#they both think the other one is a little more down and cool than they are

[melodyreads]

Our Little Secret

You and Hamzah are in a secret relationship. While you guys kept each other a secret to protect one another, was it really what you both wanted?

Contains: fem reader, angst, confused reader, lack of communication, arguing, happy ending <3

a/n: I appreciate all the love I've received for my most recent works. Hope you guys enjoy this one, it's definitely my best yet.

---

From an outside perspective, there was nothing out of the ordinary about this situation. Just two couples out on a double date. Me, Mandy, Martin, and Hamzah grabbing dinner at our usual pizza spot. Nothing suspicious. Nothing complicated. Just friends catching up.

Mandy waved kindly as she saw me approach their group. Martin stood next to her seemingly making a joke to Hamzah as he stood there with his hands in his pockets wearing a neutral expression on his face. That was, until he saw me arrive.

A familiar feeling of excitement filled my stomach at the look on Hamzah’s face. I wanted to run up to him and throw my arms around him while greeting him with a kiss. He would smile down at me as his left hand placed itself in my back jean pocket.

Except, of course, Martin and Mandy were the only couple actually together. 

I guess you could say me and Hamzah were together too. We basically lived at each other's apartments, always leaving clothes in each other's space. I would wake up to Hamzah’s messy curls aghast on the pillow next to mine. I would plant his face with kisses as he grabbed my waist and pulled me on top of him.  

We were together, but in a, “we don’t want to put a label on it” kind of way. No commitments, no pressure—just what we wanted.

I wasn’t so sure about that anymore.

For me, it was about not wanting anything serious right now. I wanted to protect my relationship with Hamzah, what we had was different than anything I had experienced with boyfriends in the past.

For Hamzah, it had more to do with his online image— he didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable with their fans' inevitable perceptions of you if you two were to date. I joked that he was just playing up the “I’m available” act for his followers. He would always roll his eyes but I’m sure this was part of it.

If people found out we were together, it’d ruin the whole thing. Which is why I had to be extra careful. Even around our best friends.

So imagine my horror when, halfway through dinner, Martin suddenly narrows his eyes at me.

“Hey… isn’t that Hamzah’s sweater?”

The table goes silent and my stomach drops.

I freeze with my pizza halfway to my mouth, my brain scrambling for a response. The oversized grey hoodie I’m wearing is definitely Hamzah’s— the words “nap queen” in black letters I envisioned on my chest made me want to laugh and bury my head in my hands at the same time. I didn’t even think about it when I threw it on before leaving.

It even smelled like him.

I set my pizza down trying to brush it off, “Am I not allowed to wear your guys merch anymore? Y’all should be grateful.” I say acting offended.

Mandy’s eyes flick between me and Hamzah, who—thank god—keeps his expression cool, shoveling food into his mouth as he nodded his head at my response..

Martin, however, is still staring. “I swear that one is yours though, isn’t it Hamzah? It has the exact same material as the one you wear. ”

I let out a short laugh, trying to play it off. “I’m not sure why because this one is mine.” My voice started to shake

Pull it together.

“It looks exactly like Hamzah’s,” Martin insists. He turns to Mandy. “Doesn’t it?”

Mandy shrugs, sipping her drink. “A lot of those hoodies look the same.”

Hamzah finally speaks, his voice casual but just a little too fast. “Yeah, man, it’s just a hoodie. All those hoodies look the same, part of the reason we sold so many.”

Martin still looks unconvinced, but he lets it go, turning his attention back to his food. My entire body is tense, and across the table, I can feel Hamzah suppressing a smirk.

Under the table, his finger interlocks with mine, a slow, deliberate touch that sends a jolt up my spine. I flick my eyes toward him, and there’s something smug in his gaze—something knowing.

I roll my eyes at him, trying to ignore the way my face feels hot.

That was too close.

But the truth is, I kind of love the risk. I love the way we sneak glances at each other when no one’s looking, the way my body reacts when he’s just close enough to touch but doesn’t. I love the late nights, the whispered conversations, the fact that we’re both holding onto something we’re pretending we don’t want to name.

God I wanted him bad.

---

The party was loud—too loud. Music pulsed through the walls, and the mix of voices, laughter, and the occasional clatter of a drink being set down filled the air. Mandy and Martin were off in their own little world, and I had lost track of most people in the crowd.

Hamzah settled next to me "How're you doing?" he asked, leaning down to meet my ears while looking out into the sea of people.

I sighed in response, "Alright, I guess..." I snapped my head to meet Hamzah's dark eyes, "...Can we go home soon?" I asked sticking out my bottom lip. He chuckled before leaning down once more.

"Come with me," he murmured, his voice just low enough for only me to hear.

I barely had time to react before his fingers brushed against my wrist—just a ghost of a touch, but enough to send a jolt through me. Before I knew it, I was being pulled down the hall, away from the noise, away from prying eyes.

He didn’t stop until we were inside an empty room, the door clicking shut behind us. The sudden quiet made my pulse hammer in my ears.

"Wait, what if someone sees?" I whispered, even though I was far too gone to start moving away from him.

Hamzah exhaled, leaning back against the door with a sly look covering his face. His eyes were dark, and the dim lighting cast sharp shadows on his face. "I don't care," he said.

That was a lie. He did care. We both did. That was the whole reason we were keeping this secret.

And yet… here we were.

The tension thickened in the air between us, something unspoken crackling like a wire about to snap. Hamzah's jaw tightened, his fingers twitching at his sides before he finally gave in, stepping closer.

I barely had time to breathe before his hands cupped my face, his touch gentle despite the desperation in his eyes. This was the last look I could register before his lips were on mine.

A slow, deep kiss started, stealing the air from my lungs, and making my heart stutter.

I wanted this. God, I wanted this.

But before I could get too carried away, I thought of where we could have been. Kissing in the middle of a crowd, unwavering concerns about what others around us thought. His hand in mine not hidden beneath a table, but revealed proudly.

The weight of it—the secret, the hiding, the way we only allowed ourselves these moments in the dark—it was all too much.

A sharp pang in my chest pulled me back to reality. Before I could stop myself, I tore away, my breath ragged.

“Hamzah, I—” My voice broke, my hands shaking as I stepped back. “I can’t keep doing this.”

His brows furrowed, his hands hovering in the empty space between us like he wanted to pull me back but knew he shouldn’t. “What do you mean... what's wrong?”

I forced a swallow, blinking hard. “Being with you in secret... it just hurts too much.” My voice was barely above a whisper, but the way Hamzah flinched made it clear he heard every word.

His lips parted, like he was about to say something, but I couldn’t stand there and let him try to fix it with more whispered reassurances, more stolen touches that would only leave me aching for something real.

Before he could even get a word out, I was already out the door.

I pushed past the crowd, the music and chatter barely registering. My chest was tight, my pulse racing. I needed air.

I needed to get out of here.

The cold night air hit me as I stepped outside, but it didn't stop me. As I started to come to terms with what just happened, tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, threatening to spill. I sucked in a sharp breath, hugging my arms around myself, trying to shake the feeling of Hamzah’s hands still lingering on my skin.

Then, I heard determined footsteps tracking behind me.

“Wait.”

Hamzah’s voice.

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself not to turn around. But then his hand caught mine, stopping me in my tracks.

I exhaled shakily as he moved in front of me, his brows furrowed, his expression torn between frustration and desperation. Whatever it was caused your whole body to shudder.

“I don’t want to hide anymore,” he said, his voice rough, his grip tightening just slightly, “Not if it means losing you.”

I swallowed hard, my heart hammering. “What about your whole ‘single guy’ thing? What about—”

“Screw all that,” he cut me off, shaking his head. “None of it matters if it means I can’t be with you. I don’t care who knows.”

The words hit me like a punch to the chest, knocking the air out of me.

I searched his face, looking for hesitation, for doubt. But there was none. Just him—bare, vulnerable, real.

A shaky laugh left my lips, part disbelief, part relief. “Are you sure about this?”

Hamzah let out a soft chuckle, his hand lifting to brush a strand of hair from my face before resting gently against my cheek. “Yeah, I mean it.” His thumb traced my skin, slow and reverent. “I want you. For real.”

I didn’t need any more convincing.

This time, when I reached out and kissed him, I wasn’t thinking about the consequences. About who was watching or who would care. What came next and what the future held.

From now on, we came first.

---

a/n: Hope you'll enjoyed this!!!!! It's so hard to end stories, but I think I'm getting better at it lol. Lmk if you guys want a part two????????

[spiderlily-w1tch-blog]

𝙱𝚊𝚔𝚞𝚐𝚘𝚞 𝙺𝚊𝚝𝚜𝚞𝚔𝚒 - 𝙿𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛 𝙴𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝

𝕎𝕀𝕊ℙ𝕊𝕀𝕄ℙ𝕊

— — —

Ft ABO Public Breastfeeding; ft knotting and cock warming

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: I do not own BNHA or its characters, all credit goes to its creators and actors

WC: 2,143

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: Includes Omegaverse, Lactation Kink, references to Poly Dynamics & cum eating, no use of Y/n, 2nd Person POV, obligatory exhibitionism/public sex warning (Series Warning)

𝕸𝖎𝖓𝖎 𝕹𝖔𝖙𝖊: Titties

𝕸𝖎𝖓𝖎 𝕹𝖔𝖙𝖊 2; 𝕰𝖑𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖈 𝕭𝖔𝖔𝖌𝖆𝖑𝖔𝖔: Life loves to fuck me over a lot so I've been lacking on the writing part of being a writer 😭 I had some legal stuffs going on and on top of that I had my first Covid experience but things are starting to wind down now(I say, even though I had to call the fire department at 1am because my door broke and I was trapped in my bedroom). Chapters will be On Hold for a little bit but I will be writing my ass off once I'm able to actually think without something else popping up ♡

【Ｍａｓｔｅｒｌｉｓｔ】

— — —

You kissed Katsuki’s lips again, enjoying the feeling of his hands running up and down your sides, especially with the whole pack sat back and watching you both. His fingers deftly slid under the hem of your tank top and began sliding it off your body. A shiver ran up your spine when the cool September air hit your slightly damp nipples as he hooked his thumbs into your loose sports bra and pulled it up along with your top.

You heard the amazed breaths from the other Alphas in the pack. You preened at the noise as a shiver of pride struck through you. You heard the passing gasps of other people passing by and through ‘Pack Park’ as it’s been locally deemed. It was made to be just an average park but it became the meeting spot for so many Packs that it’s regarded as if it’d always been a park specifically for Packs to gather.

You felt Katsuki’s swell of pride through the Bond at the recognition of how amazing his Mate is. You purred at the feeling which caught his attention once more and he looked into your eyes as he leaned forward to lave over a leaking nipple. One arm stayed firmly secured around your waist, holding onto the opposite side, while the other ran up your back and sat between your shoulder blades as he sucked the pebbled bud into his mouth.

You moaned out at how he eagerly sucked and the relief you felt from building up your milk for the last day in preparation for today. You couldn’t help from grinding down on him subtly. Your soft movements seemed to amuse him as you felt his lips form a smirk around your nipple and his hands slithered to wrap around your waist in a tight grip. With his hold, he started grinding you down harder to meet his own hips as he rolled them up into you.

Your loose shorts were already dampening with your slick and creating a dark spot on his own loose sweats. He lightly nipped at your swollen bud and wiggled his fingers into the waistband of your shorts. He teased the skin there, rubbing back and forth without going any deeper than just the band. You could feel the amazed gazes of your packmates on you and your Alpha and preened at the feeling.

The Pack Alpha and his mate, his prized Omega mate let him drink from your breasts. That lactated just for him. The Pack Alpha who caused your body to react to his pheromones and dominance. For your tits to fill up with milk for him without being pupped.

Not all Alphas can make their Omegas lactate. It’s a skill for only the most dominant Alphas, most commonly just Pack Alphas or the other powerful Alphas in the pack. It’s an even more powerful show of dominance when it’s the Pack Alpha with the only Omega in the pack. It shows even more that he’s the one that’s worthy. He’s the only one with an Omega and so he’s the only one who can show it off. Show you off.

“You fuckers enjoying the show?” Katsuki called to the passersby who stopped passing by to watch the show of dominance. They at least looked sheepish for being caught watching but in the end, didn’t say anything or move to look away or leave. It didn’t particularly bother you or your Alpha so you simply carried on. Under you, you felt the stiff bulge in his pants and mewled at the feeling, wanting to feel him inside you.

As his tongue lapped at your chest, he eagerly indulged you. With some shuffling, he tugged his loose-fitting pants down to mid-thigh and let his cock spring free. As it bobbed up from its confines, it slapped against your pussy and yanked a moan from your throat like a yelp. Shuffling could be heard from behind you, more than likely the sound of some of the other male Alphas shifting themselves in their pants. With a small, cocky smirk on his lips clasped around your leaking teat, he teased his length through your folds, sliding the bulbous head through your slick, getting it properly lubed up to easily slip inside you. The excessive amounts of slick that you were producing quite literally dripped down his length and coated it with a fair amount that he could spread in an even coat with his hand stroking over his hardness. Even with it spread so thoroughly, your slick dripped down so much that it glided in rivulets down to his balls and as it slid down the sensitive skin, he shivered in pleasure before he finally— finally— guided you down to ease himself into you, his perfect little sheath.

His good little cock sleeve.

You moaned happily at the feeling of being filled with your Alpha and sighed at the dual pleasure of his cock inside you and his mouth relieving the pressure in your breast. While the rest of the pack was sat quietly behind you, you could feel their gazes and it never got old, how powerful it made you feel. You somehow managed to keep still and not fidget your hips, even with his cock resting right against that one spot inside you that made you yearn for him. Your arms wrapped fully around Katsuki’s shoulders and kept him in place as he sucked and slurped and lapped at your bulging tits. His own groan of bliss rang out in the public space and you could feel the shift in the air surrounding you as it affected every one of your pack members and likely even other passersby.

The pleasure of sucking on your heavy tits— draining the milk inside and guzzling it down— and the twitching of your walls around his cock, even stationary, was so much that your Alpha didn’t even need to fuck you to inflate his knot. The more sweet milk he swallowed from your teat the more the base of his cock swelled into a firm, solid knot. Once it was swelled to full mass, pressed against your opening and begging to be locked inside you, his arms unwrapped from your middle and his hands grabbed needily at your waist. He licked at your nipple, providing a last bit of warmth before he had to pull away to slightly lift you up a mere inch on his cock before pushing you back down harshly. You whined at the feeling of his cock dragging along your spongy walls and at the cold that washed over your wet nipples and pebbled them painfully hard.

Katsuki repeated the motion a few times until his knot was able to force itself into your tight, wet heat. With a firm ‘pop’ his knot slipped inside and locked you together. You moaned whorishly and tossed your head back as your body went taut at the pleasure, your slick gushing out of you and coating his thighs in your release. His tight groan of ecstasy accompanied his hands tightening on your waist, his claws digging in and making pinpricks in your flesh.

“Good fuckin girl. Good fuckin Omega. Such a good girl for me with such a nice tight little pussy.” Katsuki grumbled out before returning his head to your chest and sucking on your nipple again.

The scent of your release captivated all of those in your pack and they all has to stop themselves from leaning forward to get a better whiff, knowing that if they got any closer to their Alpha and his Mate while he suckled from you and has you on his cock, he would likely lash out violently. Some of the passersby didn’t seem to get the same memo— either they couldn’t control themselves or they thought they’d push their luck— and tried to get closer, but Eijirou, Denki, and Mina from the Pack Alpha’s inner circle growled protectively and bared their fangs and flashed their eyes at them to get them to keep walking. Hanta, also from the inner circle, remained at the forefront of the pack and released a calming scent as he made eye contact with his Alpha over your shoulder to reassure him that they had it handled and that no one would interrupt you two.

With a satisfied grunt, Katsuki returned his full attention to your bountiful tits and slid his arms back around your waist to pull you closer. Your mind was fuzzy with the pleasure of your Alpha’s cock inside you and his mouth on your breasts and the scent of him and your pack surrounding you. You remained pliant and obedient in your Mate’s hold and allowed him to completely drain your boobs. The relief of him removing the pressure was enough to have your walls clenching around his knot. By the time he had drained one of your breasts, he was already close to his climax with how much your cunt fluttered around his shaft, your hips had moved just minuscule amounts as you had been trying to stop your movements.

“She had so much milk, she’s not even pupped and he had her that full?” Another Alpha muttered to their packmate, astonished that one Alpha could have his Omega produce that much milk. Pride swelled in your chest at their comment.

Yes, your Alpha is wonderfully capable and so amazingly dominant. He and his pheromones made your tits swell so full of milk and he drank from you in front of everyone— not only your pack but everyone! The claim and the dominance made your head spin in pure ecstasy.

When no more milk came from your nipple he soothed the overworked bud with his tongue and a kiss to your mound before switching to the other breast and sucking with fervor. Milk gushed into his mouth with a pleased groan and some spilled out the side of his mouth, too excited to control how much pressure he sucked with and how much he took in before he greedily gulped it down. His arms tightened around you, pulling your chest closer to him and burying his face deeper into your boobs and subsequently shifting you on his dick. A moan muffled against your flesh and his cock twitched inside your velvety insides and pressed further into your sweetest spots. Your chest felt almost empty after he had sucked at your buds so much and the feeling had your hips involuntarily shifting. Katsuki’s hips jumped up to rut into you and it made you let loose a slutty moan, burying a hand in his ashy blonde locks and tugging.

A harsh suck, a nip of teeth, a jolt of hips, and the last of your milk burst into his mouth at the same time his cum burst from his cock and into your awaiting cunt. His arms wrapped so tightly around you that you thought you might merge with his body entirely as well with your arm wrapped so tightly around his shoulders and your claws digging into his shoulder, leaving angry red lines, and your other hand buried so deep in his white-gold hair. Your eyes rolled back as your toes curled and your mouth hung open as your back arched. Once Katsuki had recovered, he pulled away from your breast slowly, a soothing lick and a kiss to the bud before he licked his lips clean of your breastmilk, flicking his gaze up at you and seeing your blissed-out face.

“Such a good girl.” He muttered softly, pressing small kisses to the flesh of your breasts, carefully avoiding overstimulating your nipples.

“Alpha…” You sighed wistfully, going lax in his hold and resting your head against his shoulder.

“Did so good, ‘Mega.” He praised, stroking along your spine soothingly and purring to help ground you, releasing small amounts of his scent so as to help you but not overwhelm you. Burnt caramel eased your descent back to Earth and had you nuzzling your face into his neck, laving lazily over his scent gland. With more soft praises, he motioned for Hanta to come forward and set a blanket over you so your back wouldn’t get cold and to provide some sense of privacy now that the show was over.

“Felt good, Alpha.” You cooed at him and Katsuki smirked at the confirmation that he provided well for his Mate’s pleasure.

