#the same goes for walls....for some reason

[specialistpinky]

*♡ big juicy ♡* | choso x oc

next episode

「 ✦ coke & rum ✦ 」

wc: 4.5k

a/n: heya! this is my first time trying out tumblr to post my works (2014 is soooo back), so we're gonna see how this goes. enjoy~!

bust down middle pointer, i got it black (i'm a big fine ho!) walkin' through the club lookin like a snack (but you knew that though)

—GET IT SEXYY by SEXYY RED

why the hell do they make these damn dorms so confusing? i think, wandering down the hall and hauling my luggage while looking down at the map again, squinting to make sure i'm heading in the right direction.

i take in my surroundings. the walls are bland beige with lime-green accents. a few back-to-school event flyers hang on the walls. the carpet is one of those funky 80s arcade patterns that kids used to throw up all over. 

these are supposed to be the senior dorms? i thought they would’ve been a hell of a lot nicer.

after a bunch of twists and turns and endless numbers that weren't my room, i creep up to a door, gazing at the three numbers plated on the side: 824.

"finally! praise Jesus," i sigh, rejoicing for my long-awaited rest.

i fold the paper up and stuff it in my back pocket. i breathe in and out, remembering that i have a roommate again. yeah, it's cheaper to live with someone else, but my privacy is crucial to me, and i have a very low tolerance for other people's bad habits, so i would’ve preferred living by myself. out of my control now, though.

i can only hope my roommate is fairly decent this time. last year, i got a trust fund baby who liked blasting the same five fucking songs all day, passed out drunk in the bathroom, and piled up dishes in the sink.

i knock on the door hard, seeing if someone will open it. i have a key, but i don't feel like opening it. my federal-ass knocking will surely get my roomie's attention. plus, i'd rather meet them from a distance than walk inside and find something i don't wanna see.

the lock clicks as the doorknob turns, the door creaking open.

"Yuji, it’s seven in the morning. i already told you i'm not letting you borrow my car."

my eyes widen a little. in the doorway stands a tall, grown-ass man with dark shoulder-length hair wearing a faded Metallica shirt and plaid boxers. he's littered with tattoos from what i can see, some of the work peeking from under his half-clad thighs. he's rubbing his eye like a tired child woken up from nap time and keeping them closed, clearly not seeing that i'm not "Yuji."

i cross my arms and squint. "who’re you?" i question, harboring a little bit of hostility in my voice—for good reason, though. a random man just opened the door when i fully expected a woman.

the guy stops rubbing his eyes and blinks once, twice before eyeing me up and down with an equally confused look.

"you're not Yuji," he rasps, scratching his chin.

i jut my hip out, cocking my head to the side. "yeah, definitely not. you’re not Ashlee."

i pull out the dorm letter from my other pocket to check if i'm crazy, and yep, still says Ashlee’s my roommate.

"is Ashlee here?" i look back up at the man who's sporting a deadpan face. i try to peer inside the room, asking, "are you like, her boyfriend or somethin'? cuz we’re gonna have to talk about how often you’re allowed to stay here."

he tilts in the same direction i'm moving, blocking my view. i frown. his face stays blank. "there's no Ashlee here," he says.

i stay silent for a moment. then i huff out of my nose and smirk. "alright, funny guy, quit fuckin' around and bring out my roommate."

he blinks all frog-like, slow and unbothered, then screws his eyes shut before scratching his eyebrow. "i’m telling you there’s no Ashlee here. i live here. you might have the wrong room."

i'm tempted to roll my eyes at his backtalk and slightly condescending tone, but i'm attempting to be nicer these days, so i offer a tight-lipped smile.

i speak calmly, "this is room 824, right?"

i knew the answer; i just wanted to see how he would respond. he seems to think i'm some fucking bimbo with no thoughts to my dainty little head.

the man scratches his neck and nods. "yeah?" his statement comes out more like a question.

i nod once, the top of my lip curling. "right, that's what i thought. so, i'm telling you," i emphasize my words by pointing at myself and then at the mystery man who claims to live in my dorm, "this is where i was assigned as per the letter."

i wave the flimsy piece of paper in the air and hold it out to him. "you're more than welcome to take a read."

he snatches the letter from me, aggravating my soul further as he stands there in his indecency and indignation. he skims the paper, muttering to himself before looking back up at me, a befuddled, fatigued look adorning his features.

he cocks an eyebrow, handing the paper back to me. "you're a girl, though," he comments intelligently. 

i can't help it as the whites of my eyes probably make themselves known and my irises disappear before reappearing.

i purse my lips together and make them pop, bucking my eyes for a second in irritation. "no shit, Sherlock," i spit. i sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. "how the fuck did i end up in a co-ed dorm?" i mumble under my breath, trying to compose myself before i break down in the middle of this hallway and alarm the whole floor.

i suck my teeth and hold out a loud groan, making my way inside. "ugh, this is so ridiculous," i grumble, completely ignoring the man in the doorway.

he barely moves out of the doorway, making space for me to enter, a clear look of disdain i hardly acknowledge and feel targeting my backside.

"make yourself at home," he mumbles sarcastically.

i strut through the small space, looking around and humming, "not too bad. at least you keep it tidy in here." i turn back to the man whom i have the unfortunate pleasure of rooming with. "let’s keep it that way."

he doesn't reply beyond that weird little blink again. yuck! it gives me major goosebumps.

i try to keep the faces to a minimum as i walk up to my room door, pulling out a key from my purse to unlock it.

i twist the key and—

clunk!

"huh?" 

that didn’t sound good.

i try again, jiggling the key around this time but still feeling resistance. i twist using both hands and all my might to unlock my room. i grunt, pushing and turning until my fingertips turn bright red, then stop, out of breath from my effort.

i pinch my eyebrows together, frustrated at this stupid fucking door barring me from my one safe haven for the next ten months.

"urgh! damn it," i groan. i cock my leg back to kick the door but halt right before my foot makes contact. i don't have on shoes; i probably shouldn’t do that.

i growl low in my throat, banging my fist on the door and attempting to open it several more times before giving up. i sulk into the kitchen and sit down at the table. my roommate—i still don't know his name—is sitting on the couch, glued to the television, occupying his mouth with what looks like a sucker. looks a little young to be a heavy smoker. must be quitting.

the longer i look at him, the more i have to admit how attractive he is—fine as hell, even. his piercing lavender eyes are hypnotic. all them tattoos give a nice edge, and his boxers hanging on his hips with the little v-line poking out caught my attention. he's got those pink, pouty lips people kill for. he looks pretty well-kempt: nice clear skin, thick healthy hair, and clean nails. not typical male behavior. shit, he might be gay, huh?

i smack myself, shaking my head at the thoughts. so what if he is gay? i think, not like i should get at him, anyway.

i'm so glad i have a single because if i had to share a room with him? i don't even wanna put that into the air, man.

a hand waves over my face, snapping me out of my horny thoughts. i jump back and find my roommate standing before me with that confused, droopy look. i furrow my eyebrows and bark out a "what?"

he does that stupid bimbo blink again, then he smirks at me and says, "you were just standing there. figured you needed help."

jesus, we haven’t even made it 24 hours and he already knows how to push buttons i didn’t even know existed. 

and this is who i have to room with for the next nine months. awesome. just. awesome

"thought you would’ve scurried to your room by now,” he husks, his eyelids low and a smirk on his face.

i flip my hair out of my face. “can’t get in.”

“can't get into your room, huh?” he leans down to look me square in the face, swirling around the stick in his mouth. “that’s a shame. explains why you were struggling with the door."

so, he knew i was struggling and did nothing to help or ask me if i’m okay? what a fucking chump.

i scoff and roll my eyes so hard i feel them sticking to the back of my skull. i swear, if i roll them one more time, i'mma be stuck looking like the Exorcist.

i mutter a "whatever," spinning on my heel to grab my suitcases from outside.

when i open the front door, i notice that my stuff isn't there anymore. i peek from behind the door, looking in both directions of the hallway to see if anyone grabbed them by accident. or on purpose—you never know.

after a few seconds, i groan and shut the door, irritated that my stuff disappeared.

"yo, emo boy, you seen my stuff sitting in the hall...way?" i ask, my words trailing off as i turn around to see the man pointing behind me. i follow his direction, finding my luggage in the living room's corner.

i eye my housemate with crossed arms. "oh," i say simply.

the man mimics me while leaning back against the nearest wall with his foot kicked up. "you left them out there, and i figured you forgot, so i brought them in for you."

well, isn't that so sweet and thoughtful of him? golly, it makes it so much better than his attitude has the charm of a rock taped to a stick.

i nod once. "thank you," i say.

"you're welcome."

my gaze starts to wander again, trailing from his exposed collarbone to his flexed arms. i can make out some of his tattoos: a few birds scattered across his throat, a purple flower right below his Adam's apple, and a couple of names etched on his forearms.

he clears his throat with an amused expression. wow, i didn't think he made any other faces besides drowsy and nonchalant.

he cocks his head to the side. "see something you like, princess?"

oh, he wanna be bold. okay, i see what's going on.

i squint at him challengingly as i round the table, slowly making my way over to him and smiling at him with hooded eyes. "don't flatter yourself, boo. just wondering if you steal from Salvation Army or if you genuinely dress like that. plus, i tend to like my men a little..." i poke him in the middle of his chest, “meatier.” he follows my finger before looking back at me with a raised brow.

"anyways," i say, drawing out the word and backing away. "since you're in a helpful mood, could you grab Millie and roll her to my room?" i bat my eyelashes to add extra flare to my request. no one can resist it.

he keeps that same tired, disinterested look on his face, his hypnotic lavender irises raking up and down my body. he snorts with a smirk and walks past me, lightly shoulder-checking me and beelining for the couch.

fuck, that didn't work on him?!

i fix my face, clearing my throat as i walk to the fridge and duck down, finding a Coke way in the back of the top shelf. "jackpot," i whisper, swiping it and popping the tab open, gulping down half the drink in a few seconds. i let out a small burp before pushing out a louder one.

the man looks back at me and cringes, his nose scrunching up in disgust but not saying anything.

i meet his gaze, shrugging with no remorse. it's natural, so why not let loose? i take another sip and ask again, "so, can you get Millie for me, please?"

he blinks and turns back to the TV, his hands behind his head. "who the hell is Millie?" he rasps.

i groan, "ugh, Millie! my Millie!"

he turns back around and furrows an eyebrow. "again, who is Millie? is she a dog or something?"

i point to my luggage in the corner. "Millie's the cute sparkly rouge suitcase with the gold handle."

he looks at my hand directed at my luggage and then back at me, bewildered. "Millie's a suitcase." his words come out like a statement rather than a question.

i raise an eyebrow and roll my neck. "uh, duh. you got a hearing problem?"

"you named your suitcase?" he chuckles wryly.

i furrow my eyebrows. "well, obviously me. i name all my precious things."

he laughs harder. "who names their suitcase? that's so lame."

"you listen to Metallica, so," i mutter, taking a sip of my drink.

"what?" 

i shake my head. "nothing," i say, glancing to the side.

"right. you know, you have a bratty attitude," he comments. "it's incredible you haven’t managed to piss someone off enough to get kicked out."

i hide my grin behind the soda can and reply coyly, "who says i haven't already done that?"

"can't imagine how that happened," he huffs. he waves a hand and turns back to the TV. "anyhow, get your own suitcase."

i whimper dramatically, "but i've been packing, moving, and traveling since Monday, and i've been so tired lately, and my body is in total pain from all of it, so i don't think i'll be able to carry all of those heavy bags by my lonesome, and—”

"all right, okay, please just stop! i’ll do it," he relents, shaking his head and grumbling as he walks over to my stuff. he grabs Millie's handle, scoffing, "can't believe i'm doing this."

he pulls Millie; she doesn't budge. he turns around and stares at my bag confused. he pulls again, hardly moving her. he instead uses both hands, tugging backward until Millie squeaks and starts scraping her rusty wheels across the carpet.

"jesus, woman, what do you have in here—rocks?" he grunts.

i grin, leaning against the counter as his biceps flex with each pull. his neck veins and arm veins bulge against his pale skin, decorating his muscles nicely. that little frustrated look on his face amuses me, too. nothing like seeing a man struggle at the behest of a woman.

woah, Freudian slip much?

"need help over there?" i ask coyly.

he shakes his head, readjusting his grip and stabilizing his body before pulling Millie in one last swift motion, clobbering his foot with one of her wheels in the process. he stumbles back and hits the wall, cursing, "fucking shit!” he crouches down to soothe his injury.

i let out a hard "HA!" before covering it up with a cough. i keep drinking to keep from laughing again. he hears me (not a shocker), so i'm met with a nasty glare, which makes me snort and nearly spit out my soda. I don’t blame him for that. i would do the same if i were made to do someone else's mundane bidding and they started laughing at me after i hurt myself. unfortunately for him—and fortunately for me—i'm not in that situation.

i notice the red mark appearing on the hilt of his foot from the kitchen. i coo mockingly, "oh no! poor baby. need me to kiss your boo-boo?"

he looks at me with another grimace, baring his teeth. i stick my tongue out playfully. i watch him wobble as he stands back up, grunting with each limp he takes to his room and saying under his breath "brat" before slamming the door behind him.

i can't help but smirk again. i was going to ask him to take Bobbi and Brownie with him for me, but he's injured now—wouldn't want him to somehow die on me and i be held liable for his early demise.

i continue sipping on my soda as i pull my phone out of my purse and call up my homegirl. 

she picks up after the second ring. "hey, bitch!"

"hey, babe. where you at?"

"i'm at home. why, what's up?"

i cross my legs and lean back in my chair. "girl! i'm so fucking exhausted, but i need to go shopping for my room. you got time today?"

"girl, i don’t know. i'm supposed to be going to brunch soon."

i suck my teeth. "boo, you whore. and to think i was gonna treat you to barbecue. oh well, i'll call someone else."

"wait, wait, wait! lemme see what Nana says."

i hear some rustling and hushed voices in the background. i shouldn't be surprised she was laid up in the bed with her man and didn't tell me, knowing how shameless that girl is.

i don't comment and patiently wait for her reply.

"okay, he's gonna push brunch to dinner. you lucky as fuck my man's chill like that cuz we had reservations."

"damn, my bad. should've told me. now i feel like i'm disturbing y'all."

she sighs, "it's fine. plus, i haven't seen you in like, three months. i miss my boo!"

"i missed you, too, boo. but, bitch, lemme tell you!" i rub my forehead and whine, "these muthafuckas got me all the way fucked up cuz why the fuck did they give the wrong roommate?"

"girl, how the fuck do they give you the wrong roommate?"

"man, i have no idea, but i guess it could be worse."

"who is it? it ain't that rich bitch from last year, is it? cuz i'll beat that ho ass again just cuz i can."

i chuckle at her quick resort to violence. "nah, it ain't her," i say. "i heard she transferred to some private school overseas, so i'on know why she'd come back to this ghetto ass school."

"she betta not. anyways, who you rooming with?"

i mentally prepare myself as i say, "chile, why i get a man–?"

before i can even finish, i hear a shrill scream from the other side. i pull the phone back, looking at it like it offended me. i mean, my ears are offended with allat fucking screaming she doing early in the morning. her neighbors must think she get stabbed every time she and her man hunch (which i have the displeasure of knowing they have sex every day, so i can only imagine).

"BITCH, THEY PUT YOU WITH A MAN? bitch, oh my god, you so fuckin' lucky! that was my number-one fantasy for years! is he hot??"

i chuckle, peering around the room to see if he was around. i cover my mouth and whisper into the receiver, "girl, the man is fine as all hell."

"and you ain't tell me?! what he look like?"

"bitch, i just found out like 30 minutes ago i had a male roommate. he a emo boy, first of all."

"oh, okay, okay, we love a good emo boy. i heard they got big dicks, too!"

"girl, shut up ‘fore you get in trouble with Nanami! anyways, he hella tall and he buff, but he ain't buff buff. to be honest, he look kinda sickly and malnourished. makes me wonder what he be eating for him to look like that."

another loud but less deafening squeal assaults my eardrum. "sounds like he need to be fed, then!" 

i can hear her eyebrows wiggling through the phone. she continues, "ooo, bitch, i need to come over and see what he look like right NEOW. cuz if you don't fuck him, i will!"

i belly-laugh, knocking my head back. "bruh, he ain't even my type for real," i quip. "also, don't you got a whole ass boyfriend?" i giggle through my words.

"aye, as i always say: don't let your current boyfriend—"

"stop you from finding your future husband. yeah, yeah, i know how that goes," i finish for her, chewing on my bottom lip. "i mean, you still shouldn't do it for your sake."

"i know, i know, i'm just playin'! plus, my Kento treats me so well. he’s practically my husband at this point. i can't let him go. neva eva!"

i know she will never let that man go. the way he dotes on her hand and foot with no hesitation makes my heart swell and my stomach sick at the same time. seeing them together restores my faith in humanity bit by bit, and i can only wish for something like that to come my way.

i look at myself in the mirror across from me, noticing my lip makeup fading and my hair losing its shape.

i stand up, going over to my other luggage and rummaging through them to find my makeup bag, finding my gloss and lip liner pencil. i get up to fix myself up in the hallway mirror and reapply my lipgloss while i talk. "you betta not. cuz if you do, imma beat that ass and take him for myself."

"oooh, i'm so scared. Nanamin, baby, save me! bestie said she's gonna hurt me and steal you away from me."

i hear her pouting through the phone and Kento murmuring in the background. i press the phone between my ear and my shoulder as i rake my fingers through my hair.

"girl, bye. you're such a drama queen. also, hey, Kento."

i hear a deep but small "hello" back. there’s more shuffling and whispering before my friend comes back on the phone.

"bitch, you're crowned royalty for drama. pot calling the kettle black as hell."

"sure, whatever you say. also imma need you to pick me cuz i don't got a car right now."

"what? the hell happened to your car?"

i suck my teeth. "girl, 'member how i told you my sister crashed her bucket drunk driving a couple weeks ago? my mom was all like, 'she needs a car until we can get her a new one, so we need to keep yours at home.' like dude, it's MY car! how you just gon' take my car that i bought with my own money? shit is wicked."

"damn, bitch, for real? a'ight, i'll come get you in twenty minutes because you know i love me a good spree."

i smile. "cool, cuz i need to figure out how i'mma get into my room before i go to sleep tonight."

"how you locked out the room already? you just got there."

i sigh, "bitch, i'on know. these people get on my fuckin' nerves."

"we'll lockpick it when i get there. see you then! kisses. muah!"

"bye, love you. mwah!" i send a kiss through the phone before hanging up.

i rake my hands through my hair, fluffing it poofier before giving myself a toothy grin and blowing a kiss in the mirror.

i hear a low wolf whistle. "wow, bratty and conceited? a double trouble princess."

i whip my head around to see emo boy leaning against the wall, now wearing loose gray sweatpants and a Cocteau Twins muscle tee with his hair in two spiky space buns. shit, i might've been lying when i joked about him not being my type. he need to stop dressing like that before i throw him on a street corner and make some money off him.

i throw him a tight-lipped smile and go back to messing with my hair in the mirror. "bratty? always. conceited? not over here, honey. just a hottie with high self-esteem."

"is that right?" he husks. i hear him moving but pay him no mind as i straighten my skirt. i turn around, looking at the back of it. i smile, seeing my ass poking out from underneath the skimpy garment.

i gaze at myself for a little longer, my eyes traveling up my body before they land on emo boy standing right behind me. i flinch a little, turning my head to face him.

his tired eyes flash an emotion i can't discern. for a moment, it looked like lust.

i take a deep breath. i cock an eyebrow and ask, "can i help you?"

he stays quiet, looking down at me with that creepy lopsided smile. he eyes me up and down before stepping away, beelining for the couch and plopping down, kicking his socked feet up on the coffee table. he flicks through television channels as he says, "that outfit suits you."

the fuck is that supposed to mean?

i let out a short laugh, pulling my shirt down before turning to my housemate. "them eye-bags suit you, too, emo boy."

that man need to find him some business 'fore i find some for him. shit, he can find some business himself between these muthafuckin' chocolate thighs.

ugh, i should stop thinkin' like that about my housemate. i would rather not get caught up in another situationship or get involved with someone from this school ever again, even if it runs an exhilarating chill down my spine to imagine how big it is .

picking up my phone from the counter, i text my friend.

yo, eta?

bout 10 minutes ;)))

i sigh, going back to the kitchen table and sitting my chin in my palm. i'm still annoyed at the fact that my door is jammed. if she can't get into the room, i'm gonna have to call maintenance, which definitely puts a dent in my plans to sleep tomorrow morning.

that doesn't stop me from mentally planning my decorations. i imagine where i want my posters arranged. i have a few Britney Spears and Tyra Banks posters stowed away in my suitcases, and the canopy i bought back home should be coming in the mail soon. then, after my target trip, my room should be a girl's paradise times 100.

optimizing is key while i'm here. i should probably get a set of speakers and some lights, too. maybe a bean bag if there's space.

so many ideas, so little time and money.

knock, knock, knock!

i perk up, clapping my hands and bouncing a little in my seat. "yay, my bestie is here! eek!" i squeal. i stand up to greet her at the door only to find my housemate already opening the door. he barely cracks it open and he's blocking the way, so i can't see who's on the other side. eventually, my housemate moves to the side, letting the other person walk in. i look to who it is. my eyes widen and my jaw drops as i watch them walk in. before i can even control it, i find myself whispering in shock.

"Itadori?"

[odpadkreativity]

[aceofwands]

idk man I just think of all the franchises you could try to make the Next Big Thing by creating a bunch of new shows and movies, maybe don't pick the one with the notoriously nitpicky obsessed with canon fandom ?? if you don't plan on applying any sort of consistency to the world, characters, alien cultures, entire ethical and moral framework of the universe, etc etc ????

