing everyone in the room to jump. His first sight was you, Maehara, and Kanzaki all laying down on the nurse tables. Sugino, Okuda, and Yada were also in the room which must have been the people talking.

"Oh Y/n dearest, am I interrupting something? Sorry I was late for class, just slept through my alarm!" Karma said in a gentle tone, sticking his tongue out to appear innocent.

The sight of your red headed boyfriend caused you to shriek as you forced yourself off of the bed with a grunt. Once you realized standing wasn't quite an option, you leaned on the side of the table, trying to appear as casual as possible. All that silenced your pained whimper was the harsh bite you held on your tongue while you forced a smile.

"K..Karma! I thought uh.. I thought you were skipping today!" You spoke cheekily, though it was clear to everyone how heavy you were breathing. Sugino looked at you nervously to make sure you didn't collapse on the floor as everyone else in the room felt the awkward tension.

Karma smirked down to you, though it wasn’t his signature cocky one, but rather a menacing one as he sauntered over to you.

"Oh you know, I wouldn't want to miss any lessons would I?" Karma spoke darkly, though he kept that same cheerful smile on his face, "Besides I couldn’t possibly make it through the day without a hug from my sweet angel.”

The sound of that caused your eyes to widen, quickly backing up the best you could as he neared you.

"Oh really? I don't know uh.. I'm not quite feeling a hug right now… I'm actually kind of hot!" You exclaimed, your classmates nervously watching as Karma neared you while you ran out of space to back into, "You don't wanna hug all my icky sweat d..do you?"

"Oh, I think I do." Karma growled, forcing his arms around you gently.

Sure enough as soon as he made even the gentlest of contact, you let out a cry as your knees buckled beneath you, Karma quickly caught you before lifting you up on the bed once more.

"Fuck Y/n, do you think I’m an idiot?” Karma growled, grabbing both of your fighting wrists that were trying to push his hands away with one hand, while lifting your shirt up with the other.

Though Karma knew you were injured, he never in a million years expected to see the wound that was displayed across your abdomen. A large maroon bruise stretched from either side of your stomach, the color getting darker at the center.

The redhead let go of your wrists so as not to hurt you any further, deciding to instead grip the edge of the metal bed, the sound of the cool material bending sending chills through your body.

"Who did this?" Karma growled, looking up at you through rageful hooded eyes.

Swallowing nervously you quickly placed both of your hands on either side of his shoulders, remembering how violent he got last time you got kidnapped, he couldn't have you killing your actual teacher, he would surely get expelled.

"Karma calm down, it's seriously not as bad as it looks I promise-"

The sound of his fist slamming down on the table beside you caused you to jump with a small yelp, his pupils narrowed to slits as he angrily glared at you.

"Damnit Y/n, stop trying to be the hero and tell me who did this! It looks like they crushed one of your fucking organs!"

"They made her cough up blood too." Yada spoke from over your shoulder, your head quickly whipping back to glare at her as her comment only fueled your boyfriend's raging mood.

Inhaling sharply, Karma tried to calm himself down so as not to yell at you before looking at you once more.

"Y/n, tell me who did this to you."

Biting at the corner of your lip you let out a defeated sigh and looked away sheepishly.

"We got a new P.E. teacher today, Mr. Takaoka, and he seemed really nice and cheerful... he even brought us treats!" You exclaimed trying to defend your reasoning, "B..But then when he showed us our new training schedules he took out all of our academic classes and was going to make us stay till nine pm everyday."

The sound of that made Karma raise his brow briefly, even to him that made no sense.

"So a few classmates expressed that to him, Maehara and Kanzaki..." You said softly, Karma just now noticing his two other injured classmates that only made him angrier, "But he lashed out and attacked them brutally… He was going to hurt every last one of them if I didn't step in, I swear I wasn't being reckless Karma I just…"

Karma's stern expression broke for a second when he heard you choke over words, you looked down before looking back up with glossy eyes once more.

"I couldn't just stand by again!"

The redhead flinched slightly at this, flashbacks to your conversation after you had gotten kidnapped flooding back to him. Of course you weren't being an idiot like him, you just wanted to protect your friends.

The redhead looked up to the ceiling in a poor attempt to hide the insane rage in his eyes, a ragged sigh escaping his lips before he looked down at you softly, his thumb gently rubbing against your thigh.

"So what you're saying is I need to put an old fuck in his place then, yeah?"

Your eyes widened at this as you watched him stroll out of the nurse's office, you quickly tried to follow after him but not before falling into Okuda's arms.

"Y/n you really shouldn't move..." Okuda said softly as you wrapped your arm around her shoulder.

Looking down at the gentle girl pleadingly, you glanced back at the door, "Okuda please, Karma can't fight that guy, he's going to get hurt!"

Okuda bit her lip before looking at her other classmates that shared worried looks.

"Let's all go out together so we can at least warn Mr. Karasuma and Korosensei."

-

Karma being "mad" was an understatement.

Admittedly he did snap at you which he certainly didn't mean to, but now he was angry for a different reason.

Like hell was some old fashioned pig of a man going to throw his classmates around. Especially after you still were recovering from the kidnapping scenario. He was getting so excited to see your combat skills were vastly improving, so to see you torn back down to square one royally pissed him off.

Slamming the door open he noticed a few eyes on him, but most of them were on the large teacher that was nestled in between Nagisa's legs. Karma’s eyes widened for a moment, impressed that Nagisa was able to take down such a beast.

Clearly the blue haired boy had gotten stronger, and he was sure Nagisa felt just as much rage as him after seeing you in such a state. Still though, he noticed the large teacher get up once Nagisa let go so he knew this wasn't quite over yet.

Soon after Karma began to head to the scene you and your other injured classmates slowly made your way outside, the sight of Karma getting closer to the man causing you to freeze.

Of course Karma could take care of himself, hell you wouldn't be surprised if he could take this man out with his bare fists alone, but it was clear Mr. Takaoka wasn't a fair fighter. Karma was skilled, but he couldn't be prepared if the crazed man pulled a gun on him.

You attempted to call out Karma's name but he pretended not to hear you as he walked to the scene.

Looking around you quickly shouted Mr. Karasuma's name, his concerned eyes moved over to you before looking over to an angry Karma as you pointed to him. Mr. Karasuma gave you a curt nod in understanding.

At this point all you could do was watch the scene play out and hope nobody else got hurt.

"You ungrateful punks." Mr. Takaoka growled, his fists clenched and his body flexed like he was a giant bear, "You think it's fun shaming your father figure, huh?

A pit sat in the bottom of your stomach. Even as beat up as Mr. Takaoka looked, he was still screaming his head off. The expression of pure rage he wore while looking at Nagisa made it look like he was going to rip his head off.

"Having the time of your life pretending you won? Hope it was worth it cause daddy's about to rip you apart! Mind body and soul-"

All of the students began to yell for Nagisa to move, Mr. Karasuma ready to run and stop this crazed man's punch, but Korosensei simply placed his tentacle on Mr. Karasuma's shoulder to hold him back.

Mr. Karasuma angrily looked back at Korosensei in confusion as to why he stopped him, but when a crack filled the air all eyes worriedly looked over to Nagisa.

Once the dust cleared up from the dirt beneath him, everyone gasped in surprise when they saw an unharmed Nagisa with his arm defensively up. If he didn't get hit then what was the cracking sound?

Sure enough the class' crazy redhead stood before Mr. Takaoka, his meaty fist caught by Karma's hand.

Mr. Takaoka let out a grunt of surprise, seeing that his quivering fist stood no chance against Karma’s simple block. To make matters worse, Karma lazily smirked up to the man and let out a sneer.

"Is that all you've got, old man?"

Mr. Takaoka began to shake in fury as he ripped his hand from Karma's grasp.

"Why you little-"

The gym teacher began to throw another fist with much more force, but Karma simply caught it once again and used the force to swing his arm around and pin it against his back so that he couldn't move.

"Nobody likes a sore loser~" Karma cooed tauntingly before his foot connected with Mr. Takaoka's spine, the kick pummeling the teacher into the ground as his face dragged against the dirt.

Everyone watched with wide eyes. No matter how many times they saw Karma in action, everyone seemed to forget his own raw strength beyond his insane ability.

You finally let out a sigh of relief you didn't realize you were holding in this entire time as you watched Karma walk beside the teacher.

Mr. Takaoka attempted to lift his head weakly from the ground, still mumbling out profanities but Karma simply grabbed the base of his skull and slammed his face into the dirt before moving his face real close to the teachers.

The P.E. teacher felt fear flow over his body, the same way he did when Nagisa made his cheap move on him in their previous fight. The red haired boy practically stared into his soul with those sinister golden hues that looked almost excited to have him in such a degrading position.

"Tell me Mr. Tough Guy," Karma spoke calmly before roughly yanking Mr. Takaoka's head to face you and your injured classmates, "Were you the one that harmed my classmates over there?"

The teacher let out a grunt through his teeth, words struggling to form to his lips out of a mix of pain and anger.

Karma simply laughed, sending chills to those around him as he yanked the man's head to face Karma once again, making sure to tug harshly on his hair making Mr. Takaoka scream out in pain.