“‘m glad, ‘Mega. Let’s get you home and we can have a cuddle pile with you in the middle, snacks and plushies for you, and the guys can clean you up while you just relax and be a good little Pillow Princess.” He promised in a low voice, cuddling with your Alpha and the Inner Circle and them licking and sucking Katsuki’s mess out of you was too appealing to even think of passing up.

— — —

𝕋𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥:

Crossed out if I can’t tag you for some reason!

@frosch-thefrog @hellsingalucard18

[smystermy]

𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐬

tags: geto suguru x you; canon-compliant (but it isn't important to this fic); set some time after his defection; you both co-parent nanako-mimiko; established relationship; Fluff with a capital F; Smut with a capital S; you both aren’t just down bad for each other—you’re down catastrophic.

warnings: mostly porn with minimal plot—vacation sex; mostly dom geto and mostly sub reader; oral sex (fem!receiving); p-in-v sex (unprotected); Vanilla with a capital V—the smut is pretty sweet and loving, besties.

word count: 3648.

oneshot, loosely related to 'peel your heart like a pomegranate'.

The night air is thick with salt, the distant lull of waves a gentle, rhythmic hush against the shore.

Inside the villa, moonlight spills softly through sheer curtains, casting silver across the pristine wooden floors. You’ve just tucked Nanako and Mimiko into bed, their steady breathing a comforting lullaby as you quietly close their door. Now, your own room beckons, promising a brief moment of quiet before sleep.

Yawning, you stretch your arms high above your head, the light fabric of your nightgown and overcoat lifting with the motion. The indulgent stretch feels like relief—until an awareness prickles down your spine, the hairs on the back of your neck standing. Lowering your arms, your gaze flicks toward the balcony, and there, already watching you, is Geto.

He leans against the railing, backlit by the moon, his face cast in shadow but the heat in his eyes unmistakable—slow-burning and certain. It sends a ripple through you, stirring something deep inside.

Wordlessly, you step forward.

The balcony doors whisper open as you move, the cool night air brushing against your skin. He doesn’t shift, doesn’t speak—just watches you come to stand beside him. The vast, endless ocean stretches before you, but your attention is fixed on the weight of his gaze.

“You okay?” you ask, your voice quieter than you expect.

Geto exhales a soft laugh, his gaze never leaving you. “Yeah,” he replies, his tone slow, considering. “Just enjoying the view.”

The way he says it wraps warmth around your chest, tightening with something unreadable. You look away, pretending to focus on the waves, but the heat lingers, creeping up your neck.

Neither of you speak for a while, the night quiet but for the whisper of the wind.

It tugs at your nightgown, cool against your skin, sending a shiver through you. Then, without a word, Geto shifts closer, his fingers barely grazing yours against the railing.

“You’re cold,” he murmurs, voice lowering.

You swallow, nodding. “A little.”

He turns to you fully then, closing the space between you until his body is pressed against yours. His hand lifts, tracing slowly down your arm—deliberate, testing the air between you. “Come here,” he says, barely above a whisper.

You do, or maybe he pulls you in—you can’t quite tell, because in the next instant, his mouth is on yours. The kiss starts slow, tender, but soon, he tilts his head, deepening it, and suddenly, you can’t breathe, can’t think beyond the way he holds you, the way his lips move against yours, warm and insistent.

A soft sound escapes you—a mix of a sigh and a whimper. Geto catches it with another kiss, then another, each one stealing more air from your lungs until you’re leaning into him for support.

He pulls away just enough to trail soft kisses along your jaw and the curve of your throat. Then, lifting his head, he presses his mouth just beneath your ear. You gasp, your fingers instinctively curling into the fabric of his shirt.

“Sensitive?” he murmurs, the smirk clear in his voice.

You can’t answer—not when he’s pressing open-mouthed kisses down your neck, slow, savoring, his breath warm against your skin.

A shudder racks through you, the sensation both heightened and interrupted as the night breeze brushes your bare arms. The overcoat slips from your shoulders, pooling soundlessly at your feet, leaving you in only the thin slip of your nightgown. Goosebumps rise in its wake, but Geto is quick to pull you closer, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head.

“Senpai—” Your voice catches in a breathless whisper, swallowed by the sensation of his lips sucking gently at the tender skin of your neck. Your fingers tighten around the fabric of his shirt before they shift, pressing into his shoulders, your breath unsteady as warmth blooms in your chest, curling low in your stomach.

“Mm,” he hums against you, mouth curling at the mark he leaves. His tongue soothes the spot before he sucks again, and this time, a broken moan escapes you.

He exhales a quiet laugh, the sound low, pleased. “That’s cute.”

Your nails dig deeper into his shoulders, your breathing a frantic rhythm as he leans back just enough to admire his work. The cool night air nips at the new mark blooming on your neck, a sharp contrast to the heat thrumming through you.

His fingers slide down your spine, slow and deliberate, grounding you. When your eyes meet his, the gaze that locks with yours is dark, smoldering—familiar, yet unreadable.

“You should’ve told me you get this shy,” he teases, his voice low, warm, and amused. His hand moves from the curve of your back to your lips, his thumb brushing over them, tracing their shape like he’s committing it to memory.

You glare weakly, though it’s lost in the way your heart is pounding. “You talk too much.”

His grin spreads, slow and lazy. “Yeah?” he murmurs, eyes flicking to your lips again. “Guess I’ll have to do something about that.”

Before you can say anything, he pulls you back in, kissing you again—deeper this time—until all you can do is melt against him, palms trailing down his arms, breath hitching, heart hammering in your chest.

He pulls away just enough to give you a moment to breathe before his fingers gently tilt your chin, bringing your lips together again. Your hands find their way back to his shoulders, and the kiss is slow, deep, dizzying. When he pulls back, his lips hover just above yours.

“You okay?” he murmurs, his voice low, rough, his breath mingling with yours.

You swallow, nodding—but it’s a little useless when he presses another kiss to your jaw, his nose brushing your cheek.

Things blur after that.

You’re pressed close, mouths meeting over and over. His hands keep you steady when your knees weaken, and when his palms slide lower, gripping beneath your thighs, you gasp against his lips. Without warning, he lifts you, effortless, and the warmth of his body against yours sends a ripple of heat through you, unwavering even as your heart stutters.

“Wha—” Your breath catches.

His lips curve into a knowing smirk. “Taking you somewhere better.”

Before you can respond, you’re dropped onto the bed. The plush sheets catch you with a quiet bounce, and the air prickles at your skin. But it’s the way Geto looks at you—dark eyes trailing over you, slow and deliberate—that keeps the heat burning higher.

You shift, heart pounding in your chest. “…What?”

He blinks, his smirk widening. “Just looking.”

Your face burns hotter. “You’re staring.”

“Mhm.” He doesn’t deny it. Instead, he leans down, one forearm pressing into the mattress as his voice drops, smooth and slow, a hum beneath it. “What? Don’t like it?”

You can’t answer—not when he kisses you again, swallowing whatever remark you had into something softer, messier. His hand drags up your leg, fingertips pressing into your skin. You shudder, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, catching the small sound that slips from you.

It’s all warmth, all hands and mouths, and the steady press of him against you. The weight of your nightgown shifts, slipping higher as his hands wander, fingers brushing along bare skin, leaving heat in their wake. His mouth scarcely leaves yours as he tugs at the fabric, guiding it over your shoulders and letting it slip away. His hands move lower next, slipping beneath your panties and tugging them down without hesitation. You barely register either, too consumed by the feel of his lips on yours, the way his hands settle on your exposed skin—warm, firm, insistent.

Your breath hitches as he pulls back, dark eyes flickering over you—just for a moment, just enough for you to catch something deeper stirring behind them.

Then, without warning, he’s moving lower.

His lips press to your sternum, slow, deliberate, trailing downward as his fingers slide along your sides, slipping over the curve of your waist, the dip of your hips. His hands squeeze firmly before parting, thumbs tracing a path down, coaxing your legs further apart.

Your breath catches. His mouth follows, kisses pressing along the inside of your thigh—warm, unhurried, each one sending heat curling low in your stomach.

A small sound slips from you, shaky and fragile, and he exhales, the warmth of it spilling over your skin.

“Relax, love,” he murmurs, kissing just a little closer.

Another breathy sound escapes, half moan, half his name.

Geto chuckles darkly, pleased, and presses another kiss—slow, lingering, just at the edge of where you need him most.

His lips trail teasingly against your skin, lips tracing the spot in the slowest, most maddening way. His hands move to press firm against your hips, keeping you where he wants you, thumbs sweeping in slow, grounding circles.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, amused.

You don’t have the breath to respond—not when he leans in, his mouth pressing lower, heat and softness all at once. A sharp gasp escapes you, fingers twisting in the sheets as your back arches.

The first touch is featherlight—barely there, a tease, as though he’s savoring the anticipation more than anything else. The second is deliberate: his lips part, his tongue tracing slowly, precisely. You gasp again, your breath hitching into a broken moan.

“Oh—”

His grip on your hips tightens, a hum of satisfaction vibrating against your skin. He’s thorough, precise, but unhurried—taking his time, listening to the way your breath stutters, how your body tenses before melting into his touch.

“Senpai—” The word slips from your lips, breathless and soft, barely audible.

He doesn’t answer, only continues, slow and unrelenting. His tongue works its way over you, his mouth sealing around you with a heat that makes your stomach coil. The pleasure builds in waves, cresting higher, threatening to pull you under. Letting go of the sheets, your fingers tremble as they tangle into his dark hair, a silent, desperate plea escaping your lips. But he doesn’t ease up. If anything, he deepens his efforts, tightening the tension inside you until it feels like you might shatter.

It’s too much, too good—the sensation dizzying, your body taut and trembling beneath him. You whimper, a broken, breathless sound, and he hums in response, deep and satisfied, sending a fresh shiver through you.

“Mm,” he muses, his voice muffled against your core. “You taste so perfect, my love, I could stay here for hours, completely lost in you.”

The words barely register, lost in the haze of sensation, in the way he lingers, keeping you on the edge, refusing to let you fall just yet. Your breath hitches, your thighs trembling around him.

“Please—”

He chuckles softly, dark and pleased.

“So polite,” he murmurs, his voice deep with indulgence. “Go on, then.”

Geto’s final stroke is devastating. A sharp, precise flick of his tongue, a firm press of his mouth, and you’re gone—coming apart with a cry, pleasure crashing over you in waves that leave your breath ragged, your body trembling beneath him. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t ease up until you’re gasping his name in the aftermath, thighs weak, chest heaving.

Finally, he pulls away, pressing one last kiss to the inside of your thigh before dragging his mouth back up, slow and unhurried—savoring the wrecked state he’s left you in.

He hovers over you, smirk lazy, lips gleaming, brushing the backs of his fingers over your flushed cheek.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he murmurs, leaning down, his voice warm and thick with satisfaction. “Should let me do that more often.”

Your breath still uneven, fingers tangled in his hair, you let out a soft whine, cheeks flushed. “You—”

He silences you with a kiss, deep and unrepentant, stealing the rest of your words.

The kiss lingers just long enough to leave you aching for more, but before you can reach for it, Geto pulls away, his body shifting as he presses into yours—a slow, deliberate weight that has heat pooling low in your stomach again. He's warm against you, the steady rise and fall of his chest pressing closer, grounding you in a way that’s both dizzying and intoxicating.

Your fingers skim down his back, only to brush against the soft fabric of his t-shirt. Your brows furrow, a faint scowl tugging at the corners of your mouth, and you tug lightly at the waistband of his pajama pants, puffing out a little sigh.

“You’re still wearing these?”

Geto huffs a quiet laugh, voice rough at the edges. “Wasn’t exactly thinking about myself.”

His gaze flickers over you then, dark and heavy with something indulgent. He doesn’t move right away, taking a slow, deliberate moment to admire you, drinking in the way your body still trembles from his touch. But when you tug again, a quiet, pointed whine escaping your lips, he exhales, shaking his head fondly.

“Alright, alright.”

His hands move then, pushing his shirt up first, then pulling his pajama pants down, both garments falling away in one smooth motion. The moment feels weightier, more real, as he leans back over you, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your shoulder before meeting your gaze. “Better?”

You hum, letting your fingers trail over his ribs, down his stomach. “Much.”

The kiss that follows is slow at first, deep and unhurried, like he’s savoring every sigh, every little sound you make. But the heat between you intensifies with each movement, with every soft, shared breath. When he shifts again, guiding your legs around his waist, you gasp, the sheer intimacy sending a shiver through you.

There’s a brief pause—his forehead pressing to yours, a quiet inhale against your cheek—before he moves, sinking into you with aching, deliberate intensity.

A sharp, breathless moan escapes you as the air leaves your lungs. Your fingers clutch his shoulders, the sensation almost too much to bear. It’s not just the feeling itself—it’s him, the way he holds you, the way his breath shudders against your skin, the quiet groan he lets out as he settles fully against you.

“God—” Your voice trembles, lost between a gasp and a sigh.

Geto exhales harshly, tightening his grip on you. “I know.”

His first few movements are slow, teasing, as though he’s savoring the way you shiver beneath him. His hands wander, tracing deliberate paths down your sides, over your thighs, as though he’s trying to memorize every inch of you. But when your hips shift up to meet his, when your breath stutters into something more desperate, more pleading, his control slips.

The rhythm shifts, growing faster, each movement sending sparks of pleasure curling up your spine, fanning the flames of desire low in your belly. It’s steady and intoxicating—the kind of pace that has you trembling with need, burning to get closer. His breath shudders against your temple, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer. You don’t know if you’re pulling him closer or if he’s holding you tighter, but in the haze of it all, it hardly matters. You're caught in the swell of it—

Caught in him, in the way he feels, in the way he moves, in the way every roll of his hips steals the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp, and he groans—a low, rough sound like he’s barely holding himself together.

“Feels—” You try to speak, but the words disintegrate into a broken moan, your head tipping back into the pillows.

His mouth finds your throat, then your collarbone, kissing and nipping at every spot that makes you shiver. “Yeah?” His voice is strained, rough with restraint. “Tell me.”

You can’t—there are no words left, only the frantic way your body moves against his, the way your breath catches when his pace falters, just for a second. The groan that escapes him is deep and needy, and it pushes you closer, too close to the edge.

Everything tightens, spiraling higher, like a live wire straining for release.

The tension coils unrelentingly in your stomach, winding tighter with each movement, each press of his body against yours. Every breath, every touch, every lingering caress drags you closer, a dizzying drop just out of reach, and you can feel it—so close, just there, just—

“Geto—” His name escapes you in a desperate, breathless whimper, and that’s all it takes.

His hand slides between you, his fingers hot and insistent, guiding you closer, coaxing you over the edge—and the pleasure crashes into you. Fierce and unrelenting, all-consuming and devastating, it floods your senses, pulling you under with its overwhelming intensity. Your back arches, your throat opening with a sharp cry that’s torn from the deepest part of you, the sensation tearing you apart and rebuilding you in the same breath.

Geto groans against your skin, the sound desperate and raw, and then—he’s lost.

He follows you, his body jerking with the force of it, a deep, trembling moan escaping him as he presses against you, as if he wants to bury himself inside you completely. The warmth of his release floods through you, thick and overwhelming, making your breath hitch. You tighten instinctively around him, a soft gasp escaping as each pulse deepens the connection between you, the sensation of him inside you consuming every part of your being. It's all-encompassing—the heat, the pleasure, and him blending together until you’re not sure where you end and he begins.

For a moment, everything fades away—sound, breath, even time itself. Then, gently, the world tilts, slows, and steadies.

His breath, slow and uneven against your shoulder, is the first thing to bring you back to the present. His arms, still wrapped around you, don’t loosen, as though he has no intention of letting go anytime soon. A long, slow silence stretches between you, filled only by the sound of your breathing, the gentle rise and fall of your chests.

Then, finally, he exhales, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. His voice is a quiet murmur against your skin.

“…Still cold?”

You let out a weak, breathless laugh, your fingers brushing lazily through his hair. “Shut up.”

His smirk returns, softer now, and he kisses you again—slow and deep, like he has all the time in the world. After a beat, he draws back just enough to meet your gaze.

“Tired?” he asks, his voice low and languid but filled with an unmistakable warmth.

You hum, neither confirming nor denying, just letting the sound slip out as you nuzzle closer. You feel the deep chuckle that rumbles through him more than you hear it.

His fingers brush the dip of your waist. “Too tired to move?”

Another hum, this one softer. You feel his lips curve against your temple.

“Guess that means I did a good job,” he murmurs, the teasing edge unmistakable.

You roll your eyes, but the huff of air you let out isn’t really exasperation. If anything, it’s closer to fond amusement. His hand roams a little lower now, tracing lazy, slow paths over your skin.

For a while, you let yourself sink into it, enjoying the quiet warmth of him, the steady comfort of his touch. But then his palm drags lower over the curve of your hip, his fingers pressing lightly into the soft skin of your thigh, and something stirs in you—something that never really left.

He must feel it, too—the way your breath catches, the slight tension in your muscles beneath his touch—because his hand stills for a moment before resuming its path, more deliberate now. His lips find your shoulder, pressing a kiss there, slow and thoughtful.

“You sure you’re tired?” His voice is quieter now, rougher.

You don’t hum this time.

Instead, you shift, stretching slightly beneath his touch, letting your leg slide over his with deliberate slowness. The movement is languid, but it’s enough.

Enough for him to feel the subtle pull of your body toward his, enough for the heat between you to reignite with a quiet spark.

Exhaling through his nose, a low, drawn-out breath that seems to linger in the quiet air between you, Geto’s grip tightens—firm, possessive, leaving a subtle mark of his intent on your skin. He shifts, like he’s about to roll you over, but before he can, you press a hand to his chest, your palm warm and steady against the solid breadth of him, gently holding him back against the mattress.

He stills.

Then, after a pause—

“…Oh?”

You push yourself up, slow and purposeful, shifting to straddle him, your weight settling into place with a quiet press of heat. His breath catches, his hands coming to rest at your hips—firm but unhurried, his touch waiting, not rushing. His eyes lock with yours in the dim light, dark and searching, like he’s trying to read you in that brief, pregnant silence.

The silence lingers for a moment, heavy with anticipation, before you tilt your head with a soft smile, your voice a gentle tease. “Now, it’s your turn to stay still.”

A soft chuckle rumbles from his chest, low and indulgent. His fingers flex against your skin, the touch not demanding, but sure.

“Is that so?”

You lean down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth, then another just below his jaw, a quiet mark of affection. “Mmhm.” Another kiss, this one lower now. “I think I like you like this.”

His grip tightens, but just enough to remind you that he's holding back, allowing you to take the reins. “Guess I should let you have your fun, then.”

You smile adoringly against his skin, letting the warmth of the moment wrap around you both, the steady thrum of his presence anchoring you to the now, to this perfect moment.

And then—

The fire catches again, reigniting with a newfound intensity.

general masterlist || geto suguru masterlist

[revna-writes]

Results of Writing Trade #2!