[solaceseven]

crawling back to you

pairing: sukuna x reader

genre: angst

inspired by the song do i wanna know? live at bbc by hozier

it’s been three months.

three months since the door slammed shut behind you, leaving nothing but silence in your wake. three months since you walked away, and sukuna didn’t chase after you—not that night, not the morning after, not the weeks that followed. he told himself it was for the best. that this was what you wanted.

but now, as he sits alone in his dimly lit apartment, the weight of your absence pressing down on him like a vice, he wonders if he made the biggest mistake of his life.

the buzzing of his tattoo machine is the only thing that keeps him sane most days. his clients come and go, faces he barely registers as he inks intricate designs onto their skin. it’s the only time his mind goes quiet—when his hands are busy, the hum of the machine drowning out the thoughts he doesn’t want to face.

but the second the machine powers down, reality creeps back in. and reality is cruel.

because no matter how hard he tries, you’re everywhere.

he sees you in the smallest things—things that shouldn’t remind him of you, but somehow always do. In the flicker of a neon sign outside the shop that hums the same soft glow as the fairy lights you used to hang in your room. in the faint scent of vanilla and jasmine that lingers when someone walks past him on the street, never quite matching the way it clung to your skin. in the half-empty coffee cup sitting on the counter, lipstick smudged at the rim, and he’s reminded of lazy mornings when you’d steal sips from his mug, laughing when he grumbled but never really minded.

you’re in the song that plays softly from the radio while he works—one he never paid attention to before but now knows every word to because it was always on your playlists. in the chipped black nail polish on his coworker’s hands, a fleeting reminder of the countless nights you sat cross-legged on his couch, painting your nails and teasing him for being too still as he let you paint his, too.

but worst of all, he sees you in his reflection—tired eyes that have lost their edge, the weight of regret carving its place in the lines of his face. in the faint traces of your touch that still linger like phantom sensations along the tattoos you used to trace absentmindedly with your fingers, as if memorizing every inch of him.

and when his coworkers scroll through their phones, laughter echoing through the shop, there you are again—captured in a fleeting Instagram story from some party last weekend. grainy, imperfect, but unmistakably you. smiling, carefree, eyes crinkling in that way that always made something in his chest tighten. and god, how he hates the way it guts him, wishing—aching—that he was still the reason for that smile.

you unfollowed him. he noticed immediately.

one day, your name was gone from his notifications, your profile nowhere to be found. he tried not to care. tried to convince himself that it was just social media. but it gnawed at him. you were cutting him out piece by piece, and all he could do was watch it happen.

he lurks in the shadows, hoping one of your friends posts something—anything—that gives him a glimpse of you. It’s pathetic, he knows, but it’s the only thing he has left.

there’s a bitter irony in it all. he was the one who pushed you away first. always keeping you at arm’s length, never letting you in too close. you wanted more—deserved more—but he couldn’t give it to you. not when vulnerability felt like a weakness he couldn’t afford.

and now? now, he craves your presence like a man starved.

the shop is quieter than usual tonight. it’s late, and everyone else has left. sukuna leans back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, the faint hum of traffic outside barely audible through the thick walls. the glow from his phone screen flickers beside him, but he doesn’t touch it.

not yet.

he’s been doing this every night. sitting here, contemplating. the urge to reach out is unbearable, but something always stops him. pride, maybe. or fear.

fear that you’ve moved on. that you don’t want to hear from him. that he’s too late.

his chest tightens at the thought.

he tried to fill the void, but nothing ever worked.

not the long hours at the tattoo shop, where he threw himself into his work until his fingers ached and his mind blurred. not the mindless scrolling through social media, hoping—not that he’d ever admit it—that he might catch a glimpse of you. not the empty nights spent lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for exhaustion to drag him under.

nothing could distract him from the ache of missing you.

his friends tell him it’s time to move on. they say three months is long enough to let someone go. that there are plenty of people out there. but what do they know? they didn’t spend endless nights memorizing the shape of your smile, or the way your eyes softened when you looked at him, like he was the only person in the world. they didn’t hear the quiet affection in your voice when you whispered his name in the dead of night, your fingers tracing lazy patterns over the tattoos on his chest like you were trying to commit every line to memory.

his friends didn’t feel the weight of your absence like he did—the way it settled deep in his bones, heavy and inescapable. they didn’t know how every morning, he still reached for you instinctively, only to be met with the cold, empty space beside him. how even now, he still slept on his side of the bed, as if leaving room for you just in case.

how could he fall for someone new when he was still so busy being yours?

they didn’t see how badly he broke you when he shut you out.

the memory of your last fight is still fresh, even after all this time. you stood in the doorway, tears brimming in your eyes, asking him—begging him—to just let you in. to tell you what he wanted. and all he gave you was silence.

he thought you’d stay. you always had before. but that night, you walked away. and now, the silence is all he has left.

his fingers twitch toward his phone, but he stops himself. what’s the point? you deserve better than a half-assed apology three months too late.

but then he thinks about the what-ifs. what if you’re waiting for him to reach out? what if you’re lying in bed right now, staring at your phone, wondering why he never called?

he can’t take it anymore.

the weight of missing you presses down on his chest, suffocating and relentless, until it pushes him off his chair and out the door before he can even think twice. it’s reckless, stupid—but so is love, isn’t it?

the streets are quiet at this hour, the hum of the city softened under the cloak of night. his hands are shoved deep into his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold, but none of it matters. all he can focus on is you. the thought of you, maybe asleep, maybe curled up in bed with your phone just out of reach. maybe dreaming of something—someone—that isn’t him.

the thought twists like a knife in his gut.

he walks with purpose, even though every step is a silent war between hope and dread. what if you don’t open the door? what if you tell him to leave? what if someone else is there?

he shakes the thought away.

it’s been three months, but it feels like no time has passed at all. and yet, it feels like forever.

before he knows it, he’s standing outside your apartment building, staring up at your window. the soft glow of light seeps through the curtains, and he wonders if you’re still awake or if you’ve just fallen asleep with the lamp on, the way you used to when reading late into the night.

his heart pounds so loudly he’s sure it’ll wake the whole block, but still, he climbs the stairs. each step echoes in the silence, a quiet reminder that there’s still time to turn back. but he doesn’t. he can’t.

and suddenly, he’s there. in front of your door. it’s familiar and foreign all at once.

he doesn’t have a plan. he doesn’t even know what he’s going to say. all he knows is that the thought of another night without you is unbearable.

he raises his hand to knock but hesitates. his breath is shallow, his pulse erratic.

but then, before he can stop himself, his knuckles rap gently against the door.

seconds pass. each one heavier than the last.

then, the faint sound of footsteps. the quiet click of the lock.

the door opens, and there you are.

soft, bleary-eyed, wrapped in a blanket, and so heartbreakingly familiar that it steals the breath from his lungs.

“sukuna?” your voice is quiet, confused, and laced with something that might be disbelief.

he swallows hard, the weight of the past three months pressing down on him all at once. “i know it’s late,” he says, voice rough and barely above a whisper. “i know i shouldn’t be here. but… i couldn’t stay away.”

you blink at him, and for a moment, there’s only silence. then, softly, “why now?”

his throat tightens, and he runs a hand down his face, exhaling shakily. “because i’m tired,” he says, voice cracking under the weight of everything he’s held back. “tired of trying to forget you. tired of pretending i’m okay. i’ve tried. god, i’ve tried. but i can’t. i miss you.”

his voice cracks at the end, and he hates how raw he sounds. how vulnerable. but it’s the truth. And right now, that’s all he has left to offer.

he sees the flicker of emotion in your eyes—the conflict, the hurt, the love you’ve tried to bury—and it guts him.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers, voice thick with regret. “i’m sorry for not being enough. for not being what you deserved. i know I fucked up. i know i wasn’t always what you needed me to be.”

his hands tremble as he clenches them into fists at his sides. “but i swear… i’ll do better. i will. i promise you.”

his voice is raw now, barely more than a whisper. “just… tell me it’s not too late.”

you stare at him, eyes glossy, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and something softer. and then, finally, you step back just enough to let him in.

and for the first time in three months, sukuna breathes.

[glow-in-the-dark-death]

Your Fortune Cookie

Danny managed to grab a part time job in Gotham while he was there for college.

The job is a small hole in the wall restaurant that he managed to stumble into one day while he was out exploring the city.

It was a rather small establishment the owner was the cook and besides Danny there were only two more employees.

Danny handled the front as a waiter.

Something the owner decided to implement around the same time Danny started working was fortune cookies,

Specifically fortune cookies where they as the employees could write the fortune that goes inside.

Danny had the most fun with this and tended to include a little ecto-blob drawing on the back of his,

The basket where they were kept was mostly his as well.

Unfortunately Danny's cookies have had the great luck of somehow matching the actual fortune of the customers he gives them to.

Which would not have been a big deal, but sadly Danny's fortune was very specific.

Danny has no clue of what he has done, he's just enjoying his life.

On an unrelated note business seems to be going up for some reason.

~

Just an Idea

[gloomwitchwrites]

First of all, I 100% know this is an overused trope... but still....

What If 141 2 people 1 bed trope

Who cares that it's an overused trope? It's a classic for a reason!

I will never tire of a one bed trope. It can be steamy and sexy. It can be angsty. It can be tense. It can literally be so many things at once. It's also a wonderful canvas to play around, and I had a lot of fun with this one. I know you've waited for this one for a while. I hope you enjoy it! :)

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x TF141 Female Reader

Content & Warnings: swearing, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, multiple positions, rough kissing, vaginal fingering, oral sex (male & female receiving), admission of feelings, pretend sex, fake dating/married

Word Count: 6.3k

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“Fuck,” mutters Price.

You glance over your shoulder. Captain Price stands near the hotel window, the gauzy blinds closed but the thicker ones bunched to the sides, allowing in natural light. He’s staring at something happening in the parking lot.

“What it is?” you ask, starting to walk over to him.

“They might have found us.”

Dread flares hot, clenching the muscles in your stomach until it hurts. “Are you sure?”

Price nods, and then backs away from the window. “There’s no way they saw our faces during the infiltration. We wore masks. Might have tracked the stolen car.”

“We need to leave,” you say, but Price shakes his head.

“There’s too many of them, and they’re likely watching all exits on the main floor.” He sighs. “We need to play this right.”

The two of you are freshly showered, and the clothes you wore for the infiltration have already been discarded. Burned—actually, somewhere in the deserts of Arizona. At the moment, the two of you look like civilians.

“They can’t search the building, John. Not without bloodshed.”

He runs a hand through his hair, his gaze darting across the room as his brain works something over. You fidget, picking at your nails. It’s a terrible habit. One you do when you’re nervous.

Price glances at you and your heart drops. “They look official, and that’s probably all that matters. The scrawny teenager at the front desk isn’t going to put up a fight if the credentials appear legitimate.”

“Fuck,” you whisper, striding toward the window to look for yourself.

Captain Price is right. They do look official. They also look fucking terrifying which would scare anyone into compliance if you don’t know what to look for.

“We’re on the bottom floor,” you say, stepping back.

“I know,” growls Price. He pivots, examining the entire room.

He goes for the car keys and shuts them inside the safe. The only other thing in the room is a duffle bag full of plain clothes and generic toiletries. Price pushes clothes aside and then draws out the pistol hiding beneath it all. He checks the clip and then preps the barrel.

“Take off your clothes.”

“What?” you ask, startled.

Price walks over to the singular bed in the room, tucking the gun beneath the pillows. “Do you trust me?”

“Absolutely,” you affirm.

“Then take off your clothes,” repeats Price, reaching behind his head with one hand to grab the collar of his shirt. He pulls it over and off, tossing it aside.

“Spread it around. Make a mess,” he instructs as he goes for the belt on his jeans.

For a moment, you’re stunned, staring at Captain Price’s bare chest. While he’s muscular, it isn’t from a life in the gym. He is thick in all the right places. A solid wall with a beautiful dusting of dark hair that travels downward.

The belt is gone, and that too is tossed aside.

Without removing your gaze, you tentatively discard your shirt, but keep your bra on. It’s a barrier. A safety net. Price isn’t even glancing at you, but you do notice some color at the tops of his cheeks. A soft pink that makes your thoughts spiral outward to imagine if this gentle blush is the same color as the head of his cock.

Price’s jeans go next, already discarded before you move on to the next article of clothing. He’s only in socks and black boxer briefs. There is so much of him on display that you’re starting to forget yourself.

He glances at you, and that color in his cheeks darken. “You’re still dressed.”

You open your mouth to answer but then you hear a shout from down the hall and sharp banging on a door. They’re far too close.

This urges you on, moving with faster intention, and once you’re down to just your bra and underwear, you finally glance at Price again.

Price—who is naked. Completely bare. And you have a full view of what he’s been packing underneath all that.

Fuck.

He approaches the bed, and tugs back the sheets. The muscles in his arms and back tense as he crumples the bedding to sexed perfection—as if the two of you have been going at it for hours.

Price sits down on the edge of the bed and slides underneath, his legs parting enough that you get a glimpse of everything. This man isn’t even fully hard but from what you can see, it would be a tight fit if you actually sat on him.

Lifting a pillow, Price checks for the pistol and then sets it back, settling into the sheets. He frowns slightly when his attention returns to you.

“All of that has to go.”

“Does it?” you counter, crossing your arms over your chest.

There’s another thunderous pounding on a nearby door followed by shouting.

“It does if we’re going to make it out of here alive.” Price shrugs, and then smirks. “Could help you.”

Sighing heavily and you reach behind your back, unclasping the bra. You hurl it at him and Price catches it out of the air. Crossing your arms over your chest, you hurry toward the bed. But you don’t make it beneath the sheets.

“Everything,” repeats Price.

Reaching out, Price snags the thin cotton fabric and pulls down, revealing you to him and the room. Instinct as you grasping for control, hands splayed over his large forearms as he gives the fabric another yank.

You cannot form a response. Words leave you as Price drags you into the bed with him.

“Sorry about this,” he grumbles, that color returning to his cheeks in full force. It’s cute actually—how sheepish he looks.

You swallow, and lick your lips. “It’s fine.”

Price leans back against the pillows, guiding you with him. “Get on top.”

Straddling his hips, you settle yourself over him. You try—and fail—to not notice the way the hard length of him nestles against your pussy. You keep one arm crossed over your breasts but all it does is hides your nipples from him. Your other hand is splayed wide and pressed against his chest.

“We’re married,” he says, staring into your eyes. “That’s the story. I’ll do the talking. You act like the scared wife when they come barging in.”

You nod, and Price releases a deep exhalation. His hands rest on your thighs. They’re a brand. Warm. All you can think about. They move upward to settle on your hips.

“Pretend you’re riding me,” he murmurs.

With a gentle hand, Price grasps your wrist, drawing your arm away from your breasts. You don’t resist, and he brings your other palm to rest against his chest.

“Pretend,” he reiterates, hands returning to your hips. Price creates the motion by dragging you back and forth, imitating a rocking motion. Though you’re stationary, your pussy still drags against the length of his cock.

You notice the tremor in his jaw as your bodies rub against each other. This is affecting him as much as it is you.

“Pretend,” you say back to him.

Price nods and then grabs for the television remote from the bedside table. He turns it on and then ups the volume. You imitate the motion he created, rocking back and forth, sliding yourself along his cock, pretending you don’t notice how wet you’ve become over the course of the last few minutes.

His hands return to your hips, and then Price sinks back completely into the pillows, his eyelids softening as he gazes up at you. It’s far too intimate of a stare, and it’s only compounded when one of his hands meander upward to slide over your stomach and then between your breasts. You gasp as his thumb traces the underside of your breast.

Head tilting back, you grind downward, finding yourself diving into the warmth that’s starting to pool low in your belly.

A sharp pounding at the door has you snapping to attention. Every muscle tenses. Seizes.

“You’re fine,” coos Price. “We’ll be fine.”

The pounding comes again and then a yell from behind it. The voice is muffled. Not only by the door but from the television.

Swallowing, you try to connect into it again, rolling your hips, imagining that Price is your husband—that you love him—and this is simply an exploration of that love.

When you roll your hips again, Price sits up slightly, his warm breath brushing against your breast. A tingle shudders through you, and Price groans before his tongue grazes over your nipple, bringing it to a point.

“Knew you’d taste sweet,” he says softly at the same moment the hotel door bursts open.

One second, you’re atop Price, and the next his arms are around you, turning you away from the door to hide you from sight. You’re not on your back but Price has shoved you toward the bed as he sits up, creating a barrier between you and the intruders.

The tactical-clad trio entering the room—with a hotel worker nervously trailing behind—

don’t even get a word in before Price starts going off on them.

“Get out! Get the fuck out!”

His accent is gone, replaced by an American one. It’s incredibly good, and his feigned anger even more so. The men entering faulter under Price’s tirade. They likely weren’t expecting this, and Price uses this opportunity to push the advance.

“We’re fucking busy in here. Fuck off!”

The man at the head of the trio clears his throat and holds up a hand, but Price chucks one of the water glasses at the man. The guy ducks and it shatters against the wall. The hotel worker at their back squeaks and pushes forward.

“We’re so sorry. Just a search for some prison escapees. We’re clearly in the wrong room.”

Prison escapees? You want to laugh but think better of it. Instead, you press your face against Price’s arm, feigning sheepishness.

Price’s lips turn into a snarl, and the hotel worker blanches.

“We’ll give you a complimentary stay for the inconvenience,” the man babbles before waving his arms to usher the other men out.

For a moment, you don’t think it’ll work, but they go.

You and Price don’t sigh with relief until the door shuts. His forehead presses against yours, chest heaving.

“Nice accent,” you whisper and this draws a smile from his lips.

“Like it more than this one?” he asks, his regular accent returning.

“Nope,” you say. “This one suits you fine.”

Price’s gaze draws over your exposed body and then lands on your face. It’s soft. Sensual. You’re frozen beneath it, breath catching as his fingers brush along the line of your jaw.

You’re not sure who moves first but his lips are on yours and then you’re moaning. Price rolls you onto your back, each kiss more demanding and fiercer than the last. He tastes of the mint toothpaste he used earlier and smells of soap.

Reaching between your bodies, you find him hard, and there is no other need within you but the one that craves for him to be inside. To fuck you ceaselessly.

You stroke him and Price groans into your mouth, his hand wrapping around your throat. Hooking your legs behind him, you guide him to your entrance. With a light press of your heels, Price takes your meaning.

There is no gentle pretense. No soft kisses or playful coaxing. Price goes all in, and you break the kiss to gasp aloud, nails digging into his back. Price is thick and having him inside you is a deliciously painful stretch.

It is all desperate the way he moves. Price isn’t gentle. It’s skin slapping against skin. It is sweat and groans. A savage hardness that borders on hysteria.

Your hand reaches behind you to press against the headboard as Price fucks you into the bed, but even that is shaking, banging loudly against the wall. It’s clear even over the drone from the television. The people next door will know exactly what the two of you are up to.

Price is relentless. A man starved. He nips at your bottom lip. Sucks it into his mouth. And when that isn’t enough, he goes for your neck and then your breasts, making your nipples smart and throb under his teeth and tongue.

The orgasm comes sharp and hot, bursting forth like a wave. And when you squeeze around him, Price is right there with you, his cum coating your insides as he too finds his end.

The two of you are all heavy breath. Sweaty limbs.

Price nuzzles the side of your neck, placing soft kisses there until he travels up to find your lips again. These are gentle. Not desperate like before.

When there’s a moment to speak, it is you that breaks the silence.

“So much for pretending.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

It’s the middle of the day but you wouldn’t be able to tell.

A storm is raging—the rain thick and heavy. It falls from the sky in large drops that soak clothes and slick the skin. It’s a bit cold, too. A little chilly. The kind of wet chill that hardens the nipples and brings a shiver to your bones.

“Here. You’re soaked.”

Kyle presents a towel. It’s off-white and a bit frayed. But what can you expect from a motel in the middle of nowhere? Having a towel at all is nice. At least it isn’t threadbare.

“Thanks,” you reply softly, gently dapping the rough-textured material against your face.

Kyle strides over to the heating unit. It’s dirty and barely anchored to the wall. He hits a few buttons and then the thing turns on. It’s loud. Clunky. But heat starts to seep from the slats, warming the room.

After drying your face, you begin to remove outer pieces of clothing. Kyle might be your teammate, but there isn’t really anywhere to hide but the bathroom. Knowing the state of most motels, you don’t really want to find out either.

Kyle has the same idea. He dries off with his own towel, removing soaked articles of clothing as he goes. You try not to look—to be discreet—but it’s hard not to steal a peek. Kyle is all toned muscle and firmness. There’s a light dusting of hair on his chest. It’s a bit thicker around his navel. It trails downwards, and your mind wanders to a place it shouldn’t.

You glance away but not fast enough. His gaze roams upward, finding you, and there he pauses, observing you as you did him.

Pretending is best.

You attempt to act like you don’t notice him at all, turning your back like you’re incredibly interested with the wallpaper that likely hasn’t been replaced in years.

It’s his heat that draws your attention—that steals your breath, and makes every muscle in your body tense with anticipation.

“You’re shivering,” he murmurs.

Kyle is so close. Close enough that his breath brushes against your bare shoulder. You’re just in your bra and underwear, the only items that aren’t completely soaked from the rain.

He inhales, and that exhalation teases your flesh again. Giving in, you close your eyes, sinking into Kyle’s presence.

When you open them again, you notice a mirror hanging on the wall. It’s great if you were trying to plan an outfit, but that isn’t what you notice.

Instead, you see yourself. And Kyle.

The backs of his knuckles lightly caress the side of your arm. His head is tipped forward and turned inward like you’ll turn around any moment to kiss him.

The urge is there. Tugging. Wanting you to do just that.

The two of you are always walking around the other, seeking comfort and closeness but never seizing it. Maybe you should. Maybe—turning around is the best thing you can do for yourself.

“Kyle,” you breathe, and his little hum in answer tightens that string.

Without hesitation, you do turn.

Kyle’s lips are right there. They’re parted slightly. Inviting.

His arm drapes across your waist, hand splaying wide against your stomach, pressing until the two of you are sandwiched together.

It’s not like you don’t want this. You do. You want Kyle. Have since the moment he introduced himself to you. But the two of you have always remained professional in every space you occupy.

And now there is no one around.

No one to see.

No one to know.