"I said.." Karma growled with narrowed eyes, "Did you lay even a single finger on my angel over there?"

Mr. Takaoka narrowed his eyes back to Karma, a slight grin coming on his face when he realized where all the anger was bubbling up from within the redhead. Making eye contact with you for a second he let out a choked out laugh before nodding.

"I sure did, and I regret noth-"

The teacher couldn't get out another word before Karma slammed his head directly into the dirt.

"Then you can stay there like the filthy mut you are, teach!" Karma exclaimed with a smile, not even caring to hear what else the man had to say as he stood up and walked back to his silent classmates.

Even after all of that the teacher tried his very best, though wasn't very successful, to get back up to which didn't go unnoticed by Karma.

"Hmmm.." Karma said as if in thought before his eyes fell on Nagisa, "Hand me the knife Nagisa."

The blue haired boy knew better than to question Karma in this state so he handed the knife over, though as Mr. Karasuma yelled for him to stop he soon regretted it.

Karma simply ignored their cries and before they could reach him he threw the knife with such precision it landed directly in the center of Mr. Takaoka's palm causing him to cry out in pain.

"Just so you don't get any ideas of getting up champ." Karma spoke as he patted the man's cheek before standing up and brushing his hands off.

Everyone seemed to let out a sigh when realizing Karma was done. Even with the damage done, his classmates were expecting a much more violent scene to play out, so this was the best outcome that could have happened.

Not even a few moments later as Mr. Karasuma dealt with Mr. Takaoka, the principal himself came down to lead the teacher off the premises. The students were surprised to see the principal take their side for once, but he did once again remind them that he cared about academics above all else.

For now, it was a win for Class 3-E, and the class treated it as such.

Of course both Korosensei and Mr. Karasuma scolded Karma for his dangerous behavior, but given the bizarre situation he got off with a warning. Both knew how possessive he got with you and Korosensei especially knew it came out of a place of concern.

As Mr. Karasuma walked off to check on the other students, Karma moved to go meet with you and Nagisa, only for a tentacle to stop him.

"Y/n truly held her ground you know." Korosensei spoke, Karma freezing as he looked up to his teacher that was already looking at you.

"She kept up with him easily for a few minutes and was able to get him down on his hands and knees, your training with her is really paying off."

Karma glanced from Korosensei back to you as a proud smile flashed across his face. Even with your grotesque injury, you were joking around with your friends, a smile on your face even with the intense day you had.

"I'm really proud of her." Karma spoke simply, those words filling Korosensei's heart up with hope.

"With that said, though she has a lot left to learn from you, don't forget to also keep learning from her."

At this Karma looked up to Korosensei with a raised brow.

"What do you mean?"

"As much as you hate to admit it, Y/n has changed you for the better Karma. You may claim she's made you weaker, but she's truly made you stronger. You aren't as reckless and careless anymore. You truly care for your classmates and want not only the best for them, but the best for yourself."

Korosensei looked down to Karma, who for once all day was speechless.

"You two are going to build each other up into the best individuals you can be, so keep learning from each other young man."

Karma looked back at you with furrowed brows. How did this damned octopus always know exactly what Karma was thinking, but was too embarrassed to say out loud? Hearing it come from Korosensei really made the redhead feel better, but of course he would never admit that.

"Alright alright you big sap, thanks for the advice but it's nothing I didn't already know," Karma spoke as he rolled his eyes, beginning to walk off, "Trust me Y/n is going to learn real well from me, she'll be my sweet little assassin by my side in no time."

Korosensei smiled at that until he noticed Karma pull out the knife from before as he flipped it around his fingers.

"And you'll be our first target teach~"

Korosensei began to go off in a frenzy, trying to grab the knife from Karma but to no avail as the boy walked off snickering.

-

For some reason unlike the first traumatic event you had with your classmates, this one didn't hit you as hard as usual. Sure you wished you didn’t have to endure that, the wound across your gut proving that point, but at the same time you felt so warm and safe being surrounded by your friends.

You've learned so much within your time here and it wasn't even the end of the first semester.

"Uh oh, red devil alert." Nagisa spoke nervously, your eyes falling on Karma as he sauntered over to you with an emotionless expression.

Sheepishly looking away you played with your fingers, refusing to look into those disapproving eyes as you awaited the sure lecture he would give you.

Once you heard him sit beside you, you raised a brow when no words came out of his mouth. Just before you could lift your head up, you felt gentle fingers grab your chin and tug your lips towards his own.

The kiss was unlike his usual ones, but not foreign to you. It wasn’t rough or rushed, but rather sweet and coordinated. The redhead kept your chin in his hold even after pulling away, his eyes glancing down to meet your nervous gaze.

"What you did today was crazy and not well thought out," Karma started, his brows furrowing together as he looked at you intensely before a small smile appeared on his lips, "But it was also very brave of you. I'm proud of you for sticking up for your classmates."

For a moment your brain shut off. The words "I'm proud of you" sounded foreign in general, let alone coming from your stubborn boyfriend himself.

Once you processed what was said you couldn't help the blush that rose to your cheeks as your lips rose into the prettiest smile Karma had ever seen in his life. Quickly you gather Karma into your arms, the boy taken aback before welcoming your warm embrace into his arms.

"Thank you Karma." You whispered into his chest, appreciating his new found trust and proudness in you.

This wasn't the same Karma you met when you got here, but you're so happy with how much you've both grown.

"She did totally kick ass Karma." Nagisa said with a grin, the redhead pulling away from you just so he could look at his friend, "She straight up spun behind that guy and before he could even process it, she cracked him right in the back of his neck, it was insane!"

"Oh did she now?"

Smiling wider, you looked over to Karma with a grin as you slowly got up on your knees, grunting a bit as you were trying to be careful not to strain your abdomen.

"I did! He was all like ‘woah where did she go’,” You spoke, mocking the large man’s voice as you knit your brows in an attempt to look scary, “And I was all like, ‘surprise!’ before I chopped down on his neck.”

Karma watched your movements with a toothy grin, his eyes sparkling with amusement and pride as you explained your tactics.

“He was totally knocked out for like… a few seconds at least.” You said with a pant, smiling down to the two boys that watched with matching smiles.

Karma couldn’t help but snort at your final pose, his arms grabbing the back of your thighs and gently lifting you into his lap, so as to not agitate your wound any further..

"Of course my sweet angel kicked his ass, she learned from the best after all~" Karma said with a cocky grin, Nagisa giving an unimpressed brow raise as you stuck out your tongue to him.

You all joked around until the class seemed to finally calm down, all of you eating the sweet treats Mr. Takaoka brought before he went psycho on you all.

It wasn't until you hummed against Karma's chest that he felt a sense of deja vu. 

There you were, nestled between his crossed legs, your body cuddled up against his warm embrace as you nibbled on the flakey pastry in your hand.

Looking practically upside down backwards to Karma you stared into his beautiful golden eyes before offering a sweet smile, your lips quite literally covered in white powder from your pastry.

"I love you Karma." You whispered softly, giggling when Karma placed a quick kiss on your lips, only for his tongue to swipe those plush lips of yours to get the remaining powder from them.

Sure you weren't overlooking the large ocean on a dramatically beautiful cliff, and there were a few additions to the picture that Karma could've gone without. But he wouldn't have had it any other way.

"I love you too Y/n."

next chapter

[nottswitch]

Just recently came across your blog and omgg you’re so good at writing 😭🙏 and you write for Lorenzo 🤭🤭 also congrats on 1k!

But looking through the prompts, prompt 32) and 30) with Lorenzo seems cute, fluff or smut ^^

thank you so much, love, i’m so very glad you enjoy my stuff 💘 yes, i just started writing for him and i find myself enjoying it a lot!! so does everyone, apparently, because i immediately got several requests. not complaining tho :) decided to make this fluffy with a bit of soft smut.

30. "oh, fuck me." 32. "it’s pouring out!"

warnings: 18+ mdni, slight dry humping & groping, cursing

⟡ navigation ; m.list ; enzo m.list ; prompts (closed)

the dim light of the early morning barely shone through the deep dark waters of the black lake behind the windows of the slytherin dorms. your eyes fluttered open, blinking away the sleep, but your vision was still blurry. you stirred in bed, letting out a pleased hum when you felt a warm body behind you.

lorenzo was waking up as well, albeit even more lazily than you. it was a weekend, after all, and you had no classes to attend. you felt his lips on the back of your neck and smiled, pressing yourself a bit more against his chest.

"morning, sweets," he mumbled against your skin, his hand slowly moving up and down your waist. you felt your skin prickle with goosebumps at his soft but insistent touch, your lower abdomen already starting to heat up. you felt something, which was undoubtedly enzo’s morning wood, pressing into your ass, and teasingly wiggled your hips against it, biting away a smirk when you felt him twitch.

a firm squeeze of your asscheek elicited a gasp out of you, and now it was lorenzo’s turn to smirk as he went back to your neck, leaving a small but tangible bite mark right above the top of your shoulder. you snuggled closer into him, tilting your head a bit to give him more access to your neck.