Trade with: @obstinatejules (actual living angel I think)

Results from the trade!

"To Build a Home" obstinatejules - Chapter 1 - Original Version revna-writes - Chapter 1 - Rewritten Version

"Le Academiae Artes Notoria" revna-writes - Chapter 1 - Original Version obstinatejules - Chapter 1 - Rewritten Version (wow)

overall thoughts

For one, wow, that was super fun. I'm honestly amazed by how well this entire experience lived up to my expectations lol. Part of that is definitely due to obstinatejules being so cool, she was super fun to write with and bounce ideas off of. Plus, I got great material to work with :)

But also, fun aside, it was so helpful??

Writing skills I grew doing this:

Literary analysis and reflection: I spent a long time reading the original and taking notes on a lot of stuff: the characters, their characterization, the plot points, what the piece means, what its themes are, what emotions it is exploring and how, unique aspects of the way it is written, and, 'what unique aspects can I introduce to accentuate and build on this foundation?'

Slice of life / fluff / fanfic genres: I don't have a lot of experience in these worlds, and It was really cool learning about specific phrases, tropes, ways of description, etc., and how to combine them to really make the piece live up to its genre

2nd Person Perspective: very new for me. It has its own considerations- for example, it's much more intimate for the reader, which is both its greatest strength and weakness.

Present tense: as a limited 3rd person past tense girlie, swapping to present tense was hard!! But also really interesting. There really are tense-specific ways to express things that do not work in past tense, and it was fun playing around with those & learning how to make present tense work for me. There is absolutely a different feel to the writing, and as steeped in past tense as I am, I didn't really realize it could make a big difference. I'm excited for the day when I choose to make a story present tense as an artistic choice because of the things unique to it.

Communication skills: Throughout this process with the chapter trades, you know, I'm talking to a bunch of different people with a bunch of different backgrounds, across multiple different generations. So, I'm having to figure out ways for each person to best connect with them, assess our expectations for what's going down, and then also our timeframe, what chapters we want to trade, and then any questions we may have about each other's piece. It's been really good to get me out of my shell, and also, it's helped me relax a little bit and communicate 'more effectively'.

There's also some more nebulous things, like, being intimately introduced to the way someone else writes fundamentally shifts the way I write ever so slightly. I am introduced to brand new ideas, new narrative techniques, new word choices for the same ideas and emotions, and I'm introduced to these in a way that is so much different than how I would see them as a reader.

Anyway, that's enough rambling from me lol.

Writing Trade!!

Hear ye, hear ye, it's time for a writing trade!

How It Works

You DM me, "I'd like to trade!" (or anything else that indicates you want to participate!)

We exchange chapters. I send you a link to mine, you send me a link to yours, we read each other's chapter.

We each re-write the other's chapter! In our own style, with our own approach, but hitting all the same plot points with the same characters.

We exchange the re-written chapters!

Okay but what's the point?

It's a great way to develop your skills!

You get to see how someone else would handle the same story!

You get to share and talk about your story (critically!!) with another author!!

We get to have fun together!! with writing!! (:o?!?!)

I want to do this with someone so BAD, hfdgkjfngkfd!!!! Seriously y'all i am FIENDING to do some cute writing trades.

If you are interested, please DM me!

[chilling-seavey]

Lessons in Lust and Other Illicit Desires (gr63) —EIGHT

↳ A/N So apparently I really can't keep to a word count goal. But this is one of my favourite chapters thus far!!

↳ Series Summary: Sensible, wise, and a hopeless dreamer, Rosaline was used to men not giving her a second glance. She soon discovered it was merely those mundane college boys who were nothing more than simply intimidated by her intellect. What she needed was a man — someone who could impart knowledge beyond the Classics and guide her in discovering her own confidence as a woman. The thrill of sneaking around with the ever-so-charmingly handsome Professor Russell was certainly a bonus.

↳ Pairings: OxfordProfessor!George Russell x Innocent!Student!OC, Max Verstappen x Charles Leclerc (background)

↳ Chapter Word Count: 7.1k

↳ Chapter Warnings: 18+, nsfw, exhibitionism, fingering, slight dirty talk.

“This project is bullshit.”

Max’s notebook paper looked about ready to tear in half with how aggressively he was erasing yet another incorrect formula. He tossed his mutilated eraser onto the wood table and raked both hands through his already tousled blonde hair, fingers clutching onto the roots as if to figuratively and literally pull his hair out. The warm light of the lamps dotted along the library table reflected in his blue eyes that were narrowed towards his page under furrowed brows and a steadfast expression of distaste. 

Rosaline and Tabitha glanced at him from their spot on the opposite side of the table but before they could say anything, he was off on a tangent, “The other engineering class gets to study and design a part of a Formula 1 car of their choosing which is fucking cool. What does our class get? An assignment to create something that will help farmers be more efficient in their harvesting techniques.” 

Max scoffed and tossed his pencil down as he slouched back in his chair with a huff.

“This idiot professor is so old he probably has never seen a car in his life.” Max continued, his tone full of seething disgust, “Still wouldn’t even have a clue even if the fucking RB19 hit him going full throttle down the Monza straights.”

From his right, Charles snickered from behind his phone screen, his eyes darting over to his agitated boyfriend. Anyone else might have been a little put off by Max’s very aggressive delivery of a borderline threat of life to an elderly professor, but their little group could only smile fondly at his frustration. 

Charles spoke up, “Do you think a person would just…explode if they were hit by the RB19 going full throttle?”

“Yes.” Max answered without hesitation, his gaze still focused on his wrinkled notebook paper and open textbook. 

Charles stared at his profile for a moment as if in thought, debating the validity, and then looked back to his phone with a satisfied and simple “hm”.

On the other side of the table, Rosaline and Tabitha looked at each other and then shared amused chuckles before turning back to their own work. 

Around them, the aged dark wood shelves of the Bodleian Old Library housed a few dozen students spending their Thursday night with their noses in dusty books and reliable laptops. Rosaline and her friends were among them, luckily having snagged a spot at one of the long centralized tables in the heart of the main hall, surrounded by well stocked shelves that stretched up two storeys to the intricately carved wood paneled ceiling.

Voices carried easily in those ancient buildings of Oxford so they spoke in hushed tones while the rustle of students pulling literary texts from the shelves sounded magnified and shiver-worthy. The sounds of knowledge, of a desire to learn, to imagine and to dream. Rosaline felt so at peace in the Oxford libraries. It felt as though the history was only heightened in those spaces; something about the lingering coating of dust on the covers of centuries old books making the past feel more alive. 

As if on cue, Tabitha turned away and sneezed as quietly as she could manage into her elbow. The sound echoed. A few students glanced over. 

Charles sighed dramatically and dropped his phone onto the table with a loud thud, his head lolling back to look up towards the ceiling. Being a music student, there wasn’t much work for Charles to complete in a library but he always came along to keep the rest of their group company. It always panned out the same way - he was quiet and busied himself at first but then quickly got restless.

He sighed again to the ceiling and then lolled his head to the side to look at Max who had since hunched over his books again, announcing, “I’m bored.”

Max barely offered a grunt in response, biting at the end of his pencil as his mind worked a mile a minute to try and solve whatever problem was currently vexing him.

Charles sighed again. Tabitha shushed him from across the table. 

Heaving himself from where he was draped back in his chair, Charles leaned his arms on the table towards Rosaline, asking her in a loud whisper, “So when do we get to know of your secret lover?”

Rosaline met his gaze over her laptop and she broke into a small smirk at his nosy question before replying, “I don’t know.”

“C’mon,” Charles pleaded, “I can keep good secrets.”

“No, you can’t.” Max piped up without tearing his eyes away from his books. 

“Chut.” Charles playfully shot at his boyfriend. 

Despite her hand furiously writing out notes, Tabitha smiled at their bickering. 

Charles continued to press Rosaline, “Is he your boyfriend?”

Rosaline shrugged, “Not really. We’re just…keeping it casual.”

“What is “keeping casual”?” Charles asked with air quotes, “Kissing? Or more?”

Rosaline licked away her smile, folding her hands together under her chin as she humoured him with a little detail, “Well, I made him come in his pants last week.”

Charles let out a surprised squeak so loud it could almost have passed as a scream and he smacked his hand over his mouth as a few nearby students glared at him. Max’s pencil was suddenly dropped at her statement, his attention taken from his work to be entirely focused on her instead.

“You made him what?” he asked as firmly and seriously as he could. 

Rosaline smiled almost proudly, “You heard me.”

“Putain, Rose.” Charles breathed, “I need to know now!”

“No, you don’t.” she chuckled.

“Uh, yes, we do.” Max backed his boyfriend up, pointing a finger at her, “Start talking.”

Tabitha sighed and set her pencil down too, “Will you guys stop gossiping in the library? I’m sure everyone can hear you.”

Charles and Max both held up a hand to her to silence her. She rolled her eyes. 

“Where did you say you met this guy again?” Max asked.

Rosaline shrugged, twisting the truth only slightly, “In one of my lectures.”

Max nodded slowly, staring at her as if trying to catch her out in a lie, “Uh huh…”

“What? You don’t believe I can find myself a man without your futile attempt at wingmaning?” Rosaline countered. 

“Frankly, no.” Max replied, deadpanned. 

Rosaline shot him a pointed glare.

“What’s his name? What’s his birthday? What’s his GPA?” Max asked, trying to catch her out in a lie.

“Not telling, I don’t know, higher than yours.” she answered easily, looking back at her laptop. 

Charles’ eyebrows raised, “You don’t know his birthday?”

Tabitha chuckled from her spot across from him, “That’s what you’re concerned about? Do you even remember my birthday?”

Charles opened his mouth defensively but when he honestly couldn’t think of the answer, he shut it into a firm line. 

“Wow!” Tabitha gaped. 

Max simply narrowed his eyes at Rosaline, his voice calm and serious, “Fine. Keep your secrets. But I hope you will be honest with us - your best friends - eventually.” 

Rosaline shrugged without looking up from her laptop, “Eventually.”

As the hour wore on, the group continued working on their independent assignments. It wasn’t long before Charles’ restlessness was driving Max far more crazy than any impossible engineering task could so they said their goodbyes and left. Charles carried Max’s bag for him over one shoulder, smiling his dimpled grin as they walked hand in hand down the main hall of the library together. 

About thirty minutes after Charles and Max left, Tabitha checked her watch, announcing that she better head back to her dorm too. Rosaline watched her pack up and, upon her friend’s concern, assured her she would be able to make it back to her dorm on her own later once the library closed and she was inevitably kicked out. The two shared their good nights and soon Rosaline was left alone at the table with only the click of her laptop keys as company. 

Most of the students had gone by then, leaving only a straggling few at the far end of the spacious hall. Rosaline wasn’t a stranger to making herself comfortable in the libraries of Oxford until the librarians had to kick her out to close up. So, she felt perfectly at home with the company of the books and the warm light of the lamps on the worn wood table tops, the rest of the campus fading into darkness behind the large paned lancet windows of the library. 

“Rosaline?”

The gentle call of her name had her looking up from her laptop, turning over her shoulder to see George walking in her direction with a modest stack of books in his arm. The sight of him in the warm moody lighting that bathed the dark wood library made him look effortlessly more handsome than normal and one glance at him and her heart skipped a beat. 

“George…” she breathed at her notice of him, a small calm smile coming to her lips, “What are you doing here so late?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” he countered smoothly, coming to a stop at the head of the long table that had once been taken up by students and her group of friends. Now empty, it was only the two of them left. 

Rosaline answered first, gesturing to her laptop, “I’m just finishing up some work for some of my lectures. I have a comparative essay due next week for my Greek and Roman Mythology course.”

“I see,” George glanced down at the various texts she had opened on the table around her, colour coded sticky notes with scribbled ideas dotting the various pages, “The ancient classic literature; not my cup of tea but an important foundation to all that we know and love nevertheless.”

Rosaline leaned back in her chair to look up at him, returning to her initial question she had asked him, “And your excuse?”

George smiled a symmetrical modest smile to the stack of books in his arm, his free hand gently patting the top one, “Ah, just returning some of these. Some for lecture preparation, some for pleasure.”

“Of course, the lush libraries of Oxford could never keep a literature professor away.” Rosaline replied playfully. 

“You caught me there.” he chuckled warmly. 

They were quiet for just a moment. The awareness of how empty the library hall was suddenly settled around them. 

Then, George asked calmly, “Would you like to accompany me in returning these to their shelves? I can tell you a bit about them if you’re interested.”

Rosaline’s hand was shutting her laptop before she could even reply, “Yes.”

The well-stocked shelves of the library guided them through centuries of lives and stories tucked away in worn dust jackets and creased paperbacks. The lingering scent of dust was a familiar presence in the heart of Oxford’s many libraries and it was a generally off-putting smell that Rosaline was very quite fond of. It simply added to the ambiance of the gorgeously hand carved wooden book shelves and the glimmering stained glass lancet windows that were now dimmed with the nightfall. 

Rosaline had left her packed bag behind at the table at which she had sat, wanting to have her hands free for this little journey with George to return the precious books to their rightful homes. She followed behind him closely, her eyes soaking up his broad shoulders and back in his ironed button up shirt and, shamelessly, the curve of his ass in his slacks. It was their first time alone and away from their responsibilities as mentor/mentee since their little agreement and the concept of this had Rosaline’s heart racing. She wondered if he could hear it through the silence of the library. 

George guided her through the organized shelves with practiced ease as if he had been navigating them for his entire life. He knew exactly where every book he held belonged and barely needed to give the stocked shelf a skim before he knew which two he needed to nestle the chosen one between. He spoke to her about each one as they strolled through the library together, hidden amongst the books and ornately carved wood trim and edging. Some were more philosophical, some were more fiction, there were one or two books of poetry.

It seemed that with every book he returned to its place, he could recite at least one line, one passage, one poem from its pages. He spoke in a whisper with his voice as enticing as steaming morning coffee, rich and sensual and delicious. She wanted to taste his words; the way he spoke every beautiful constructed line of literature. Wanted to lick her way into his mouth and taste his verses until his sonnets were hers.

When he was down to the final book, he led her down the final row to its destination, “And the descriptions truly had me right in the main character’s shoes, feeling exactly what she was feeling at any moment in time. I find so many students think excess adjectives and lengthy blocks of text is what makes for successful descriptions but in reality, if done well, even a single sentence can take the place of an entire paragraph.”

They fell to a stop and George crouched down to skim one of the lower shelves, his loafers creased slightly across the toes from how he was balanced on the balls of his feet. 

While he looked for where the book belonged, Rosaline continued their conversation, “I once read this novel in which the author compared the light from a police flashlight being shone in a dark room like ‘spilt milk’ and it stuck with me. The simplest simile but it did a shiver-worthy job of putting you in the scene.”

“Bel Canto, wasn’t it?” George asked as he slid the paperback book between two hardcovers, leaving it with a pat to its spine. He glanced up at Rosaline from his spot, a knowing smile on his face, “By Ann Patchett?” 

Rosaline’s face lit up, “Yes, that’s the one.” 

He stood up again, adjusting the wrinkled fabric of his slacks around his thighs, “That’s a good one. Not too well known.”

“I’m surprised you knew it from just my brief mention of that line.” Rosaline agreed with an impressed smile, resting her hip against the bookshelf they stood beside, her arms casually crossing across her chest. 

“It must have stuck with me just as strongly.” he smiled in return. 

“It was that line that made me really want to write that one line that sticks with my readers for the rest of their lives.”

There was a beat of pause between them and then George took a step closer, “Close your eyes for me.”

Rosaline let out a breathy chuckle, “Why?”

“We’re going to practice your descriptions.” 

Rosaline wanted to argue why closing her eyes was going to help them with practicing her descriptions but his handsome, princely face in the warm light of the library lamps had her entirely entrusting him. She let her eyes flutter closed. She felt him step a little closer. 

“Pretend you are your main character and this library is your setting,” George instructed softly, voice low and coaxing, “We often depend too heavily on sight in our writing, merely showing the reader what the character sees. But the most compelling descriptions go beyond the visual—they pull the reader in by engaging every sense. So, with your eyes closed, I want you to immerse yourself fully. What would the main character be feeling right now? Let your other senses guide your words.”

Rosaline thought for a moment, taking a second to take in everything around her in the darkness of her eyelids. She uncrossed her arms and set a cautious hand on the shelf she was leaning against, shifting as she spoke slowly, softly, “Well, I feel the worn wood of the bookshelves…the uneven hardwood floors under my feet.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Rosaline, with her eyes closed, and George just watching her, studying her. The library, almost entirely void of other students or faculty rested in near silence. 

Rosaline spoke again in a whisper, “I don’t hear much…it’s quiet. Calm.” 

She thought for a moment, really trying to focus to pull anything out of her setting. If she listened hard enough, she could hear the faint tick, tick, tick of the analog clock over the librarian’s desk near the entrance, the sound echoing through the high ceilings. 

“I hear the clock ticking in the distance.” she whispered. Her attention drew back to the man in front of her, trying not to find herself a little ridiculous standing there with her eyes closed in front of him, all too aware that he was watching her, “I hear you breathing.”

George let out a small encouraging, “Mhm.”

Rosaline took a deep inhale, breathing in the scents of the library she loved so dearly, pouring out her findings in an exhale, “I smell the books, the ink, the parchment. The floor polish. The dust. I smell…your cologne.”

She could hear his soft smile at her last addition. 

Then, he spoke, “What comparisons can you make between these findings-”

Rosaline opened her eyes under a furrowed brow, interrupting him with, “Wait, I didn’t do taste yet.”

George blinked, caught off guard by her sudden reply, “Well, I don’t know how you’d-”

She didn’t know what overcame her; maybe it was the dim, moody lighting of the historic library or the simmering impatience she’d been battling since they formed their agreement. Whatever it was, it sent her hand shooting out, fingers curling around the back of his neck as she pulled him into a kiss.

He tensed under her touch at first, the shock of it surging between them. The feeling of his hesitation sent a rush of pride through her veins—he was reacting to her, thrown off his careful control. But it only lasted a moment; soon, his hands were framing her face, large and warm, as he surrendered to the kiss, meeting her urgency with a sudden shared and undeniable hunger.

George stepped towards her a little more and Rosaline stumbled slightly before her back hit the cool wood of the bookshelf. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, a soft moan escaping her lips as his mouth moved against hers with a familiarity that felt effortless, as if they’d been doing this for years. He was only a few inches taller than her, barely enough to matter, yet she found herself rising onto her tiptoes, instinctively seeking every inch of closeness between them.

Pinned between his broad body and the sturdy shelves, Rosaline felt utterly consumed by him. Shivers raced down her spine, and warmth pooled low in her belly—a heat that was impossible to ignore. It was almost embarrassing how quickly she found herself growing aroused by only the slightest of his touches, each sensation magnified by her inexperience and the thrilling realization that this was no longer a fantasy. Oh, and it was just as good as people had always told it would be. 