Your head tips back in answer, and Kyle leans into it, pressing his lips to yours. It is sweet. Gentle. More of an ask than anything else.

And you reply, meeting him in equal measure. The pressure on your stomach increases just as Kyle’s other hand wraps around the front of your throat, holding you still. Each kiss is a claiming, one you freely submit to.

Kyle is all sugared-warmth, and you want to rot your teeth.

Draping your arm around the back of his neck, you pull him closer. Kyle nips. Bites. Sucks your bottom lip into his mouth before soothing the burn with a few tender kisses. Heat blossoms in your core before morphing into an aching slickness.

You’ve been putting him off—brushing him aside.

Why wait any longer when Kyle is all you crave?

“Fucking hell, love,” he groans against your mouth.

Your lips part, and Kyle slides his tongue inside. His taste is everything, but you want to know him everywhere.

Your hand seeks, brushing against his hardness through his boxer briefs. When you slip your hand beneath the elastic band, Kyle’s only response to kiss you harder.

Wrapping your fingers around him, you start to stroke what you can with the little room you have. Your thumb brushes over the head of his cock and Kyle draws back.

“I’ve wanted this since I met you,” he says, voice a bit rough.

Twisting in his grip, you turn to face him. “Can I show you how much I’ve wanted you, too?” you ask, pressing your breasts against his chest.

Kyle loosens his hold and you drop to your knees, taking his boxer briefs with you. His cock is gorgeous. It curves upward slightly, and a pearly bead of precum blooms in the slit.

He whispers your name, and then you have him in hand. Stroking once. Twice.

You lick off that bead. Savor his taste. Go back for more.

Kyle grabs the back of your head, drawing you to him. You open your mouth. Swallow him down. Throating him until you gag.

“Fuck,” he groans, elongating the vowel.

You work him with hand and mouth, keeping a steady rhythm that has him weak and wanton. You have all the control—until you don’t.

“Let me fuck your mouth, love. Please.”

The please is what does it. You release his cock, placing both hands on his thighs. With a pleased growl, Kyle keeps your head stationary. You anticipate the first thrust, and it is sinful. The movement goes straight to your pussy as you imagining him fucking you there like he fucks your mouth.

Fingers dig into muscled thigh. You want to touch yourself, to tease your clit while he does it. He is a god above you—Adonis.

“Can’t wait to taste your cunt, love,” rasps Kyle. “Can’t wait to make you drip for me.”

His desire fuels your own, and you urge him on, gently cupping him with one hand, thumb lightly rubbing the sensitive strip of flesh there.

Kyle’s hips stutter, and you relax your throat, humming around his cock as your lips meet the base. He holds you there, and you take it all, thighs chaffing from the friction of you rubbing them together in anticipation.

You blink up at him, and Kyle wipes away a tear with his thumb.

“My turn,” he murmurs.

You’re on your feet and then on your back in seconds. All the wind is knocked out of you, and then Kyle’s tongue is there, sliding through your slickness. Parting. Teasing the opening of your vagina before trailing upward to circle around your clit.

Gasping, your hands reach for him. Kyle grabs both wrists, keeps them planting on your stomach as he fucks you with his tongue. His shoulders dig into your thighs, keeping them wide. He’s stronger than you even as your thighs quiver, wanting to close, wanting to shut.

Kyle groans against your pussy, and then he’s on your clit, moving in such an easy, languid way that everything explodes outward. A shudder passes from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. Your pussy clenches. Unclenches. Clenches again.

Kyle doesn’t let up. He doesn’t cease. Every stroke strikes true and then your body betrays itself, overstimulation setting in, and the urge to wiggle away is paramount.

But just as you push at him—just as your body draws back. Kyle is releasing your wrists, pushing himself up and over you, spreading those legs even wider to slide inside.

The bed creaks beneath you, and then he’s thrusting.

Your moans of pleasure become one with the rain.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Single lamp. Lone bed.

Peeling paint. Dusty corners.

“Something’s on your mind.” Your voice is the only sound in the room other than the AC unit.

Soap’s sigh is soft and small as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed.

It’s the last night before the potential end. Before victory or failure. Just the two of you now with the plan to meet up with others later.

He nods, and you take a tentative step forward. “We attended the briefing. You know the details.”

“Aye.”

“Then what has you worried?” you ask, taking another step in Soap’s direction.

A warm, orange glow emits from the singular lamp on the bedside table. It’s not enough light to illuminate the cheap peeling paint or the dirt in the corners of the room. It only gives life to the bed and the side of Soap’s face.

It’s not like you have an unlimited budget. A motel room is the best the two of you could manage for some rest before moving on. The man at the desk didn’t even glance up when he asked if they only wanted a room for an hour.

You had asked for two beds. The man at the desk replied that no one who stops here asks for that.

One bed it is.

One bed.

Somehow, you’ll have to sleep beside Soap while simultaneously shoving down the urge to reach out to him.

Sighing, Soap leans forward, forearms resting on his knees. His gaze drifts slightly as if he’s not focusing on anything in particular. Running his fingers through his short mohawk, he tugs on the ends, mussing the freshly washed strands, creating a wavy mess.

Just that one movement as you leaning forward, nostrils flaring to inhale that clean scent.

“Adaptability,” he answers. Finally.

Instead of sitting on the bed beside him, you sink to your knees, resting your arm on the bed, and your chin on your arm.

The two of you have been on missions before but never together like this.

Never alone.

Keeping your gaze downward, you notice just how close you are to him—and how Soap leans in your direction, the edge of his knee brushing against the side of your hand.

It’s a small contact, but he’s warm, and that warmth is transferring into yourself, unspooling outward. It’s a difficult thing—because all this time you’ve harbored feelings for him, and yet have never acted on them.

“You’re quick on your feet, Soap,” you murmur, one finger absently extended to brush over the curve of his knee.

The corner of his mouth twitches. “You can call me Johnny.”

Johnny. You’ve never called him that. Soap, sure. Sergeant MacTavish? All the time.

“I thought Ghost only had that right.”

Only Ghost calls Soap ‘Johnny.’ That’s understood by everyone.

Soap shrugs. “He did.” He glances at you, his smile widening. “But I’d like to hear you say it.”

Something swirls in your stomach, twisting like a knife.

“How would you like to hear it?” you reply.

Johnny’s smile, which is so wide and teasing, softens into a sultry smirk. “I have options?”

“You do.”

Johnny’s usual playfulness emerges. “Say it like you’re angry with me.”

“Johnny,” you say, deepening your voice to sound like Ghost.

He bursts out laughing, falling back onto the bed, clutching his stomach. “Oh, aye. I’ll give you that.”

“What else?” you tease. “I demand more.”

“Say it like you’re annoyed with me.”

You do just that, and Johnny sits up, turning on his side.

“Again,” you prompt.

The middle of Johnny’s brow creases and then his hand cradles the side of your face. He closes the distance, kissing you deeply—as if you are his lover and not a friend.

But you don’t pull away. You indulge yourself, kissing him back just as sweetly.

You’re not sure how much time passes, just that it does, and his small retreat after it’s done is all you have in acknowledging its passing.

The withdrawal is short. Johnny doesn’t move away. He keeps his hand on your cheek. The tip of his nose nearly brushing yours.

“Say it now,” he breathes, voice raspy.

“Johnny,” but it’s not what you intended to say.

He sighs. “Again.”

“Johnny.”

This time he groans, and then your lips are fusing, becoming one. You’re dragged off the floor and into his arms, tangling in his heat, forgetting yourself completely.

“Johnny,” you repeat, and then your shirt is gone, followed by your bra.

He nips at the curve of your breasts before sucking your nipple into his mouth. His teeth graze flesh and you say his name again until it becomes a strangled moan.

The front of your jeans is open, and his hand is there, cupping your sex, fingers dragging through your wetness.

“Johnny,” but it’s to stop him, to remind him that this cannot go on.

“Fucking hell. Love the way you say my name.”

This melts your resolve. Makes your legs spread wider. Makes you shove at your pants and create plenty of space.

Johnny knows. He understands.

He yanks them down even as he peppers your breasts with little nips and kisses. Your fingers drags through his hair as he sucks the other nipple into his mouth, bringing it to perky attention.

One finger slides inside, and you groan loudly, legs falling wide as Johnny settles himself between.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, claiming your mouth and pumping his finger. You whimper as he inserts a second. “Wanted you so bad.”

Your pussy flutters, squeezing around him. It is Johnny that groans this time, and it is a primal sound.

“Can I fuck you?” he asks. “Please.”

“Johnny,” you breathe. “Johnny.”

“Need a yes or no. Tell me. Do you want me? I’ve wanted you.”

You answer by finding him—guiding him to the place you need him to.

With a low growl, Johnny pins your arms above your head, slotting his pelvis against yours, the head of his cock sinking in until you’re taking all of him.

“Johnny!”

“That’s what I want to hear,” he croons, starting to thrust.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“I can’t tell what blood is yours and what isn’t.”

“Can fucking do it myself.”

“Ghost—”

“It’s not a problem.”

“Simon,” you snap, and he stops fidgeting.

Behind the plain balaclava, you see the fire in Lieutenant Riley’s eyes. This man is your superior. At least, right now he is. But the mission is done. It’s over. Yet the two of you are stranded, and making contact with Price is going to take time.

Not to mention that Simon is injured, and you have no fucking idea where at.

“Let me help you,” you say as soothingly as possible.

You don’t want to fight with him. All you want is to help Simon, to clean him up, and get him into bed. Rest and healing are what he needs right now. Contacting Price can wait. Base can stew for a while longer.

The two of you are in a motel room in the middle of fucking nowhere America. It’s shit overall, but it will have to do. There’s no way anyone is searching for the two of you out here. You drove until you nearly ran out of gas, and then you refilled and drove some more. Simon was in the back of the car, covered in blood.

But he was awake. Moving. Not a head injury, and not enough to get him immediate medical treatment. Not like he would have allowed you to take him to a hospital anyway. Lieutenant Riley is fucking stubborn. Sometimes infuriatingly so.

Simon stares, hard, his dark eyes intense behind the balaclava. He blinks, and then pushes up from the chair, keeping his gaze trained on you.

“Lieutenant,” you mutter, annoyed.

As Simon stands and attempts to take a step forward, his left leg wobbles, and he nearly topples forward. Your arms go out to catch him, holding him steady. He’s a big guy, and he seems to know this because he tries to prop himself up using the chair.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” you snap.”

“Listen—”

“I’m not arguing with you Simon Riley.”

Using his full name shuts him up. It’ll likely earn you a reprimand later, but fuck it, you’re over this.

“Stay there.” You shove him back down into the chair and head into the bathroom.

There is a single overhead light. Flipping the switch turns it on and the fan. It’s a tight space, but thankfully the shower isn’t also a tub. That would be a nightmare getting him in. Instead, there is a sink, a toilet, and a dividing wall that cuts the room in half. It’s more like a locker shower but it’ll work.

Reaching in, you turn the handle. You jump back as cold water shoots out of the shower head. After waiting for a few seconds, steam starts to rise.

You take a deep breath, knowing what you have to do. “You got this,” you murmur, heading back into the room.

Simon leans forward in the chair, forearms resting on his knees.

You hold out your hand. “Let’s go.”

Lieutenant Riley’s head swivels in your direction. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” you reply, holding firm. “Come on.”

With a deep sigh, Simon reaches out and slides his hand into yours. It’s warm. Calloused. You squeeze it and step forward, extending your other arm to wrap around his torso. Simon stands. Wobbles. But you snake your arm around him, and then it’s a slow trek into the bathroom.

Simon is limping, but he’s showing no other signs that his injury hurts him. Might be minor, or he’s just good at covering up the pain.

Once the two of you are inside the bathroom, you realize just how small the space is. Maneuvering Simon to the shower is difficult, a weird dance to wiggle around the door and toilet to the opening of the shower.

You retreat slightly, and Simon leans against the wall, his eyelids closing as he takes a deep breath.

“You good?” you ask, concern creasing your brow.

Simon nods. “I’ll manage.” His eyelids open slowly and then he stares into the shower. “You want me in there?”

“You’ll need to remove a few things first,” you reply, gesturing toward his uniform.

Simon snorts. “Trying to get me naked?”

“You wish,” you retort, even as your cheeks heat with embarrassment. “Need help?”

At first, Simon doesn’t say anything. He just reaches for his belt, removing it slowly with one hand.

“I’ll leave you to it,” you mumble, starting to turn away.

“Wait.”

You freeze, and then glance over your shoulder. “What is it?”

Simon shrugs. “What if I slip? Might need you to catch me.”

This bastard.

“Then I’ll stay,” you reply cooly, pretending that this doesn’t affect you.

But it does. It’s reshaping you, and Simon’s slow undressing isn’t helping things. He keeps his gaze on you the entire time, and you purposefully keep your eyes averted, when really you want to look. You want to know what he’s like under all that.

The belt goes. So does his tactical gear and jacket. Next is his shirt followed by his balaclava. You sneak a peek then, and Simon grins at you like he knew you’d look eventually.

“I’ll need some help with these. Getting them down that is.” Simon gestures towards his pants and you feel your face grow so hot you fear it might explode.

“Sure.”

You reach for him, silently chastising your shaking fingers. This is too much, even though you like it, and want more from it. You undo the button and zipper. Sliding your hands beneath the band, you shimmy Simon’s pants to the floor. He kicks them away and all that’s left are his boxer briefs. They’re tight and you notice the massive bulge in front.

Fuck.

“You can do the rest,” you reply, glancing away.

Simon removes them, and then he starts forward, arms outstretched to balance himself as he enters the shower.

“Fucking hell,” moans Simon as the hot water hits his body.

The groan that comes after is deep, and so sultry you feel a bolt of pleasure spike from your pussy.

“Should join me.”

“No thanks,” you say, averting your gaze away from Simon’s muscled backside.

One moment you’re facing the wall, and the next you’re under the spray of water.

“What the fuck,” you shriek, stumbling backward as Simon chuckles. Muttering under your breath, you stare down at your soaked clothing. “Goddamn it.” You start removing articles of clothing, the wet fabric peeling away from your skin.

“Fucking fine, Simon.”

You shed everything and storm under the spray, only for Simon to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you against him. There is no pause between then and the moment his lips find yours. It is sweet, and warm. You instantly melt, enjoying every second.

But it’s fleeting.

You draw back, heart hammering in your chest.

“You’re covered in blood. Remember?”

Simon shrugs and then offers you the soap. “Clean me then.”

You do it, and when you’re done, he does the same for you. It’s far too intimate, and Simon’s gentleness is surprising. Once finished, you dry and bandage the wound on his leg. It’s not terrible—and will likely need stitches—but it’s not bleeding anymore.

The singular bed in the middle of the room is far too small. Not with Simon in at, spread out and naked under the sheets.

You slide in beside him, not knowing where you should settle. Simon is large, taking up most of the best. The only place is curled up next to his side.

Turning your resolve to steal, you settle in. You begin to turn away from Simon, but his arm shoots out, grasping your waist. You’re yanked across the bed, only to find yourself in Simon’s arms.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Stop pretending, love. We both know what’s going on. Don’t deny it.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“Simon—”

“We’ve been making eyes at each other for fucking months. And now we’re alone. You think I don’t see the opportunity?”

Simon’s hand slides over the curve of your ass, and then dips beneath your shirt. You’re not wearing underwear, and when his fingers brush over your pussy, you gasp, pressing into him.

“You’re already wet for me,” growls Simon as he drags a finger through your folds. “So fucking wet.” He presses in, and your pussy parts for him.

“We can’t, Simon. You’re injured.”

“Not so much,” he coos. “Especially since I can do this.” On this, Simon drags the tips of his finger along the inside your pussy, hitting that sweet spot.

You moan, fingers digging into his chest as your back arches to press you further down on him.

“It’s just my leg that’s injured.” Simon’s lips brush against your cheek and then the edge of your ear. His breath is warm against your skin. “I can still fuck you. Have you on top. Bounce you on my cock.” Simon gives the curve of your ear the faintest kiss. “Would you like that, love? Do you want me to fuck you?”

“We—we—”

With his other hand, Simon grasps the back of your neck, drawing you against him, silencing whatever it is you’re trying to say. He seizes your mouth in a fierce kiss. You open for him, and his tongue slides inside. He tastes nice, and you want to sink into the feeling. Have him devour you completely.

“Let me in,” he murmurs against your lips.

You push up, doing exactly as he wants you to do. You settle on his lap, his hard cock pressed up against your thigh.

With a low growl, Simon removes your shirt, leaving you completely bare to his gaze.

“Much better,” he says, cupping your breasts as you lean on his chest, lifting your hips.

His cock slides through your folds, and then you start the descent, moaning as he splits you in two. The stretch is intense—nearly sharp with pain, but laced with pleasure. Simon’s eyelids flutter slightly, and his groan is pure sin.

Simon lightly squeezes your breasts one more time before his hands find your hips. He lifts you up, and then back down, bouncing you on his cock. You cling to him, allowing him to use you, to fuck you in whatever way he wants.

Each grunt and growl from him only makes you wetter. Hungrier.

“I’m gonna come inside you.”

It’s not a question. There is no other option, and you wouldn’t take anything else even if there was.

“Please,” you whimper.

Simon’s hands tighten, his hips thrusting upward to meet every downward movement. He sits up, his mouth clamping around a nipple to nip and suck. Your orgasm roars up from nowhere, and then you’re clenching around him, milking Simon’s cock as his own end greets him.

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[onelastkiss4you]

Dragon Age: The Veilguard Just Went From A Good RPG To One Of BioWare’s Most Important Games

In light of BioWare scattering some of its most foundational veteran talent to the winds, Dragon Age: The Veilguard sure reads like something made by people who saw the writing on the wall. The RPG leaves off on a small cliffhanger that could launch players into a fifth game, but I’m skeptical that we’ll ever get it. The quickness with which publisher Electronic Arts gutted BioWare and masked it with talk of being more “agile” and “focused” shortly after it was revealed The Veilguard underperformed in the eyes of the power that be makes me wonder if BioWare was also unsure it would get to return to Thedas a fifth time. Looking back, I’m pretty convinced the team was working as if Rook’s adventure through the northern regions of this beloved fantasy world might be the last time anyone, BioWare or fan, stepped foot in it. But that may have only made me appreciate the game even more.

Yeah, I might be doomsaying, but there’s a lot of reasons to do so right now. The loss of talented people like lead writer Trick Weekes, who has been a staple in modern BioWare since the beginning of Mass Effect, or Mary Kirby who wrote characters like Varric, the biggest throughline through the Dragon Age series, doesn’t inspire confidence that EA understands the lifeblood of the studio it acquired in 2007. The Veilguard has been a divisive game for entirely legitimate reasons and the most bad-faith ones you can imagine on the internet in 2025, but my hope is that history will be kinder to it as time goes on. 

A Kotaku reader reached out to me after the news broke to ask if they should still play The Veilguard after everything that happened. My answer was that now we are probably in a better position to appreciate it for what it was: a (potentially) final word.

The Veilguard is just as much a send-off for a long-running story as it does a stepping stone for what (might) come. Its secret ending implies a new threat is lurking somewhere off in the distance but by and large, The Veilguard is about the end of an era. BioWare created an entire questline essentially writing Thedas’ history in stone, removing any ambiguity that gave life to over a decade of theory-crafting. As a long-time player, I’m glad The Veilguard solidifies the connective tissue between what sometimes felt like world of isolated cultures that lacked throughlines that made the world feel whole. But sitting your cast of weirdos down for a series of group therapy sessions unpacking the ramifications of some of the biggest lore dumps the studio has ever put to a Bluray disc isn’t the kind of narrative choice you make if you’re confident there’s still a future for the franchise. 

Unanswered questions are the foundation of sequels, and The Veilguard has an almost anxious need to stamp those out. Perhaps BioWare learned a hard lesson by leaving Dragon Age: Inquisition on a cliffhanger and didn’t want to repeat the same restriction. But The Veilguard doesn’t just wrap up its own story, it concludes several major threads dating back to Origins and feels calculated and deliberate. If BioWare’s goal with The Veilguard was to bring almost everything to a definitive end, the thematic note it leaves this world on acts as a closing graf summing up a thesis the series hopes to convey.

Pushing away the bigotry that has followed The Veilguard like a starving rat digging through trash, one of the most common criticisms I heard directed against the game was that it lacked a certain thorny disposition that was prevalent in the first three games. Everyone in the titular party generally seems to like each other, there aren’t real ethical and philosophical conflicts between the group, and the spats that do arise are more akin to the arguments you probably get into with your best friends. It’s a new dynamic for the series. The Veilguard doesn’t feel like coworkers as The Inquisition did or the disparate group who barely tolerated each other we followed in Dragon Age II. They are a friend group who, despite coming from different backgrounds, factions, and places, are pretty much on the same page about what the world should be. They’re united by a common goal, sure, but at the core of each of their lived experiences is a desire for the world to be better.

This rose-colored view of leftism doesn’t work for everyone. At its worst, The Veilguard can be saccharine to the point of giving you a cavity, which is far from what people have come to expect from a series in which Fenris and Anders didn’t care if the other lived or died. It also bleeds into a perceived softening of the universe. Factions like the Antivan Crows have essentially become the Bat Family with no mention of the whole child slavery thing that was our first introduction to them back in Origins. The Lords of Fortune, a new pirate faction, goes to great lengths to make sure you know that they’re not like the other pirates who steal from other cultures, among other things. I joked to a friend once that The Veilguard is a game terrified of getting canceled, and as such a lot of the grit and grime has been washed off for something shiny and polished. 

That is the more critical lens to view the way The Veilguard’s sanitation of Thedas. To an extent, I agree. We learned so much about how the enigmatic country of the Tevinter Imperium was a place built upon slavery and blood sacrifice, only for us to conveniently hang out in the common poverty-stricken areas that are affected by the corrupt politics we only hear about in sidequests and codex entries. But decisions like setting The Veilguard’s Tevinter stories in the slums of Dogtown gives the game and its writers a place to make a more definitive statement, rather than existing in the often frustrating centrism Dragon Age loved to tout for three games.