"already so needy for me, this early in the morning?" enzo murmured, smugness dripping out of his teasing words. you rolled your eyes and reached behind your back to feel him up, your palm flattening out against his hardness over the sheets.

"i’m the needy one?" you asked, feeling his cock eagerly throb underneath your touch.

"mhm," he hummed, his lips sucking on a patch of your skin to leave a pleasant tingling sensation there. "can’t say i’m not, sweets. but it’s a two-way street," he added as his hand moved to your lower stomach, his fingers dipping under your sleeping short just up to the first knuckle. he was the master of the teasing game, for sure.

just as you were about to retort, you saw the waters of the lake ripple outside the window and noticed its surface getting sprinkled with raindrops, harder and harder by the second.

"oh, fuck me," you groaned, immediately feeling dejected when you realized that the usual autumn shower was now going to completely ruin the date you had been planning with your boyfriend for a week now.

"gladly, baby," enzo answered, seemingly still occupied with leaving kisses down your neck, oblivious to the worsening of the weather and simultaneously, your mood.

you huffed at his words, but a small smile appeared on your lips nevertheless. "i don’t mean that," you replied, still leaning into his touch, but growing a bit stiffer at the realization that the day was basically ruined. "it’s pouring out!"

lorenzo lifted up his head slightly, peeking out from behind you to glance at the window. he raised his eyebrow, noticing the state of the weather, and sighed, understanding the reason behind your irritation. he didn’t seem that bothered himself, though, as he quickly went back to kissing your skin. "well, babe, you know what that means."

"what?" you asked with another annoyed huff, somewhat miffed by his nonchalant reaction.

"means we’re gonna have to spend the whole day inside." his fingers were now ghosting over your body, even lower down your shorts. "us, inside my dorm, and me, inside of you."

[robin-evry]

Might as well jump on the band wagon. How about a Yuu that's a Wendigo?

Ask and you shall receive, this story may to Gorey or contained some disturbing matters it may be disturbing towards readers.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐔𝐔 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐆𝐎 ☠️🥩

wendigo, a mythological cannibalistic monster in the spiritual tradition of North American Algonquian-speaking tribes. It is associated with winter and described as either a fearsome beast that stalks and eats humans or as a spirit that possesses humans, causing them to turn into cannibals.

( English is not my first language )

Day 5 : wendigo!YUU

Warning : contained cannibalism, self harming as well mild-gore.

I imagine Wendigo!yuu would have been cursed to transform into a wendigo, after being subjected to a desperate situation, symbolizing hunger and survival. The curse is not fully realized, so Wendigo!Yuu retains their human form but is constantly haunted by a powerful hunger they must control.

one of their family members tricked them into eating human meat, since they accidentally eat it and not purposely eat it they weren't aware, where the meat came from. They will still turn into a wendigo but still retain their human form but still have that insatiable hunger.

Wendigo!yuu would be very distant at first towards everyone, only giving very short answers towards any question, they are very calm and collected as well a caring individual but their insatiable hunger caused them to isolate themselves to anyone from them fearing they would cause harm or their hunger will lead into an action they would regret doing.

Every night they have to go to the forest to transform, and hunt for food in the forest maybe a deer, or something. When they were munching on something a flash of light shone upon them, A group of students decided to go to the forest because they wanted to go smoke or were sneaking out to hang out at the forest. The group ran and were screaming heading their way towards the school. Using this moment to head back towards ramshackle cleaning themselves and hiding any evidence.

In the morning Crowley knocks on the ramshackle dorm and questions them, since the dorm is the closest to the forest. Crowley asks them if they ever hear noise in the forest or the sound of their family members, he revealed that there's been recently a sight of wendigo. He explained that wendigos are magical creatures that are greedy spirits that will eat human flesh, when he was describing it wendigo!yuu were sweating and clinching the side of their leg, and finally Crowley ends with there are malevolent spirits that should have been purged. And he warns them to not enter the woods until it's found

The faculty, ghost and housewardens are in the forest looking for the wendigo or there was a trace of their presence there. Unfortunately their research goes empty but the students or anyone have been prevented going towards the forest.

I feel like wendigo!yuu would stop going to the forest being scared of getting caught or they would go to the forest more often due to no students.

During the day time wendigo!yuu would literally do a lot during lunch, they tried to eat at class but got caught and were embarrassed by the entire so they stopped. One time during Mr trein class they were VERY hungry they started to crave, they excuse themselves towards the bathroom. At the bathroom they were trying to control themselves to the point they bit their arm in the bathroom to control themselves, soon that wound healed itself. They don't know what came over them but they started to "eat", they stopped when they realized they were eating their own flesh. They wash up and head back to class.

Soon by eating their own flesh to sustain their hunger, but don't worry their missing limbs will regrow back.

Wendigo!yuu is very normal looking but only do not count the eye bags in their eyes and their skin seems very cold like a literal dead body even tho they look very frail. But during P.E they are able to outrun multiple students their speed is the equivalent towards fae. In their back there is a symbol in their back symbolizing the wendigo curse or a reminder of the sin they committed.

In their wendigo!form. Their bodies have become elongated as there arms and tall as a tree, their skin would pale to a ghostly white or take on a cracked, frostbitten appearance, as Wendigo are often associated with winter. Dark veins might crawl across their skin, giving them an eerie, corpse-like appearance. In some areas, the flesh could look sunken or torn, exposing parts of the bones underneath. Their eyes would glow with a haunting, amber or red light, and their teeth might sharpen into fangs, hinting at their predatory nature. Their mouth could stretch unnaturally wide. A pair of antlers, reminiscent of deer or elk, might sprout from their head, adding to the Wendigo’s iconic look. Wisps of dark fur could grow around their shoulders, back, or neck, giving them a wild, untamed appearance. The antlers could be gnarled and twisted, with sharp points that symbolize the curse's power.

The atmosphere around Yuu would become cold and oppressive, possibly causing nearby plants to wither or frost to form in their presence. Their presence might exude a sense of dread and fear, as if a primal predator is nearby.

Since there have been sight seeings of the wendigo in NRC students are prevented from traveling towards the forest and since ramshackle is near the forest. Malleus was banned from going there by sebek and Lilia. But that didn't stop the fae prince. And by doing this he met wendigo!yuu, he kinda admits he was weirded out by them due to bloody bandages wrap around their body. But they manage to get along.

Lilia always knows something was wrong about the new ramshackle prefect, they will always eat large servings of foods as well as bandages around their arms. He has dealt with Wendigo before during his lifetime. They are cannabis but will act normally to humans he managed to click the dots and during one night he rang the doorbell of the ramshackle dorm he confronted them asking if they're the wendigo that's been haunting the forest. Wendigo!yuu actually admitted and instead of fighting back they asked Lilia to kill them. He was surprised by this and won't let his guards down even tho there was sight about the wendigo but there was not a single soul found dead.

He asked what happened to them, wendigo!yuu what happened of how they were cursed to turn into a wendigo. Lilia brings Crowley towards him and explains the situation to the headmasters.

From them now wendigo!yuu was given a lot of food to control their hunger as well as they are allowed to eat whenever they want and if they can't control their hunger, they have to leave the classroom to eat something. As well are allowed to eat at class. By doing this, it will wendigo!yuu to control their hunger. Meanwhile Crowley or students are trying to find a way to cure their curse.

[hamzahsbiggestfan]

ARE YOU SCARED ?

pairing succubus!reader and best friend!hamzah

⤷ summary : in a small, rotting town where nothing ever changes, except the bodies piling up. you, a cursed succubus bound by a pact you don’t remember making, hunger for more than just flesh and blood. after a tragic fire at a local show unleashes something ancient inside you, your thirst becomes insatiable. you kill, you feed, and you try not to feel anything. but hamzah does. your best friend since childhood, smart, quiet, always there hamzah has watched you slip through the cracks of who you used to be. he knows you’re not the same. he sees the blood. smells it. but he can’t turn away.

⤷ warnings : this series contains of blood, killing, cannibalism, drugs, smut, and angst, if any of those topics make you uncomfortable, i’m not forcing you to read.

PART FOUR - he deserves to know

a/n : suuuper long part for today before i leave for vacation. i’m not staying for too long so i’ll be back to posting on the regular schedule in a couple days! hope you guys enjoyed tho!!

the next day felt longer than most. every sound was too loud. every hallway too narrow.

hamzah didn’t look at you in class. not once. not when you came in late. not when you laughed at something that wasn’t funny. not even when the teacher said the dead boy’s name by accident and the whole room turned to ice.

you didn’t blame him.

you still wanted to.

when the final bell rang, you didn’t go home. you slipped into the empty locker room, the one that always smelled like chlorine and mildew and something older. the pool hadn’t been open since the fire. they said the water got contaminated, some kind of chemical spill.

but you knew the truth. you felt it in your skin, in the way your reflection shimmered whenever you passed by anything deeper than three feet.

you didn’t hear the door open. but you knew he was there.

hamzah always walked like he was trying not to bother the earth beneath him.

“you gonna keep avoiding me?” his voice was softer now. no more edge. just tired.

you turned. The pale light above you flickered like it had a pulse.

he looked worse than yesterday. hollowed out eyes. same hoodie. he’d been crying, maybe. or not sleeping. probably both.