In the back of her mind, she was aware that they were in a very dangerous position by doing this in the open library. They were risking getting caught by any of the handful of students still working across the spacious hall or by the librarian who would be closing up shortly. Despite this, she had no desire to stop. Every atom in her body burned for more. She already had her first taste of him, a hint of the pleasure that he could bring her without even using his hands, and now, like that, she wanted to push the limits just a little bit farther. 

Rosaline’s hands cascaded over his broad shoulders and down his chest, feeling the arches and valleys of his muscle through the thin linen fabric of his button up shirt. He was so real. She offered up another small moan into his mouth. That only urged his hands to move on her face, one of his thumbs dropping from her cheek to slide over her jaw and to her chin, gently guiding her mouth to open a little wider into their kisses so he could brush his tongue against hers. 

Her fingers grasped onto his shirt, her tongue eagerly pushing back against his between hungry kisses, their steamy moment hidden away between the towering shelves of books. She wondered if this had ever happened before in the centuries since this library had been founded; some pair of literaries making out in the shadows of the books that surrounded them. Maybe this was far too salacious for the figures of the past to even dream. Maybe the authors of the Classics that overlooked them from their pages were rolling in their graves at this sight. 

Rosaline’s fingers tugged at the front of his shirt to pull him impossibly closer, their bodies naturally moulding together until his leg was nudged between hers. His closeness was dizzying and she felt the heat of desire throbbing through her body. She tossed one arm around his shoulders with her other still grasping at the fabric at the side of his shirt, keeping his chest against hers. 

George moved with her, taking his hands from her face to slide down her waist and to her hips, gently pushing her fully back against the bookshelf, pinning her entirely there with his body. Her arm tightened around his shoulders, licking her way into his mouth at a rhythmic pace of lips and tongues and the slightest rock of her hips against his thigh. She felt dizzy. So pathetically needy and dizzy and overwhelmed as the world fell away around them. No more library, no more books, no more risk; just them floating in a cloud of promises. 

Every move George made was skilled and hesitant; it was if he was afraid to push her too far or to do something she didn’t like. His hands stayed firmly on her hips but his fingers itched to move and she could feel his hesitation as they twitched against her sides. With another roll of her hips, he followed the movement of her body to trail the shape of her curves until his hands rested on her bum. 

Rosaline shivered at his touch, the way his large hands gently kneaded her flesh over her jeans and slid down the back pockets to grab another handful. His insistence had her body pulled closer to him, the heat pouring through her at the way he rubbed her body in slow tantalizing circles over the shape of her figure. 

She knew they didn’t have long. If she wanted anything more than just kissing, she was going to have to take the jump and ask for it before the librarian came wandering the aisles to close up. 

Rosaline tilted her head back to break their steamy kiss, gasping softly to the high wood ceilings of the historic library. George didn’t hesitate before moving down her neck, his plush lips trailing soft open mouthed kisses over her flushed skin. 

“It aches,” she breathed, barely a whisper, with her hands grasping onto his biceps, “Please touch me.”

George let out a small groan against her neck at her words and then pulled away just enough to look at her, their noses almost touching from how close they stood. His hands gave her hips a squeeze, his voice coming out low and warm and laced with a balance of hesitation and lust, “This is supposed to be going slowly, darling. I don’t…”

She blinked at him, her eyes pleading with him, wearing on his hesitation with her flushed cheeks and kissed-swollen lips.

“I don’t want to do something you’ll regret.” George finished softly, rubbing his hands over her waist. 

“Please, George,” she nearly begged, “I really need you to touch me.”

He looked left down the aisle they were in, and then right, and then over his shoulder as if someone could have been peeking through the shelves at them. When he deemed the coast was clear, he looked back at her and swallowed up her lips in another hungry kiss. 

Rosaline gasped faintly into his mouth, clutching onto his biceps, letting him lead them into another tongue-led kiss. His fingers moved from her hips to the front of her jeans, and he blindly undid the button and tugged at the zipper. The hurried movements had her body jolting against his, every pull and shift sending her rocking back against the bookshelf, unsteady and breathless as she clung to him for balance.

Her heart was racing in her ears, her breath falling in anticipatory pants as his lips parted from hers for a moment in his concentration. They breathed into each other’s mouths in steady time, chests rising and falling as one. Her eyes met his as his hand toyed with the waistband of her panties and the lacy hem that was found there. 

“Tell me to stop if you need.” he reminded her sternly, his voice still barely a whisper. 

Rosaline nodded in agreement. 

Then, George’s slender fingers slipped down the front of her jeans and over the thin fabric of her underwear, his eyes locked on hers as he did so. She tightened her grasp on the sleeves of his shirt, her breath halting in her chest as his warm fingertips ghosted over her clothed swollen clit. 

“Spread your legs a little wider.” he instructed against her cheek. 

She shuffled her feet farther apart ever so slightly, staring into his eyes as she followed his instruction. 

“That’s it.” he praised.

She couldn’t help but let out a little gasp at the faint friction of his touch, watching the way he studied her in their impossibly close proximity. His breath fell against the apple of her cheek as his fingers touched the damp fabric of her underwear hidden down her jeans, his touch testing and exploratory. 

Rosaline’s face turned towards his, ghosting her lips over his as their breaths mingled together, her hand grasping at his shirt around his back to keep him close. His nose bumped hers, melting into her, his fingers starting to move slowly in firm back and forth motions over her clothed clit, giving her just a little bit of friction that had her biting her lip. 

Rosaline clutched onto him, staring into his eyes like she couldn’t look away even if she tried. That hazy dreamlike feeling was clouding her senses again, where the whole world fell away and it was just them in this secluded corner surrounded by nothing but the scent of his cologne and the aged books, bathed in the warmth of the lamplight. 

His arm pulled back a little, lifting his hand from her pants, and she let out a small whimper in protest. George simply hushed her softly against her cheek as he lifted his fingers to his mouth to suck on two for just a second before he was guiding them back down her jeans and, this time, slipping inside her panties too. 

Her eyes widened in realization, watching the way his lips pricked up in an almost cocky smirk at her expression. George rubbed his fingers between her legs, gliding the length of two of them between her slick folds, letting her arousal mix filthily with his spit before he was lazily rubbing his fingertips over her clit. 

Rosaline’s eyelashes fluttered and her whole body twitched for a second at the unfamiliar sensations. It never felt like this with her own hand; her own touch was so boring and expected. Now, under the control of someone else, his every action was unpredictable and electric and the anticipation which coursed through her veins was pure heat. 

No one had touched her like this before, never before had she thought herself to be brave enough to so easily let someone in to touch the most sacred parts of her. In all twenty-two years of her life, after years of failed attempts at love, the voice in the back of her mind that nagged at her innermost self-consciousness had her wondering if her pussy was even attractive. Now, hidden in the shadows of her favourite room on campus, with the first man to ever give her a second glance, she was so easily offering herself up to him and he was so glady taking it. 

George spoke in a hushed whisper, his lips dusting over hers with the formation of his syllables, “This okay?”

Rosaline nodded almost eagerly, creasing the fabric of his shirt in her white-knuckled grip. She raised up on her tiptoes a little more as she pushed her hips towards his hand, not quite sure what she wanted but knowing she just wanted more. Her little whimper fell against his cheek, her arm tossing around his shoulders before they so easily fell into another passionate kiss. She let out a small hum into his mouth, her eyebrows furrowed as she succumbed to the feeling of his hand moving a little stronger down the front of her pants. 

They shared a few sloppy kisses in the secrecy of the library aisles, hidden in the shadows of the shelves and walls of stocked books. Her soft moan was muffled by his lips as his fingers moved a little harder against her swollen clit, his tongue easily tasting the pleasure of her sounds. He fell into her a little, taking a half step forward, pressing her back against the shelves by his body. 

George’s fingers drifted lower, caressing strongly over her warm cunt and gathering more of that wetness that pooled almost uncontrollably from her. He groaned softly into her mouth before pulling away from their kiss long enough to praise her with a purr, “You’re soaking my fingers.”

“Can’t help it.” she mumbled in reply, her words dizzy and slurred with lust. 

“Mm, yeah? Does it feel good?” he whispered against her cheek. 

Rosaline nodded again with a small, “Yeah.”

Her mind was short circuiting to the point where she didn’t have the capacity to worry about if he liked what he was feeling—if he thought it was weird that she wasn’t entirely waxed and bare down there. But the moment she caught a glimpse of George’s handsome face close to hers, saw the way his eyes were blown wide with lust as he looked at her, all those insecurities evaporated, dissolving into nothingness in the heat of his gaze. His breath was hot against hers, swallowing her lips up in another steamy kiss that had her eyes fluttering shut and her body surrendering to him with ease. 

His whole hand was nestled between her legs to the point where every caress of his fingers over her cunt had the heel of his palm rubbing against her clit. A little faster, a little faster, she broke away from his kiss with a choked cry.

“Shhh,” George hushed her against her cheek, his lips peppering slow open mouthed kisses along her jaw. His other hand rested on the edge of one of the shelves beside her head, keeping his focus on her body and the way he moved down the front of her jeans. 

Rosaline bit her lip hard, trying to keep herself quiet in the midst of their salacious rendezvous. When his hand started to move just a little bit faster, she clutched harder at his shirt, tugging him closer so she could bury her face in his neck, her body arching up against his. 

George’s large hand moved from the shelf to cradle the back of her neck, holding her, hushing her sweetly against her ear as she whimpered against his collar, and he breathed out a reassuring, “Okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah-” she stumbled out in a trembling exhale. 

“Yeah, you’re such a good girl.” he praised against the shell of her ear, keeping his pace down the front of her pants. 

Rosaline’s hips jumped against his hand at the way his fingertips caressed her clit in fluid motions, exploring her in gentle strokes. Little by little, she found herself loosening, unraveling from the tight grip she’d kept on him, surrendering to the unfamiliar pleasure that was slowly consuming her.

Soon, her eyes were finding his again as she leaned back against the shelf but with a possessive arm still around his shoulders. Her breaths were falling laboured as he moved his fingers a little faster, burning tingling pleasure up her spine that had her toes curling in her sneakers. 

“Fuck-” she squeaked softly, struggling to keep her eyes open and on his. 

“That’s a good girl.” George praised lowly as his hand let go of the back of her head to rest on the shelf again, steadying himself while his other hand worked strongly down her jeans. 

She was lost in the rhythm of his fingers, surprised how much she could feel from his touch when her fingers herself never offered her much sustenance of anything. There was something about George that was entrancing and spellbinding, like he knew just how to touch her to get her exactly what she craved. 

Rosaline was so out of her mind that she could barely hear her own voice as she breathed out a pleading and pathetic, “Put your hand around my throat.”

George’s eyes flickered with a moment of hesitation, a play of lust hazing the momentary uncertainty, although his hand down her jeans didn’t stop even as he asked, “You sure you’d like that?”

She nodded almost eagerly. 

He took his hand from the shelf beside her head and gently wrapped his fingers around her throat, his thumb and fingers nestled under her jaw. When he squeezed ever so slightly, her eyes fluttered and her swollen lips let out an angelic breathy, “Yeah. Yeah, I like that.”

Rosaline had written far more salacious scenes before, but experiencing it for the first time herself was a revelation that left her mind spinning. George’s grip was light, almost tentative, as if he was afraid of pushing too far or crossing a boundary. Yet even that gentle pressure around her throat was enough to amplify every other sensation in her body, making her nerve endings tingle with an intensity she had never imagined.

“Naughty little contradiction, aren’t you?” George tutted with a prideful smirk to his tone, his voice hushed and his breath falling against her cheek as he pinned her against the shelves, hand still moving down the front of her jeans, “Just full of surprises.”

Rosaline parted her lips as if to respond, but all that escaped was a soft, quivering moan. A blush crept across her cheeks, warmth flooding her face as her self-control crumbled. She could feel her steady composure slipping away, unraveling under the mounting pleasure that drowned out any coherent thought.

“Cover your mouth if you need to.” George reminded her quietly, his velvet voice echoing in her ears, “Stay so quiet for me.”

Rosaline needed no convincing as if she were moving robotically by instructions, taking her hand from her white-knuckled grip on the side of his shirt to press her palm over her mouth. She couldn’t stop staring at him despite how her cheeks burned, her attention captivated by him and the way he looked at her, the way he clenched his jaw in concentration, his handsome face slightly shadowed as he towered in front of her and hid her away from the warm lamps of the historic library. 

A few more whimpers and moans fell uncontrollably from her lips, smothered by her hand over her mouth and the gentle squeeze of his around her throat. Her body writhed against his ever so slightly, rising up a little more onto her toes as the pleasure built up stronger and stronger through her veins, coiling that unmissable warmth in the pit of her stomach, everything suddenly feeling like too much. Oh, but she wanted it so badly, she needed him to rid that ache from her body, to give her what she craved. The bookshelves pressed into her back. 

“That’s it,” George purred, undoubtedly feeling the way her pussy started to throb against his slick fingertips, keeping his pace going, right at that angle that got the best reaction out of her, “Feel all of that pleasure and let it all out for me. Nice and quiet now, like a good girl, come all over my hand. That’s it, darling. Come on.”

Rosaline’s thighs were trembling, barely keeping her upright if not for the sturdiness of George’s body keeping her pinned snugly against the bookshelf. Her breaths were coming out in strong uneven pants through her nose with her mouth still clamped shut, her heart racing with desperate need to cum. She was so close, right there, the heat pouring through her and burning her skin under the faint pressure of his fingertips against her throat. 

His encouraging whispered words faded into a murmur as she reached that precipice, feeling her entire body tense right up, her arm around his shoulders digging her nails into his back through the fabric of his linen shirt. George grunted faintly against her cheek as she toppled into her orgasm, her clit throbbing against his fingers as he kept her going through it. Her head fell back against the bookshelf with a dull thud, her hand still clamped tightly over her mouth to smother the whimper of pleasure that threatened to spill over and give them away.

The moment the peak of her orgasm tapered off and her body buzzed with sensitivity, she dropped her hand from her mouth to grab his wrist between them instead, halting his hand down her jeans. She was panting, her swollen lips glistening and red, her wonderfilled eyes staring at him, sparkling behind the thin lenses of her glasses in the dim library lighting. 

“Jesus Christ.” George breathed, his forehead resting against hers as he slowed his hand to a stop down the front of her pants and slowly retreated. His hands rested on her waist and rubbed the curve of her lean body for a moment, disconcerted by the glistening wetness on his middle finger that smeared faintly against the fabric of her shirt and left a damp, telling trace, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Rosaline exhaled, reaching between them to button up her pants again.

“That wasn’t too much?” he asked, staring into her eyes as if trying to pull the truth out of her with only a glance. 

“Promise.” she assured him, resting her hands on his chest, “I would have told you otherwise.”

“Okay,” George exhaled as if in relief, a tame smile tugging at the corners of his lips as his large hands gave her hips a squeeze, “good.”

Rosaline slid her hands up to the sides of his neck and timidly pulled him in to meet him halfway for a breathless kiss. Her heart was racing, mind whirling, in disbelief that they had just done that. It was no mind-numbing, earth-shattering orgasm as often expressed in books or movies; instead it had fallen over her in warm waves of pleasure, calm and satisfying, and filled her with a buzz of euphoric relief. She hadn’t expected to be able to come so easily from just his fingers—hell, using her own fingers did next to nothing—but there was something about the way George touched her, knew just where the most sensitive spots were, that had her entirely satisfied. 

Seconds later, when Rosaline broke away from his lips for a breath, she rested her forehead against his with a sighing, “That was…so incredible.” 

“Mm,” George let a faint smile dust across his lips in his agreement, “Can’t say I mind helping you with your research anytime.”

Just then, approaching footsteps had them breaking apart, George taking two steps away to stand casually at the opposite shelves. The librarian appeared at the end of their row.

“The library is closed now,” she told them kindly, “If you can make your way out, that’d be great.”

George offered her a polite smile, “Of course. Thank you.”

She disappeared again. 

Rosaline looked back at George, the two of them facing each other across the narrow aisle of shelves. Their expressions broke into small amused smiles and Rosaline pushed herself away from the bookshelf with a bashful bow of her head as they got ready to leave. They walked side by side back towards the table at which Rosaline and her friends had once sat and studied. The library was completely empty apart from them by then, all students disappeared back to their dorm rooms and homes. She picked up her bag from the chair where she had left it and tucked it over her shoulder. 

“This was risky,” George whispered to her, his voice quiet and gentle yet firm, “we cannot do this again. Not in a place like this.”

Rosaline replied softly as she turned back to him, “Well it’s not like I can take you back to my dorm.”

There was a moment of hesitation on his face before he finally spoke a gentle offer, “Come to my house. Tomorrow night.”

Rosaline’s heart did a little somersault in her chest and her momentary shock at the invitation and the weight it might have carried must have spread itself across her face. 

Almost right away, George was assuring her, “Just for drinks. Nothing more. Just to be away from prying eyes.” 

Rosaline couldn’t deny that the concept of going over to his house held a sense of excitement and curiosity. She pulled a timid smile and nodded in agreement, reaching into her bag to pass him her notebook and a pencil so he could scribble down his address for her. 

She stared at his profile in the dim light of the library, the shadows across his face and the crisp line of his jaw, the way his fingers cradled her pencil as he dragged the graphite across the lined page. Those same fingers that had been down her jeans only moments ago. How was this real? How was he real?

George handed her notebook back to her with a handsome smile, “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Yeah,” Rosaline exhaled, taking her notebook back from him, “See you.”

She watched him walk off towards the exit of the library and, before she too made her way out, she looked down at the page of her notebook again. In his precise curling cursive, he had written; 

30 Richmond Road — 4pm x

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[feinyan]

I need more Damon's boyfriend text....or whatever. anything, I'm starving for a Damon content 😭😭

ROMANCE TROPE featuring. damon maitsu, kai monteago and wolfgang akire

more below the cut .. no texts but this has damon so.

# damon maitsu

hear me out on .. sort of enemies to lovers with the ultimate debater himself ?? damon and you who bicker constantly, always comparing and teasing amongst yourselves.

i can see damon thinking of you as someone lower than him, someone whose time shouldnt occupy his own oh-so important time. i mean, he has soooo much more important things to focus on. but eugh, your conflicts, your constant bickering, led to … weird, thrilling feelings, something that led to wanting more. this need grew overwhelmingly frustrating, which interrupted his thoughts. his mind could no longer find itself hyper focused on debating and studying despite his best attempts, because now, he always found that you were somewhere in the back of his mind. small reminders of you would spark a disruption within his head, one that led him to feel a hot, annoyed feeling in his chest.

pushing the tip of your finger into his shirt, you tilted your head to the side, a smug grin tugging at your lips.