I have a lot of pain points I can shout out in the Dragon Age series, but I don’t think one has stuck in my craw the way the end of Anders rivalry relationship goes down in Dragon Age II. This is a tortured radical mage who is willing to give his life to fight for the freedom of those who have been born into a corrupt system led by the policing Templars. And yet, if you’ve followed his rivalry path, Anders will turn against the mages he, not five minutes ago, did some light terrorism trying to free. In Inquisition, this conflict of ideals and traditions comes to a head, but you’re able to essentially wipe it all under the rug as you absorb one faction or the other into your forces. So often Dragon Age treats its conflicts and worldviews as toys for the player to slam against one another, shaping the world as they see fit, and bending even the most fiercely devoted radical to your whims. And yes, there are some notable exceptions to this rule, but when it came to world-shifting moments of change, Dragon Age always seemed scared to assert that the player might be wrong. Mages and Templars, oppressed and oppressors, were the same in the eyes of the game, each worthy of the same level of scrutiny.

Before The Veilguard, I often felt Dragon Age didn’t actually believe in anything. Its characters did, but as a text, Dragon Age often felt so preoccupied with empowering the player’s decisions that it felt like Thedas would never actually get better, no matter how much you fought for it. While it may lack the same prickly dynamics and the grey morality that became synonymous with the series, The Veilguard’s doesn’t just believe that the world is full of greys and let you pick which shade you’re more comfortable with. It’s the most wholeheartedly the Dragon Age universe has declared that the world of Thedas can be better than it was before.

Essentially retconning the Antivan Crows to a family of superheroes is taking a hammer to the problem, whereas characters like Neve Gallus, a mage private eye with a duty-bound love for her city and its people, are the scalpel with which BioWare shifts its vision of how the world of Thedas can change. Taash explores their identity through the lens of Dragon Age’s longstanding Qunari culture, known for its rigidness in the face of an ever-changing world, and comes out the other end a new person, defined entirely by their own views and defying others. Harding finds out the truth behind how the dwarves were severed from magic and still remembers that she believes in the good in people. The heroes of The Veilguard have seen the corruption win out, and yet never stop believing that something greater is possible. It's not even an option in The Veilguard's eyes. The downtrodden will be protected, the oppressed will live proudly, and those who have been wronged will find new life.

That belief is what makes The Veilguard a frustrating RPG, to some. It’s so unyielding in its belief that Thedas and everyone who inhabits it can be better that it doesn’t really entertain you complicating the narrative. Rook can come from plenty of different backgrounds, make decisions that will affect thousands of people, but they can never really be an evil bastard. If they did, it would fundamentally undermine one of the game’s most pivotal moments. In the eleventh hour, Dragon Age mainstay Varric Tethras is revealed to have died in the opening hour, and essentially leaves all his hopes and dreams on the shoulders of Rook. After our hero is banished to the Fade and forced to confront their regrets in a mission gone south, Varric’s spirit sends Rook on their way to save the day one last time. He does so with a hearty chuckle, saying he doesn’t need to wish you good luck because “you already have everything you need.” He is, of course, referring to the friends you have calling to you from beyond the Fade. 

Varric, the narrator of Dragon Age, uses his final word to declare a belief that things will be okay. This isn’t because Rook is the chosen one destined to save the world, but because they have found people who are unified by one thing: a need to fight for a better world. But that’s what makes it compelling as a possibly final Dragon Age game. Reaching the end of a universe’s arc and being wholly uninterested in leaving it desecrated by hubris or prejudice is a bold claim on BioWare’s part. It takes some authorship away from the player, but in return, it leaves the world of Thedas in a better place than we found it.

The Veilguard is an idealistic game, but it’s one that BioWare has earned the right to make. Dragon Age’s legacy has been one of constantly shifting identity, at least two counts of development hell, and a desire to gives players a sandbox to roleplay in. Perhaps, as Dragon Age likely comes to a close, it’s better to leave Dragon Age with a game as optimistic as the people who made it. I can’t think of a more appropriate finale than one that represents the world its creators hope to see, even as the world we live in now gives us every reason to fall to despair.

In my review for The Veilguard I signed off expressing hope for BioWare’s future that feels a bit naive in retrospect. Would a divisive but undeniably polished RPG that felt true to the studio’s history be enough when, after 10 years of development, rich suits were probably looking for a decisive cultural moment? That optimism was just about a video game. Having lived through the past 32 years, most of the optimism I’ve ever held feels naive to look back on. I think I’m losing hope that the world will get any better. But even if we haven’t reached The Veilguard’s idealized vision, I’ll take some comfort in knowing someone previously at BioWare still believes it’s possible. - ken shepard, shepardcdr.bsky.social

[heechwe]

anything for you | 𝐣𝐰𝐰

⋆✴���˚｡⋆ MY FIC FOR JUPITER'S SECRET CUPID COLLAB

୨୧ pairing: jeon wonwoo x fem!reader ୨୧ word count: 3k ୨୧ genre: slight comedy, fluff, smut ୨୧ tags: best friends to lovers au, drunk confession, dirty talk, breeding kink, unprotected sex, creampie, cum eating ୨୧ synopsis: Wonwoo has been your best friend forever. And maybe something more could be in the cards with a mature, sophisticated confession. Or a lot of alcohol.

⟢ AUTHOR'S NOTE: Inspired by LANY's song "anything 4 u"! Big thanks to my betas for this fic Tiya (@gyubakeries), Honey (@heesuncore), and Mitchie (@seokgyuu)! I love you all so much. And this fic is for my Secret Cupid Ally (@lovetaroandtaemin)!! I love you loads and you're an incredible friend. I'm so glad I got you so I could share a small token of appreciation for our friendship. I hope you love this story as much as I did writing it! ♥︎

Valentine’s Day weekend. The one weekend you have to suffer through everything being doused in red, pink, and white decorations. It’s everywhere: across your work office, all around the city you live in, and even plastered around the hole-in-the-wall bar that all of your friends are drinking in now. 

It’s not one of your least favorite holidays, per se. But the intensity of it can be incredibly draining. The constant declarations of affection, the emotionally gooey visual representations of one’s desire for another person, it’s too much even for some of your own friends who are coupled up. 

The reality of your loneliness pushes your mood down just enough that staring down your third bottle of beer makes you yearn for another, despite your alcohol tolerance being less than stellar. And to make matters worse, it sucks to be surrounded by others’ happiness when you’re so alone in love and in love with someone too enmeshed in your life as a friend, rather than a person of romantic interest.

Wonwoo sits with Vernon and Soonyoung at the high-top bar, nursing tequila shots and Coronas without bothering to look back at the rest of your table of friends. Yes, you were all celebrating Soonyoung’s new promotion and Vernon finally nabbing a girlfriend in time for Valentine’s this year, and they only stalked off a few minutes ago to share a few drinks on their own, but you wish Wonwoo was sitting next to you again. 

You always mocked him for telling you to slow down. To drink water to avoid dehydration or to eat something to offset your alcohol intake. With all of his parroted wisdom that drives some of his closest friends crazy, you love him for it. You love him for a lot of reasons, really.

“Maybe you should just tell him, you know?” Seokmin says across from you, looking over at you from the rim of his Whiskey Sunrise. It’s a sickly shade of red, grenadine mixed in with the other ingredients to commemorate the holiday season. You wonder if it tastes like cough syrup, because it sure looks like it.

“You think I haven’t thought of that?” You ask with a slur, licking the remaining beer on your lips. “It’s not that easy to destroy seven years of friendship.”

“Come on. You act like nobody else has noticed when it’s plain as day, babe,” Seungkwan pipes up next to you, elbowing you softly in the ribs with an accompanying waggle of his eyebrows.

“And what is your best course of action, Dum and Dee?” You split your stare between both of your friends, your irritation peaking. “I just go over to that bar and confess everything to him. Then he’ll say he’s felt the same this entire time and we ride off into the sunset together?”

“One, you don’t need to be rude,” Seokmin responds. “Two, you don’t have to make it so dramatic. Get him alone tomorrow, maybe. Talk it out, see where it goes.”

“Exactly,” Seungkwan says. “It doesn’t need to be this big movie scene thing.”

“What movie?” Soonyoung asks, sitting back down next to Seungkwan and in front of his empty bowl of ramen. The other boys follow suit, Vernon alongside Seokmin and Wonwoo next to you once again.

It feels like torture and sanctuary in the same moment, so close but so far from what you wish the two of you could be.

“Nothing, just this documentary we all saw the other night,” you respond. You press your lips to your bottle again, pouting when the last droplets hit your tongue. “I’m gonna get another,” you say to nobody in particular. Wonwoo perks up once he notices you stumbling to get out of your chair.

“Not so fast,” Wonwoo says as you fall back into his arms. “I think I should get you home.”

“No, the night’s still young!” You whine into his jacket, your hair ruffling the skin on his neck. His chest rumbles with laughter, but nothing at the moment is funny to you. You don’t want to leave just yet, and he doesn’t need to treat you like a baby. “We still haven't even gone to karaoke.”

“Another night. Go sleep it off!” Vernon calls from behind you.

“You kids have fun!” Seokmin says with a conspiratory wink. You and Wonwoo walk towards the entrance of the bar, and you want to throw something at Seokmin to make your idiot best friend’s dumb smirk and even more ridiculous idea of confessing your feelings to your mutual friend blip out of existence.

Wonwoo has seen you at your lowest. He consoled you after you ran your car into a parked motorcycle when you were sixteen, your humiliation palpable the whole three hours you both waited for the police to show up. He’s held you in his arms after every failed romantic relationship, telling you it was always them and never you when it ended poorly. There’s nothing the two of you haven’t been there for each other for, no experience too vulnerable to share and overcome together.

But Wonwoo holding your hair in a makeshift ponytail as you throw up may just be the all-time low of your embarrassing moments. He whispers in your ear that you’re okay and rubs your back with a soft hand, and you feel all the worse for it. How could he ever love someone this prone to disaster, this cringeworthy?

“You should go home,” you cry into the toilet bowl. “I’m disgusting.”

Wonwoo says your name in a mocking tone, pretending to be serious but in no way critical of you or the situation. He takes off his plaid button up and throws it in some random corner of your bathroom, free to hold you as close as possible as you continue dry-heaving. “You’re not disgusting.”

“Of course you’d say that, you’re you.”

He laughs again, tucking what hair he can from your face so you can lift your head off of the toilet. “And what’s that?”

You look at him with puffy, half-open eyes. “Perfect.”

He helps you up from the tile floor and moves you to your bedroom on your weak legs. He sheds off your overshirt as you kick off your denim jeans. Your mind rumbles with a whirlpool of thoughts as his brain ruminates on the word you used when comparing himself to you.

“I’m in no way perfect, kid,” he whispers. The nickname he’s used on you forever feels like a backhand, a copious amount of salt in a wound you know will never heal. He’ll always see you at a distance from him, his feelings leagues away from yours.

“Don’t call me that,” you cry into your pillow, resting your cheek deep into the material to muffle the quiet sobs in your throat. He can’t be serious, talking to you so tenderly when you’re falling apart.

“Hey, can you look at me?” You shake your head and settle deeper into the pile of comforters and throw pillows. Wonwoo suddenly feels his gut turn into a dozen knots. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, how to fix it, or what to say to make things better, and it kills him. “Why are you acting like this?”

“Because you’re too perfect to love someone like me. But I love you so much, and it fucking sucks,” you hiccup, the darkness of your bed making you believe he’s not there, this isn’t real, and it’s okay to release all the words in your heart into the dark. “And every time I see those damn red and pink hearts all over the place, I think of you and I want to die.”

The force of your confession almost knocks Wonwoo on his ass. At the very least, he settles onto the desk chair near your bed and hears your whimpers give way to light snores.

He runs his hands through your hair again and tucks the covers up to your chin. He holds himself back from pressing a kiss to your forehead, the one thing he’s always done when you’ve passed out countless times before in his presence, but never recalled the next morning. This time, though, he prays you’ll remember your drunken admission.

“I hope you meant everything you said,” he whispers before retreating to your couch to fall asleep to the sounds of the cityscape below.

You wake up to low jazz playing from your living room TV and the smell of sizzling eggs. Each limb aches from the heavy sleep you fell under last night. You quietly pad out of your room to find Wonwoo cooking what looks to be the perfect mix of breakfast and hangover food. A makeshift Bloody Mary sits on the counter next to him, waiting for you.

Wonwoo turns when he senses you behind him, and he grins. “Hey, you’re awake. I was worried you’d be passed out until the afternoon. I wouldn’t blame you, though.”

You blush a shade deeper, still sporting your tank top and clad in a pair of boy shorts. You forgot you had taken your pants off before slipping into bed the night prior, but it isn’t the first time Wonwoo’s seen you half-clothed. You drink half of the concoction and set it down, your headache throbbing a little less. “How bad was I last night?”

He smirks. “Bad enough to throw up another three times.”

You groan into the back of your hand and hitch yourself up on the counter across from Wonwoo, his focus still on the over-medium eggs in the pan. “I’m sorry you had to take care of me again.”

“I wanted to,” he says without looking up at you. “I always want to be here when you need me.”

“I know, I know, it’s your job to say that,” you joke.

He drops the metal spatula next to him on the stove, and you jump up at the sound. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t say a word for a moment, and you’re unsure if he’s even breathing when you ask him if he’s okay. “So, you don’t remember then?” His question comes out almost like a statement, but the wavered edge of it proves he is concerned with whatever has slipped your mind.

“Woo, you’re freaking me out.”

He turns the stove to a low, simmering heat before facing you. His eyes look sad but expectant, waiting for the inevitable to come to you. “You really have no idea what I’m talking about?”

You tuck your hair behind your ear, and in that instant, you recall that last hour before you fell asleep. Wonwoo helping you into bed. Crying in your bed. And all the words that followed.

The memories bring tears to your eyes and your hands to your face. “Oh my god—”

Wonwoo takes your palms away and holds them to his mouth. “Stop running from me.”

“Don’t make me say it again, Woo, please.” Your bottom lip trembles. You fight every instinct to run from the kitchen and out of the apartment altogether, wanting to accept the continuous pain of hiding your feelings than the truth that this could be the end of the both of you as you know it, for better or worse.

“Fine, you don’t have to.” Wonwoo’s lips curl into that grin you’ve adored for almost a decade. “I’ll say what I need to first, then.”

He takes a deep breath and sets his jaw. “I’ve been in love with you since the minute you threw your ice-cream at that biker who almost clipped me in the foot on the way to school. Remember? I may have loved you long before that, but that’s the moment I realized.

“And I don’t want to lose you. I want to be more than just the guy you call your best friend. I want to be the only friend that matters, the friend that kisses you goodnight and tells you how beautiful you are because there’s no other way to describe you. I love you, too, kid, whether you realized it or not.”

A breathy yelp leaves your mouth before you kiss Wonwoo on the mouth. It’s a hard one, a clash of teeth and a bit of tongue, but you didn’t expect less from such an unexpected and perfect confession. Maybe this was the way you rode off into the sunset together. Sure, there was the smell of burning eggs instead of the sounds of a white stallion gallivanting off to the unforeseeable future, but it’s perfect. It’s yours.

Wonwoo shuts the burner off entirely before he takes you by the hand into your bedroom. When your bed is in full view, he kisses you long and slow. It’s nothing like the first kisses you shared a second ago, but it’s earth-shattering all the same.

You moan into his mouth when he presses a free hand to your breast, teasing the skin above your shirt until your nipple pebbles.

“Is this too fast?” He asks in a gruff voice. “We don’t have to do anything if you’re not comfortable, I just—”

You press a finger to his lips, effectively shutting him up. “If you do not take my clothes off right now and fuck me, I will never speak to you again.”

Wonwoo smirks and kisses you once more, only stopping to pull your tank top over your head and rip your underwear off of your legs. His fingers delve between your folds, and you shudder in his hold but refuse to let him take his hand away.

“You like this,” he whispers, the statement thick with his lust.

“Yes, it feels so good,” you whimper. You gasp when two of his fingers curl inside of you, his thumb still nestled on top of your clit to swirl around with the pad. The amount of pleasure he’s already given you is indescribable, and he hasn’t even truly done much yet.

You whine when he takes his hand away, but it’s to discard his own clothes and sit at the edge of your bed. He beckons for you to sit on top of him, and he doesn’t think twice about swirling himself between your essence and lining the head of his dick with your entrance. His tip is so swollen and covered in pre-cum, there’s no problem sinking it inside of your heat.

You share a mutual curse of pleasure when he bottoms out, his pelvic bone meeting your skin. You stay like that for a moment. You’re so full and unable to move from the size of him filling every empty space inside of you, you think this has to be a dream. Last night has not given way to day yet, and now is just a conjuring of your cruel mind. 

You get lost in your thoughts for so long Wonwoo brings his hand to your face and traces his fingers over your cheek, staring at you lovingly. “Where’d you go?”

You smile shyly and kiss his nose. “I just can’t believe this is happening.”

“I guess I’ll just have to remind you it’s real.”

He takes your ass between his hands and spreads you out before thrusting up inside of you, making you gasp hard. He moves long and slow underneath you, almost taking his cock out of your pussy completely before delving back into you.

“I want to give you everything,” he pants. “All that I have—will have—is for you. You know that, right?”

“Yes, fuck,” you whisper, meeting his hips with yours as you try to set your own pace, sinking down onto him with every thrust where your skin meets with loud smacks.

“I love you so much,” he says into your neck before biting down on your soft skin. You moan loudly and press yourself deeper and harder against him. His cock hits you at the perfect angle as you straddle him, and you feel the start of your climax deep in your stomach.

Seven years of missed opportunities. More than too many chances for days and nights like this spent together so intimately gone to the wind. It’s easy to be regretful for all the time that you’ve wasted without each other, but you realize it’s not wasted at all.

Every step, every thread of fate that tied you two together, brought you here. Whatever comes of today is just an extension of what has already existed in your hearts. So what more is there to ask for?

“Fuck, I’m so close,” he growls in your ear. His balls smack against your skin as he continues to slam into you. Tears spring in your eyes as he moves even harder, trying to take you both to your peaks together. “Where can I come, baby?”

“Inside of me. I want all of it, all of you. Please,” you beg. You bounce harder on top of him, circling your clit with your fingers to fall off the precipice with Wonwoo by your side.

“You want to feel all of me, yeah? So full of my cum it’s all you’ll think about?” He smirks and replaces the fingers on your clit with his own. “Maybe I’ll fuck a baby into you with how much cum I give you. Would you like that?”

You see stars behind your eyelids as you listen to the beautiful, dirty words on his lips. You nod vigorously, wanting nothing more than for him to claim you in this way. It’s all you’ve thought about for years, truthfully.

“God, I’m coming,” you say into his neck, thighs quivering as the rest of your body goes slack from the pleasure. Wonwoo grunts into the shell of your ear as he orgasms himself, his seed spilling into you so deep you think there’s no way any remnant of him will slip out.

When he takes himself out of you, he swirls the mixture of both of your releases on his fingers before you take those fingers into your mouth, sucking them dry.

Wonwoo chuckles and kisses you deeply, the taste of the two of you on both of your tongues. “That’s one way to end Valentine’s weekend, don’t you think?”

You giggle and kiss him on both cheeks, too eager to see the rest of your future together. “You could say that.”

@gyubakeries @loserlvrss @okiedokrie-main @brownbunnyb

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ˚₊

@kstrucknet @k-films @kvanity-main @lapydiaries @moadiarynet @/sweetvenomnet @onedoornet @deoboyznet @violetanet @whipped-kpop-creators

[watchmegetobsessed]

UNMATCHED

A/N: it's been like 6 months since i last posted something and honestly, i haven't even written anything, things are very shitty these days but i felt the motivation to write this quickly after watching 'tell me lies' and 'rivals' these past weeks so here we go! if student-prof type of fics are not your thing then don't read it

WORD COUNT: 2.6k

WARNING: age gap, student-professor relationship

SUMMARY: Harry is very strict about staying away from students as a young and handsome professor, but there is one person he can't get out of his head and a Christmas party brings an unexpected turn.

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Harry hates these type of parties, mostly because he can’t imagine inviting dozens of students into his home, his private space, have the roam around and spend an entire evening with them, talking and pretending like they aren’t just trying to get a better grade at the end of the semester with their too friendly behavior. Or, in his case, some girls try to push the boundaries and flirt with him, hoping to hook up with him. 

He is not stupid. He has heard students whisper about him several times, he notices the heart eyes when he is talking in class and he has gotten several phone numbers on papers since he started his PHD studies and started teaching last year. His friends teased him about being the heartthrob of the faculty, but he didn’t think it would actually happen and to this extent. To avoid any possible scandals, not that he planned to make any, he has put on quite a rigid mask towards the students to scare them off from even trying, though that hasn’t stopped some of them from wanting to shoot their shot. 

He wouldn’t have come to this party, he would rather be home and continue his research that’s still not even close to being done, but Professor Bradford, or Stella as she requests Harry to call her, is the only person he gets along with in the faculty. She is 18 years older than Harry, but still younger than the rest of the old men who have been teaching here since probably before the declaration of independence was signed. Those men are the reason younger people don’t like classic literature anymore, with their outdated ways of teaching and unwillingness to bring something modern into their lectures they are scaring the new generations away. But not Stella. She is one of the reasons Harry went into his PHD and now he gets to work with her. He couldn’t just reject her invitation for her annual Christmas Party she holds for her students and some colleagues. 

Now he is standing by the wall, drinking mulled wine and just gritting his teeth, trying to calculate how early is too early to leave. A couple of girls have already tried to chat him up, they like to circle him, leave him almost no room to escape and then make him talk about school stuff, but then they slyly bring up personal things, hoping to break his usual character, but he sees through them always. 

Harry’s best friend, Niall always teases him that he should just give in and have fun with one of them. His morals are a lot looser than Harry’s, that’s for sure. 

Just as he is about to look for the bathroom, not to use it but to hide for a bit, another group of girls spots him and he can already feel his skin crawling as they approach him from down the hallway. He is quick to assess the situation, but he realizes he has no chance of fleeing before they reach him. 