“i didn’t think you’d come,” you said.

“you didn’t ask me to.”

“you’re not gonna lie again, are you?”

you looked at him. just looked. it hurt more than it should have.

“no,” you said finally. “not this time.”

hamzah took a few steps closer, careful, like you might break. or bite.

he stopped when there was nothing between you but silence.

“what are you?” he asked. voice cracking halfway through. not with fear, grief.

you swallowed. your throat burned.

“i don’t know,” you whispered. “something… happened that night. during the fire. i was supposed to die, hamzah. i felt it. i felt everything inside me tear open. and then I woke up… like this.”

“like what?” he breathed.

you didn’t answer with words.

you raised your hand to his chest, hovered just above his heart. close, but not touching.

he didn’t move away.

you could feel the heat of him, the pulse, the fear.

“i’m hungry all the time,” you said, voice low, shaking. “it’s not just blood. it’s everything. wanting. needing. i feel it in my teeth, in my bones. it hurts not to feed, but every time i do, i lose more of who I used to be.”

his eyes glistened. “and you can’t stop?”

“i don’t want to stop,” you admitted. “not really. that’s the worst part.”

hamzah didn’t flinch. didn’t scream. just looked at you like he was trying to memorize every scar on your face. every shadow under your eyes.

“you’re still you,” he said.

“no. i’m not.”

and then, without thinking, without meaning to, you kissed him.

it wasn’t soft. it wasn’t sweet.

It was teeth and desperation and every part of you screaming don’t do this, even as your hands curled into his shirt like you’d never let go.

and for a second, he kissed you back.

but then he pulled away. breathless. eyes wide.

“is this you,” he asked, “or the thing inside you?”

you didn’t have an answer.

you just stepped back. back into the shadows. back into the thing you were becoming.

“i told you to stay away from me,” you said.

“and i told you i wouldn’t.”

his voice didn’t shake this time. and that was somehow worse.

you turned away before he could see the red blooming behind your gums. before he could smell the blood under your tongue.

because you were still full.

but not for long.

and hamzah

hamzah was getting too close.

taglist : @screamertannie @blair3claire @giuliannna @prttyinpink7 @xoxoange1l @hamzahswhispers @weirdogirl888 @isathefantastic @lil-elliesgf @pictureperfectblue @odessa444 @chickie-nuggets-h0 @h-yalexaaaa @viviansturns @xoxoomel @babyd0ll3 @grrrfrogs @xxalemn

[foodiegoogie]

what friends are for

sirius black x fem!reader ✮ 4k summary: you’re an overthinker at its finest; sirius is an overdoer when it comes to saving you from you and your thoughts. cw/tags: no use of y/n, highschool!au, biker!sirius (mentioned), too long for its own good,, nothing too heavy <3 also the teachers r still called professors here bcoz yes !

note: DAMN FINALLY ive finished this 😭 tho its still a little too long for my taste .. i am kinda proud of this :> this was a recycled thoma request, but since i kind of serve to the marauders audience now,, i decided to give it to sirius 🥰 happy reading! 🫶🏼

Having an overly active brain was both a blessing, and a curse. You loved your creativity and intelligence, and they definitely showed in your report cards. What you didn't like was how often you thought about simple, small matters, and then thought about it some more, and then some more after that. You were an overthinker at its finest. Everyone who knew you well enough would agree that you were a non-stop thinking machine, and they all hoped you would cut yourself some slack and give yourself a break.

“That’s easier said than done,” you’d say to them. Oh, what you wouldn't give to stop being a self-sufficient, but also self-pitying brainiac! 

But, as they all say, old habits die hard. That is why here you are, in class, watching your teacher collect your test papers and slowly getting into the routine of asking yourself the questions—the what-ifs, did-Is, and the like. 

You were bouncing your leg up and down restlessly while chewing on your bottom lip, looking very deep in thought, when you felt something hit your head lightly. A crumpled ball of paper landed in your point of view, breaking you out of the trance from overthinking. Picking it up, you opened it and smoothed it out to see what was written inside. 

You look like you just murdered someone and are now burdened by your guilty conscience.

Despite your sour mood, you managed to let out a snort and a soft smile after reading the line. You could recognize the flawlessly cursive handwriting anywhere; it belonged to your good friend, Sirius Black. And knowing him, you knew better than to come up with a snarky reply and retaliate. Getting caught chit chatting with someone like him during class hours could land you in detention, especially now that the teacher inside your classroom was the one and only Physics Terror, Professor McGonagall.

So, you crumple the piece of paper back into its ball shape, and stuff it into your backpack. A few seconds later, you feel something hit your head again. The culprit? Yet another crumpled ball of paper, now sitting on your desk. Letting curiosity get the best of you, you open it up and read what's written.

Ok, rude? Guess you can forget about getting my help cuz I know a good place to bury a body :)

Softly chuckling to yourself, you shook your head and wondered why you were even friends with someone as bizarre as Sirius while you put the crumpled paper in your bag. For a while, you didn’t feel anything light hit your head like you expected. But just as you were about to spiral into another endless stream of self-doubt, you were hit again with a crumpled ball of paper. 

Slowly, you turned around in your seat to glare at Sirius. You meet his eyes doing the same thing, and then gesturing impatiently at you to open the piece of paper he just threw at you. You stuck your tongue out at him out of spite before finally opening the piece of paper.

Y R U NOT TAKING ME SERIOUSLY?!

The sentence was written in bold black letters, underlined a bunch of times, and the punctuation marks at the end were twice the size of the letters. Having read the ridiculous note, you let out what might have been the loudest cackle you have ever let out in your highschool life.

You hear your name called out loudly by Professor McGonagall, in a stern tone that could only mean one thing for you. It felt absolutely mortifying to have your classmates' eyes on you, seeing their pity and amusement appear on their faces. 

"You'll be seeing Mr. Filch for detention after class," She said, zeroing in on you with her piercing glare. If looks could kill, you'd have been dead in your seat by now, and Sirius could use his knowledge of good places to bury dead bodies so he could bury yours. "I hope you'll learn your lesson in your time with him." 

"I will, Professor," You replied, the embarrassment reflecting in your voice.  Great—not only were you unsure about your grade for this class, but now you had one more thing to be worried about, as well as overthink about.

Unable to take on your classmates’ pitying looks on you, you crossed your arms on your desk and laid your head down against them, hiding your face from the prying eyes of your classmates. You could not handle any more humiliations. But you also thought that nothing could possibly be worse than the situation you put yourself in.

Then, you were proven wrong.

All of a sudden, you heard your classmates murmuring around you. Lifting your head up to see what was going on, you saw a paper plane glide smoothly through the air before it landed perfectly on the stack of test papers Professor McGonagall was currently grading. 

To some of your classmates, what happened afterward took less than a minute. But to the rest, including yourself, it seemed like eternity with how carefully Professor McGonagall dropped her pen, and took off her glasses. She picked up the paper plane and opened it up, narrowing her eyes at whatever was written inside. Unfortunately, none of you ever knew what was written inside. But you all knew that it wasn't any good, judging by the twitch in her eye and the frown on her face.

"Who does this belong to?" She asked, her displeasure clearly heard in her voice and seen in the glare she gives everyone in the room. A beat passes, and suddenly everyone is pointing fingers to someone sitting at the back of the classroom. 

Though you had a hunch on who it was they were pointing at, you hoped that you were wrong; that it turned out to be some other classmate of yours who had rotten luck just like you. Then, you were proven wrong… again.

You turned around in your seat just in time to meet the mischievous eyes of your raven-haired friend. He even took the time to throw you a playful wink before clearing his throat dramatically. 

"Good morning, Professor,” Sirius began, his hand closed in a fist like it was holding something near his mouth. “This is your captain speaking. It seems like my aeroplane experienced turbulence and crashed in your area. Terribly sorry, rookie mistake! Rest assured that I'll comply with whatever punishment you subject me to for the matter." 

"In that case, good, because you'll be serving detention alongside your classmate here," Professor McGonagall nods in your direction. "I hope you'll both learn something about rudely disrupting the peace and quiet during class hours with unnecessary distractions." She smiled, although anyone could tell it wasn't to be kind. Then, she returned to her previously interrupted task of grading test papers.

Rolling your eyes, you sighed. Of course, he'd get himself into trouble, you thought. You turned to look at him, catching his attention, and mouthed the words, "What'd you do that for?"

Sirius shrugged in reply, a cheeky smile on his face before mouthing the word, "You."

—

Genuinely, you have always wondered how you managed to land yourself a place in Sirius’ life as one of his closest friends. It was one of the things you’ve thought about over and over, but have never really gotten to the bottom of. Nevertheless, you will always be grateful for having a friend like him, even if he does give you a headache sometimes.

It turns out that serving detention wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be, having been assigned under Mr. Filch’s orders of tending to the flora and fauna stored in the school greenhouses. In fact, you were actually kind of enjoying it, and Sirius being with you totally wasn’t a part of the reason why. 