“oh! would you look at that. what happened to your cocky attitude? not so confident now huh, mr debater?” you’d hummed, a sheet of paper firmly held within your fingers, waving it back and forth in front of his eyes. he’d narrowed his eyes in exchange, gaze flickering between your own and the wall behind you.

a huff escaping his lips, he’d finally regained his composure, his flustered face cooled down at least a little. “.. oh shut up, you managed to finally get a grade higher than me, congrats.” his muttering was sarcastic, clasping his fingers around your wrists and pulling them away from himself.

“for once? im pretty sure last exam i—“

“.. yeah yeah, that’s enough from you.” he’d interrupted, letting go of your wrists and instead throwing a hand over your mouth to prevent your sentence from being finished. with a muffled protest, you raised an arm to tug at the hand covering your lips with a struggle. damon couldn’t help but snicker at this, eyes making contact with your own helpless ones. finally managing to pull his hand away, you took a step back, annoyance apparent in your face.

turning around, prepared to make your way to your next class, you paused in place for a moment. “start focusing on your grades more, you’ve been lazy recently.”

a sigh from damon could be heard from behind you, accompanied by the shuffling of his pants. probably him putting his hands in his pockets. with a grumble, he responded. “it was by 4%. i’ve been busy with other things.”

“hmm, do you need encouragement? let me think,”

he remained quiet.

“if you get a higher grade than me on the next assignment, you can take me out on a date.”

“… the- huh? the hell?” he stammered, for a second, he was almost certain he’d heard wrong. but when you only replied with a giggle, beginning to make your way through the hallway, your words were surely made clear. gross. he didn’t know how that made him feel, yet a hot feeling began to consume his insides at the thought you’d offered into his mind, one that tugged at his heart — a feeling he disliked. one that pissed him off. he’d remained quiet in place, mouth slightly hung open as he watched you skip off all innocently. yet the pounding in both his chest and head was one that he couldn’t stay quiet about.

“you idiot .. y/n, wait up.”

# kai monteago

kai is the biggest secret dating troupe ever .. do you hear me. hello. guys. please hello!!!

kai — who shouldn’t have a partner to begin with. his fans are .. pretty obsessive to say the least, and getting a partner would totally make him lose popularity! therefor, when he met you, despite how desperately he wanted to show you off to the world, he was pestered until he finally agreed to keep it silent. his conflicting feelings though, were ones he never shut up about.

“… kaaaai,” you muttered, stretching out your body in attempts to free yourself from his tight grasp. it didn’t work. he clung to you harder, wet lips pressing against your cheek and lips time after time. this drew a giggle from your lips, turning your head to the side so you’d have the opportunity to speak.

though, kai spoke first.

“babyyyyy! i couldn’t kiss you aaaall day! let me have this!” a dramatic whine arose from him, burying his head into the crook of your neck with a huff. a sigh left your throat as you placed your head atop his own, rubbing his back with your hand.

“.. you’re such a baby, kai.”

# wolfgang akire

im not really sure but maybe arranged marriage ?? the idea of the uncomfortable, awkward feeling of marrying someone who you don’t know, yet wolfgangs display of kindness and tender actions despite the situation slowly causing you two to form a sweet bond. things like cooking you breakfast every morning no matter how early he’d have to wake up, buying you little gifts and treating you even though he doesnt need to.

sitting across from wolfgang, you kept your eyes on the food. an awkward silence always lingered whenever the two of you shared a meal together, yet slowly but surely, its been getting lighter.

“did you enjoy the breakfast id made you this morning?” his words came off in a gentle tone, interrupting the silence between the two of you. lifting your head, your eyes immediately met his eyes. eyes that were already staring at your own, and had probably been for awhile now.

taking a moment to respond, you nodded with a smile. “yeah, thank you, i really like strawberries.” you’d hummed a cheery response. he gave a smile in exchange to your last comment.

“is that so? i’ll try to include them in more of your meals then.”

a kind offer, but you shook your head. “.. ah, you don’t have to make me meals. you wake up really early for it. i do appreciate it a lot but—“

he cut you off with a shake of his own head.

“no need, you’re my spouse, its the least i could do.”

@ feinyan

[schrijverr]

All the Things that Made Tanya’s Day Horrible

An addition to chapter 44 to 46, wherein we get an outsider’s perspective of the tsunami from Tanya, one of the people Buck rescued, as she goes from seeing Buck and Chris on the truck, to watching both of them disappear into the water again, to realizing who Eddie is to both of them after the water has retreated.

On AO3.