“Profesor! So good to see you here!” 

And here we go. 

It goes the same, they are extremely nice and inquiring about his plans for the next semester and then suddenly they are talking about summer and Harry knows they are moments away from asking what he’ll be doing once the school year is over. One of the girls is talking about going to Italy on a yacht and the others chime in with their own ridiculously over the top plans while Harry is avoiding to even look at them, his eyes roam around the other guests. 

That’s when he sees her. 

Just down the hall he can peek into the kitchen and there she is, with a boy Harry assumes to be her boyfriend. He’s seen them around campus the past few weeks, he even waited for her after Harry’s class and saw them walk away together as he fought the way his stomach churned every time. 

Since the moment she walked into his class at the beginning of the semester Harry has been feeling like he is losing his mind. Whether it be the way she laughs with her friends before class or focuses with undivided attention as Harry explains something by the board, or says hello every time she passes him in the cafeteria, Harry can’t stop thinking about her for days after even though he knows such feelings should be banned from his mind when it comes to a student. Every time he catches himself thinking about her he wants to throw himself out the window, but he still can’t fight it. There’s something in her that draws him in and swallows him whole and it’s not just the looks. Unlike a lot of students who take his classes for easy credits or to drool after him, she is there to learn as much as she can and she’s had the most brilliant thoughts on certain subjects Harry has ever encountered, making him almost jealous he wasn’t the one to think about them. 

She is… unmatched. And forbidden, but impossible to ignore. She’s been his vice for months.

From where he stands it appears she is having a fight with said boyfriend, her always cheerful expression is now rather upset and confused while the boy seems to be over the conversation, almost irritated by her, dismissed. Harry tries to appear not too obvious about watching them, but he is also way too fixated on her to ignore what’s happening just down the hallway. 

He glances away just for a few seconds, but the next time he looks back he sees the boy stomping away, irritated, while she is left there, pulling on her coat before disappearing through the backdoor, swallowed by the darkness of the unlit back terrace. 

And before Harry could stop himself, he is already moving.

“Excuse me girl,” he mumbles disorientedly as he slips out of the small circle. 

He places his glass to a nearby table and then grabs his own coat from the wardrobe in the hallway before making his way outside. After her. 

The moment he steps out into the cold a short sense of realization washes over him that he definitely shouldn’t be here, that he is crossing a line, but then another voice in his head tunes it out, convincing him that he is just making sure she is okay and there’s nothing wrong with that. 

Stopping by the door his gaze rakes through the terrace, but he doesn’t see her, until she spots her slouched form sitting on the bottom of the stairs leading out to the lawn. He hears her sniffling, but she hasn’t acknowledged his presence yet, if she noticed it at all. There’s a couple of moments of hesitation on his end, he can hear the rational side of him screaming somewhere in the back of his mind, telling him to turn around and just walk back inside, yet he still finds himself moving towards him and then that voice is silenced. 

“Everything alright?” Harry asks from the top of the stairs, but he startles her so much that she jumps to her feet and backs away a few feet. That’s when he sees her tearful eyes and red nose. 

“S-Sorry, I don’t–”

“Hey, it’s all good. You didn’t do anything wrong. Just checking in.”

She squints her eyes at him and that’s when he realizes she must not even see his face since the light is coming right behind him. So he walks down the stairs and then finally his face is lit and realization settles in her eyes. 

“Oh, Professor Styles. Hi.”

“Hello Y/N. Are you okay?” he asks again, to which she just chuckles bitterly. 

He can’t miss that even with tears running down her cheeks and her eyelashes stuck together, she looks so fucking beautiful it baffles him. He has to fight the urge to reach out and touch her tear-soaked cheeks. 

“Um, yeah, everything is… perfect,” she scoffs, reaching into her pockets, probably looking for tissues, but finding none so Harry grabs one from his inner pocket, handing it over to her, her fingers brushing against his for the shortest second as she takes it and then it’s over, but his skin keeps tingling. 

“Thanks,” she mumbles before drying her face as much as she can. “I’m good. Just…” She looks at him and changes her mind. “Ah, wouldn’t want to bore you with my nonsense personal drama.”

“Drama is never boring, have you learned nothing in my class?” he jokes and it actually makes her laugh. 

“This drama is not worthy of being taught in class though.”

“I bet some of the big names thought the same thing upon writing what we read in class these days.”

“So you’re saying I should write about how my boyfriend is fed up with me because I told him something he did hurt me?”

“That sounds like something I bet a lot of people would want to read about,” he smiles and when she mirrors it, he can feel his chest expanding. Somewhere way too deep in his mind an alarm goes off, but it quickly becomes one with the void and all he can think about is her. “Actually I can think of a few great pieces that are about similar topics.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, believe it or not, you’re not the first one to experience this.”

The way she looks at him is setting him on fire. The mixture of sadness, tiredness and gratitude towards his attempt to cheer her up is still making her glow in a way Harry has never seen before on any woman. 

“Do you mind analyzing one for me right now?”

“I’d be happy to.”

The party is completely tuned out for the two of them. First they actually talk about a novel, but soon it turns into sharing their favorite books and authors, their guilty pleasure reads,  recommendations for each other and even more personal bits Harry would never share with a student, but Y/N is the exception. 

They have no idea how much time passes as they stand outside and Harry ignores how the cold starts to sting his fingertips even in his pockets, because he knows that if they go inside this bubble will pop and he is too selfish to let that happen just yet. 

When there’s a short silence Harry notices that she is probably slipping back into what happened earlier and when she looks at him again he already knows she is about to share.

“I gave him a chance and explicitly told him not to fuck me over, because I can’t deal with that again. But all he has been doing is manipulating to believe that I’m always in the wrong.”

“It’s impossible for you to always be in the wrong.”

“I know. Well, part of me knows, but then I always go back to thinking that he is right, I must have messed up something.”

“That just proves that you have self-criticism, that you don’t just think everything you do is perfect.”

She sighs and looks away, her gaze distant as she battles herself inside her head, a feeling Harry knows very well, unfortunately. It doesn’t sit right with him that she is visibly struggling because of an immature guy’s untreated problems. She deserves so much more, but how can he tell that without crossing a line?

“Give it some time and you’ll see it clearer. Use your critical thinking on his actions as well, not just yours and don’t settle for less than your worth.”

“You think I did that?” she asks, eyes jumping back to meet his gaze. “You think I settled for less than my worth?”

There’s more behind her eyes than the words she said out loud and he is torn, because he can feel himself being pulled in more than ever, like she just opened the door the slightest and he has the chance to slip in. It’s the first time he senses something on her part and after all the yearning he is eager to take the chance. 

“I think you deserve a lot more, Y/N. You’re brilliant, bright and give so much to others, you should get the same amount if not more back. If someone can’t see that, then they don’t deserve you.”

For a second he wishes he didn’t say a thing, he regrets crossing the line and he fears her reaction, but then… 

Then he forgets everything. Because she is kissing him. 

It happens fast, one moment she is staring up at him with doe eyes, the next her lips are crashing against his, her hands grabbing onto the lapels of his coat. He barely recovers from the shock when she is already pulling away.

“I-I’m so sorry, I d-didn’t mean to, I just—Oh my Go–”

Her stammering is quickly cut short when he kisses her, his hands holding her jaw to angle her face perfectly and while her kiss was closed, rushed and panicked, this one is different. He is quick to beg for her to open her lips so he can explore as much of her as humanly possible, he is letting all the passions loose that he’s been locking up these past months and when she returns it just as eagerly it just pushes him even further. 

They inch back to the wall of the house and when he pins her against it a moan slips past her swollen lips, completely maddening him. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he breathes against her lips, kissing her jawline, savoring the sweet taste of her skin that’s supposed to be cold, but it’s actually burning. For him. 

He keeps one hand on the side of her neck, the other one digs into her hip through her coat and she keeps pushing against him, while her hands wander under his coat, they are on his waist, back and when they move to his lower stomach, brushing against his belt, something snaps inside him. 

But before he could completely lose his mind the backdoor opens and he quickly sobers up, pulling her farther away from the corner so they can’t be seen. 

“...and that was actually crazy,” a girl speaks up, oblivious to how Harry has Y/N pinned against the wall just a few feet away. They are both breathing heavily, but she has her face buried in his shoulder while he covers his mouth with a hand, adrenaline racing through his veins. 

“Ah shit, I’m out of cigarettes,” another girl says.

“Mm let’s get out of here then. I think Max said they are having a little party as well.”

“Okay.”

Then the door opens again and the voices disappear, but reality hits Harry hard in the head.

He slowly pulls back, enough to look at her face and when he sees her swollen lips and slightly smeared mascara he almost combusts. 

Because he wants nothing more than to take her, right here and then everywhere else in the world, but he also realizes what he just did and this time his rational side wins. 

“Fuck,” he gasps as he jumps back, cupping a hand over his mouth.

“I wanted it–”

“Y/N, stop!” he cuts her off. “Fuck, this was a mistake.”

“But I wanted it! You didn’t–”

“I said stop!” he barks and she shuts her mouth right away. “This shouldn’t have happened.”

And before she could protest again or worse, kiss him again, he is already storming back inside, across the house towards the front door.

“Harry! I haven’t seen you all night!” Stella catches him, but he just wants to get as far away from this house and from Y/N as possible.

“I’m sorry, I need to go. I’ll talk to you later,” is all he manages to say before he is already out the door.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[lilislegacy]

In all these instances, Annabeth is going through a terribly stressful situation, and she’s not afraid to admit that she wants Percy to hold her. The only time Annabeth lets herself be truly vulnerable, and feels truly safe, is when she is in Percy’s arms.

She craves to be held by him. And that doesn’t mean she’s weak, or that he’s stronger than her, or that she relies on him to take care of her. It just means that for the first time in her life, she has a pair of arms to collapse into when she’s scared or upset. And yes, she absolutely does the same for Percy and takes care of him too, but it’s slightly different. Percy has always had his mom to love him and take care of him and hold him. Annabeth, however, had to put walls up at a young age. She learned to never rely on anybody else for safety or comfort, because she never consistently had someone loving her or taking care of her.

But now that she has that, it’s not a surprise that she yearns for his affection. Annabeth is touch-starved in a way that Percy isn’t. And she never feels more loved or more safe than she does when he is holding her. And I don’t know about you guys, but I am so happy that she has that now. Annabeth Chase is a warm, sensitive, and emotional character. And when those parts of her shine through, I think it makes her one of the most realistic characters.

For some reason, I feel like people think that Annabeth, and other female characters, have to be cold and insensitive in order to be strong. But I think that couldn’t be further from the truth! Allowing yourself to be vulnerable takes the utmost strength. Love and trust, and having someone by your side, makes people stronger, not weaker. I personally love that Annabeth lets herself be loved and comforted by her partner. Because she can be “the little spoon” and still be completely his equal. Wanting to be held and taken care of does not make someone lesser or weaker. It makes them human. (And it goes the same with men and all genders). It makes Annabeth one of the most relatable and realistic people in the series, and I love that Rick shows that side of her.

Annabeth Chase is a remarkably strong, fierce, legendary female warrior. She also craves to be held by her loving boyfriend. And those are not conflicting statements.

[trivia-yandere]

off limits (2)

things get even more complicated the next morning when your brother makes his appearance

word count: 3.896

warning: smut, oral sex (m/f), cowgirl, nipple sucking, creampie, unprotected sex, dirty talking, praising,

part one

Jungkook wouldn’t say he doesn’t have sex. He’s single and has the occasional one night stands and casual hookups.

However, this was different. You were different. He’s insatiable when it comes to you and the entire night goes by and he finds that he cannot keep his hands off of you - and vice versa, of course. After the shower, you and him did watch a movie, though it ended with you right on top of him. He thought if you and him didn’t go to the bedroom that there wouldn’t be any temptations, but of course the couch served no better.

Jungkook soon grasps that this was only a one time thing - that after tonight, you and he would have to go back to what you both know. You would be someone he cared about deeply, but still his best friend's sister and completely off limits.

With that in mind, Jungkook allows himself to be consumed by you. His eyes adore the way your breast bounces in his face when you ride him, his mouth immediately wrapping around your perky nipples and he never wanted to stop. 

The fucking soon went towards the kitchen when you and Jungkook took a break to get some snacks, yet for some reason it ended up with you on the kitchen island. His tongue licks through your fold hungrily, nails digging into the skin of your thigh to keep you right in place - though you weren’t running from him. His head bobs back and forth in rhythmic motion while his free hand grips your breast. Your moans bounces off of the walls of his kitchen, only further encouraging him to suckle against your clit.

Your hands grip at Jungkook’s hair, hips buckling against his tongue and he allows it, wanting you to feel the utmost pleasure he could give.

You cumming against his tongue, thighs quivering and toes curling, doesn’t end there. No, somehow you still fall to your knees and take his cock in your mouth. Those eyes stare up at him as you suck him in, tongue swirling around his tip like a lollipop. It was so sinful coming from you - even after he fucked you so many times in such a short amount of hours. Those same innocent eyes that would stare at him when he visited your brother now held a deeper meaning. “Did you know I liked you?” rings through his head as your hand wraps around his shaft and you begin to pump while you suck.

Doing this is still surreal to you, you think. For as long as you’ve wanted Jungkook, being here in his home was like a dream you’ve never known you wanted until it happened.

“You’re…really good at this.” Jungkook’s cheeks are warm and red when his voice cracks a bit - that, and you’re still looking up at him with those eyes. 

Placing a hand onto your face, Jungkook’s thumb runs along your cheek, your mouth taking him deeper and deeper. He’s moaning softly, watching the way his cock disappears and reappears inside your warm, wet mouth. You’re very beautiful, he thinks, and nothing you do would change his perspective of you. Sure, it would be harder to look his friend in the face after fucking his sister in so many ways, but he tells himself that this was a one time thing. That he and you would get this out of your systems and go back to normal; whatever normal was.

Jungkook doesn’t want to cum in your mouth and further degrade you, but you refuse to let him leave. You’re suckling with little air, eyes tearing but still, you want him to.

Jungkook and you sit quietly at his breakfast table, both naked and sweaty. The shower you and he took hours ago seemed to be a complete waste of time. You and he are eating - nothing special, just something he’s managed to whip up to replenish the the energy you and he fucked out of one another.

Jungkook glances up at you as you eat, silently slurping the noodles into your mouth. His mind wanders to how in the world he was going to stop thinking about you in this light. This couldn’t happen again, no matter if you and he wanted it.

Jungkook already feels the disappointment sink in. The sun is coming up as it’s early morning and eventually you’d have to leave. He’d drive you home, of course, as he wasn’t going to let you do the walk of shame. Still, a part of him feels as though maybe he’s took advantage of your vulnerable position.

Jungkook tries to piece together the puzzle pieces. “Did you know that I liked you?” keeps ringing into his head and his memories are attempting to piece together any clues that he missed out on besides the ones he caught onto earlier.

“There you go again.”

Your voice startles Jungkook out of his thoughts.

“You’re thinking far too much into things again.” you murmur, eyes glancing up at him.

“I feel like an asshole.” Jungkook responds. 

You exhale softly. Of course the regret was going to settle in. It was hard to not look at you and not see his best friend. “Jay-”

“It’s not just about Jay.” Jungkook shakes his head. “I…how drunk were you?”

You furrow your brows. “Not that drunk.” you giggle, a bit uncertain. “I didn’t come onto you because I was drunk, Jungkook. Maybe it gave me a little courage but-”

“I took advantage of you, didn’t I?” Jungkook was jumping into a deeper hole the longer his mind kept thinking about everything.

“What?” you hiss. “Jungkook, can you be real with yourself?” You shift in the chair. 

“I did, Y/N.” Jungkook’s eyes are hard and full of disdain. “I…I hadn’t realized that maybe your feelings for me drove you to do what we did.”

Your own body is warm as Jungkook speaks.

“I should’ve stopped it after you told me last night. It shouldn’t have gone further.”

“Is this your way of rejecting me easily?”

Your tone doesn’t have any emotion in it, but your face does sadden a bit. Jungkook immediately feels a jolt in his heart but he’s unsure how to respond.

“I’m not a little girl who’s oblivious to things, Kook.” you press further. “Can I ask you a question?”

Jungkook nods. “Of course.”

“Is Jay the only reason?”

Jungkook blinks.

“Is he the only reason why you and I…can’t be anything more?” you tilt your head, those eyes staring at him so intently that he was becoming small himself. “Or is that you don’t see me as nothing more?”

Jungkook is taken aback, but he’s never thought about it until now. You were always off limits that anything concerning you that wasn’t platonic never lingered in his mind longer than a few minutes. 

“I care for you.” Jungkook murmurs.

You roll your eyes. “Like a sister?” you ask, scoffing bitterly. 

“No!” Jungkook interjects. “I told you I haven’t seen you like that in years, Y/N. It’s complicated.” he feels like ripping his hair out, but he only has himself to blame for putting you in this position. He should’ve fought harder with his own emotions and attractions. “I…want you to not settle for someone like me. You deserve someone that loves you. Not someone who goes behind his friends back with his sister.”

“Can you stop mentioning him? Fuck Jay.” you hiss. For years, it’s always been Jay. Jay said this, Jay did that, Jay doesn’t want you doing this. You were tired of hearing about your brother and his constant interjection of your life. “I want you to give me a reason why you and I can’t be together. Without you mentioning him.”

Jungkook swallows. The kitchen is quiet. You and him were in a staring battle, though his soft eyes don’t mimic your hard ones.

“There isn't one, right?” you ask, tilting your head.

There wasn’t, and that lingers on Jungkook’s mind for far too long. He enjoys the company you give. You were a kind and smart person, and you had the same amount of fire in you that he finds intriguing. You know him just as much as he knows you, years of friendship that lead to this very moment.

Jungkook doesn’t realize you have gotten up until you’re directly in front of him.

“You want me more than you think, Kookie.” you murmur, seating yourself onto the table, pushing his plate of food aside. “Why do you keep fighting it?”

Your foot places itself against his thigh, your eyebrow arching. 

Jungkook gulps, chest filling with air. You were doing it again - playing with him until he gave you what you wanted. He bites his lips when your foot inches closer to him, and he’s ashamed to find that his cock is already hardening like a horny teenager who’s experiencing sex for the first time.

“You’re not going to stop, are you?” Jungkook sighs, yet he makes no action in pushing himself away from you. 

“Why don’t you stop me?” your lips are forming a small, seductive smile that’s full of mischief. “Prove that you don’t want me, Kookie.”

“I do want you.” Jungkook answers. 

“Then what’s stopping you from having me?” you shrug your shoulders. “Jay can’t hate the both of us forever.”

Your legs are opening for him just in time for Jungkook to catch sight of your pussy. You’d think that after hours of fucking, that he wouldn’t be interested in continuing. However, he was a simple creature and he was absolutely interested.

“How do you know I’m the right man for you?” Jungkook places his hands onto your thighs. They’re soft, causing his palms to tingle and his arms to erupt with goosebumps.

“How do you know you’re not?” you retort. 

Touche, Jungkook thinks. He squeezes your thighs, hands inching closer and closer to your pussy.

“I…I should’ve asked for a date first.” Jungkook leans closer to you, as do you. “Instead of fucking you all night.”

You can’t help the giggle that comes from your lips. Jungkook kisses up your chest, to your neck and then your jaw.  

“You still have time.” you murmur, leaning your head to the side so that Jungkook has more access to your neck. “But for now…you can just fuck me again.”

Jungkook chuckles, but he complies. 

Jungkook pushes himself up from his seat, chair scraping against the floor. His cock is already hard and throbbing just as your pussy is wet and clenching. 

Jungkook grasps his cock and centers himself at your hole, his lips immediately connecting with yours as he pushes himself inside. Your hands lay at the low of his back as he begins to enter you slowly, your lips dancing with his.

Jungkook doesn’t get tired of feeling your walls around him and he’s positive he probably never would. Years of attraction building up had led to the insatiable feeling the two of you were going through and it wasn’t going to stop until you were out of his sight.

Jungkook disconnects from your lips to inhale, his speed increasing. The table beneath you squeaks and scrapes against the floor, but neither of you care about the added noise. 

“Your pussy feels better after each time.” Jungkook grunts, eyes glancing down to where his cock is pounding into you. You’re already creaming around him, a sight that he could never get tired of.

Your nails dig into his skin, encouraging him to fuck you harder. Deeper; however. Your own breathing increases and your eyes snap shut, grunts and moans coming from your throat.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N.” Jungkook continues to speak. “I wish you could milk my cock all the time.”

“Who s-says I can’t?” you stutter a response. “You could fuck me every night…you’re just scared to.”

Your walls squeeze around Jungkook’s cock as he begins to pound deeper inside of you. Maybe your teasing was encouraging him.

“You could’ve been fucking me this whole time if you weren’t acting like a scared little boy.”

Jungkook removes himself from you and proceeds to roughly turn your body around. He enters you again and immediately continues his brutal pace. The new position allows a deeper entrance that you feel in your stomach.

“I’m not scared.” Jungkook says against your neck, his tongue licking your skin. “Maybe I had respect for you.”

Jungkook’s right hand moves between your legs, touching your wet clit. His fingers work harshly against it, circling the throbbing bud as he fucks you. 

“But you’re such a slut that you want me to treat you like one.” Jungkook’s teeth sink into your neck possessively, his fingers working your clit. Skin slapping echoes throughout the room, evidence of just how good he was fucking you.

“I could be a slut with someone else who isn’t scared of my brother.” you taunt further. You find this Jungkook to be hot.

The hand that once holds your waist comes up to clench your neck. He presses you against his chest, hips rutting inside of you. His wet hand slaps your clit and you yelp at the sudden impact, pussy squeezing his ramming cock.

“I thought you said I still had time, baby?” Jungkook’s voice dropped a few tones and it was driving you crazy. “I can’t just tell him I fucked you all night, right? How you were begging for more and more like the little whore you are.”

Your thighs are shaking, and Jungkook knows you are being overstimulated. He doesn’t stop his aggressive pace, or his assault on your clit.