“You know, this actually isn’t so bad,” He remarked, spraying the lavenders with some water, a faint smile on his face. “I thought we’d be somewhere organizing Sprout’s herb collection or something.”

You laugh at his statement, “Not gonna lie, I expected something boring, too. But this is pretty nice.” You beamed at him, looking away from where you’d been adjusting potted plants accordingly where the sunlight was hitting. 

“Who knew we’d be so good at gardening?” 

“I know, right?” 

Sirius chuckled in reply, and you joined in with him, taking the time to look at him before returning to your task. He looked especially handsome whenever he laughed; eyes crinkled by the edges with amusement, his pearly whites on perfect display as he smiled. It also certainly didn’t help that on top of the black leather jacket he wore, he was wearing an apron, and a bandana tied around his hair which pushed it back to act as a headband, revealing his forehead which glistened with a thin layer of sweat. 

Sirius Black looked ridiculously handsome, and you didn’t need to think twice about that, because it was a well-known fact.

At that moment, you were so caught up in staring at him that Sirius caught you in action. It was already too late to look away and feign indifference for you as a smirk had started to make its way onto his face.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” He practically purred, his voice taking on a deeper, more flirtatious tone than usual. Your brain loses its ability to function momentarily before you quickly wracked your mind for a snarky retort. 

“How original,” You quipped, trying to hide your momentary lapse in brain function at his unexpected tone. Sirius lets you get away with it, hiding a subtle smile of amusement to himself. 

Turning back to a pot of chrysanthemums you’d neglected briefly, you decide to change the topic. “So I was just wondering,” You began, a curious lilt to your voice. “What’d you write on that paper plane you flew to Professor McGonagall?” You queried as you turned to face him again, placing your hand on your hip.

“Oh, psh, that old thing?” Sirius waved it off dismissively as he wrapped up with his task of watering the flowers. “Just a little piece of an opinion I’ve been meaning to tell her.” 

“And just what was it you were meaning to tell her?” 

Before he answered your question, he took the time to take his bandana off, wiping the sweat off his forehead with it. Then, he fixed his hair - running a hand through it and ruffling it up slightly. Inwardly, you had to admit, you almost forgot what you were talking about as you shamelessly watched him be… hot; and like he knew the effect it had on you—which he most likely did—he smirked at you. Again. 

“I told her that dogs were better than cats,” Sirius smiled wickedly. 

You gasped in horror. “No, you did not.” 

“Oh, yes I did,” He said as-a-matter-of-factly.

“You know how she feels about cats, Sirius!” 

“Precisely the point, darling.”

To some, it would seem like something off of a controversial debate, like if pineapples belong on pizza for example. But to everyone who really knew Professor McGonagall well, saying things like that was just a recipe for disaster—with disaster meaning serving detention, of course.

“No wonder you ended up here,” You shook your head in disbelief at him. 

“Buuut, like I said, it’s not so bad here,” Sirius opposed, untying his apron from the back and behind his neck. “Plus, I’ve got good company.” He winked at you before hanging the apron on one of the hooks attached to the wall of the greenhouse.

You didn’t— no, couldn’t reply to him, seeing how you were caught off guard with what he said. But it wasn’t like Sirius wasn’t good company for you, no. There was never a dull moment with him by your side. In fact, if it were someone else you were stuck with in detention, you wouldn’t have agreed with him earlier that serving it wasn’t so bad. And frankly speaking, if serving detention just meant extra time to hang out with Sirius Black, then you wouldn’t mind disrupting the peace and quiet of class hours every now and then.

Though that would certainly look bad on your report cards, so you mentally chastise yourself for even entertaining the thought. But you couldn’t deny that there was some truth behind it, at least. Or more than some.

“Let me walk you home?” Sirius asked as he regarded you with a certain gentleness in his grey eyes. You felt like melting on the spot, right then and there, as he lingered by the doorway to the greenhouse, waiting for your answer. 

But you managed to pull yourself together, and smiled at him. “Sure.”

—

On some days, you would have just taken the school bus home, and Sirius would have just gone on his motorbike. Though in the past, he’d asked you countless times if he could give you a ride home, of course, because it was quicker and more cost-efficient than taking the public transport. But with the way your face blanched at his offering, and the way you kept spewing facts upon facts about how motorbike riding was dangerous (Sirius tried to reassure you that it wasn’t for very obvious reasons), he settled for walking you home instead. 

While that had quickly become an almost regular occurrence for the both of you, Sirius always made sure to ask you first, despite the fact that he would have to go back for his motorbike parked at the school after. Knowing this, you tried very hard to kindly refuse him at first. But over time, you found yourself saying yes without a second thought.

At the same time, you refrain yourself from giving it much thought. It was simply a kind gesture from a really good friend of yours, and that was that. 

A devilishly handsome, fiercely loyal, and incredibly caring… friend of yours. 

Walking home with Sirius never fails to make you feel better after a long day at school. The both of you are instantly engaged in meaningful conversation, debriefing the events that occurred during the day. You like to think it’s a mandatory routine by how often you do it, how often it happens, and how natural it feels. It’s definitely one of, or maybe the best way to de-stress and relax after spending a whole day just studying and working. 

If only he could keep the teasing to a minimum, though. 

“I’m just saying, you know,” Sirius said, shrugging nonchalantly as he walked beside you. “You didn’t have to laugh that hard.” 

You scoff in disbelief, the sarcastic reply bubbling up in your throat. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you liked it whenever I laugh at your jokes?” 

“Never said I didn’t, love,” He responded, voice softening at the term of endearment used. “But you could’ve been saved from Minnie’s wrath if you hadn’t done that evil cackle of yours that you call a ‘laugh.’” Sirius chuckled slightly as he spoke, reminding you both of your embarrassment. 

“Okay, first of all, rude,” You shot him a half-hearted glare, a smile threatening to come alive on your lips. “And second of all, it’s your fault that I accidentally laughed out loud during class.”

Sirius scoffed immediately, taking full offense as he turned away from you. “‘Accidentally,’ she says.” 

“What? It’s true!” 

“So I suspect you must have ‘accidentally’ found me funny, too?” He air-quoted. 

You let out a sigh, feeling exasperated and slightly frustrated by his consistently witty replies. It seemed like Sirius never ran out of energy when it came to your banter, filled with incessant teasing (coming from Sirius himself most of the time, of course) and lighthearted jabs at each other. But even with your patience increasingly wearing thin with him, you found yourself looking forward to the banter every time. In spite of his knack for getting on your nerves more often than not, you liked sharing it with him. It was almost as if it was something only you and Sirius shared - intimate and unique to your dynamic.

“Whatever, Sirius,” You settled for a dismissive response eventually, rolling your eyes as you did so. Though you knew that he would take the piss out of you again for your lack of a snarky retort.

But to your surprise, the boy only chuckled in amusement, kicking a few pebbles and leaves out of the way as the two of you continued to walk. You didn’t think much of it, passing it off as a likely thing for people to do when they walk on sidewalks riddled with objects in the way. 

(But little did you know about Sirius’ true intentions, though.)

After a moment of comfortable silence, you decided to speak up again. 

“Hey, so I was wondering—”

Sirius interrupts with a snort of laughter. “When are you not?” “Please shut up and let me finish.” “Alright, alright. I’m sorry,” he said. Though with the ever so present smirk on his face, and the hint of mirth in his eyes, you couldn’t tell if he was truly sorry. “What were you wondering about in that pretty head of yours?” You paused for a moment, thinking of how to phrase your question. Sirius gave you a brief glance, curious about what you were thinking of that had you pondering like this.

“Why’d you do it?” You finally blurted out.

“What do you mean? You’re gonna have to be a bit more specific than that for me, love.”

Sirius earns the sweet sound of your chuckling, and he zeroes in on the slight flush that appeared on your cheeks, betraying your embarrassment.

“I’m talking about earlier, Sirius. During Physics? When you flew that paper plane to McGonagall?”

His lips formed an O shape as he came to the realization of what you were referring to. And as if the reminder was nothing but a lighthearted one, Sirius snickered to himself.

“And? What about that?” 

You sigh, internally wondering how on earth he could find such a thing so amusing. Sure, perhaps Professor McGonagall had developed some sort of fondness or a soft spot for Sirius over the years he’d acted against her in his mischief. But the fact still remained that McGonagall was not to be taken lightly to, especially not during her class. 

“I was just wondering why you would do such a thing. I mean.. it was certainly unprovoked, don’t you think?” 

“‘Unprovoked,’ you say? Is that what you really think?” 

There’s a shift in his tone this time around when he spoke, though there still remained the unmistakable, and ever so present hint of a tease in his voice. You studied his face intently as you thought of a response. 

“Yeah. I mean, whatever did you do that for?” 

Sirius sighed, though you couldn’t tell if it was out of frustration with you or exasperation. “Didn’t I tell you already? I did it for you, you daft woman.” 

You resist the urge to scoff at his remark of you being a supposed daft woman. “I thought you were just messing with me there when you said that.”

“‘Messing with you?’ Why would I—“ He cut himself off with another sigh. 

Oh, so he’s frustrated, you realized. 

“You know, for someone whose mind runs a thousand miles per hour, you can be really clueless sometimes.” 