Ships: Buddie

Warnings: minor character death mention, tsunami, near death experience

~~~

Water is all around her and she is drowning. God, she’s drowning. She wants to scream, but water enters her mouth instead, silencing her.

She splashes in the water, kicking her feet and trying to keep her head above water. Once she’s up, she vaguely hears a voice scream: “Hold out your hand! Hold out your hand!”

Her eyes are blurred and she can’t see a thing, except maybe a red blob with movement on it. However, it’s a person. A human person. The first one she’s heard since this nightmare started and one that sounds like it wants to help.

Tanya holds out her hand.

When she does it, she has very little hope it’s going to work, but it’s the best option she has. Instead, she is surprised by a strong hand grabbing hers, before she is lifted out of the water and dropped onto a solid surface.

The same hand keeps a hold of hers as she splutters and coughs, the other slapping her on the back as she heaves up all the water she inhaled. The water is slowly vacating her eyes as she blinks and mentally she swears to never go swimming again.

Once she has hacked up the last of the water and cleared up her vision, a man appears in her line of sight. He is handsome, though hair also a wet mess, which is a bit of a relief, since Tanya must look a mess as well and she really doesn’t need to embarrass herself more in front of the hot guy that rescued her to add to the list.

“There you are,” he says. “You okay?”

“Course not,” she croaks out, because how can anyone ask that in the middle of a literal natural disaster.

Hot Guy chuckles: “Yeah, fair enough. Just take it easy, take a breath and rest. We just have to wait until we’re getting rescued. This truck is pretty sturdy, very heavy, I can assure you.”

Tanya looks around for the first time, realizing the red blob she saw earlier is in fact a fire truck that houses a few more shivering people. All look to be in a similar state to her and she decides that this is officially the worst day ever. God, she hates her fucking life.

Still, she has the mind to smile at Hot Guy and say: “Thank you. For the rescue.” It’s wholly inadequate for the situation, but it’s all she can manage.

“No problem,” he replies as if this is a normal day for him. Hm, maybe hot, but is a little odd and definitely bad at risk assessment. Red flag.

With that he retreats again and she doesn’t follow him, she needs to have a mental breakdown, thank you very much.

Fuck, her mom told her not to go to LA by herself. She told her, but did Tanya listen? No. And now here she is, in the middle of a fucking tsunami, because of course she had to go explore the Santa Monica Pier on the one day a tsunami happened to hit the city.

This day fucking sucks. She is cold and she is shivering and she is scared. She is still in shock, having been fished out of the water a minute or so ago, the water still leaking from her hair. Tanya doesn’t think anyone is having a worse day than her.

She curls in on herself to have a pity party, but she feels like she’s allowed to have that. She’s only 24 and fresh out of college. She just wanted one cool vacation experience before he became a corporate drone and then this had to happen.

Tears gather in her eyes and she doesn’t even try to keep them in as they start streaming down her face.

An arm lands around her shoulder and she looks up to find a woman giving her a sympathetic look as she offers a waterlogged handkerchief. It’s useless, but she takes is anyway with a wobbly: “Thank you,” because that little bit of care is exactly what she needs. Then she breaks down crying again.

“It’s okay, dear,” the woman says, just cry it out. “I’ve got you. It’s a rough day for all of us.”

And it is. It really is. Tanya never wants to go through anything close to this ever again. She never even wants to see the ocean ever again.

After she’s gotten herself under control, she again says: “Thank you, you’re very kind.”

“Of course. We have to be here for each other. I’m Marissa, how about you?”

“Uh, Tanya,” Tanya offers.

“It’s nice to meet you, Tanya. You live here or visiting?” Marissa asks.

Tanya can’t help but laugh at that. It’s such a ridiculous question seeing the circumstance that it completely breaks her out of her breakdown. Going off Marissa’s pleased look that might have been the point, though. She answers: “Visiting. You?”

“Live here. I was just running errands,” Marissa replies.

That is almost too strange for words. How casual their days had been, how unassumingly they all went about them. But before Tanya can figure out a reply there is movement at the front.

She looks over to find Hot Guy holding on to the side of the truck, while dangerously leaning over the water, yelling at a man who comes floating down the road towards them. He is holding on a piece of debris and doesn’t appear to be willing to let it go, so Hot Guy is trying to convince him to try and grip his hand.

The man in the water appears to risk it and then chickens out at the last minute, missing Hot Guy’s hand. Hot Guy doesn’t frustrated, just yells: “Grab onto the hose! Grab onto the line!”

Now that he mentions it, Tanya can spot a hose spanning from the truck to a tree on the other side of the now flooded road. The man in the water spots it too and grabs it at the last minute, his piece of debris floating on without him and smashing into a building.

Hot guy calls out: “Can you make your own way here or do you want me to come get you?”

“Please,” the man cries out, sounding absolutely terrified.

If Hot Guy is annoyed at the request or scared, he doesn’t show it, just grabbing the hose and getting back in the water to go get the man. As he does, Marissa says: “He’s been doing that the whole time. Pulled me out too. He pulled everyone out. I don’t know how he does it, must have some training.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Tanya agrees, looking on in awe as Hot Guy gets the man on the truck and then does the same check in he did with her.

Much like her, the man has a bit of a breakdown as he recovers. However, since it’s not her breakdown, she can now see where Hot Guy goes.

He retreats to the front of the truck where a kid is sitting with thick glasses on his face as he smiles at Hot Guy. Hot Guy instantly smiles back at the kid, asking: “How are we hanging in there, Superman? You good?”

The kid – Superman – nods, “I’m good,” with an upbeat look on his face that almost seems out of place. But Tanya gets it too, if she had her dad here, she would also feel a lot better, because there is no way Hot Guy isn’t this kid’s dad.

There is a familiarity in the way Hot Guy talks to Superman and the way he pulls him into his side as if it’s as easy as breathing. You don’t develop that bond by just rescuing a kid nor by merely babysitting them from time to time.

Fucking hell, she can see the kid is okay, but she can’t imagine being out here with your kid. I mean that is just awful. She now feels at least lucky she doesn’t know anyone in this city. That she doesn’t have to worry if anyone she knows is okay, is still alive.

Marissa snaps her out of her thoughts, commenting: “That’s a strong kid right there. He’s been nothing but smiling the whole time. Poor dear, getting caught up in all this.”

“At least he has his dad,” Tanya replies. “Would be worse if they were separated. I can’t imagine how much he must be worrying about his kid.”

“Yeah,” Marissa agrees. “I’m just glad my kids are in colleges out of state. I’m never complaining about how far they are ever again.”

They end up chatting about college and just life for a bit, basic getting to know you questions that seem very out of place with the water calming around them.

However, it keeps her mind of how horrible today has been and they’re not the only people having conversations or even playing games. Hot Guy and Superman are playing I Spy, seemingly in their own world as they chose things for the other to find.

It’s cute. Superman’s happiness is almost infectious and hearing him excitedly yell out objects prevents the dread of their situation to creep back in.

Then one of the men – she thinks it’s the guy whose rescue she watched before – exclaims: “Oh my god, look over there,” pointing down stream.

“Oh my god,” the words get ripped out of Tanya’s throat as she sees the bodies drifting towards them among the debris. More horrified exclaims go through the group as they all see it.

God, she feels sick. She doesn’t want to see that. She can rationally know people die in natural disasters and she was lucky to survive, but that is very much not the same as seeing a corpse. She is way too young for this.

A desperate voice cuts through her thoughts, gripping her by the throat. “I- I spy with my little eye, something that is high.”

Oh god, Superman.

Tanya has developed a soft spot for the kid, who has kept her from spiraling this whole time. If she is too young to see a dead body, then he definitely is. Her concern is enough for her to be able to pull her eyes away from the bodies coming towards them and instead look over at the front.

Hot Guy has put Superman on the side, cupping his cheek to keep his eyes away from the floating corpses and his back towards them. He continuously checks the position anxiously as he tries to keep Superman from realizing what is happening.

Her heart hurts for him. For having to face this horror with his kid, who is way too young for any of this. How scared he looks for the kid to be hurt by everything that is happening.

However, she is also so grateful that they’re there. Not just because she would have been swept away further by the water without Hot Guy to pull her out, but also because him and Superman keep her sane and even now she can look at them and not the dead people in the water, using them as a gauge when it’s safe to look again.

It takes Superman guessing a street sign, a window, a street light and a cloud, before the bodies have passed. She knows because Hot Guy finally says: “Yeah, you got it!” when Superman guesses an air-conditioning unit.

Superman huffs: “I don’t wanna play this game anymore.” Even his unending enthusiasm has limits, Tanya can relate.

Hot Guy is also at the end of his rope, because he sits down next to Superman and sighs: “Yeah, me neither.”

Tanya can’t imagine what he must be feeling, the need to protect your kid from the horrors even when that is already impossible with all that has happened. How he’s still trying regardless, because making it worse for this kid is clearly not possible for him. She doesn’t envy him at all. In fact, she feels a little nauseous trying to put herself in his shoes.

Then Hot Guy continues after a beat of silence, saying: “I don’t know what we’re gonna tell daddy. You know, we don’t invite him one time and, uh, look what happens.”

The sick feeling in her stomach doesn’t at all fade and instead gets worse. She hadn’t even considered the other parent that is out there somewhere knowing that his husband and kid are out there in this mess, unsure if they’re even alive. The sudden knowledge that her own mom must be worried out of her mind hitting her in the stomach. God how he wishes she’d never went to LA and had just listened to her mom and stayed home.

Her internal freak out gets cut through by Superman’s soft and honest voice. “You saved me. And you saved them.”

Hot Guy blinks, then looks over at everyone there. The people he has pulled out of the water and checked up on. The people who have lived through today because of him. Who are safe here instead of out there somewhere.

He almost looks surprised, as if he is only now realizing he did that. Then he makes eye contact with Marissa, who is still sitting next to Tanya. Marissa smiles at Hot Guy, as does Tanya, and Hot Guy automatically smiles back.

Then she can see how he chokes up, swallowing roughly as he turns back to Superman. His voice is wobbly, but strong despite it as he says: “No, we did that together. Me and you make a great team. Give me a high five”

He holds up a hand for Superman to high five and Tanya nearly starts crying as the little boy high fives his dad, before getting pulled into a hug, while Hot Guy says: “I’m proud of you. Really.”

Superman loops his arms around Hot Guy in return and the tears start to fall for real for Tanya when he says: “Thank you, papi.”

This day is too horrible already, she can’t deal with any of these emotions right now. Seems like Hot Guy maybe feels the same, because all he says is: “No, thank you,” as he continues to hug the kid close.

The moment gets broken when the water starts to rush again. Tanya has no clue what is happening, it was so calm moments before. Then again, it had been calm at the pier too, before all this shit went down.

Fear grips her heart and she tightly grips the railing, eyes clenching shut.

She can hear Hot Guy’s voice shout: “Everybody get down! Get down and hold on! Hold on!” as around her the water starts to hit the truck and it shakes. She lets out a little whimper of fear and prays even though she doesn’t believe.

There is a commotion on the truck, but Tanya doesn’t care. She just keeps her eyes closed. She doesn’t want to see more. She wants to be home. She wants this horrible day to be over. She doesn’t want anything more to happen.

Then Marissa lets out a loud horrified gasp and she can’t help but peak, scared to see the person she bonded with most in danger. Instead she is just in time to watch Superman fall off the truck and get swallowed by the water with only half a terrified “Papi!” making it past his lips.

Her eyes instantly go to find Hot Guy, not being able to fathom him leaving Superman. She finds him just as he pulls a pretty burly man out of the water at the front where a rescue operation is also ongoing.

His eyes are wild as he spots the empty spot where Superman was seconds earlier. She doesn’t think she will ever forget the broken, desperate note in his voice when he screams: “Chris? Christopher! Christopher! No! Christopher! Christopher! CHRIS!”

She only has half the mind to think, ‘oh, so that’s what Superman’s name is,’ before Hot Guy is diving into the water.

It happens so fast, she almost thinks she imagined it. But no. The water is still rushing past and there is so more Hot Guy or Superman on the firetruck.

“Oh my god,” she exclaims.

“Can you see them?” Marissa asks, peering out over the water. “Does anyone see them!”

Together they look. Tanya thinks she can maybe see a bit of a head disappearing down a side road and she points it out, but it’s as if both have simply disappeared. They’re gone. Hot Guy and Superman- no, not Superman, Christopher. His name is Christopher. He’s just a kid and his name is Christopher and-

Tanya vomits over the side of the truck.

She’s been feeling unwell about everything for a while now and maybe she should have vomited when those corpses drifted by, but she didn’t. Those corpses she didn’t know. They weren’t people to her in the way Hot Guy and Christopher are.

They’re people like her, caught up in something terrible and now they’ve disappeared. They’re gone and they might be dead. She might have just been the last person to see either of them alive ever and the thought is enough to make her vomit again.

Marissa rubs her back, eyes appearing far away as she stares out over the water uselessly.

The two of them sit on top of that truck and hold each other, despite having been strangers until today. They look out as the water lowers, hoping for a miracle to appear, but it doesn’t.

Once the water is low enough to get off, people start to climb down. Most start to help others down, but some also start to walk away. Tanya doesn’t know what their plan is, but she doesn’t care, she just sinks down on one of the many ledges and sits, grief for people she doesn’t even know overtaking her.

Today is the fucking worst.

Someone spots a few firefighters, pointing them out. Help that has come too late for their savior and his kid, but apparently not everyone thinks so, because someone says: “They can find that guy and his kid!” which causes people to start calling out for help.

Soon the three firefighters are there. One doesn’t carry the same gear as the others do, which Tanya thinks is odd, but she isn’t paying that much attention when the oldest says: “LAFD, we’re here to help. What’s the problem? Is anyone hurt or stuck?”

“Plenty of people are hurt, but no one serious We need you to help us find this man. He saved us all. Pulled us up onto this truck when we drifted by, but he got swept away. He could be hurt,” Marissa says, having snapped out of her stupor in the face of possible progress.

Tanya admires her for it, but she is happy to disappear into the background herself. Guilt eats at her. Would the outcome have been different if she had kept her eyes open? Could she have prevented Christopher from falling off?

“Eddie here can check all of you over,” the leader man who spoke earlier tells Marissa gently. “What’s your name?”

“Marissa,” she answers.

“Well, Marissa, we can’t make any promises about finding your rescuer, but if you give us a description, we’ll make sure to keep an eye out for him,” Leader Man says

“He’s tall, very tall, and white,” Marissa says. “Some of the debris must have hit him in the face, because he has a bruise on his eye. He’s blond.”

“No, you’re saying it all wrong,” another woman says. “He’s a redhead.”

“No, he’s not,” Marissa insists. “He pulled me out early, I had a good look at him.”

There is more squabbling about what Hot Guy looked like, but Tanya doesn’t mix herself in it. He was handsome, but taken, she can’t add anything new to the conversation. Thinking about what he looked like when he smiled at them hurts in an unexpected way.

Seems like Leader Man is also tired of the arguing, because he interrupts with: “Can anyone here give us one description? Or a name? You mentioned a kid, do you still have the kid?”

“I don’t know,” the woman who first mentioned the kid says. “He fell off the truck. It’s why he dove off it again. Didn’t hesitate for a second. It was when the tide receded.” She calls out. “Did anyone see his kid?”

Tanya clenches her eyes shut. Of course no one saw the kid, he disappeared into the waves. Soon they’re going to be asking for a description of both of them to add to the victim count. Bile creeps back up her throat again.

Then, almost impossibly, a voice calls from the back of the crow calls out: “ Yeah, we got him here. He managed to grab onto a windowsill a street down.”

Now Tanya remembers those people who walked off earlier. That makes sense now and she feels guilt for not realizing earlier, for not joining them. God she is a horrible person. Today has made her a horrible person.

Leader Man says: “Bring him here.”

Despite her guilt, she is eager to see Christopher again. To confirm with her own eyes that he is indeed okay. Even if the knowledge that no one has seen Hot Guy and what that can mean, sits heavily in her stomach.

Because of that, she sees how the crowd parts as a shot woman makes her way over to the little group of firefighters.

As she gets closer, Leader Man becomes white in the face, looking horrified. Tanya wonders if it’s the first kid they’ve come across out here – part of her hopes it is – but then the other man with them, Eddie she remembers, sees too.

He squints as the woman and Christopher come closer and closer, before his face contorts in the same way and he fully abandons the man he was looking after. The woman saying: “He’s looking for his papi.”

A feeling of dread comes over Tanya as she watches this man, which is confirmed to be valid when the kid turns his face towards the man and he chokes out: “Christopher?” the name correct despite no one having told it to him.

“Daddy!” Christopher exclaims, reaching for the man, proving her worst fears.

God no.

No.

Just no.

Tanya watches on in horror as everyone scrambles out of the man’s way as he barrels toward Christopher, practically snatching him out of the woman’s arms as he cradles him close. “Oh my god, Chris.”

“Daddy,” Christopher cries, sobbing in his father’s arms.

She can relate, Tanya feels like sobbing herself too, because she remembers the way Hot Guy worried about what he was going to tell his husband, what he was going to say to the very same man that is in front of her now.

Hot Guy’s husband is here. And Hot Guy isn’t here.

Back when she first realized there was another parent out there, she felt sick. Wondered how he must feel, knowing his husband and kid are out there and not knowing how they were, if they were even alive.

Now, she has to grapple with the fact that he didn’t even know they were out there. That he was working, oblivious to the fact that his family was so close by, oblivious to the fact that if he’d been a little earlier, he might have been able to save his husband before he disappeared into the water again…

Tanya feels sick once more and she has to clasp a hand over her mouth when she hears Hot Guy’s husband asks: “What were you doing out here, mijo?”

Her sickness getting worse when she has to listen to Christopher sniffle as he explains: “We were going to the pier to celebrate my good grade. I was sad because you weren’t going to be here and papi wanted to cheer me up. Then the water was gone.”

She actually dry heaves. Fuck this is horrible. Too horrible. She was already having a horrible day, but somehow this rescue that is so good, because it kept her alive, just keeps getting worse and worse.

Eddie must finally realize what it means, because soon after he is shoving his phone in Marissa’s face, desperately asking: “Is this- Is this him? Is this the man that pulled you out?”

“Y- Yeah, yeah, that’s him,” Marissa stammers, slightly overwhelmed by his intensity, but none of them blame him; on the screen is Hot Guy, smiling into the camera.

It’s clear Eddie’s world crumbles down around him, face dropping and a nauseous look crossing his features. He looks like he wants to disappear, like he also just wants to lie down and curl up into a ball and wish this horrible day out of existence.

God, she can’t even imagine. Her mom is probably also worried out of her mind, but at least she’s not in the middle of this disaster zone, knowing she is out there somewhere, seeing how bad it is and knowing she could have been here. That she was so close, but Tanya slipped through her fingers anyway.

She is never going to forget Hot Guy scream his son’s name, but she’s pretty sure she is also never going to forget the soft devastation in Eddie’s voice when he turns to Leader Man and says: “It’s Buck. Buck is out there.”

Tanya has a split second to be disturbed by now having a name for Hoy Guy. The humanizing effect that has fucks with her mind. When Leader Man drops: “And we’ll find him. But you’re too close to this now, Eddie. We both know that. You’re compromised. Take Bosko to the VA hospital and help out there. You can’t be out on the field anymore either.”

The husband speaks for practically everyone there when after a shocked blink, he explodes: “What the fuck do you mean, I’m off the field? That’s bullshit!”

“Eddie,” Leader Man levels him with a look, “the two of you are family. You’re partners on and off the field. You’re not going to be able to make rational decisions and it’s going to put people in danger. I can’t have that.”

Tanya can barely believe her ears. This man’s husband is out there, you’re really going to ban him from looking for him? What the fuck?

Apparently Eddie agrees with her, seething: “I’m not compromised. In fact, we had a whole internal investigation to see if me and Buck could work together. And guess what? We can. So, you can’t do shit right now, Cap.”

Leader Man takes the anger well, Tanya has to give him that, though she also wants him to shut the fuck up when he calmly says: “Yes, I can. You’re not acting rational right now, just like Bosko isn’t about her Captain. I can make judgment calls in the field and I’m making this one.”

“Like hell you are,” Eddie yells with most of the group rooting for him. “You’re not making me sit out when my husband is out there!”

It seems like Leader Man snaps under the barrage of Eddie’s anger, roaring back: “You have your son to worry about.”

“My son needs both his fathers,” Eddie shouts, seemingly unafraid of Leader Man’s temper, while Tanya found it quite intimidating.

Leader Man only becomes more intimidating as he jabs Eddie in the chest with his finger as he forcefully says: “And he’s going to have none of his fathers if you don’t listen to me, Firefighter Diaz. You’re gonna get yourself killed with the head space you’re in, then where will Chris be, huh?”

She is looking over at Marissa, not sure if they should step in or something. The longer they spend here, the more likely it is that Buck will die. Marissa isn’t paying attention to her, so she looks over at the other firefighter with them – Bokso she thinks her name is. Bosko seems to be as uncomfortable as the rest of them watching the altercation between Captain and subordinate.

Before anyone can decide to step in, Christopher breaks the moment for them, starting to cry as he sobs: “I don- I don- I don’t wan’ you or papi to die.”

It’s absolutely heart wrenching to hear. Tanya has been feeling sorry for herself for having such a horrible day, but Christopher definitely has her beat. Not only was in a tsunami like her, but he just lost his one dad to the waves and now his other dad is here, but he is fighting about finding Buck, saying he might die. That Christopher has just lost him permanently.

“Look what you did,” Eddie glares at Leader Man, before turning to Chris and rocking him gently as he comforts him: “No one is going to die, mijo. We’ll find papi, yeah? We’ll find him.”

Christopher cries for a little more, but bravely wipes the tears away. That unbreakable spirit from before shining through as he asks: “Pinky promise?” holding up his pinky to Eddie. Tanya might only vaguely know Buck and Eddie, but they clearly raised a great kid.

“Yeah, pinky promise,” Eddie says, interlocking their pinkies. He looks like he intents to keep it, practically daring Leader Man to say something with the way glares at him.

Leader Man only sighs in response, suddenly looking a lot older than before, as he says: “Eddie, I’ll make sure everyone knows Buck is missing. The whole LAFD will be looking for him. We will find him. You just need to focus on Chris. Take these people and Bosko to the VA hospital and when we find Buck, you’ll be the first one to know.”

Tanya feels for him, but only a little bit. She probably doesn’t understand the whole LAFD politics and getting to a hospital where they maybe have a phone so she can call her mom sounds like heaven to her. But she can also see the desperation to do something reflected in Eddie’s eyes. Tanya herself already feels guilty about doing nothing more to help Buck, she can’t imagine how Eddie must be feeling.

Indeed, it seems like Eddie isn’t done arguing yet, however, before he can Bosko speaks up for the first time: “You’re totally right, sir. We’ll do that.”

Going off the look she gets from both other firefighters, this is unusual for her, so she adds: “Seeing Diaz, makes me realize how stupid I was.”