“Is that what you want? You want me to tell him how I came in you each and every time?” Jungkook’s teeth sink into your neck again, no longer caring if he’s left marks behind or not. The thought of you going to someone else and being this way was something he now knew he didn’t want.

“Fuck, Kook,” your hand grasps his wrist to try to stop him - or slow him down - but Jungkook doesn’t let up.

“No, I’ll have to spare the details, right?” Jungkook’s cock springs in and out of you so good that your eyes are rolling. “And I’ll have to pretend I asked you out wholesomely. It’ll be our little secret, right?”

Wrong. 

Just as you’re cumming all over him, juices covering your thighs, Jungkook isn’t far behind. His cum mixes with your own and it shoots so deep into you that you’re both squirming with pleasure.

A knock sounds on the door and both you and Jungkook are alert. He’s still inside of you when it sounds again, this time louder. 

“Who could that be?” you whisper.

“Kook?”

You stiffen, and Jungkook pales.  His heart pounds outside his chest and you can feel it right against your back.

“Go in the room, Y/N.” Jungkook untangles himself from you. “Now.”

You’re left wide eyed and slightly trembling. 

Jungkook pushes you lightly. “He has a key, Y/N. He only knocks before he uses it.” he hisses in a low tone.

Jungkook slams the door to his bedroom shut before locking it. His heart is pounding far too loud for him to process anything.

“Stay here.” Jungkook says, pulling up his sweats and tying it around his waist. Down the hall, he can hear Jay using the spare key he’s given him. “And don’t make a sound or move.”

You’re terrified yourself and nod your head. You tuck yourself beneath Jungkook’s covers, something you’d do when you were a child and afraid of what the darkness brought. This time, the darkness being Jay.

Jungkook opens his bedroom door just as the front door opens. He closes his door and makes his way down the hall. “Jay?” Jungkook calls, his footsteps growing closer to the front door.

“Kook.” Jay says, eyes glancing at his friend. 

“Everything okay?” Jungkook tries not to look as terrified as he was. Jay didn’t scare him per se. However, his reaction to finding out what has happened with you here wasn’t going to be less than ugly.

“Yeah.” Jay nods. “Um, have you seen Y/N?”

Jungkook’s hand squeezes and he furrows his brows. “Seen Y/N?” He shakes his head softly. “Why-”

“She didn’t come home last night.” Jay continues. “And…I knew that but.” Jay lets out a low sigh. “I…I tried calling her and she didn’t answer. And…I went to one of her friends' houses.”

Jungkook attempts to hide his feelings. He drove you and your friends last night. They obvious know who he was and-

“And they said you drove them home.” Jay says. “And that Y/N stayed with them.”

Jungkook releases a breath. Your friends had covered for you - in a way.

“Yeah. I did.” Jungkook nods. “Um…I should’ve told you, man-”

“I know she went to a club.” Jay scoffs. “She forgets I follow a few of her friends.” Jay doesn’t say that it’s for the sole reason to keep up with you. “She wasn’t there when I got to her friends. She isn’t home and…” Jay glances at Jungkook’s hands. “...did she say anything to you before you dropped her off?”

Jungkook shakes his head. He felt horrible for putting Jay in this position. He doesn’t deserve to be lied to. He was a caring older brother who wanted what was best for you. Jungkook was a man of his word. He had every intention of doing the right thing - of asking Jay if it was alright for you and him to date. It would be easier than him finding out that he went behind his back and fucked you the entire night.

“Damn.” Jay sighs, glancing back up from Jungkook’s hands to his face. “You still do that,” he states.

“What do you mean?”

Jay shrugs his shoulders, taking a few steps closer. Jay is a few feet away. 

“Y/N…she doesn’t realize that everything I do is to protect her.” Jay doesn’t bother answering Jungkook’s question. “She just thinks I’m the asshole older brother who keeps her from doing anything.”

“She’ll come around.” Jungkook quips. “Just…you should just talk to her.”

“I should.” Jay scoffs with a nod of his head. “When we were kids, Kook…” Jay begins, glancing around the apartment. “...you always did this thing, you know? When you were lying, you’d squeeze your hands together.”

The room is quiet and neither of the two speak. There’s realization in Jay’s eyes, one that causes Jungkook’s heart to jolt again.

“You haven’t stopped squeezing your hands since I got here.” Jay continues. “And…I wouldn’t know why if I didn’t know that my sister was here with you.” Jay takes another step closer, as Jungkook remains frozen. “And she’s been here with you the entire night. Her phone location told me.”

You’re dressed and contemplate running down the hall when you hear a loud crash. Your nerves are pounding through you as you listen to everything Jay was saying.

How in the world did he get your location? You never gave it to him.

Anger now seeps through you and you open the door to his bedroom just as you hear a loud crash from just down the hall.

“How long have you been fucking my sister, Kook?” Jay’s voice booms off the walls. You make your way towards them, eyes widening as Jungkook is on the ground, holding a bloodied nose.

“Are you fucking insane?!” you screech, making your presence known.

“Am I insane?” Jay scoffs. “Get in the car.”

“Fuck you.” you hiss, feet making their way towards Jungkook.

“You had enough of that, haven’t you?” Jay barks back. “You’ve lied and said you didn’t know where my sister was but somehow she magically appears.” he scoffs.

“Jay,” Jungkook begins. He wasn’t going to fight his friend and he’d gladly take the bloody nose.

“I’m not fucking Jungkook!” you screech, a lie, of course. But Jay looks ready to land another fist on Jungkook and you weren’t going to sit by and watch that. “I got drunk last night and called Jungkook because I knew you would act insane!”

Jay glances at you, then down to Jungkook.

“I begged Jungkook to let me stay here tonight so I can sober up.” you continue. 

“Why couldn’t you stay with your friends?” Jay asks, skeptical.

“And deal with their boyfriend drama?” you scoff. “I slept in the bed, Jungkook slept on the couch.”

You were a better liar that even Jungkook was beginning to believe. Was lying a good idea, however? It would make Jay even more suspicious of the two of you if you and he suddenly ended up being a couple.

“I knew calling you meant that I had to deal with your judgment.” your voice drops. “And I put Jungkook in the middle of it…”

You want to hold Jungkook, but you can’t. If Jay was going to calm down it meant that he had to believe this lie.

“Why the fuck do you have my location? How do you even have it?” you hiss, glaring. “You’re such a fucking nuisance-”

“It’s for your own protection!” Jay hisses back. “You lied about everything last night what the fuck am I suppose to think?”

“I’m not a little kid, Jay. I should call the police.” you cross your arms. “That has to be illegal.”

“Fuck you, Y/N, seriously.” Jay waves you off. “You…you know why I jumped to conclusions regarding you and him.”

Jungkook doesn’t bother speaking. It was better if he just sat here and allowed you two to bicker back and forth.

“Kook.”

Your eyes glance down towards the bloodied-nose man and your heart jumps. Damn Jay for being such a creep. You were going to get a whole new phone entirely.

“I’m-”

“I’m sorry.” Jungkook shakes his head instead. You swallow, widening your eyes. “I…should’ve called you and told you that Y/N was here.”

“I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.” Jay murmurs. He lets out a sigh, feet making their way towards Jungkook and gives him a hand up from the ground. “It’s-”

“I get it, man.” Jungkook chuckles. “No harm done.”

From behind Jay, Jungkook’s eyes lock with yours.

“We should get going, right?” you say to Jay, your eyes never leaving Jungkook’s. “You made enough of a mess.”

Jay groans. You were absolutely right. 

“I’m going to go get my things. Go wait in the car.” you grumble, walking past him. “You’re buying me breakfast because of your insane fuck up.”

With a few more apologies, Jay does walk out and into his car while Jungkook grabs a towel from the kitchen to wipe his nose.

“Kook,” you say a few moments later. You couldn’t dwell for long or Jay would grow suspicious again. “I’m so sorry-”

“Please stop apologizing.” Jungkook says, tone a bit muffled with the towel.

Your brows knit and you moan lowly. Your feet make their way towards him and you grab his hand. 

“Does this…change anything?” you ask, a look in your eyes that shows just how you were feeling.

Jungkook sniffles, lowering the blooded towel. His lips twitch upwards and he leans closer to you. “Not at all.” he murmurs, placing a kiss onto your lips. 

It just meant that courting you was going to be a lot harder than he expected.

@sweetempathprunetree @investedreader @darkuni63 @chimmy-licious @momnomnom @dreamersparacosm @deeznutkooks @purple-realms @jenniebyrubies @ahgasegotarmy116 @marylight098 @matryoshka-poetry @laross860 @jimineepaboya @joonislife

[mobbu-min]

tw: mentions of blood and death and also brief mention assault (by a npc)

Omg I was watching shrek with my dad and we got to that scene where shrek was rescuing fiona from the castle and I was struck with the idea of princess reader being locked in a castle guarded by dragon malleus. Like I don’t even know how it would happen, maybe you're locked away for your safety and dragon malleus is chained up to guard your tower. Maybe malleus is cursed and he’s stuck in the dragon form until, dare I say, true love kiss breaks his spell.

At first he only protects the tower because of all the gargoyles that surround the peaks of the towers. He’s never seen gargoyles that look like that before. Such pretty sights should be protected from outsiders. And the castle is in such a good location too, with a perfect amount of sun and rain, warmth and cold, nothing like the cold and bleak weather and landscape of briar valley. It’s perfect.

Of course it would be, if it wasn’t for the chain that burns him every time he tugs too tight and clanks with every move he makes. Oh and you're there too. The young princess for the neighboring kingdom that quivers at the sight of him. Small and meek. He only snorts in amusement everytime he catches sight of you peering at him from behind a wall. You're lucky he still has much to grow. Surely, if you saw him at his full maturity, you would have died on the spot.

But alas, you’re here. Quiet and shy. Keeping to yourself. He can often hear the soft pitter patter of your feet roaming the vast, empty halls of the castle during the day. The soft sighs that leave your mouth as you eat your meals by yourself. And the muffled sobs from your chambers upon the tall tower. You're nothing but a miserable human in his eyes. But deep down, he knows the both of you are the same.

Regardless, things stay silent for the next couple of years. The both of you are older, the chain around his neck grows tighter and the loneliness of this castle weighs heavier on your shoulders. Though the both of you stay to your sides of the castle, rarely interacting. Occasionally, the castle will get a visitor. A knight coming to rescue the princess, dressed in some over the top, gaudy, amour that's really more for show then for anything else. They’re always loud and rude, coming in dirty and swinging around their weapon of choice across the well-kept walls of the castle. Oftentimes damaging something in their whirl of self-righteousness.

And Malleus would be fine with them coming and taking you away. Afterall, if he’s cursed to solitude then he would very much enjoy being in complete solitude then to feel the curious gaze of his unwelcome roommate every few days. But for some odd reason, these wannabe savior knights come swinging and yelling at him. He couldn’t believe it at first, this human coming full force at him? He’s done nothing to warrant such actions.

It wasn’t until the fifth unwanted pest came did Lilia show up out of the blue and relay the rumors that had spread across the land. A terrifying monster has taken the princess from her kingdom and refuses to let her go. Malleus listens with interest, growing increasingly frustrated at the tale that the princess’s own father seems to let grow. Foolish humans believing anything that is fed to them. His distaste for you grows.

Time goes on with more and more unruly brutes coming into his territory and attacking him. And it’s not like he hasn’t tried to let them just go get you after a few minutes of trying to satiate their desire for battle. (despite the blow to his pride that he’ll face) But no, they seem fully intent on killing him. The pile of amour and bones grows as the years drag by.

The sobs that seem to echo throughout the now burnt and scarred walls ceased a long time ago. Instead sits a chilling silence. Before he could at least hear the soft hums of your voice, but now he couldn’t even hear your footsteps. The weather and environment seem to reflect this shift. The sun hidden away by the thick, grey clouds and cold winds replace any warmth. Once a magnificent, mighty castle now a ruin. The feeling settles deep in his bones.

Then one day, years after the first arrival came a knight dressed in iron. A knight that stood mightier than the rest. Head held higher than one of royalty. He seemed noble, but Malleus could smell the greed, feel the wrath in gaze. He fought like a warrior, one with years of experience on the battlefield. For once Malleus felt something other than annoyance. Was this fear?

Usually, battles were quick and to the point. And yet, Malleus found himself leaving the confines of his area. His body moves him farther and farther into your space. Well kept and unharmed from the countless battles that have been fought throughout the years.

And yet, this knight left him no choice but to retreat further in. This knight was not like the others. There were countless times that this knight should have fallen, but everytime the knight rose and drew his blade. Magic, Malleus growled, he should have seen it earlier. The pungent smell of dark magic now assaulted his nose.

Despite his efforts, Malleus fell after a sword pierced his thick, indestructible scales. A searing pain raced through his body. It felt like the sword was burning him from the inside in. His head fell limply on the garden of flowers you had been taking care of for years at this point. The sweet scent of the flowers wafted up his nose, he couldn't help but wonder if you smelt this sweet as well.

Through his deep breaths, he could hear the knight run up the steps of your tower. Ready to claim his prize. Malleus waited to hear your voice, excited and full of warmth towards your savior, waited to hear your laughter as the knight swept you off your feet. But that never came.

Instead, came a shout. Things crashed and broke inside your tower. Something ripped and your shouts became whimpers. Soft and desperate pleas reached his ears instead. And for once, your sobs weren’t of sadness but fear.

A surge of energy exploded across him like never before. Rising from the rubble, Malleus roared. Lightening clashing in the distance. With one swift swipe of his claws, the wall of your tower came tumbling down. Leaving him to gaze down at a sight enraged him to his core.

The Knight drew his sword, shouts of disbelief leaving his pathetic mouth. But Malleus’ couldn’t be bothered, his gaze soon rested on you, who cowered and shielded your form with the ripped cloth of your dress. Without thinking Malleus lowered his head towards you and gently brushed against your side with his nose. Your shivering stopped.

Pulling away, Malleus did quick work in getting rid of the monster that found its way into his home. Dragging the knight away from your tower with a singular claw, Malleus showed him no mercy. The knight's cries only fueled Malleus’ delight. Blood spilled across his scales, staining your garden of flowers and finally the knight's cries turned whimpers ceased.

The thunderstorm that had raged followed in a similar manner. A breeze blew across Malleus’s scale and suddenly it became a lot harder to ignore the burning of his neck. Exhausted, Malleus fell back with a huff. Licking the wound that only burned him in turn. Until he could get that wretched sword out, he wouldn’t heal. But the pain was turning out to be too much for him to bear.

Then he heard the familiar pitter patter of your feet. Peering up, Malleus watches you approach. The cloak you wore was too large on your frame, practically swallowing you whole. You looked up at him with wide eyes, brimmed with red. He expected fear, but your eyes sparkled with gratitude.

Hesitantly, you reach out your hand and stop inches away from his nose. Malleus looked down at the princess that once avoided him like a plague and something soft and warm bloomed across his chest. Your eyes were closed, not in fear but trust, and despite his better judgement, he leaned his great and mighty head against the soft expanse of your hand. And that warm feeling exploded across his body, as if a thousand suns bloomed in his lonely heart.

“Thank you.”

And just like that, Malleus decided that maybe this wasn’t a curse afterall.

[kaiyunsim]

just a boy —

pairing : fuckboy!jay x gn!reader

summary : you meet jay at a party where you reject him after making a move… he likes it when they play hard to get.

warnings : angst, fluff, more angst than fluff tbh, uni au, reader is a freshman, jay is older, featuring heeseung + jake, jisung from nct, and minju from illit

a/n : omg fun to write is actually an understatement. i hope it turned out fun to read :) also for my pookie @writhyv

queueing : just a boy - alaina castillo,

— wc : 6.6 — not proof read —

you don't really care about parties. they're loud, crowded, and always filled with people trying too hard. but minju drags you along anyway, insisting that you need to "experience the university nightlife" at least once.

"come on, it'll be fun," she says, looping her arm through yours. "plus, jisung bailed on me, and i am not third-wheeling jake and his situationship all night."

so now you're here, standing awkwardly in the corner of a frat house, gripping a red solo cup filled with something that smells suspiciously like gasoline. minju is already off somewhere, talking to a girl from her english class, and you're left to watch as people dance, drink, and make questionable decisions.

"you look miserable," a voice says from beside you.

you turn and come face to face with park jongseong, jay, as everyone calls him. you know his name, even if you've never spoken before. he's older, popular, and has a reputation that follows him everywhere he goes.

flirt. player. fuckboy.

minju has warned you about him. "he's hot, yeah, but he's the kind of guy who doesn't do relationships. he flirts, hooks up, and moves on. trust me, i've seen it happen."

but none of that matters, because you have no plans to entertain him.

jay grins at you, leaning against the wall like he owns the place. he's got that easy confidence, the kind that comes with knowing he's attractive and that people want him.

"not a fan of parties?" he asks, tilting his head.

you shrug. "not really."

he chuckles. "then why are you here?"

"minju."

his eyebrows raise slightly. "you know minju?"

"from high school." you say, keeping your answers short.

"interesting," he muses, eyes scanning your face like he's trying to place you somewhere in his memory. he doesn't seem to recognize you, though, which isn't surprising. you've never exactly run in the same circles.

"so," he says, shifting closer. "wanna dance?"

it's not a question, not really. it's the kind of offer people don't usually refuse, not when it comes from him. jay park doesn't get turned down.

but you just blink at him and say, "no, thanks."

his smile falters, just for a second, before he recovers. "really? you sure? i promise i'm a good dancer."

"i'm sure." you say with a fake smile, giving off the vibe that you’re annoyed

he lets out a soft laugh, like he can't believe you're actually rejecting him. his ego must be bruised, but he hides it well, still looking at you with interest.

"alright," he says, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "then how about a drink? i can get you something better than… whatever that is." he nods at your cup.

"i'm good."

"wow," he murmurs, shaking his head in amusement. "you're really not making this easy for me, huh?"

"should i?"

he grins, running a hand through his dark hair. "most people do."

"well, i'm not most people."

jay studies you for a moment, like he's trying to figure out why you're different. why you're not reacting the way everyone else does. you don't bat your lashes at him, don't giggle or play into his flirting. and for some reason, instead of turning him away, it only seems to intrigue him more.

"i like you," he says suddenly.

you roll your eyes. "you don't even know me."

"not yet," he agrees, "but i’d like to."

there's something almost playful in his voice, but you know better. jay isn’t interested in getting to know people. he's interested in chasing, in winning. and right now, you’re just another game to him.

"keep liking me from a distance," you say, brushing past him.

you don’t look back, but you feel his eyes on you as you walk away.

for the first time in his life, park jongseong has been rejected. and somehow, you think that only makes him more determined.

—

you don't think much about your encounter with jay. to you, it was just another conversation at a party, one you barely wanted to be at in the first place.

but apparently, jay thinks otherwise.

it starts with small things.

you see him at the campus café, where he just so happens to show up right behind you in line.

"oh, hey," he says casually, as if running into you is pure coincidence.

you glance at him, unimpressed. "hey."

"what are you getting?"

you turn back to the menu. "haven't decided."

"let me guess," he hums, tapping a finger against his chin like he's solving some great mystery. "you seem like a caramel macchiato kind of person."

you raise a brow. "what does that even mean?"

jay grins, leaning in slightly. "sweet, but a little bitter if you get on their bad side."

"so basically, you're guessing."

"i call it an educated guess," he says, nodding at the cashier. "get one. my treat."

"no, thanks."

he lets out a dramatic sigh. "you really don't like accepting things from me, huh?"

"nope."

instead of looking discouraged, jay just watches as you place your order, an iced americano, completely different from what he guessed.

he chuckles. "so i was way off."

"yup."

you take your drink and leave without another word. jay doesn’t follow, but you swear you feel his stare on your back as you walk away.

it keeps happening.

and then, one afternoon, you’re sitting under a tree, trying to get through an assignment, when someone drops into the grass beside you.

"you always look so serious," jay muses.

you don’t even glance up. "because i'm trying to focus."

"right, right." he leans back on his hands. "but don't you ever take a break?"

"nope."

"come on," he nudges your knee with his. "five minutes won't kill you."

you sigh, finally looking at him. "do you need something?"

jay flashes you that same easy grin, the one that probably gets him whatever he wants. "just your company."

"i think you’ll survive without it."

he clutches his chest dramatically. "ouch. you wound me."

"you’ll live."

jay just laughs, shaking his head. "you know, you’re making this really difficult."

"making what difficult?"

"getting to know you."

"who said i wanted you to?"

he stares at you for a moment, eyes glinting with something unreadable. then, instead of answering, he stands up and dusts himself off.

"alright," he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. "guess i’ll try again tomorrow."

before you can process his words, he's already walking away.

"okay, what is going on?" minju asks a few days later, sliding into the seat across from you in the dining hall.

"what do you mean?"

she gestures dramatically. "you and jay. he keeps staring at you. he keeps showing up wherever you are."

"it's just a coincidence."

"coincidence my ass," she huffs. "he’s interested."

"interested in what? flirting with someone who doesn’t want to flirt back?"

"exactly!" minju exclaims. "he's never been rejected before! you’re like. like. his first loss."

"not a loss," you correct. "just… not a win."

"same thing in his mind." she leans in, eyes narrowing. "be honest. do you like him?"

you snort. "no."

"not even a little?"

"minju, he flirts with anything that breathes."

"true," she concedes, stabbing a piece of her salad. "but he’s never tried this hard before."

you roll your eyes. "and that’s exactly why i’m not interested. he only wants what he can’t have."

"so you think if you gave in, he’d lose interest?"

"obviously. but it’s not like i want him to be interested in the first place,”

but what you don’t see is jay, sitting at another table with jake and heeseung, watching you from across the room.

"so," heeseung says, "still trying?"

jay sips his drink, not looking away. "yup."

jake shakes his head, laughing. "dude, you're obsessed."

"i'm not obsessed," jay scoffs. "i'm just… interested."

heeseung raises a brow. "in what? winning?"

jay pauses. that should be the answer. that’s how it always is. he flirts, he wins, he moves on. but this time, it feels different.