You let yourself scoff by then, feeling indignant. “What are you on about now?” 

Sirius almost smirked at your words, and you knew that by the twitch at the corner of his lips. You tear your eyes away from them, focusing on his eyes instead. 

“Come on, you’re a smart girl. Surely, you know why I did that, and why I risked detention?”

Deep down, you had an inkling as to what he was telling you. But you refused to acknowledge it aside from the fact that it was downright ridiculous. After all, you firmly believed yourself to be out of Sirius Black’s league. Your dynamic was synonymous to one of those Paramore songs that went, “He was a punk, she did ballet. Can I make it anymore obvious?” 

And as if he could read you, and sense your inner thoughts, Sirius sighed for what seemed like the nth time of that moment. Though now it had sounded almost… sad? 

“Shall I spell it aloud for you, then?” He broke the silence, his voice deeper and tinged with seriousness. 

“Yes.” Please. For my own sake. 

He takes a deep breath first, although the both of you didn’t know for what exactly. But it felt like it was necessary for Sirius, and so—

“I did it for you, ‘cause,” He paused, seemingly trying to push the words out of his mouth. Why he was forcing them out, you didn’t know. “What friends are for, right?” 

Well, admittedly, that kind of stung you inside. For a moment—a fleeting, hopeful moment—you wanted Sirius to say that he did it for you, and that was that. Just for you. For the sake of keeping you company, and letting it be up for interpretation on whether it was done under platonic intentions or… not. 

“Yeah,” You nodded, mentally chastising yourself for ever expecting such a thing. “What friends are for.” 

Sirius is looking at you pensively, noticing a hint of your disappointment in the way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes, and in the way you looked away from him as you replied. He wondered why.

But, ever the one to cheer his friends up, Sirius clears his throat to catch your attention, his grey eyes glittering with mirth. 

“And besides,” he added. “You would’ve gone mad if you served detention all alone. You’re kind of a danger to yourself here, love.” He ruffled your hair playfully as he said this, eliciting a smile from you. 

“Hey! It doesn’t get that bad, you know,” You defend yourself, fixing your hair with your fingers. Sirius helps you out by tucking the wayward strands of hair, covering your face, behind your ear. 

He snickered. “Trust me, love. I know how bad it can get.” 

In truth, Sirius has always found it endearing—your knack for getting a little lost in your head more often than not. But he was also one of those people who wanted to grab you by the shoulders and shake some sense into you, to tell you to give yourself a damn break. So, he’ll take any chance to distract you from your thoughts. And if that meant angering McGonagall and serving detention, he didn’t mind at all. 

The rest of your walk home goes easily after that, the lighthearted atmosphere returning despite the momentary shift to the slightest, almost imperceptible indication to the feelings you harbored for each other—though unacknowledged on both sides of the party in fear of losing the other.

Although, Sirius suspects that he’ll be brave enough for the both of you one day to bring these feelings into light. 

In the meantime, he’ll let you get away with your acting aloof and coy about it. He’ll gladly wait until you’re ready to hear what he’s always wanted to tell you. 

So, as the two of you bask in the orange hue of the afternoon sun, walking down the path to your home, you don’t realize that it’s only a few steps away until you’ve reached your destination. You were getting carried away (again) with ranting about tomorrow’s quizzes, and Sirius is trying (again) to calm your anxieties, and reassure you. 

At the very same time, he realizes the increasing distance between the two of you and your home. He doesn’t make a move to tell you, and you simply don’t notice.

( ♡ )

[my-own-walker]

requesting kit with younger reader, where he picks her up from college and takes her for a milkshake but then they have sex in his car and after he has to drop her down the street because her parents don’t approve of him

Oh! You Pretty Things

note: this is cuteeeeee. thanks for the spicy kit request. i was getting bored of writing inside-the-asylum kit hehe

warnings: sm*t, p in v, oral m receiving, teasing, cursing, kinda overstim, not really tho

+++

The second hand moved so slowly on the clock, I thought it might be broken. Class always went slower when I knew I’d be seeing Kit afterward. Thursdays were our day.

My parents didn’t know. They hated the idea of me being distracted from my studies by some silly boy. I was, in fact, sticking my neck out by going to college as a woman, so I had to succeed. But, the new decade called for liberation for us women. I was proving a point by being able to date and do well in school.

I digress. I met Kit after my father's car got a flat. He showed up in his tow truck to save the day.

'Scummy, those mechanics,' my father quipped as we drove away.

I walked to the gas station Kit said he worked at the next day, set on getting him to ask me on a date.

We'd been secretly meeting up for dates ever since. He'd come to pick me up after my last class of the day every Thursday and take me out somewhere. I could, at times, sneak away to see Kit on other days of the week, but Thursdays were a set date. My mother and father had no idea. They thought I would stay late to study.

In my daydreaming daze, I almost didn't notice my classmates getting up to leave. I gathered my things hastily and rushed out of the room and into the bright daylight of the afternoon. The sun's light on the pavement was nearly blinding. I shaded my eyes with my hand as I walked to the curb, looking desperately for Kit's car.

Within seconds, his shiny black car came slowly up to the side of the street.

'Hey, pretty thing! You goin' my way, doll?' he called out of his window, acting as if he were a creepy stranger. I giggled and got into the passenger's side.

'You have no idea how nice it feels to do this,' I sighed, kicking my shoes off as Kit drove off.

'Rough day, beautiful?' He wore his work uniform. Some jeans, a white undershirt, and his button-up with his name on it. His hair was perfectly tousled, and the shirt was unbuttoned so that part of the white undergarment was showing. He looked soft and warm, and his smile lit up his eyes.

'Just a very long one, and I'm starving.'' I said, drawing out the word 'very.' I flipped down the visor and slid open the mirror, smoothing my hair and fixing the line of my lipstick while regarding my reflection. I pulled the tube of peach lipstick out of my bag and touched up my pout, making faces at myself all the while.

'Havin' fun over there?' Kit laughed.

'I'm beginning to think this shade is old hat,' I sighed. 'Maybe I should try red like Marilyn.'

'I don't care what color they are so long as I get to kiss 'em,' he smirked, taking one hand off the steering wheel and placing it on my upper thigh. I didn't even notice how far my dress had ridden up my leg since getting in the car.

I blushed and giggled, tucking the front pieces of my hair behind my ears. I will admit, I was still in the lavender haze with him.

He pulled into the parking lot of the small roadside diner in our town. It was quaint, tucked away in some trees, filled with truckers from out-of-state and old ladies meeting for lunch. It was a stone's throw from Kit's job, and the perfect place to hide away. Somewhere neither of my parents would dare go.

We sat at the tall counter in the center of the place. This was part of our little Thursday routine. I would always come out of class absolutely ravenous. We'd pick far-away or unknown places to eat before truly spending time together.

'You want somethin', my pretty thing?' Kit asked as the waitress stood in front of us.

'Honestly, a milkshake would be a gas,' I smiled up at the waitress. 'Strawberry.'

'That's all you want?' Kit asked as she walked away. 'Are you sure?'

'Yeah, Kit, I'm alright,' I replied, feeling around in my bag for a light for my cigarette. 'Shit, I must have dropped my lighter somewhere. It's not here.'

'Don’t worry doll, I got you,' he drawled, flicking his own open and holding it under the cigarette clenched in my teeth. I took a long drag and exhaled. The waitress returned and placed my drink in front of me, and Kit's meal in front of him.

I looked over at Kit and caught him taking me in. He looked me up and down and chuckled softly.

'My, you are a dream,' he cooed, placing a hand on my chin to bring me in for a kiss. I went in for a peck and was alarmed to find that Kit wanted more.

'Baby, not here,' I said through gritted teeth, pulling away quickly. I looked around to make sure no one saw. 'You're an animal.' I laughed and he returned the smile.

'I just can't control myself around you, pretty.'

'Well then hurry up and finish your food so we can peel out,' I giggled, pushing his shoulder playfully.

+

There was an old abandoned schoolhouse in town 5 minutes away from my house. Kit and I would find ourselves in the back parking lot frequently. Tucked away from the public eye in his car.

As soon as Kit parked the car, he dragged me into the back seat with him. We made out furiously, like two caged animals that were finally set free. It was a small space, but we sure made it work.

I took over, immediately pushing Kit's back up against the door, placing my hands on his chest to hold him down. His white undershirt was soft against my palms. I could feel his heart pounding furiously beneath my fingertips. A pace that signaled to me just how much he wanted this.

We kissed for only a short time before clothes started getting removed. First, I aided him in removing his work shirt. Then, I worked to undo his belt and unbutton his jeans. He slid them off quickly. I took that time to remove my panties, throwing them hastily to the front seat.

His erection was noticeable through his white briefs. My hand immediately reached to touch it, only for it to be held back.

'Not yet, sweetheart,' he smiled. He pushed me back into the door on my side and continued making out with me. His hands groped all over my body, paying particular attention to my breasts. 'Oh this dress just won't do,' he muttered.