Tanya now vaguely remembers Leader Man saying something about Bosko looking for her Captain and gathers this is not the first time he’s had this fight today. Her sympathy for him increases a little bit.

However, it’s overshadowed by Eddie’s: “What!” who clearly does not feel the same.

Interestingly, Bosko doesn’t seem to take it to heart, just giving him an eyebrow heavy look as she elbows Eddie in the side before he can go on. Tanya wonders what that is about, especially when Leader Man gives her a suspicious look and she plasters on something innocent in return.

Bosko assures him again: “I’m serious, Captain Nash. The adrenaline is wearing off and my ribs are hurting like a mother-” she glances to Christopher “-uh, like a lot,” she corrects.

“And I can trust you to keep Eddie on track?” Leader Man asks, clearly not buying it. Tanya doesn’t but it either, but she is on Bosko’s side anyway.

“Yeah, course, don’t worry,” Bosko tells him. “I got a lot of practice in Diaz wrangling when he was serving in my house. I can keep him out of trouble and get him to Sawtelle.”

Tanya sees Marissa mouth Sawtelle to herself and she is again reminded that she is from LA. That these streets are home to her, not like a movie set. That this destruction is hitting all of them. That this is a real place that got destroyed. That real people are out there and in need.

It seems like Leader Man, or Captain Nash, she supposes, also realizes this, because after a mutter from Eddie and a ‘shut up’ from Bosko, he sighs and says: “Alright. I trust you two to escort these people to the VA hospital safely. I’m ordering you two to take them there, then stay there. If I find out that you two have disobeyed, I’ll have to take disciplinary action. Am I understood?”

Eddie clearly wants to protest, not picking up on the inflection Tanya picked up on. Fortunately, Bosko did pick up on it and speaks first, saying: “Understood, sir.” And Eddie copies her, albeit a little more moodily. “Yeah, okay, Bobby.”

“Good,” Bobby-Leader Man- Captain Nash- whatever gives them both a nod. “I’ll rendezvous with Chimney and Hen and leave you two in charge here. Don’t do anything stupid.” Okay, none of these people have real names.

It’s the last thing Leader Man says to any of them, nodding to a few as he starts to make his way down a road. It’s almost baffling to see the man just walk away after all this and it seems Eddie and Bosko also need a moment, just staring att he crowd as they stare back.

Tanya is pretty sure they half forgot everyone was there while they argued, since they all kind of kept their mouth shut. None of them had the energy to mix themselves in whatever that had just been honestly. Today was horrible enough already without that.

After a moment, however, Bosko takes charge, calling out: “Is anyone too injured to walk?” They all call back a negative, Buck made sure they were all okay. Bosko takes that and nods, before yelling: “Alright. Follow me.”

“What are you doing?” Eddie hisses, brain also catching up to the situation. “You really agree with Bobby?”

“Of course not,” Bosko rolls her eyes. “I had to give him a reason to leave so we could go rogue and find Ronnie and Buck. He knows we’re not going to listen to him. Didn’t you hear how he said that?”

“No?” Eddie replies, confused.

Tanya is now waiting with the others once more as Bosko explains it to him: “He has to take disciplinary action, if he finds out we disobeyed. If he doesn’t know, he doesn’t have to do anything, so he gave us a task away from him to a place he’s probably not going to be much at today. We bring these people to Sawtelle, then we come back out here to look.”

The respect for Bobby goes up in the crowd as they realize what he has just done for Eddie and by extension for Buck. Everyone wants him to be found, to be okay. Bobby cut his losses with what was required by him and decided to trust Eddie with finding him. Tanya can respect that and if there is a way to help, she’s here.

“Oh,” Eddie says, kinda dumbly, before he gets it and grins. “You’re a genius.”

“I keep trying to convince you, but you never listen, do you, Diaz?” Bosko grins back. It’s clear they’re friends. It’s nice to see. That in the midst of this disaster that also exists.

Marissa interrupts them: “Excuse me. The hospital is on Sawtelle?”

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie says.

“I know the way, I can take everyone, so you two can start looking,” she says. “I mean, I don’t know Ronnie, but Buck – if I heard the name right – saved us. If my husband was out here, I’d want to go look too. I’m sure everyone here will be more than fine to let you two go.”

Tanya has never been so proud to call someone her friend – well, she thinks Marissa is her friend, they leaned on each other on a tiny truck in the middle of a tsunami, she’s pretty sure that makes them friends.

So, she nods her agreement, the whole crowd backing Marissa. They aren’t badly injured. They were saved and looked after by Buck, a professional (Tanya isn’t dumb, she can figure out Buck also works with these people, him being an off duty firefighter makes a lot of sense). Now he is in trouble and they’re going to return the favor. They can get to the hospital by themselves.

Eddie’s face is almost awed with gratitude as he looks at all of them. It feels a little like this is what humanity is supposed to be. Yeah, today is horrible and this is a tragedy, but there is still kindness out there. This is the moment people reach out to help. That’s special.

“What do you think, Superman? Want to go look for papi together?”Eddie asks Christopher, bouncing him lightly, as he shakes off the shock.

Tanya can’t help but note the shared nickname for Christopher between him and Buck. Fuck, she really hopes Buck is going to be okay.

“I do!” Chris cheers.

“Alright,” Eddie smiles.

Meanwhile Bosko is coordinating with Marissa and the other woman and man, who have kind of become the leaders of their little group. “I think I can flag down some transport for you guys. Are you sure you’re going to be okay? Because we can go with you, before starting our search.”

“No, no, you go,” the other woman, who’d spoken earlier says.

“Yeah, Buck made sure we were okay, now we’d like to help him,” the man says.

“Thank you so much,” Eddie tells the group sincerely.

Marissa shakes her head: “No, thank you. And thank your husband from us when you find him.”

“I will,” Eddie says and he sounds like he means it. Tanya is pretty sure this man would go into the underworld to find Buck to give him the message if he has to. She really hopes it won’t be necessary as they get ready to go.

Eddie and Bosko go over everyone one last time, binding the worst of their injuries and checking them over, ensuring they’re good to walk. It’s clear how badly both want to go search, but they’re professionals. Tanya is sure that if one of them was too badly injured, they’d delay their search to care for them. It reminds her of Buck and she mentally urges them to hurry, today shouldn’t have to get more horrible.

Once they’re all done, they all say their goodbyes, before Marissa takes the lead. Tanya falls into step beside her. Besides, Buck and Christopher, Marissa gave her the most comfort and she doesn’t want to lose it now. Going off into the destruction in search of safety is still pretty scary.

Marissa must notice, because she gives her a gentle smile, then holds out her hand for her to take, which Tanya does gratefully.

“You think they’re going to find him?” she asks Marissa after a moment, voice soft.

“Yeah, I think so,” Marissa says. “You don’t just give up on love like that. And if God is kind, he’ll make sure that family is okay.”

Tanya thinks about it, then nods. She wants to believe that too. If anyone has deserved a good ending to this horrible day, it’s that little family. Yeah, Buck being found by his son and husband would make today less horrible.

~~

A/N:

Like can you imagine being one of those people on the truck when this went down. They might never know there was a happy ending, like ahhh wild shit.

Btw, if you’re like ‘huh, I didn’t hear the name Tanya in the main verse’ you would be correct. I wanted this to be a nameless face in the crowd POV, a person affected by Buck and Eddie, for whom they made a difference, even if they never knew her. So I purposefully didn’t do Marissa for example, hope that makes sense :D

[confusionism]

"Hey," he replies, his shoulders almost shaking from suppressed mirth, "my eyes are up here." Turning the tables, because he can only imagine the number of times she’s said the same, albeit seriously. Minus the bashfulness, however, Aiden would never actually complain about Anna’s ogling. What gives him pause now is more of their surroundings. The murmur of the crowd, that’s gotten just a little bit louder. “I’m gonna stop.” Fuel for him to put the slightest, barely-noticeable distance between them, “—‘Cause I will start a commotion if you let me keep me going about, you know—” his gaze slides down her smooth curves before returning back up, “—you being down under.”

But it’s definitely a high-issue topic to revisit later. It always is.

For the moment, he refocuses on her curiosity, and it seems like he’s back to his usual self, questioning the world and its dramatic oddities with the faintest quirk in his brow. “About Chelsea, but you know something— I think that dude’s usually got a thing for animals? He did that one movie last year, about a scientist who made friends with an octopus while studying a kelp forest?” He’s suddenly serious when he adds, “—Before that, I think it was about endangered birds.” The history’s pretty interesting. Animals are cool. He just can’t understand the connection between staunch environmentalism and… Sports. Whether it’s the reality of football attracting a more vocal, more viral crowd, or just another example of how people can have a strange mix of interests, he shakes his head. “Hope he’s not saying Chelsea’s going extinct or something.”

Whatever the reasoning for the offer the, he doesn’t truly care what that guy thinks; Aiden’s not about to let some folks with deep pockets make a circus out of his guys. They’re fools, but his fools. Leave it to him to embarrass them. So maybe it’s a little funny, a little odd, a little out of place when he answers,

“I don’t have any friends.” Plain and simple. Aiden knows people — gets paid a hefty sum to know them like the back of his hand — and yet nobody really knows him. It takes about ten seconds for him to think, ‘Well, shit,’ because he doesn’t want this to turn into a pity party. “—Or, like— I’m not like that.” Obviously. “I don’t really have anyone specific I go reaching out to for company.” Background mentality. If they want him there, they’ll ask, and he’ll see if his brain is ready to deal with all of the extra noise. There’s nothing in his posture, his expression, or in his words that indicates even the slightest bit of dissatisfaction.

There’s no sort of judgment or excessive pushiness coming out of Anna, either, yet there’s something… Aiden can’t really describe it. Anna Ricci (the person) magic. The weird stuff that’s got him adding to his ‘a game’ playlist, its energetic name masking the collection R&B jams and other cheesy shit he’s picked out because the vibes remind him of her. “I prefer watching games alone.” His brain’s usually loud enough to fill up the gaps then. “—But I’ll tell you what. Next time I get the invite,” to some gallery opening courtesy of some artistic acquaintance, or even just a lowkey dig hosted by a friendly face, “I’ll take you along.” No questions asked (other than confirming her interest), no hesitations. Even when he tilts his head and asks, “Or is that your way of saying you wanna host at our place?”

Whichever one she’d pick, for she’s built her fair share of new furnishings and filled out the spaces well enough to really make them both homes. Soft warmth courses through his veins at the mere thought, along with the never-ending urge to remind her, “I wanna make it completely clear, though: you’re my MVP.” His first choice for a single call— the only one outside of work he regularly calls, and he’s more than content with that. And just like that, he’s even closer to her, with his hand squeezing back. “I’m not subbing you any time soon.”

"Tony fights anyone who gets between him and the season finale of Love is Blind." Sure, he did it for Anna, for her ever-abundance of loyalty for Aiden. But there's also the reality that Tony's now at Vauxhall, downing shots everytime someone says they're on the island for the "right reasons." Two things can be true. "I didn't start a commotion." Anna lowers her head, like a little girl caught red-handed. No, Aiden's not telling her off. He's echoing her commitment, but still reminding her - there's some things one ought not to do. Getting arrested, or causing a commotion, for one. "And if I did..." By sprinting down the airport, throwing a hundred quid at a kid whose drink she knocked over, and then pouting at an officer...

"I know you'd be there to bail me out." Because Anna may have acted the fairy godmother of the evening. But in every other sense, it's Aiden who sweeps in to save her. Or better yet, show her the way out. The proof is in every new thing she learns to do with him. This is just one of many ways she gives it back, coming closer to brush the nice fabric of his suit. "Or use the nail file on your Swiss army knife and get us both free." Heroes or bandits? The jury's out. Regardless, it's clear now; they only look the part of posh and proper.

Because when Aiden leans in, smelling heavenly and with that look in his eye. With the sort of joke that makes her laugh second, because first, her eyes drop down to the area between his legs. "Fuck me." Anna whispers, eyes wide and brightly scandalized. "And here I thought I just got outta down under." Now, however, her mind's firmly down there...

Which makes her take a half-second longer to register Aiden's answer. "Like, about snow leopards? Or about you and Chelsea?" Documentaries go either way. "I can see that. Like, catching up with Chelsea?" Really, she does it just to tease. Because Aiden can do anything... Except be on a reality TV show.

"Glad you didn't sub in another plus one." Her hand finds his, giving it a small squeeze. "Like Bailey. Or --" Come to think of it, Anna tilts her head; "I should meet some of your friends." Because in the storm of Anna's extroversion, it's assumed she would have met anyone of importance. Yet that's her, not him, and even some need a push.

"You know, friends to watch the game with--" Like Aiden doesn't do that everyday. "Keep you company when I'm away." He's more than capable of taking care of himself. The better one of the pair of them, candidly. And yet, a part of her worries about the long nights spent apart, the dinners eaten alone. "I wanna meet them." Or find them, she thinks. Though, unlikely to find them here.

[cuteniaarts]

Small drawing collection of my latest creation Emran as a teenager/freshly minted Air Acolyte, for my dear partner in unhinged OC shenanigans @katkastrofa, as promised <3

[soath]

One thing I love about Ashton and Fearne is that Ashton very aggressively projects onto her all the things they want to be; blasé, confident, effortlessly loved, capable of shaking off anything. They see the best, brightest parts of her but it's an admiration that often obscures her real fears and sensitivities! She's not just the impulsive, flirty fae, she's really scared for her friends. She's a sheltered young woman who's never truly lost someone they loved before. Ashton connects instinctively with her whimsy, her need for challenge, the bouts of spite, the urge to shake things up, the "level of crazy that I'm kind of into" but he can't grasp the degree to which she'd be messed up if he died in front of her. Coming off of so many years of nihilistic self-pity, it's hard to recognize that your actions impact other people, and I think part of the reason they wanted Fearne is because they thought that exploding in front of her wouldn't be as bad as doing so in front of the others. Just take his stuff, it's fine!

(It's not fine.)

[tonycries]

We Neva Play!

Synopsis. Turns out, the “r” in rivals stands for “really good séx” when a mission becomes a little too hot to handle.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, rivals-to-lovers, séx pollen, innappropríate use of jujutsu (like a LOT), pússydrunk Gojo, limitless, both are teachers, creampíes, oraI (fem), síxty-nine, banter, breaking the bed, FÉRAL Gojo, pússy-slappíng, BRÉEDING, spítting, reader’s CT mentioned, Yaga’s had enough, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 6.3k (cries)

A/N. Lacked Gojo in the manga so I present to you more Gojo <3

“Gojo, I will kill you before that curse can-”

“Aw, man!‘ Yuji whines over Nobara’s cackles, reluctantly slapping a few thousand yen onto her outstretched palm. He thuds his head frustratedly against the cool vending machine they were crouched behind, “That was rigged!”

The girl scoffs, counting her hard-earned winnings victoriously, “I told you they wouldn’t even make it until the school gates before fighting. It’s not rigged, it’s common sense - not that you’d know anything about it.” Satisfied, she sneaks a look over the side of the machine at the shrinking backs of you and a too-happy Gojo Satoru. “Besides, we’ll get a rematch soon enough. My money’s on her, double or nothin’.” 

“You really think they’ll kill each other before the mission is over?” Yuji muses, eyes locked on Gojo’s infamous smirk - only widening the closer he drives you dangerously towards an aneurysm. “I bet-”

“No.” Megumi’s deadpan interruption startles them both. And as much as he’d like to pretend he wasn’t cramped with the two idiots stalking their squabbling teachers, he unfortunately, very much, was. “I bet ten thousand yen they kill each other before the mission is over. Or worse - end up dating.”

---

“A love hotel.”

“A love hotel~” Gojo echoes, with a hand clutching faintly at his chest. Swooning over you with each word, “Now, usually you’d have to take me out to dinner first, but for you I will make an except- mmpf-”

Now, Gojo knew he could’ve easily blocked your attack - hell, he didn’t even have to bat an eye to activate limitless. But where was the fun in that? Giving into your elbow digging sharply into his side, he’s only cackling at your venomous words, “I could take down both you and those special grades, y’know?”

“Oh yeah?” he hooks a long finger underneath his blindfold, showing off that infuriating wiggle of his snowy brows. “If you’re so great, then why did Yaga have you assigned with me, pretty girl?”

You sigh, rubbing your throbbing temples, “Only because someone-” And oh, if he had the most renowned eyes in all of jujutsu, then you had the most withering glare. “-completely skipped out on his last mission to stuff his face with sweets, n’ now I’m wasting my time babysitting. So this time, I’m in charge.”

Ah, a woman after his heart - in more ways than one, for sure. 

“Yes, ma’am~” 

Dramatically, he mimics the zipping of his lips shut, readily following you towards the flashy building standing out amongst the bustling Tokyo street. Walls painted such a suggestive pink, neon lights flickering special discounts at passersby - it would have almost been scandalous to be caught outside such an obvious love hotel such as this - if it hadn’t been for the mission, that is. 

“Didn’t think our first date would be at a love hotel.” he chuckles as soon as you reach the gaudy, perfumed reception. And that flickering, wide-eyed stare of the woman behind the counter is enough for Gojo to prattle on, “Now, tell me what room you want, honey-” Throwing an arm around your shoulder, you’re pressed helplessly against his toned front. “-they’ve got candy-themed, anime-themed- oh, they’ve even got a train station-”

“Best to keep our train station fantasies to ourselves-” You simper, subtly stepping on his foot with your own, but that only topples you against him. Instantly, another strong arm snakes around your waist to support your weight, as if second nature, “-isn’t that right, dear?”

And you swear, you could spot a tiny dimple when the ends of his mouth curl even wider into a saccharine sweet grin. “If my memory serves me right, you were the one that dragged me here. Isn’t that right, dear?”

Shivers run down your spine - ones he runs the soft, rounded pads of his fingers up and down along. You’re sure you looked like a disgustingly loving couple to the poor lady working at the counter. And to put her out of her misery, if anything, you recite, “A-anyways- apologies. Room 143, please.” Managing to plaster on a weak smile, it only falls flat when the receptionist hands you your key - and two complimentary condoms along with it. “I- uh- thank you?”

And it’s all you can do to not just shove off the 6’3 thorn at your side when he steers the two of you to the elevator with a disbelieving, “Only two?” 

Though, you’re sure it wouldn’t do much against him, anyway. It never has - because ever since you’d stepped foot through Jujutsu High’s towering gates as its newest teacher, Gojo Satoru seemed to make it his mission in life to get on each and every single one of your nerves. The only mission he’d willingly do, mind you. Insisting on interrupting your classes, hiding you little sweets in your office, pushing your buttons in front of-

“Well, that went as inconspicuous as ever.” Gojo hums, reeling you out of your little reverie. “Of course, it did, thanks to me.”

“‘Inconspicuous’ my ass.” you groan, hastily punching in the ground number for your room. Yaga had said that the veil was already completed around the entirety of the curse-infested floor by now, good - the faster you could get away from Gojo, the more intact your sanity would be. “If it wasn’t for me smoothing things over, she’d be filing a complaint against the sleazy man in a bad Kakashi cosplay at this very moment.”

“Hey! I didn’t see you putting on any Oscar-worthy performances. And my Kakashi cosplay is gre-”

DING!

The elevator doors open to a seemingly normal, barren hallway - not a hair or person out of place - though, you knew better. And as much of a fool as Gojo acted, he did, too. 

His steady arm drops from your side when you stretch out your limbs in preparation - shit, you forgot it was still there. “Watch and learn, Gojo.” you hum.

“Hell yeah, I’m watching.” 

A beat of silence. Two. 

With his thick blindfold, Gojo’s expression was almost indescribable - but your skin prickles with the slow, sultry sweep of his eyes down your figure. But before you can snap back at his loaded tone, it happens- “Don’t fall behind, sweetheart.”

Curses burst out of the fourteen heavy, wooden doors along the narrow corridor - some small, some big, all crushed easily under the power of your cursed technique. And neither of you had to utter a word to know you’d both be trying to best the other. 

You’ve got one slobbering mess of a curse trapped underneath your heel, locked in combat when Gojo calls out from somewhere across the hallway. “Still stuck on that grade one?” Your jaw ticks, pressing the curses face deeper into the carpeted floor of the bedroom, “I’ve already located one of two special grades- better keep up.”

Fuck, curse him and his six eyes. 

Not wasting any more time, you easily exorcize the remaining curse, feet carrying you door after door. Most of the infestation had been cleared out by now by the both of you, splatters of red and limbs lining along the hallway - you only felt bad for Ichiji having to organize a clean-up after this. 

The next time you saw Gojo’s flash of cerulean eyes was from outside another bedroom. Goading, “Heh, need a little help, Gojo?” 

“Oh fuck-” he wraps two arms around the special grade’s flowered horns. Powerful legs bowed, cloudy hair mussed, blindfold dangling somewhere around his neck - he was beautiful. And it was fleeting moments like this that you held an ounce of begrudging respect for him. Ripping those offending appendages, “-off. Roughed up the other special grade for ya since you were so slow, sweetheart - consider it a lil’ gift for this date.”

“Oh, fuck you-”

In the midst of it all, Gojo still manages to flutter his long lashes your way, “Well, we are in a love hotel, after all. Just say so if you wanna get those pretty hands on me.”

“I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last person on Earth, Gojo Satoru.”

His loud bout of laughter follows you to the final hotel room - 143, coincidentally. It was decadent, almost-spotless - had it not been for the towering curse hunched over in the middle. You could tell that Gojo had been here, because its pink, scale-like skin was already bruised.

You slam the door shut behind you, better to keep the property damage to a minimum. Hastily getting into action - it wasn’t anything new, after years of exorcizing curses you’d grown used to predicting their pattern of attack. But it was only after a pressurized, finalizing punch of yours lands right on the curse’s thumping neck that you find yourself growing weary. Cautious of the tiny, red flower that’d sprouted out of thin air on its skin. Immediately, you think back to Hanami, because it was blossoming - unnaturally fast - petals unraveling to explode in sparkly pollen-

Shit. Your head whirled, eyes watery at the heady scent, “Wh-what the fuck-”

It takes only that split-second of distraction before more blooms pop! pop! pop! all down the curse’s figure. It just heaves with fatigue when they all burst out the same powdery substance from before.

“Fuck- what is this-” your thighs clench together, teeth clenched so hard it hurt. You stagger back towards your opponent, and it seems this last-ditch Hail Mary caused more damage than good. Because the curse was lethargic, barely even flinching when you’re back to pummelling it with your cursed technique. Again. And again and again-  “-if only you’d taken to making perfumes- instead-”

It falls to the ground with a last ringing screech, the flowers withering away instantly. 

But the damage was done.

And you’d never felt so drained - even after your most difficult of missions. Never sinking down onto your knees this way, skin heated, mouth salivating. The air in the room was just thick with something so delicious - syrupy, with hints of pine and cherry - traitorously, you find yourself inhaling deep, addictive lungfuls of the scent. 

“Smells so-” your brows furrow, digging a hand into the plush bed beside you to clamor back onto your feet. “Smells like-”

Gojo. 

Your entire body jolts with something so dark - visceral, gasping when you feel your underwear just drench. Mind such a melty mess filled with only Gojo Gojo Gojo - and before you know it, you’re stumbling towards the door-

Bang! 

The aroma only grows heavier near the door, blood thunders in your ear at the deafening crash from outside. Shit, had you locked the door- 

Bang! Bang! BANG-

Fuck, neither of you were making it out alive. 

It’s the first clear thought headlining through your mind for the first time in what feels like ages - only several, syrupy-slow seconds later does it follow up with the realization that you’re now standing face-to-face with Gojo. 