"i dunno," he mutters, eyes still locked on you. "but i wanna find out."

and just like that, park jongseong makes it his mission to make you fall for him.

whether you want to or not.

—

you’re starting to think the universe has a cruel sense of humor.

there’s no other explanation for why jay park keeps showing up everywhere you go.

first, it’s the café… again. you stop by for your usual iced americano, and there he is, leaning against the counter like he has all the time in the world. when he sees you, his lips curl into a smirk.

"you stalking me now?" he teases.

you blink at him. "this is literally my usual spot."

"yeah?" he muses, stepping aside so you can order. "funny. seems like it’s mine now too."

you ignore him and pay for your drink, but as you turn to leave, he suddenly holds out a muffin. "here."

you frown. "what is this?"

"peace offering," he says. "for annoying you so much."

"i don't want it."

jay tuts, shaking his head. "harsh. you don’t like sweets?"

"i don’t like you."

he laughs, completely unbothered. "that’s not true. you just won’t admit you think i’m funny."

you roll your eyes and walk past him, but not before he calls out, "see you around!"

unfortunately, he’s right.

the second time, it’s the library.

you’re sitting at a table, halfway through an essay, when someone slides into the seat across from you.

you don’t need to look up. "seriously?"

jay rests his chin on his palm, grinning. "seriously."

"do you even study?"

"i do now." he gestures to his laptop, which, sure enough, is open.

you sigh and turn back to your work, ignoring him completely. for the first ten minutes, he’s quiet, and you start to think maybe—just maybe—he’s actually here to study.

but then he leans forward. "you always this focused?"

"yes."

"cute," he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear.

you finally look at him, unimpressed. "why are you here?"

"what, a guy can’t expand his knowledge?"

"you haven’t typed a single word."

jay glances at his screen, where his essay is blank. he shrugs. "i’m thinking."

"about what?"

"about how long it’s gonna take for you to admit you like having me around."

you let out a slow breath, standing up and gathering your things. "good luck with that."

"where you going?"

"somewhere quiet."

jay watches you leave, the smirk never leaving his face.

you think that’s the end of it.

until your professor assigns a group project.

"you’ll be working in pairs," she says. "check the list for your partner."

you scan the names, looking for yours, and freeze.

park jongseong.

"you’ve got to be kidding me," you mutter.

"what?" minju asks, peering over your shoulder. then she snorts. "oh. wow. the universe really has it out for you."

you groan, dropping your head onto the desk.

"who’d you get?"

you glance up to see jisung standing beside you, holding his own paper.

"jay," minju answers for you.

jisung grimaces. "yikes."

"yep."

before you can say anything else, someone taps your shoulder.

"guess we’re partners," jay says, voice far too amused.

you sigh. "don’t remind me.”

—

working with jay is… not as painful as you expected.

you still don’t like him. obviously. but he’s not completely useless.

turns out, he’s actually smart. and organized. he doesn’t slack off or make you do all the work. and—annoyingly—he’s kind of funny.

you realize this when you’re both at the library, bouncing ideas off each other.

"okay, so we could go with this topic," you say, scrolling through the research.

jay hums. "or we could pick something that won’t make me want to throw myself off a building."

you bite back a smile. "dramatic much?"

"you’re underestimating my ability to get bored."

"i think that’s just your problem."

jay gasps, placing a hand over his chest. "ouch. i thought we were bonding."

"we’re working."

"same thing."

you shake your head, but you don’t argue.

slowly, things shift.

you still tell yourself that jay is just playing a game. but sometimes, you catch him looking at you—really looking—and for a moment, it doesn’t feel like one.

like when you’re at the library, and you yawn without thinking.

"tired?" he asks.

"obviously."

without a word, he slides his drink toward you.

you blink. "what—"

"it’s an americano," he says simply.

you hesitate, then take a sip. "it’s sweet."

jay shrugs. "i like sugar."

you give him a look. "so you were way off when you guessed my order last time."

he grins. "guess so."

you shake your head, but you don’t push the drink back.

—

"okay, so he’s not the worst person alive," you admit later.

minju stares at you. "who are you and what have you done with my friend?"

"i’m serious," you say. "he’s… fine. actually kind of helpful."

minju sighs. "that’s how it starts."

"how what starts?"

"you start thinking he’s not that bad. then, before you know it, you’re catching feelings."

"i’m not catching anything."

she gives you a look. "just be careful, okay? he’s only this persistent because you’re the first person to say no."

you nod, but her words stick in your head.

you tell yourself you don’t care.

but then one night, you’re leaving the library, and jay is waiting outside.

"walking alone at this hour?" he muses. "dangerous."

you raise an eyebrow. "and you’re what? my bodyguard?"

jay smirks. "i could be."

"no thanks."

"still," he says, falling into step beside you. "i’ll walk you back."

"you don’t have to."

"i know."

you sigh, but you let him.

the walk is quiet, save for the sound of your footsteps. when you reach your building, you stop.

"this is me," you say.

jay nods. "guess i’ll see you tomorrow."

"guess so."

he hesitates, then lifts a hand, ruffling your hair before you can react.

you blink. "what the—"

he just grins. "goodnight."

then he’s gone, leaving you standing there, heart doing something it definitely shouldn’t be doing.

this is bad.

really bad.

—

the next party is loud, too loud. music shakes the floor, conversations overlap, and the air is thick with the scent of alcohol and sweat. you don’t even know why you’re here.

well. you do.

minju dragged you out, saying you’ve been too cooped up with schoolwork and your stupid group project (which, unfortunately, includes jay park). jisung backed her up, insisting you needed to “socialize like a normal human being.”

so now you’re here, standing in the corner of someone’s crowded apartment, gripping a half-empty cup of soda because you don’t drink, and pretending you’re interested in whatever minju is talking about.

until you see him.

jay.

you tell yourself you shouldn’t be surprised. parties are his thing, after all. loud music, dim lighting, a sea of people who’d fall into his arms without hesitation.

he fits right in.

too well.

you spot him across the room, leaning against the wall, that lazy smirk on his lips. there’s a girl beside him, standing too close, laughing at something he just said. she tilts her head, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. jay doesn’t move away.

he says something else, something that makes her giggle, and then he leans in,,, just a little.

your stomach twists.

it’s stupid. so, so stupid.

this is what he does. this is who he is. he flirts with everyone. you’ve seen it before. you knew this about him before he even knew your name.

but tonight, it bothers you.

you don’t know why, and you don’t want to think about it.

"you okay?" minju asks, nudging your arm.

"yeah," you say too quickly. "just… tired."

she eyes you but doesn’t press. "wanna leave soon?"

you nod. "yeah."

but before you can say anything else, you feel a presence beside you.

"hey," a familiar voice says.

you turn, and there he is.

jay.

his smirk is gone.

"what do you want?" you ask, not in the mood for whatever game he’s playing tonight.

he hesitates, glancing at minju, then back at you. "can we talk?"

"no."

he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "please?"

minju looks between the two of you, then slowly backs away. "i’ll be over there," she says, pointing to jisung.

you cross your arms. "what?"

jay doesn’t answer right away. instead, he exhales, then jerks his head toward the door. "outside?"

you should say no. you should walk away. but there’s something in his eyes, something that makes your chest feel too tight, so you follow him out.

the cool night air is a relief against your heated skin. outside, the noise is muffled, distant, like the party belongs to a different world.

you stop a few steps away from the door, crossing your arms. "well?"

jay shoves his hands into his pockets. "you looked upset."

you scoff. "why do you care?"

"because," he says, stepping closer, "i do."

you laugh, but it’s humorless. "you flirt with someone else, then come running after me? what is this, jay?"

his jaw tightens. "it’s not like that."

"really? because it sure as hell looked like it."

"you think i do this with everyone?" his voice is sharper now, frustration leaking through. "yeah, i flirt, but this,whatever this is, is different, and you know it."

your breath catches.

different.

he said it first.

but that doesn’t change anything.

"do i?" you challenge. "because it looks exactly the same to me."

jay groans, running a hand through his hair. "i didn’t even realize what i was doing."

"that’s not making this better."

"i know!" he snaps. "i just—fuck."

he exhales, tilting his head back like he’s trying to find the right words in the sky. then, softer, he says, "it’s a habit, okay? flirting, keeping things surface-level. that’s just how i’ve always been."

you swallow, suddenly unsure. "then why are you here?"

jay takes another step forward, close enough that you can see the tension in his shoulders, the crease in his brows.

"because i don’t want this to be surface-level," he admits. "not with you."

the words knock the air out of your lungs.

for a moment, neither of you speak.

then you say, "so what? you want me to believe that you’re suddenly different?"

"i don’t know," he admits. "but i know i don’t want to fuck this up."

you stare at him, at the raw honesty in his expression.

this is dangerous territory.

you should walk away.

you don’t.

but then you think about that girl inside, the way he leaned in so easily, the way it took him this long to come after you.

"you say that," you murmur, voice quieter now, "but you still went back to your usual thing the second i wasn’t around."

jay flinches.

"it didn’t mean anything," he says, quickly, desperately. "i wasn’t even thinking about her."

"exactly," you say bitterly. "you weren’t thinking at all."

jay opens his mouth, then closes it.

"you don’t even realize what you’re doing," you continue, voice tight. "you don’t realize how easily you slip into old habits. you say this is different, but are you sure?"

"yes," jay says, without hesitation.

you laugh, but it’s broken. "then why do i feel like i’m just setting myself up to get hurt?"

he doesn’t have an answer for that.

silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating.

jay looks like he wants to say something, to fix this somehow, but what is there to fix? he’s still the same jay park who flirts with everyone, who doesn’t think before he acts, who only realizes too late that he might actually care.

"you’re not ready for this," you whisper.

"i am," he insists, but there’s something fragile in his voice, something that tells you even he isn’t sure if he’s telling the truth.

you shake your head. "i don’t think you are."

jay reaches out, just a little, like he wants to touch you, like he wants you to stay.

but you step back.

his hand drops.

and with that, you turn around and walk away.

jay doesn’t call after you.

he doesn’t chase you this time.

and maybe that tells you everything you need to know.

—

you avoid him.

it’s not hard at first. you’re in different years, different circles. you stop going to the café where you know he likes to hang out between classes, ignore the parties minju tries to drag you to, and duck your head whenever you spot him on campus.

the only problem is that jay notices.

you’re not sure when it happens, but at some point, jay park—fuckboy, campus heartbreaker, the guy who shouldn’t care—is suddenly watching you.

you feel it in the way his eyes linger too long when you pass by in the hallway, in the way his conversations falter when you’re around, in the way his whole demeanor shifts whenever you deliberately turn away.

he doesn’t chase after you.

but he’s not ignoring it, either.

and that’s what makes it worse.

it would be easier if he didn’t care, if he went right back to flirting with someone else like nothing ever happened. but he doesn’t.

and that terrifies you.

so you run faster.

"okay, what is wrong with you?"

jay exhales sharply, gripping the pool cue tighter. "nothing."

"bullshit."

heeseung snatches the stick out of his hands before he can even attempt a shot. jay scowls, reaching for it, but heeseung just leans away.

"bro, you’ve been in the worst mood for, like, a week," jake says, spinning an unmarked beer bottle between his fingers. "just admit it."

jay glares. "admit what?"

heeseung rolls his eyes. "that you’re being a little bitch about this whole thing."

jay scoffs. "about what?"

"oh my god," jake groans. "are you in denial, or just stupid?"

jay clenches his jaw. "neither."

heeseung and jake share a look, and jay hates that they’re silently communicating in that annoying, knowing way that only best friends do.

"listen," heeseung starts, "you don’t do feelings. we get it. but this? whatever’s happening between you and—"

"don’t say their name," jay mutters, looking away.

heeseung smirks. "oh, so you do care?"

jay exhales, tilting his head back against the worn leather of the booth.

fuck.

he doesn’t know what this is.

he just knows that it sucks.

he didn’t think avoiding them would be a big deal. people walk away from him all the time, sometimes before he can even do it first.

but this?

this feels different.

it feels like something is missing. like something is slipping through his fingers and he’s too fucking slow to catch it.

"you don’t even like people," jake points out.

jay sighs. "i like you guys."

"yeah, but we don’t count," heeseung snorts. "we’re basically required to deal with your bullshit."

jay scoffs, shoving his shoulder, but heeseung just grins.

then, quieter, he says, "this is the first time you’ve actually looked miserable over someone."

jay doesn’t answer.

"so what are you gonna do about it?" jake asks.

jay exhales, drumming his fingers against the table.

he doesn’t know.

but he knows he can’t keep pretending this is nothing.

not anymore.

—

you don’t know why you look.

it’s just a normal afternoon. you’re heading toward the library, minju walking beside you, talking about something jisung said earlier.

and then you see him.

jay is standing near the campus courtyard, golden light catching the sharp edges of his jawline. he’s not alone.

there’s a girl with him. she’s standing close—too close. her hand is on his arm, fingers curling lightly around the sleeve of his jacket. she laughs at something he says, head tilting, eyes locked on his.

and jay?

jay just smiles.

it’s the same smile you’ve seen before, the same effortless charm, the same easy confidence that has made him a campus legend. he leans in slightly, talking low, his posture relaxed like he’s done this a thousand times.

because he has.

your chest tightens.

"hey, you okay?" minju asks beside you, nudging your arm.

you snap your gaze away, pulse quickening. you shouldn’t care. you knew what he was like before you even met him. you knew he flirted with anyone he found attractive, that he never had to try, that he never faced rejection.

you knew he was never meant to be serious.

so why does it feel like something inside you is caving in?

"yeah," you mumble. "just remembered something i have to do."

minju frowns, but you don’t give her a chance to question it. before she can say anything, you turn and walk the other way, ignoring the burning feeling in your chest.

you don’t look back.

and jay doesn’t notice you leaving.

yet, jay can tell something’s wrong.

he doesn’t know what it is, but he can feel it.

it’s in the way you won’t look at him, the way you walk past him like he’s just another face in the crowd.

at first, he thinks he’s imagining it. you were never friends to begin with—maybe you were just busy, maybe this is normal.

but the shift is undeniable.

before, you’d at least acknowledge him. you’d give him a polite nod, a passing glance, sometimes even a subtle eyeroll when you caught him flirting.

now?

nothing.

he sees you on campus, and you don’t even flinch.

he walks past your usual café, and you’re not there.

he catches you in the library and for a second. just a second. he swears you meet his gaze.

but then you turn away.

like he’s not even there.

he doesn’t plan to confront you.

but after a week of this, of whatever this is, he finds himself standing outside your dorm, hands shoved in his pockets, frustration bubbling under his skin.

he doesn’t even know why he’s here.

it’s not like you owe him anything.

but still, he knocks.

no answer.

he exhales sharply, rocking back on his heels, debating whether to try again.

then, he hears footsteps.

"what are you doing here?"

jay turns, finding jisung standing a few feet away, arms crossed.

"looking for y/n," jay says. "they’ve been… acting weird."

jisung raises an eyebrow. "and you just noticed?"

jay frowns. "what’s that supposed to mean?"

jisung exhales, shaking his head. "they saw you," he says simply.

jay’s stomach tightens. "...what?"

"the other day. in the courtyard. with that girl."

jay blinks, the memory slotting into place. shit.

"they saw you smiling at her," jisung continues, his voice even but firm. "letting her touch you. looking at her the way they thought—" he stops himself, sighing. "never mind."

jay’s pulse kicks up. "you think they—"

"they think they were stupid for believing you might actually be different with them," jisung cuts in, sharper now. "they think they almost fell for the same bullshit you pull on everyone else."

jay clenches his jaw.

fuck.

he wasn’t thinking. he didn’t even realize.

but now, remembering the moment, the way the girl had laughed, the way she had leaned in, the way he hadn’t pulled away—

he understands.

and it feels like he just lost something important without even knowing he had it.

"if you’re gonna say something, make it worth their time," jisung says. "because right now? they don’t want anything to do with you."

jay doesn’t answer.

because for the first time in his life, he’s the one who got it wrong.

he’s the one who let something real slip through his fingers.

and he has no idea how to fix it.

but he knows one thing—

he has to try.

—

you don’t expect him to be waiting for you.

it’s late. you just finished a study session with minju, and all you want is to go back to your dorm, crawl under the covers, and forget about everything—forget about him.

but as soon as you step into the dimly lit hallway leading to your room, you see him.

jay.

leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, jaw tight, eyes dark with something unreadable.

your heart stutters.

you hesitate, debating whether to turn around, pretend you didn’t see him. but then he looks up—really looks at you—and you know there’s no escape.

"we need to talk," he says, pushing off the wall.

fuck jisung for letting him in.

"i don’t think we do," you mutter, stepping past him, reaching for your door.

but before you can, jay moves, his hand catching your wrist—gently, cautiously, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away.

"please," he says.

you freeze.

he’s never said please before. at least, not like this. not as desperate as this.

slowly, you turn to face him, sighing. "jay—"

"just let me say this," he cuts in, eyes burning with something raw, something you’ve never seen on him before. desperation.

you press your lips together but nod.

jay exhales, running a hand through his hair. "i—fuck, i don’t know how to do this," he mutters, shaking his head. "i’m not good at this."

"then don’t," you say, voice sharper than you intended. "don’t stand here and feed me some excuse about how you 'don’t do relationships' or 'didn’t mean to hurt me.' i don’t want to hear it."

jay flinches. "that’s not what i was gonna say."

you cross your arms. "then what?"

he swallows hard, eyes flickering to the floor before meeting yours again. "i—i don’t know how to do this, because i’ve never felt like this before."

your breath catches.

"i didn’t even realize what i was doing," jay continues, voice quieter now. "i didn’t think. i’ve never had to. flirting, messing around—it’s just… easy. but you—" he exhales sharply. "you make things different."

you shake your head. "jay—"

"i don’t want anyone else," he interrupts, stepping closer, voice steady. "just you."

your chest tightens.

"and when you get bored?" you ask, voice barely above a whisper. "when someone new comes along?"

jay shakes his head immediately. "i don’t think i could ever get bored of you."

it’s too much.

too much to believe, too much to trust, too much to risk.

"how am i supposed to believe that?" you ask, eyes searching his face. "how am i supposed to believe you won’t wake up one day and decide i was just another name on your list?"

jay exhales, stepping even closer, until there’s barely any space between you. "because no one’s ever made me feel like this before."

your pulse is loud in your ears.

"i don’t know how to do relationships," he admits, voice low, honest. "i don’t know how to be what you deserve. but i want to try. i want to figure it out—with you."

he’s so close now. close enough that you can smell the faint scent of his cologne, close enough that you can see the hesitation in his eyes, the fear of being rejected, of losing you.

you shouldn’t.

you should walk away.

you should protect yourself, guard your heart, not fall for the one person who could break you the easiest.

but then jay reaches up, fingers brushing against your cheek, his touch hesitant, almost trembling.

"please," he murmurs, his voice almost breaking.

jay park—unshakable, confident, the fuckboy—is breaking in front of you.

and against all logic, all reason—you fall.

before you can think, before you can stop yourself, you close the space between you.

his breath catches, just for a second, before his lips press against yours, warm and desperate.

jay kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, like he’s trying to prove every word he just said. his hands cup your face, pulling you closer, holding you like you’re something fragile—something precious.

and when you kiss him back, letting yourself believe—just for this moment—that maybe, just maybe, this could be real, he sighs against your lips, like he’s just found something he’s been searching for all along.

—

your relationship with jay park is different.

you knew it wouldn’t be easy, falling for someone who never had to try, who never had to work for love. but you never expected this.

never expected him to try so hard.

at first, it’s awkward. jay doesn’t know what he’s doing. he’s used to effortless flirting, meaningless hookups, relationships that start and end in the span of a night.

but with you?

he wants to be better. he wants to be different.

so he does things he’s never done before.

he waits for you after class, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, eyes lighting up when he sees you.

"did you eat?" he asks one day, falling into step beside you.

you blink. "uh… yeah?"

jay nods, looking relieved. "okay. cool. just—yeah. cool."

he’s awkward. jay park, campus fuckboy, the smooth talker who never falters, is awkward.

you bite back a smile. "did you eat?"

he hesitates.

you raise an eyebrow. "jay."

he clears his throat. "…no."

you sigh, grabbing his sleeve and dragging him toward the campus café. he lets you, grinning like you just gave him the world.

the first time he reaches for your hand, it’s so casual that you almost miss it.

you’re sitting next to each other, watching a movie in the dorm common room. your hand rests between you, fingers brushing against his.

then, slowly, hesitantly, jay links his pinky with yours.

your heart stutters.

you glance at him, but he’s staring straight at the screen, his jaw tight, his ears slightly red.

you bite your lip.

then, without a word, you let your fingers slip fully into his.

jay stiffens for half a second. then, his grip tightens, and he exhales, shoulders relaxing.

he doesn’t let go for the rest of the movie.

he’s not used to jealousy.

or rather, he’s not used to his own jealousy.

he’s seen people get possessive over him before, watched girls glare when he flirted with someone new, felt the heat of their disappointment when they realized he wasn’t theirs.

but now?

now he understands.

he understands because he’s standing in the middle of campus, watching some guy—some random guy—smile at you like he has a chance.

and jay hates it.

he crosses the distance before he can think, sliding an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his side.

"hey, baby," he murmurs, voice low, casual, possessive.

your eyes widen. "jay?"

"who’s this?" jay asks, looking at the guy.

the guy blinks, glancing between the two of you. "uh, just—just a classmate."

jay smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. "cool. yeah. we gotta go, though."

you barely have time to say goodbye before jay is leading you away, his grip firm but gentle.

once you’re out of earshot, you elbow him. "what was that?"

jay shrugs. "didn’t like the way he was looking at you."

you roll your eyes. "you can’t just—"

he stops walking, turning to face you, eyes serious. "i know i don’t have the right," he admits. "but i don’t like it. i don’t like the idea of someone else thinking they can have you."

your breath catches.

"you’re mine," jay says, voice softer now. "right?"

you stare at him for a moment.

then, finally, you sigh, reaching up to flick his forehead.

"yeah," you mutter. "i’m yours."

jay grins, rubbing his forehead. "damn right."

heeseung and jake pretend to be disgusted.