My high-necked smock dress was fit for school, yes, but not for this. He reached behind me and unzipped the fabric smoothly. He tugged the material and it slid down to expose my bra. Kit smiled as he looked into my eyes, then turned his attention back to my chest. He peppered kisses all over my sensitive skin, making goosebumps raise all over my body.

First, he slid my left bra strap off my shoulder, creating a bit more slack and revealing more of my skin. He took his time to kiss all of the areas of skin he hadn't before, going agonizingly slow so that I would get hot and bothered. He loved when I was hot and bothered.

Next was the right bra strap. The ceremony continued. His ritualistic dance of adorning love to every inch of my body made every horrible minute spent without him worth it. His mouth inched closer and closer to the very edge of my bra. Eventually, I gave in to the teasing and reached back to unhook the damn thing myself.

Deciding I'd had enough, though, I pushed Kit back again. This time, all the way down so that he was laying across the back seat. My hand reached for his bulge and stroked it. He whimpered in pleasure. I took the waistband of his briefs in my fingers and tugged, making his dick spring loose.

I lined myself up with him and slid his throbbing erection into my slick middle, feeling every inch of it go deeper and deeper into me. I cried out involuntarily and began bouncing on it, feeling our two bodies connect naturally. My walls tightened around it. He moaned softly.

'Oh baby, yeah,' he spat through gritted teeth as I continued to ride him. I stooped down and kissed him passionately, still keeping a rhythm. His shaking hands reached up to grope my breasts again, this time more firmly. He slid his hands down to my waist and held it, almost as if he were trying to feel some sort of control over me.

I continued moving my hips atop his dick. His length went so deep within me, I thought I'd scream. I put both of my palms on either side of his chest to steady myself. His breathing got more ragged, and I could feel his heart racing still.

'Fuck,' Kit grunted, trying not to come so easily. He gathered what strength he had a lifted me off of his erection by my waist. I sat back and slid down to a laying position as he rose to position himself above me, both of us maintaining eye contact as we went. He wanted a turn on top.

I didn't even get a chance to settle before his large cock was inside me again. I yelped and screwed my eyes closed, existing at that moment at his very will. He held my wrists, which were resting just next to my head, down so that I couldn't move. I whined in protest but was silenced by his lips on mine.

Sweat formed on his brow. I could feel myself succumbing to the waves of orgasm. But, neither of us wanted to be the first to give in. I breathed heavily to steel myself, but it was to no avail. I came first, crying out and moaning loudly. He slid out of me and stroked my hair as the fits of pleasure overtook me.

Kit sat back against the door on his side of the car once again, breathing heavily. I regained my composure and sat up, sitting back on my heels. I stooped down and took his pre-cum covered dick in my mouth. I flicked my tongue over the tip and reveled in the whimpers and cries Kit was letting out. He grabbed and pulled my hair gently as I continued to suck him off.

'I-I'm gonna come,' he mustered, trying to warn me in case I wanted to stop. Instead, I let him blow his load directly into my mouth. I ignored the warmth and bitter taste as I swallowed. He moaned and threw his head back, eventually relaxing into his position. I wiped my mouth and sat back as well.

Recovered from his orgasm, Kit leaned forward and laid half-beside and half-on me, resting his head on my chest. I sighed in contentment.

'God, you're good at that,' Kit whispered, laughing softly. I laughed too. He grabbed my hand and brought it up to his lips to kiss it. He kissed the back of each finger as well to emphasize his gratefulness. He nestled closer into me. I nearly fell asleep listening to his breathing even out.

I gasped suddenly when I looked out the window and saw the sun setting. 'Shit, Kit, we have to get me home!'

We both worked quickly to redress. He helped me with the tough job of zipping up the back of my dress. I scrambled out of the back door and into the passenger door, slamming it shut and bringing the visor down to once again look at myself in the mirror. Kit clambered up to the front from the back seat and settled himself in.

He turned the key in the ignition and started the car up. He paused, though, before going. I looked away from fixing my lipstick for a moment to see what was the matter. Kit shifted in his seat and reached for something that was under him. In his hand was my panties.

'I uh, think you're gonna need these,' he chuckled, blushing. I smacked his arm and snatched them from his grip.

'Oh, hush! Stop! It's not funny,' I protested, half-laughing as well. I shoved them into my handbag demonstratively. 'Now hurry up and drive!'

+

The ride home was quick enough. The sun was still setting as Kit got to the end of my street. He had to drop me there to avoid my parents seeing anything.

'Are you sure you're gonna be okay walking over there this late? I don't need anyone snatching my girl,' Kit spoke.

'I'll be fine, Kit. No one really walks my street. Plus, it's not even that dark,' I assured him.

'Well okay, but I'll be parked here watching ya, okay?'

'Just don't be too obvious,' I warned.

He leaned over and grabbed my face, pulling me in for one last, passionate kiss. When I pulled away, my lipstick was all over his face. I just chuckled to myself and opened the door.

'I love you, you pretty thing,' he called after me.

'I love you too, Kit,' I smiled.

+++

Literally cannot lie I got a bit, uh, bothered myself writing this one LOL. Let me know if you liked this one!

[kumkissed]

THIS COULD BE US

from my pureboy eren hc, where Eren turns out just like you, or even worse. cw - toxic Eren, toxic reader, light smut, Eren loves hates reader, Eren a lil crazy lol, reader dgaf icl

You’d have to be dummy to not have heard, Eren Yeager the newly found playboy, who is known to talk to any and everyone he feels like. Yeah you’d be dumb if you haven’t heard, you caused it. You can recall when you first started pushing Eren away, your phone would blow up with messages and calls with him saying how he hates you and how you’re a bad person. You blocked him and that was that, then you start hearing about Eren going to parties, getting tattoos, getting piercings, fucking the entire school at this point. Your friends tell you about it all the time, “Girl he fucks EVERYBODY, he even tried to get wimme!” You laugh at her antics, scrolling through tiktok “He probably just mad.” Your friends whip their heads at you, wanting to hear the story “don’t be holding no damn secrets y/n the fuck your mean ass do?” You shrug collecting your stuff and heading to your next class, you don’t even pay anyone any attention as your AirPods blast ‘Wavy’ by Sza.

Youre thrown off as you bump into something stiff, sucking your teeth you look up, brown eyes meeting green ones. “What you can’t say excuse me now?” The familiar voice drowns your music, you stare at him for awhile before walking around him. “Y/N bring your ass back here, I know you fucking hear me speaking to you.” Immediately you’re stopped in your tracks, because who is this nigga talking to? You take out your AirPod case, slipping the AirPods into the case before whipping around to face Eren “The fuck is the issue?” Eren grins at your reaction, slowly approaching “You been ignoring me for 3 months…that’s all you have to say?” Those long brown cover your face slightly as, Eren leans slightly sniffing the air around you “Cmon I know you missed me too. I know it.” Baffled, you push Eren away, you know your heart isn’t beating cause you miss him…hell nawl.

At least that’s what you thought until you catch him at a party you were asking to supply for. Not entertaining a single female, eyes trained on you the moment you stepped in. You can’t help but feel hot under his stare, you almost approach him until you hear the host call you: “Aye Y/N,” your close friend Ony grabs you hugging you close. A big smile erupts out of you “What’s up baby!” Everyone side eyes a lil bit, questioning the nickname, not Eren tho, waiting until you pass Ony the product to grab your hand and guide you over to his part of the couch, nose deep in your neck. Your legs grow weak, Eren fucking knew that was one of your weak spots fuckin dickhead. You can’t help yourself, pushing your hand into Eren’s head squeezing his hair harshly. That moan doesn’t escape your notice, Erens face falls as you push him away to stand up; “Get all your shit and meet me at my car” you say as you walk out the house not giving Eren a chance to respond. Not even 5 mins goes by before he’s walking out the house, entering the car. The car ride is silent air filled with tension, you feel Erens green eyes trailing your body, you can’t deny it doesn’t make you a little hot.

Eren wastes no time, pushing you into your bed room and stripping the both of you: “Fuck…I’ve been waiting on this, nobody does it like you do i swear.” Before you can even respond, Erens already flipped you over on your stomach stretching you out, knuckle deep. “I been practicing just. for. you.” He makes sure to particularly harsh on those last few words, causing your mind to blank just a little. Arms reaching out to push away the harsh assault on your pussy— smack you pull your hands back at the sudden abuse “lemme make you feel good mama okay?” You nod, head getting cloudy at all the wet noises. That hot feeling in your stomach rises, before you can come Eren shoves himself deep inside cursing to himself in the process. You can’t even think straight as he pummels you, kissing all over your back and neck, making sure to mark you as his. “I love you y/n, fuck don’t leave me,” you can’t even respond as your orgasm crashes down on you, pulling Eren into his own.

Eren showers you with kisses and endless love confessions, but you can’t help but think about Onys fine ass friend Connie.

———

DAMNN ITS BEEN A MINUTEEE, this is an old ass draft that I decided to finish and she’s kind as hell…..anyways i missed this shit but college been ruining me i’m back fr this time i kinda wanna continue this shit

[dreamscapesofimagination]

Hi! I hope you're having a good day!I came for the tdb requests :D

I have Jin as the default character on the main screen (didn't choose him nor liked him at first , he resembled default cold male lead in Korean transmigration manhwas , he's the first ssr i pulled tho soo) and his lines about him establishing a servant-king dynamic ( a tsundere , constipated feelings )without giving us the option to be slightly annoying about it _us servaning him_ is annoying to me.

I am a person who likes to challenge those around me (I like to play with what given to me since everything is more than it seems)even tho I am a calm person so ppl rarely wait for it,so, I have been wanting to get Jin to go to those 'peasants' locations he mentions in his voice lines (like seeing fireworks is better on a helicopter) for a date to get him to admit the beauty in what you can create (we have all noticed he' s grieving a loss so I kinda want it to take inspo from thod daye in order to challenge his current situation especialy his stigma )

Thank you in advance!

A/N: This is an amazing idea! I actually love Jin- I really enjoy the emotionally constipated characters (Aka why I love Alan, Megumi from JJK, and Dean Winchester sm lol). I hope you enjoy!

T/W: Cursing, Jin is kinda a spoiled ass- but also not?, soft Jin

Summary: Jin doesn’t understand why you insist on making him stargaze with you- he could take you to an observatory. He doesn’t understand the appeal of laying in the grass. He doesn’t understand why you’re so happy, or why your smile makes such a warm feeling spread through his chest.

—————

This truly had to be some kind of joke.

In fact, Jin was sure it was.

In what world was laying in the grass outside of your dorm better than viewing the stars at a world class observatory?

You, however, were extremely pleased that you had convinced him to quote “do peasant shit.”

His haughty attitude irritated you to no end, and you were determined to make him eat his words, which is exactly why you had chosen tonight for this.

He glanced over at you, watching you settle onto your back.

“This better be good. After this I’ll show you what it's like to see the sky through the best observatory in the world,” you rolled your eyes at his words.

“I know you’ll enjoy this, as long as you pull your head out of your ass.” you flashed him a sweet smile as he glared at you for your response.

“Wow, got some bite to ya, huh? Scared to admit this is a waste of my time?”

Your eyes narrowed, “Jin, sometimes I want to smack that smug look off of your face,” your ridiculously handsome face.

It was quite vexing- Jin was exactly your type. His attitude was the only deterrent, which frustrated you.

You knew there was more to him, he just refused to let people in.

He let out a bark of laughter at your response.

“I’d like to see you try- that would be the highlight of my day.”

“Your attitude is exactly why you have two friends.”

“Bold of you to assume I need friends.”

With a sigh, you refocused your eyes on the sky, choosing to ignore that statement.

You wished you could just get through to him- figure out why he was so guarded.

Jin watched you for a moment, uneasy at your lack of response. He was so used to you always having a retort to his remarks. Nothing he had ever said had seemed to genuinely upset you, until this.

Besides, he only had one friend, Tohma.

Until it hit him- you.

Despite how cold he was, you had always been friendly to him, insisting on sticking around even when he relentlessly pushed you away.

With a sigh, he laid beside you in the grass, choosing to follow your lead in hopes of making you happier.

The sky was an endless sheet full of stationary pin pricks of light.

His eyes widened when it started.

Flashes of light across the sky- hundreds of them.

A meteor shower.

His eyes flashed to you, and he couldn’t resist the warmth that spread through his chest at the look of wonder on your face.

You were hyper aware of Jin beside you. You wanted him to enjoy this- not just admit that it was better than a damn observatory.

The night was cool, with a small breeze that rustled past you both on occasion.

Seconds passed into minutes as you both watched the meteor shower, and you couldn’t resist the smile that spread across your face. You loved stargazing- and meteor showers were so rare that you had never seen one.

“Isn’t this amazing?” Your voice was breathless as you spoke, and his gaze went to you and he couldn’t stop himself, “Yeah, guess so.”

Pride filled you and you spoke again, “better than a fancy observatory?”

He felt his lip curl up, unable to tear his gaze away from the happiness on your face.

“It's probably the company.”

Cheeks burning, you sat up, watching him.

Jin couldn’t help the way his heart fluttered, not entirely opposed to the feeling of warmth in his chest.

He carefully avoided your gaze, turning his eyes back to the sky, “afterall, I’ve got two friends, so I should enjoy spending time with the better of the two.”

You smiled, rolling your eyes.

It wasn’t difficult to recognize that this was the best you would get, and you were satisfied seeing the icy exterior he held melt even the slightest.

[chocolatetheoristcloud]

can you do a scenario in which sasuke is completely obsessed with the reader, sends her lewd pics of heeself, scares her to the point that she avoids him but also everyone around her cuz he wont let her make friends, also him finally locking her in the class with him (some noncon if u can)

The Gingerbread Woman

Inspirded by the song the gingerbread man

Warnings: Yandere themes,nudes,hints of NON-CON,dark content,possiveness, cursing,modern AU, real dulu yelling out my woman, yes he's a little dulu.

Paring: Yandere Sasuke x reader

I am ETREMELY sorry for how long this took.

You couldn't believe what you got yourself in it.

How the fuck did this happen ?

Well that's something you didn't really know to be honest.

I mean you stayed away from him and you didn't talk to him, expect that one time you helped him with the missing notes he missed but that was it.

You didn't know he liked you,well he sent nudes to you of himself once but you didn't think he would go this far.

Locking you into an empty classroom with him, You had to stay behind in school to finish some work and then you had to clean up and put away but you had thought all the students left besides the one who had club activities,as far as you know Sasuke wasn't in a club and normally stuck to himself so why was he here then?

This made you uncomfortable as you looked at Sasuke as you two stayed deeply into eachother's eyes,like a staring contest.

His eyes were dark and black as a shadow with a hints of sinister-ness and something else you couldn't put your finger on at.

Whilst you looked into his, you're eyes were e/c looked into his with hints of uncomfortableness and confusion.

You had your back turned to the door as you cleaning when you heard the door open, you turned your head thinking it was a teacher but it was Sasuke......it was like if he knew you were here and didn't leave school...............how strange.

Oh good afternoon Sasuke,......is something wrong did one of the teachers sent you here?......I was just about the leave I was just packing my bag and cleaning up.

You avoided Sasuke after you saw the nudes he sent you and blocked his number and deleted it, even tho you didn't tell anyone you still felt very uncomfortable with being with him right now it felt uneasy. As the air hang thick feeling claustrophobic and heavy,as you awaited his answer.

He only nodded.....slowly, and looked around and watched as he opened the door again and looked outside.

Which was a red flag from the beginning but you didn't think about it since he was probably felt awark after he sent you his nudes and you blocked him, you nodded as you turned around to finish packing your bag when

*lock*

Whipping you're head around as fast as lighting to see just what the hell happened.

You saw Sasuke now inside the room with you,the door now locked and closed as he looked at you before slowly walking up to you.

Um.....What are you...doing?

You quoted, backing away from him as your eyes went wide trying to process what to do.

He said nothing only walking towards you, before finally opening his mouth.

......Y'know your such a strange girl....you know that I'm in love with you....but instead....of rejecting me... you completely just ignore my feelings right in front of me.... with no problem....at all...

He said his voice deep and raspy and low as if he was struggling to find the words to speak,as if.....he couldn't breathe like was gasping for air but he couldn't get it.....no matter how hard he tried.

When sent you pictures of me you didn't even text back you just blocked me....I thought you would have told someone but you didn't...not a soul...as If,it was a normal thing like it didn't happen.

And y'know what really get's me? hmm?... you passed me everyday in school like it was nothing... like you just didn't care!, yeah you avoided me....but you didn't even say a word about it to anyone! not even a peep.

Like this didn't matter....I didn't matter!....to you....my feelings and emotions don't matter to you... everything I've done to get your attention doesn't matter-

He paused quite literally in his tracks as he looked down before placing his hand on his eyes rubbing nose bridge before chucking to himself.

And y'know it's really laughable hahaha I've tried almost everything! to get you to acknowledge my feelings for you,my love for you! but still no matter what I seem to do you never acknowledge them hahahah!

And no matter how try and try you will never take the time and today to acknowledge them, just look at you you're not even denying it are ?

It was true and you both knew it, you knew he loved you and instead of saying anything at all you choose to ignore them... ignore him.... even before he sent you the nudes of himself.... you just didn't acknowledge but more like refused to acknowledge them really and truly if you're being honest but you didn't think he would go this far.

He looked at you not all that surprised, but not all that surprised after all that's why he had interested in you in the first place, you were so strange to him so uninterested.

But as I said that's why he likes you so much is because of that you knew you were could be hurting his feelings but you didn't care and instead of just telling him to stop and reject him you remain silent.

He looked back up at you his piecing dark onyx eyes staring at you as they looked souless like a black empty void that was filled with nothing good.

But now.....all that is going to change..... you're going to acknowledge my feelings for you one way or another.....

He picked up his pace,as feet making nosies as it touches the wooden floor boards as he back's you into a corner,as you looked at him.

Sasuke....?

Don't Sasuke me now y/n.... it's too late for that you're going to acknowledge my love for you, and when I'm done you it will be a piceing memory marked into your skin.... something of my love...... something even if you still refuse to acknowledge it you're always....always have a memory