"you’re whipped," jake says, shaking his head.

"nah, man, this is worse than we thought," heeseung adds. "he’s holding hands in public."

jay glares at them from across the table, but he doesn’t let go of your hand.

"you guys are just mad i have a functional love life," he says.

jake snorts. "yeah, sure. functional."

"bet he calls them ‘baby’ over text," heeseung whispers loudly.

jake gasps. "you think he—"

"shut up," jay groans.

you’re trying not to laugh. "do you?"

jay glares at you, but his ears are red. "i hate you."

you grin. "you love me."

jay rolls his eyes.

but then, under the table, he gives your hand a squeeze.

and you know—

even if he’ll never admit it out loud—

he really does.

—

you constantly look back and don’t know when you started believing him.

maybe it was the first time he held your hand without thinking, his fingers curling around yours so naturally, like he didn’t need to pretend anymore.

or maybe it was when he let you steal his hoodie, even though you were sure he’d never let anyone do that before.

or maybe—just maybe—it was when you saw the way he looked at you.

because it’s different now.

jay park, the guy who used to flirt with anyone just for fun, the guy who never stuck around, only looks at you.

"okay, but seriously," jake says, pointing a fry at jay. "how the hell did this happen?"

you’re sitting in the corner booth of a diner near campus, squeezed between jay and the wall. heeseung and jake are across from you, both staring like you’re some kind of unsolvable mystery.

jay takes a slow sip of his drink. "what do you mean?"

"you!" heeseung gestures wildly. "relationship jay. committed jay. ‘not flirting with every breathing human’ jay."

"it’s called growth," jay deadpans.

"it’s called ‘i fell first, and i fell hard,’" jake teases, smirking.

jay huffs. "whatever, man."

but he doesn’t deny it.

heeseung leans forward, grinning. "okay, but who confessed first?"

jay opens his mouth—

"me, obviously," you interrupt.

jay’s head snaps toward you. "what?"

you shrug. "you’re a coward. took you forever to admit you liked me."

jake laughs. "ohhh, he got you there."

jay glares at you, but you just smile, nudging his foot under the table.

you laugh, “joking, it’s complicated.”

heeseung rests his chin in his palm. "man, i never thought i’d see the day."

"what day?" you ask, amused.

"the day jay park became a simp."

jay groans, burying his face in his hands. "i hate all of you."

you pat his arm. "no, you don’t."

he exhales, tilting his head to look at you. his eyes soften.

"yeah," he murmurs. "i don’t."

—

later that night, after jay walks you back to your dorm, you linger outside the door.

he doesn’t leave right away.

instead, he leans against the wall, hands in his pockets, just looking at you.

you tilt your head. "what?"

jay hesitates, then exhales sharply.

"it’s weird," he mutters. "this whole time, i thought i had everything figured out. i thought i knew what i wanted. but then you came along, and suddenly, nothing made sense anymore."

your chest tightens.

"i didn’t get it at first," jay continues, eyes flickering to the ground. "why i got so annoyed when you ignored me. why i kept looking for you in every room. why i couldn’t flirt with anyone else without feeling like it was wrong."

he finally meets your gaze.

"but now i do."

your fingers tighten around the door handle, heartbeat loud in your ears.

"i don’t want to be the guy i was before," he murmurs. "not with you."

you swallow. "jay—"

"i know i’m not good at this," he cuts in. "i know i’m gonna mess up. i know i don’t deserve you."

his voice drops lower, almost hesitant. almost afraid.

"but i want to try. and i want you to let me."

for a moment, neither of you speak.

then, finally—

you sigh, shaking your head. "god, you’re such an idiot."

jay blinks. "huh?"

you step forward, grabbing the collar of his hoodie and pulling him down until your foreheads touch.

"you’ve had me this whole time," you murmur.

jay’s breath stutters.

then, slowly—hesitantly—his arms wrap around you, holding you against him, warm and real.

"yeah?" he whispers.

you nod. "yeah."

jay exhales a shaky laugh, squeezing you tighter.

"thank god," he mutters. "i don’t think i could’ve handled losing you."

you smile against his shoulder.

neither could you.

[rinhaler]

ok but like nanami or geto fucking us in a room and gojo just goes in without knocking and sees. and it’s all awkward and he leaves but then ends up going into another room to jerk off cause it was kinda hot…

i would like to maintain that i am not a getou fucker but i hope u enjoy this nonnie :3

warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader, voyeurism, exhibitionism, male masturbation, vaginal sex.

words: .9k

“O-Oh, shit, Suguru… should we stop?” you pant, your boyfriend still smothering your neck in soft kisses. It’s an answer in itself, but he still feels compelled to breathe the words softly against your skin.

“No, sweetheart, he’ll be fine.” he coos, nibbling on your earlobe. Ultimately distracting you completely from the awkward encounter of being walked in on while you’re naked with Suguru’s cock balls deep in your cunt.

Satoru leans against the wall for a moment while your bare form runs rampant through his mind. The way your swollen, bitten lip fell from your teeth as you moaned while riding Suguru’s thick length.

The way skin slapping against skin filled the room as he relentlessly pounded into you. How sweaty you both appeared to be. You must have been at it for a while. And Satoru has never been so jealous.

He’d always had a thing for you, but kept it to himself out of respect for his best friend. But, fuck, that’s a hard thing to ignore. And now he’s dealing with another hard thing to ignore.

He shouldn’t.

He couldn’t.

But he finds himself instinctively walking to his own dorm room and leaning against the wall that he shares with Suguru. He can still hear you going at it. And his heart flutters.

You know how thin the walls are, and yet you’re making no effort to conceal your salacious little moans. You’re doing it for him, aren’t you? That’s what he thinks, anyway. That’s how he reasons it as he pulls off his t-shirt and throws it to the ground. His sweats come down just enough for him to grab his aching cock.

And the little hiss he emits is pornographic as he makes contact with himself. He’s so turned on, so sensitive it’s almost sore to touch himself. But he can’t help it. He needs this.

He runs his hand over his drooling cockhead and is even taken aback himself by what a mess you’ve made of him. Without even trying. His head falls back against the wall with a gentle thump as he closes his eyes and imagines he is the one fucking you right now. The way you’re trying to be quiet but failing completely as Suguru continues to fuck up into you and viciously pound against your g-spot without remorse.

It should be him.

He looks down at his cock. It’s red and throbbing with a burning desire to be stuffed inside of your precious little cunt.

“Hhng, ah! Suguru! Don’t, d-don’t stop baby.. haaah~!”

Oh, you know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you? Even if his hand wasn’t already blurring as he fucks into his fist, he’d have to after that. You want him to hear, he was right. You want him to get off to the idea of you. Of fucking you. Of being a seedy little witness to your filthy show.

You act so innocent, but you aren’t. He should have known.

It’s always precious little things like you that are the most depraved.

He doesn’t want to stop touching himself. He wants to enjoy the feeling of pleasuring himself with you at the same time forever. But he can hear your hitching breaths. The way you’re struggling to keep up with Suguru and how he has to help you even more.

He doesn’t want to stop.

But he has to cum with you.

The way Suguru tries to silence himself as he shoots his load inside of you makes him smile. Like it’s some secret that you’re fucking. It’s well past that, now. Gojo had already borne witness to your natural instincts consuming you both.

He fists his cock faster. Harder. Suguru doesn’t stop fucking you, rubbing your clit with his thumb all the while. He can hear it in your shaky breaths. You're close. You’re so fucking close.

And you’ll cum together.

How romantic.

He doesn’t hold back his own moans as he hears you succumb to your building orgasm. It’s only right that you know what you’ve done to him, he thinks. And for a moment, it goes silent, when you realise what is happening in the room next door.

You’re covering your mouth, much to Suguru’s dismay. He yanks your hand away and interlocks his fingers with yours. Still fucking his softening cock into you relentlessly.

“Don’t be shy,” he smirks, “We wanna hear your pretty moans.”

And Satoru’s cock spurts glob after glob of white, shimmering cum onto his stomach as he moans boisterously for you. Suguru really is the best friend he could ask for. He could have so easily stopped fucking you and started a fight over the fact he’s masturbating over you.

He’s generous. Sharing you and your gorgeous moans with him. He didn’t have to, of course. But Suguru knows how lucky he is to have you. He feels sorry for every other man on earth since he knows no one else can have you.

“Fuuuuuuck me.” Satoru sighs as he finishes, jerking every last drop of cum he possibly can.

“You’re welcome, Satoru,” Suguru laughs, knocking his knuckle against the wall behind him. You collapse above his body, resting your head on his shoulder as you come down from your high. “Don’t make a habit of it, though.”

“A habit?” he laughs, knowing it’s far too late for that. “Next time, I want to watch.”

© 2023 rinhaler

[l0vergirls]

take the reins

you've dug too deep, but there doesn't seem to be a downside to that.

batfam x reader

wc: 1382

a/n: i started watching mr. robot (plz no spoilers im literally on the 3rd episode) and fell in love with it and .. started thinking !!!.. & this is lowkey set up like the start of a series, but i'll see how it goes considering i have nothing plannef at all. .. pls do send asks about this story and this reader since i would love love love to expand on it hehe

It was as if time had stopped for a moment.

You found out a lot of secrets. Secrets that can put people behind bars. What do you do with those? Send in an anonymous tip to the rare non corrupt cop, of course. You like to think of it as being a non-violent vigilante. Instead of running around Gotham in a costume and beating the bad guys within an inch of their life, you sit comfortably behind your computer screen and dig.

You dig for anything and everything you can find on everyone you encounter. Why? Maybe it's the unrelenting feeling of needing control, or the fear of simply not knowing.

By breaking something down to its source code, you're baring it all; the rights, the wrongs, everything that makes or breaks you. You won't get caught off guard if you just know how something— someone works.

Sometimes, you find nothing noteworthy. Your neighbor in 405, for example. The first time you had passed her, she sneered at you. That was good enough reason to hack her.

The woman at 405 is Emma Davis, aged 35, 5'7, date of birth: May 15th. Studied at NYU, worked a desk job at some company in Star City before getting relocated to Gotham. Yeah, I wouldn't be ecstatic either. Brings home a different person every week. Occasionally smokes weed. Also your occasional hook up. Don't make decisions while intoxicated.

Emma Davis is just a run of the mill office worker, with the same vices as most people. Nobody special.

But this? This could get you in serious shit, if you aren't in for it already.

Bruce Wayne, date of birth: February 19th, 6'2, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, adoptive father of multiple children, and... crime fighting vigilante at night.

Bruce Wayne is Batman.

It wasn't hard to connect the dots after uncovering the man behind the cowl; you figured all his children were Robins at one point. Even the dead one. Except the dead one isn't really dead, is he?

Richard Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne— all crime fighting vigilantes. What a family. You wonder who else you can unmask.

Fuck, you need to go home. Doing this at a coffee shop was a mistake, but damn it, their connection was fast. Too many people, too great a chance of a breakdown.

Close all the tabs, all the windows, scrub yourself clean of all evidence of intrusion. Don't leave a trace.

Shut down the laptop. Leave.

The sun is still out, they wouldn't be around yet. Everyone knows they all work at the dead of night.

You drown out the meaningless conversations around you, and you're on autopilot, heading to the apartment that you call home.

<>

The Waynes pride themselves on their secrecy. Hiding their vigilante alter egos behind carefully crafted lies. They built walls as tall as the buildings with Bruce's name plastered across the front.

It was a little too late when Alfred Pennyworth received an alert from the Batcomputer. Alfred sent all the vigilantes a message, and they came running in. After all, a security breach is detrimental to all of them.

The butler found a location, The Last Drop. A café right in the middle of the city.

Bruce looked through all of the files, recordings, reports— everything. The hacker didn't take anything, and didn't make copies. He deduced that whoever it was simply read.

That's no good either. Someone out there is aware of who they are, who the man under the mask is.

"Alfred, pull up CCTV footage at The Last Drop at the time of the hack."

On the screen were the grainy videos of the café, with at least 6 different angles. It was fairly crowded, filled with busybodies coming and going through the door. With 7 people on their laptops, they could narrow down the search for the culprit. But not by much.

Until two figures left the café at the same time, approximately a few minutes after the breach, but neither of them were sitting next to each other.

It was one or the other.

Tyler Hess, banker. Went to school in the city, stayed in the city. Clean records, comes from an upper middle class family. Nothing of note.

[Y/N] [L/N], cybersecurity engineer at LabyrinthTech, and one of the more favored employees. Born and raised in Gotham, graduated college a year early, and by all accounts, highly intelligent. Clean records, but skilled enough to be the one behind the hack.

"Well, I think we found our suspect. What're you gonna do about it?" Jason bristled, apprehensive that this person knew all about him.

"'You'? What, you've got your own plan?" Dick retorted.

"Maybe. Not like I'm gonna hurt the little thing," he spat. It was invasive enough that you'd hacked into their records, he thinks a little scare is warranted.

Bruce interrupted, "No, I'll deal with this. They accessed our data for a reason."

<>

It was inevitable that one of them was gonna pay you a visit tonight.

After locking yourself in the apartment, you figured a quick nap would be a good distraction from it. And it was, for a couple hours. Upon waking, you walked into the living room and lo and behold, vengeance himself was standing in your apartment.

"Can't say I didn't expect this, really," you spoke carefully, avoiding his gaze.

He grunted, "Then you know why I'm here. Why'd you do it? What do you gain from figuring out our identities?"

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a shadow moving across your window.

"Nothing. I just got curious. All billionaires are shady, and they're all hiding something. You were, by far, the most suspicious," you let out a breath. "Don't worry, that's not what anyone else thinks, at least not anyone that can do what I do,"

You hear another voice joining the conversation.

"Do what? Invade people's privacy? You should really be careful where you stick your nose in, hacker."

If looks could kill, you'd be dead ten times over. God, this guy's intense even through that helmet.

Jason Todd, aka Red Hood, date of birth: August 16th, date of death: April 27th, 6'0, occasional smoker, former Robin. Likes pot roast.

Batman— no, Bruce Wayne interjected, "Suspicious?"

"Might just be me, but I found it hard to believe the richest man in the world would be throwing so much money into this dump of a city without an ulterior motive," you look at one of the ears on his cowl, it was almost cute, "Every other rich guy did. Whatever money they put out, it came back to them ten times bigger. Nobody really felt for this city."

That was your angle? The two men went still at your somber admittance. Sure, Gotham wasn't the best city, but that's why they did what they did, wasn't it? They had the slightest urge to show you that they really did care. And perhaps show off a bit.

Jason shifted, "You did it because of a gut feeling?"

You shrugged, "It was right, wasn't it? Something was up, just not... in the way I expected,"

It wasn't everyday you uncover a vigilante that turned out to be Gotham's beloved billionaire.

"Anyway, congratulations on not being an entirely bad guy. 'm not gonna tell anyone," you murmured, "not like anyone's gonna believe me,"

You see Red Hood look at Batman, a silent conversation was, no doubt, occurring.

The two vigilantes head for your window— do these guys ever use the front door?

Bruce turns to you, "Try not to do it again,"

"No promises," you huffed. "But your defenses could use some work. Comms, body cams, and other recorded footage— they were just there."

Red Hood's helmet glinted as he tilted his head at you. You shivered.

"Right, won't do it again," and that was that.

It was like they were never here.

What a night.

<>

You scrutinized the letter in your hands.

A job offer for a position you've never interviewed for. At Wayne Enterprises.

Batman works quick, that's for sure.

The pay was good, very good. You reckon there wasn't a single complaint about that.

Hm, they're making sure you're under their watch. If you were a threat, you'd be easier to keep an eye on. Easier to control.

You weren't one to give up control, but potentially having access to the city’s… well, everything, was something too tempting to give up.

Looks like LabyrinthTech was losing their best employee.

[jaehaeryshater]

Gilly, Ygritte, and Monster in Winterfell

art by @shebsart, commissioned by me

Shebsart came through once again guys!!! I’m so excited ^_^

For about a year and a half, since I got into ASOIAF, I have admired Shebsart’s work. Their Theon in particular is the closest I’ve ever found to my vision of him, I adore his hooked nose (Asha’s too!). They also have such an amazing Barbrey design and the Starks, including Jon, are amazing. I have paid for some Ygritte commissions before with other artists, and I have liked all three of them, but when it comes to the closest look of what I think of when I imagine her book counterpart is some of Shebsart’s old pieces of her (and Jon). I was looking for someone to draw Gilly and Ygritte and there was nobody whose opinion that I held in higher regard than Shebsart, as they were my favorite ASOIAF artist, so I asked them if they had any recommendations of who had their commissions open. They told me they actually considering opening their commissions and I have been working with them ever since, even though as far as I know they have not formally opened commissions. Shebsart has been really great to work with and patient, even though there’s been some trouble with payment barriers since we live in very different parts of the world. They’ve been professional and worked hard.

I have long imagined the possibility of Gilly and Ygritte as friends; I thought it was high time I got it depicted in some way. I think it would really benefit Gilly if she had some female influences that weren’t family members. Of course, she does receive this to some extent, but I think it would be very interesting for her to find companionship with a girl around her age that shared the general Freefolk culture, although of course her upbringing was wildly different than Ygritte’s. We know that Ygritte has some sort of soft spot for young children, or at least some sort of moral code that keeps her from killing them. This is one trait shown in both the books and the show. In the show, while I don’t consider anything that happened to it as canon, she specifically spared Gilly and Monster knowing that the others around her would not. I don’t think it would be much of a stretch that Ygritte would grow attached to Monster and have a soft spot there, even though we know she hates incest and would therefore consider his conception an abomination. Everyone in ASOIAF is misogynistic to some extent and some of the things Ygritte says about women are toxic, but I would like to think she wouldn’t victim blame Gilly or call her a whore as Stannis did. I definitely see Ygritte as a strong woman who would want to protect and stand up for someone like Gilly. And Gilly has great compassion and is all around a good person, so I think a friendship would be good for the both of them.

In the depiction above, Ygritte is Queen in the North, consort to Jon. This fits in the same AU as my previous Jon and Ygritte commission by shripscapi. I’ve said this many times, I respect people who hate Jon x Ygritte and they have very valid reasons, but knowing Jon’s character, as long as Ygritte lives, which she would have in this AU as the Battle of Castle Black does not happen, there’s no other choice in Jon’s mind for consort for him as King Beyond the Wall. For the timeline of this art, Jon was first crowned King Beyond the Wall and he went South with his people to get away from and prepare to battle the Others, seeking help from other rulers. His men battle the Boltons and because neither Rickon or Bran have been found yet, he is declared King in the North as well for the time being. His residence is temporarily taken up in Winterfell and the Freefolk settle nearby in close quarters. Jon goes towards the Vale as he’s heard word about Sansa, but Ygritte stays behind with some of the Freefolk. This is when Gilly is her lady-in-waiting. I wanted to show that Ygritte’s clothes are nicer than Gilly’s, but I still wanted both outfits to be respectable. I wanted the fashion to be reasonable for a Northern climate, so that meant furs. Besides, they are both Freefolk and furs mean a lot to them culturally. I sent references for clothing and Shebsart went from there. Some people say Ygritte would never wear a dress but I disagree if it was comfortable enough and she was able to boss people around and be smug, I think she’d wear it as long as it was advantageous for her. And besides, I imagine that Jon designed the dress herself and that’s flattering enough for her to like it. What I did like to show is that Gilly is taking more towards traditional “ladylike” activities like embroidery, while Ygritte isn’t interested. She’d rather sit around and talk and laugh.

Oh, and isn’t baby Monster precious????

Edit: I’ve seen someone say they think Ygritte would hate her life if this is what it was like, and I’m not mad at it or anything, but I don’t agree!!! To clarify more about this AU, Jon becomes King Beyond the Wall because the Freefolk believe that only someone with Stark blood would be able to negotiate with the Others, so they’d be doomed without him. So therefore it’s not just about her feelings for Jon, she’s married to the person she believes will be able to save her people. The influence she has on him is also major and a source of pride for her. In the art above, she is living in Winterfell and yes she’s wearing a dress, but that isn’t her life forever. The reason she stays and doesn’t go with Jon to the Vale is not because she’s a woman and he refuses to let her fight, but because in the main timeline she has a child already (this art has a bit of a fudged timeline, if I were to write a fic on this idea she’d already have had a child before they breached the Wall) and if Jon were to die, the child still has Stark blood and would still be the only hope against the Others. If she had been South and had died with Jon (Jon doesn’t die at this point, but the prospect is why she stays behind), the child would have a regent with their own motivations and wouldn’t have its interests at heart like Ygritte would. This is an important role that I do think at the end of the day, despite Ygritte not being the smartest person, she would take pride and be protective over. It’s not simply that motherhood has changed her and is a role that took over her previous personality, because that’s not true. It’s that there are greater things at play and she’s a key part of protecting the source of the realm’s salvation, so to say. She doesn’t live at Winterfell forever and when at Winterfell, she does boss around some Lords but doesn’t do any chores that she would find tedious. The most she does is sew together a wolf plushie for her child, which was incredibly poorly done. When Bran and Rickon are eventually found and thus Jon doesn’t have the title of Winterfell, they settle in lands previously ruled by the Umbers and she doesn’t wear a dress anymore, I have another commission by shripscapi that shows her usual attire but it is furs, she does hunt, she teaches her children to hunt and falconry. Her traditions are not stomped out in favor of Southron traditions. Her home is not a castle, but a small home slightly more impressive than the huts of the rest of her people, inspired by architecture during the Norman invasion. All in all, she’s really happy. The most important thing to her is that her people are safe, the Others are going to be defeated, and they’ve gotten past the Wall, a goal of her people for a long time. I guess I’ve just had a different view of Ygritte and the Freefolk than majority opinion. I think the Freefolk are more adaptable than people in the South generally are, and it’s impressive how they rallied together despite their differences when faced with the Others. I don’t think the Seven Kingdoms would be able to do that. So I feel as if she, as well as most of her people, would be very happy and feel a sense of accomplishment for being able to live on and live among people that, before the threat of the Others, would never be able to tolerate them and vice versa.