Gojo pain-in-your-ass Satoru.

Who looked absolutely crazed right now - teetering unsteadily on his feet, his head was bowed, fingers trembling. The mahogany hotel door in mere splinters under his hands.

“F-forgot you could teleport?” It comes out a yelp - pained, almost - and the very first note of your strained voice is enough to have his entire, powerful body wracking with a gasp. Goosebumps pricking along his milky skin, he finally - finally raises his eyes.

Shit, he’s finally lost it.

Because Gojo’s gaze was burning, lids hooded, dark pupils blown so wide that his eyes looked almost black. He didn’t look at you with that usual teasing glint, no, he looked like he was going to rip you apart. Twitchy, drinking in a shaky, drawn-out gasp of the scented air. You almost had half the mind to wonder whether this was some special grade masked as your coworker. 

But it’s real - it’s so, so real and you can’t deny it when he’s baring you with such a vicious grin. Plump lips pulled back to show off those glinting canines, “You.”

“Satoru.”

His lips are on yours - pressing and pressing so hard you were sure it bruised. But fuck- you’re kissing back - because how could you not? The candied seam of his mouth was addictive, breathing you in like his last breath of fresh air.  

“Kiss me-” he spits into your slack mouth, as if he wasn’t already. Two hands surging forwards to cup your cheeks even deeper, “Kiss me kiss me kiss- fuck-” That last little swear almost comes out as a whimper, and you can only keen when Gojo wraps his pretty lips around your tongue, sucking lewdly. “Y’smell so sweet- taste so sweet-”

“Sa-t-toru-” you’re managing out. It just then hits you how weak your knees have gotten, sinking down to straddle his muscular, jutted-out thigh. It makes him throw his head back when you’re just dragging your hips in a long, languid stripe. “Look what you’ve- what you’ve gotten us into.”

Pulling away to lick lazily up, up, up your neck, his teeth bite just at your thundering pulse. “Me?” he hisses out, voice a few octaves higher than usual. “You think I’m the one fuckin’ responsible for this?” It almost hurt - but it hurt so good. “I’m responsible for this-” And his startling eyes sink down to the darkening wet patch on the middle of his leg, your flimsy panties sticking to his uniform. “-am, I?”

“Yes.” your defiant fingers are trailing down the hem of his shirt, ripping apart those buttons in hasty, urgent tugs until it was off completely. “If only you hadn’t half-assed it with this special grade then-”

Gojo huffs out in humorless laughter into your lips - the same one he’d give a persistent little curse, and it makes your hairs stand on end. Wondering how high the kill count would really be. In the hundreds? Thousands? “I thought you were supposed to be the babysitter, huh?”

Millions. 

“And aren’t you the strongest?” A trembly hand of yours ventures its way down his flexing body - down, past those plush pecs, past his flinching abs, dipping teasingly just above where you could feel the hiking tent in his tight pants. “How did you end up this hah- bad?”

You’re holding back a groan at the long, solid inches straining to break free of his thick fabric, you could feel the rapid thump! thump! thump! of his throbbing length under your palm. Fuck, water was wet - Gojo Satoru, unfortunately, had a big di-

“You.”

It’s low, ragged - so quiet that for a second you think you almost imagine it. 

“You.”

His lips are sagging open once more, greedy gaze widening - and you knew it was glowing now. Tiny flickers of blue lightning flickering at the ends of his eyes with every mindless gyration of your palm down his bulging, clothed shaft.

“It’s all because of you.” 

Yeah, you would be lucky number one on his kill count when he breaks - or maybe he would be on yours

Your back is hitting the mattress, and the buttons of your poor uniform are hitting the velvety floor - absolutely nothing against the strongest, who was now tearing through your clothes the same way he was ripping apart those curses from before.

Shit- did he teleport you two?

“Don’t know-” Gojo pants out feverishly, and at that moment you weren’t sure if you’d simply babbled your thinking out loud or whether he could read your mind. “Don’t- don’t know- fuuck.” Low, feral groans crack at the back of his throat with each inch of your exposed skin, and before you know it, he’s surging forwards into the naked valley of your breasts. Breathing you in so filthily, “Just know that I need you- fuck m’gonna fuckin’ kill someone if I don’t-” 

Each spat out little word is punctuated with an intoxicated push and pull of Gojo’s hips. Angrily rutting in-between your thighs until it was just a clingy, syrupy mess of slick and precum between you two. 

“Oh-” your lips drop into a soft gasp, reaching out your fingers to smear a sinful sheen down them. It glosses all the way to your wrist with each newly beaded wave of his precum. 

It feels so dirty the way you’re pushing the very tips of your fingers into your mouth. Gojo can only look - can barely even breathe when you slur, “You taste so good, too, Toru.”

Oh, that was it.

Gojo Satoru had finally thought he was getting control of his sanity - he finally thought the effects of that cursed technique were wearing off. But now - at that little nickname - he feels something snap. The lamp on your right bedside table shatters.

And usually, Gojo’s taunting was tinted with a little laugh, an inkling of fondness in them - but right now they sounded pained. Wrenching out of his broad chest, “Fuck you. Need you- do you know what you’ve done.”

Your useless skirt - along with your soaked, see-through panties - are ripped off of your squirming body. And for once in his life, he’s speechless - eyes almost bulging out of his skull, nails digging into the plush of your thighs. 

Your clothes end up in a pile of sad tatters on the floor, and you felt a strange inkling that maybe you’d end up much the same. 

Smack!

Two, large fingers slap down harshly right on your drooling cunt, slobbering down a glistening coat of your pretty juices down his wrist. “Pay attention.” He’s pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your neglected nipples, your stomach, down, down, down in a flurry until the very tip of Gojo’s nose was nudging at your pulsing clit. “Because if m’losing control I need you to stop me.”

The dim hotel lights flicker when Gojo meets your cunt in a sultry, self-indulgent kiss. And through it all, one thing burns into your dizzy mind - his eyes. Maddened, gleaming with slight blue cursed energy in-between your legs. 

“Oh.” you’re gasping at the sheer burning stretch of your thighs being pushed to their limits. Gojo didn’t need that much space - he just loved the way you whined. “You’re s-so much better when you shut- hah!”

His tongue shuts you up by flicking harshly over your puffed-up clit, letting your syrupy juices slide their slow way down his eager tongue. “There we go- good girl, good fuckin’ girl. Hah- all it took was some shitty curse to get you hah- honest like this f’me, huh?” 

“Don’t act like- ngh!” you’re barely able to drawl the words out, which makes him grin a dangerously content grin. Sharp teeth clenching teasingly around your angry clit, throbbing and slicked glisteningly with his spit, “Don’t act like I’m the only one- this way- hah-”

It was true - every hollowed-out suck on your needy clit had him grinding onto the mussed-up mattress. Those silken sheets hiking up with every drag of Gojo’s weepy erection down onto the bed - imagining you underneath him. It wasn’t enough - it never will be. 

That realization was enough for him to break out into a drunken grin, hot tongue smearing open your folds over and over- “Yeah? What about it? Does it scare you that I want to fuckin’ break you, sweetheart?”

He was crazed. 

Dangerous. Depraved. 

“N-no-” you give such a harsh pull on his soft strands, he’s leering up at you with a dragged-out groan. Looking for the life of him so used - you just knew there’d be thousands that would kill to see the strongest so fucked-out, ear blearily blinking open, flushed your favorite shade of pink up to his cheekbones, mouth chasing those thin spit strands to your glossy pussy. “Jus’ think s’unfair how I’m the ah- only one havin’ fun right now.”

You’re shutting up his pussydrunk protests about how he is having fun and to “please, please, please don’t stop” by crashing your soft lips against Gojo’s. Wrenching him upwards, he lets himself be so used. 

“Need you-” you’re gasping, biting into his pouty lower lip. Nosing slowly up his bobbing Adam’s apple, you gasp in that heady combination of pine and candied cherry. “Wanna see if you hngh- taste as good as you smell right now.”

“No fuck- fuck you.” he hisses, wrangling you to straddle his angrily fidgeting hips. 

Running a hand down to fumble with his metallic belt - already loosened. But you don’t have the patience - or the sanity - for that right now, because you’re tugging, shredding. The tell-tale buzz of jujutsu fizzing at your fingertips when you tug down the entirety of Gojo’s pants. Kneading the soft peaks of your palm over that sensitive divot on his head, “Who’s fucking who?” 

“Me.” And there’s another smack! to the heated place of your cunt, Gojo’s own fingertips having you see stars with his power. 

He takes the distraction to just drag you upwards like some ragdoll, easily maneuvering you around. “Turn- turn around f’me- thaaat’s right, fuck-” You’re jostled until your shaky thighs straddle either side of his head, puffed-out pants condensing hotly against your cunt. Your own coming face-to-face with the fat head peeking out from the hem of Gojo’s boxers. Head swimming with how angrily pink he looked, already winking with a drenched sheen of precum up at you. “Arch that cute back a lil’ more- lemme see.”

You’re whirling your head over your shoulders to catch the fucked-out grin on his lips, dragging his tongue out to lap up every bead of your sweet sweet juices, he tilts his pliant head back against the pillows to let it slide down his bobbing throat. “Y-you’re really that pussydr- hngh!” 

Another branding smack! leaves you gushing even more down his tongue. “Yeah, s’what I fuckin’ thought.” he spits out a thick wad of spit into your messy cunt. Gliding his wet fingers over the dripping mess that puddles onto the his chest below. “-can’t even run your mouth- so desperate f’me. Taste so good-” Using his inhuman strength to haul you down onto his pretty face.

Before he knows it, he’s slotting the thin tip of his tongue past your quivering hole. Taking him so greedily, the elastic ring of muscle stretches all around his form, clamping down as if to milk something delicious. 

And Gojo knows - he thinks with whatever’s left of his rationality that maybe he should slow down, take a second to fuckin’ breathe. But, no, he’s making out with your ravaged pussy like he’s angry he hasn’t done this before - way back when he first met you.

A slender fingers pushes past your swollen folds to curl deftly into your gummy cunt, molding up into that easy divots at your walls. He’s feeling around so depravedly for your g-spot, aching to make you feel just a drop of the sheer need he does. 

“Fuck!” Your velvety walls come crashing down around his fingers, knuckle-deep inside your ravenously swallowing cunt. Only getting faster - dipping perfectly to press up against your spongy sweet spots. Shit, he really was good at everything, huh? “You’re so…”

“What was that?” Gojo’s tittering, “Can’t hear you over your cute cunt, sweetheart.”

You don’t answer - you don’t need to, because all the breath in his lungs exhale out in a low cascade. Hiccuping around your candied clit when you take Gojo’s thick, weepy tip just past your lips. Wrapping just around the sensitive slit, it makes him gasp, it makes him keen, it makes him spit out some sloppy swears into your cunt.

“What was that? Can’t hear you over my cunt, Toru–” you bat your lashes, humming around his velvety head. Fuck- if you were in any better state of mind you’d have taken longer admiring him.

Because he was so massive, so pretty with prominent veins thumping at the roof of your mouth. Girthy, rotund end a throbbing red, gradiating into a creamy pink that meshed in delicately with those neat tufts of white at Gojo’s toned pelvis. So delicious. Big enough that you were already wondering just how you were going to walk out of this bedroom - if either of you are in a walking state - or even alive - that is. 

“Fuck- fuck you little-” his mouth refuses to part with your puffy pussy lips, even if it was to talk back to you. “Don’t you dare fuckin’ think this is-”

The new angle has his sharp jaw grinding up into you, jostling your body up and down all over his face. He’s whining - heaving - at this point with every sultry swirl of your soft tongue around his twitchy head. Coating down every inch of your silky soft mouth with a hot sheen of precum, he tastes so good on your tastebuds - slightly salty, with a tinge of something so sweetly Gojo. 

Powers acting before him, he doesn’t even realize it before he cheats - just a little. Eyes burning with power when Gojo uses his six eyes to plunge scarily accurately into the plushy bullseye of your g-spot. Greedy fingers hitting it again and again and-

“Satoru!” your scolding tone has his globular tip twitch ferally into the back of your throat. “That’s not- I can feel your jujutsu, y’know. S-so-” 

“What? Good? Heavenly?” Gojo rattles off. You’re fucking your drooling pussy back into him - you can’t stop the mindless, shallow little grinds in an attempt to meet his mean pace. “Never said anythin’ about a jujutsu ban, pretty- you’re sounding like a sore loser to me.” As if on cue, your cunt is gushing out in more silken sweet juices all down the lower half of his face, squelching so obscenely. His droopy eyes admire your glistening cunt, riding his face to his insanity. “Well- not this cunt, of course, in fact- I think she’s gonna cum.”

He didn’t have to tell you - you already knew, with the trembling in your thighs, and the white-hot pleasure stemming from his incessant making out. Without answering, you only swallow up a few more solid, rock-hard inches of his painfully hard cock, lips stretched obscenely. 

“Y-yeah- fuck, now I definitely know you’re close, pretty girl-” he’s lolling out his tongue to let you drag your pussy across harshly. “Don’t be stubborn- cum f’me,” Rough patches of his tastebuds massaging you just right, fingers still pumping recklessly. “Cum f’me- please. Wan’ it on my tongue- want you- want you to use me- please.”

It doesn’t take long before you’re finally cumming, fucking your high over and over Gojo Satoru’s pretty face. He’s wrapping a free hand around the small of your back, just crashing you back into his drunk mouth over and over and–

“F-fuck, Toru–” you whine, toes curling with each crashing wave of pleasure. It was so violent - so dragged-out, like no orgasm you’ve had before. And you didn’t know whether it was because of the technique or the lazy drag of Gojo’s mouth all over every beading inch of your pussy. Your fist tightens around the thick, heated base of his cock, “Need- need you to-”

“No. Fuck-”

In the fleeting millisecond it takes you to blink, your front is being pushed back onto the now-damp sheets again, a grinning Gojo hovering over you. He looked so ruined - smile gleaming with your trickling, dripping precum, eyes crazed. Suddenly, you almost understand why every breathing thing fears him - almost. His eyes were blazing, flushed angrily. “I’m burning- think m’gonna die if I don’t fuck this cunt right now. Fuck-”

“Havin’ to use your powers for everything?” you’re quirking a brow over your shoulder. “Don’t tell me the only reason you brag about being so hah- good in bed is because of that?”

He’s narrowing his glowing eyes, tiny sparks of lightning flying furiously, “Ohhh s’that a challenge, sweetheart?” Gojo’s sharp canines tug on your bottom lip, and you moan into the messy clash of a kiss - all spit and teeth and the taste of you two. “Tell me.”

“So what if it is?” you’re managing to push back against his slender waist. “Without those stupid powers, m’the better…”

Whatever insult was on the tip of our tongue dies down at the glint of the foil in his hand - the condom from before. That tiny square looking so pitiful held between two fingers, “The receptionist gave me an XL, funny, right?” Gojo murmurs, so dark. “Such a shame it won’t fit.”

One daring glance downwards proves him right - because Gojo was sitting so heftily sandwiched between your swollen folds. Painfully beading needy pearls of translucent precum all over your front - fuck, your cockdrunk self from before didn’t recall him being so large. Big enough that you were sure any rubber would be on the verge of shattering into little pieces.

So then go in raw- you think. But before the words can tumble out of your mind, he’s giving a slow, slippery slide on your cunt, “S’alright- with these ah- ‘stupid powers’ m’still gonna get a taste of this pretty cunt.”

And then you can’t breathe - fuck, you can’t even think straight.

You feel like you’re being split-apart, because Gojo’s just barely pushing in the fat, round girth of his head. Managing to pop in his long shaft past that sensitive slit, before his body starts moving in hurried, impatient little grinds. Frantically trying to squeeze himself in deeper- “Fuck- fuck fuck fuck, even with limitless you feel so good, sweetheart.”

Limitless - fuck, that’s what it was. You could feel the slight pinch of the pressure around your body, the way he was reaching in so deep inside your velvety cunt despite not even being halfway inside yet. 

“Satoru-” 

“No-” his flickering eyes bore deep into yours. “Not that- call out f’me properly now, I know that smart mouth of yours can do it.”

Your words are barely a whisper, “Toru–”

The remaining lamp at your left goes out - cracking into tiny shards. And that’s all it takes for him to push and push in, distantly, Gojo knows he should slow down, maybe give you a second to relax - to think. But he could feel his sanity dancing away with every fucking inch fed into your sopping wet pussy, your elastic walls contorting to massage every ridge and vein of his so heavenly. Fuck- he’d fight a thousand more of those special grades just for another taste of this feeling. 

“Oh-” Gojo’s jaw hangs slack when he finally bullies past that feeble resistance of yours. The very top curve of his head nudging deeply in a glissading glide down your spongy cervix, heavy balls kissing against your ass. 

He lets himself be pulled, used like some filthy toy when your hot tongue cranes to lap up the trail of drool down the corner of his drunken mouth. 

“Wanna feel you-” you’re gasping through each thorough, steady ram into your snug channel. “Wanna feel all of you.”

Another memorable slap! resounds through the heady air, sending sparks exploding behind your lids. “Heh- s’this your way of hah- having me stop using my powers?” he chuckles. “I’m onto your dirty, dirty tricks, y’know.”

Truly, he wasn’t. Gojo didn’t think he had enough of his brain unfried to even contemplate that right about now. But it was just so much fun to watch you mewl in protest, your cunt dripping even further down his twitchy balls with each taunt. 

“Please- fuck m’burning up-” you spit. “Scared s’gonna have you c-cumming early?”

As a punishment - or maybe a little reminder about who really was the strongest, Gojo infuses his next sharp smack on your clit with an ounce of his jujutsu. The curve of his thumb gliding over in tiny circles to soothe over the buzz, “Talk to me when you can say “cumming” without hngh- stutterin’-”

“Talk to me when you-” Growling into the crook of your neck, it’s all he can do right now to bow his hulking body even deeper into yours, kneeing apart your stutteringly closing thighs. There’s a sloppy, milky ring forming where your folds kept smacking repeatedly against the sharp lines of his pelvis, “-can fuck me without your limitless going haywire.”

Fuck- fuck, how he wanted to prove you wrong. To have you crying out for mercy.

But Gojo’s throat drags out in what almost sounds like a cry when his limitless flickers on and off - just for a second. The mere touch of your slippery soft walls around his hot cock making him just slam down an arm on the headrest. It breaks - shattering into tiny wooden pieces, though, neither of you notice right now. 

He’s maneuvering the two of you so easily to push you onto your back. Stuffing your gaping entrance back full again, this time throwing your limp legs onto his broad shoulders to pummel you in such a mean mating press. Just the sight of your fucked-out, pretty face has his ragged breath hitching, “S-sweetheart…” 

Whatever answer you give is tangled up in Gojo’s drunken tongue, lapping at your words. His cock feels so heavy, so hot shoving between your legs. And the stretch - fuck, the stretch was something you’d always remember. Stretching out that tight hole into the very girth of his shaft - all the way down from his leaky, flinching head to the thick circumference of his hilt. “I don’t think I can- fuck, can I feel- please, m’dying to know what this cunt feels like-”

Your nails rake down the pale display of his back, those red, red jagged lines making him rut even deeper into you. “Do it then-”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Oh.

Fuck. 

It’s like something shatters - maybe limitless, maybe his restraint. Because Gojo’s eyes just fall shut in pure ecstasy, aching cock growing even larger inside you - as if that was even possible. Expanding tautly at your walls, he’s forming you so sinfully around his shape. 

“Oh-oh– fuck you feel- how the fuck do you feel so good?” His free hand dips down to roll a depraved thumb over the nub of your neglected clit, catching on your bulgingly-stretched folds. “Holy shit- think m’gonna pass out- think m’gonna die.”

“Hah-” your back arches up sluttily into his around the fifth consecutive time his rough cockhead was grazing so perfectly against your g-spot, fingers buzzing with electricity at your clit. “You’re s-so weak-”

But it didn’t matter, did it? Because all you could do was hiss out a few wet gurgles into Gojo’s mouth, blinking in the sinful sight of him with his eyes so hooded, cheeks burning with a scorching blush, mouth dangling so addictively open while he sucked your tongue. Like he didn’t even realize what he was doing - how each pressurized thrust into your gummy pussy had the lights overhead flickering, sparks of blue lightning bolting from the corners of his mouth at the same sloppy staccato as his hips. How it made you cum. 

“Sh-shit, Toru-” you’re gasping at the feeling of your toe-curling high, shots of pure pleasure running through your body. Convulsing up over and over into his weighty body, “Feels so good- m’cumming m’cumming ah-” 

Crack! 

And then it’s dark.

Hell, Gojo barely even realized when he does, too, shooting out creamy white ribbon after ribbon of seed with a soft, shuddering gasp of your name. And it’s the only thing on his usually-sharp tongue - voice cracking pathetically, when he whines it like a little mantra over and over and-

“Oh-” his five, long fingers splay out across your lower stomach - right where he could feel his own cock twitching wildly at the very bottom of your gooey pussy. Pressing down, hard. “Oh shit- just look at how you’re painted white from the inside-”

The lights were gone out - in all the wards of Tokyo, actually - and yet in the light of the slight flickers of electricity surrounding you two, you could spy the slow, syrupy glob of his cum down your thighs. Coating his hilt in a milky gloss, it sticks to the two of you like a sloppy second skin. “And you expect me to- hah- not go insane.”

You manage out a wet chuckle, too tired to notice how the bed was missing a headboard now. How all the furniture in the hotel room was trashed - as if it’d been slammed down from several feet above. “Hah- b-blame it on the sex pollen.”

The technique has him cumming more than usual, every new wave sloshing at your insides is followed by another - and another until Gojo’s cock felt so raw. Twitching sensitively in a way that brought big fat tears pricking at his eyes, and yet, he still fucks you so harshly into the mattress. Sucking out every remaining dredge of seed in those fat, cum-filled balls thwacking! at your skin. Sloppy. Depraved. Oh, he looked so ruined - like a man that crawled back from death, only to drag you down with him. 

“Oh, sweetheart.” Gojo drags his swollen lips down your earlobe. Voice shot, “I don’t think the sex pollen is done yet.”

---

“Trashed all across the floor, trashed furniture - especially in room 143 - Hokkaido still doesn’t even have power.” Yaga’s bellowing voice has you sinking ashamedly further and further into his office seat. 

Gojo, however, only beams, throwing an arm around the edge of your chair, “Damn- we should really try to send out the power in all of Asia next time, huh, my pretty girl?”

“Out!”

Across the hallway, three first-years eagerly (well, two of them and a reluctant Megumi) peer into the tense meeting. Wondering what exactly happened in your last mission that caused a record-level amount of property damage and the power to still flicker on and off throughout the day.

Yuji is the first one to speak up, “Well, no one’s dead but- why does the air seem so-” he gestures towards the almost non-existent space between you and Gojo - not anything out of the usual, sure, but the one thing different was the lack of threats. “-weird.” he finishes. 

“Tell me about it. That Gojo almost seems…” Nobara shudders in disgust. “...happy.”

And of course, at that very moment, the man of the hour himself turns to look straight at the first-years doing a poor job of hiding themselves behind the door. Sighing overly-loudly, “If you say so, Yaga~” Intertwining his fingers with yours to pull you up with him, “We had a date anyway.”

“A date?”

“A date?!”

“I win.” All eyes - including yours and Gojo’s turn towards the usually-quiet Megumi, his lips turned into the beginnings of a smile. Almost. “You both owe me ten thousand yen.”

A/N. Hope you babygirls have a good weekkkk!!!

Plagiarism not authorized.

[lacydollette]

after bf!rafe surprises doll!reader by buzzing off his hair, she can't keep her hands to herself, feeling extremely horny whenever she looks at him

warnings: rafe x fem!reader, pure smut, praise, little degradation, making out, tit sucking, oral (fem receiving), face riding, explicit language, 18+

You lay sprawled on the lounger at tannyhill, sipping iced coffee, and scrolling lazily through your phone while tanning. You knew Rafe was up early today and had been out running errands for Ward, but he'd been gone for hours, and you were really starting to miss him. Just as you were considering calling him, the sound of the front door opening echoed through the house. You perked up, stretching lazily "About time, ray! How dare you keep me waiting so long.”

But when Rafe stepped into the room, you froze. Your mouth fell open slightly, sunglasses sliding down your nose as you took in the sight of him. His hair—his perfectly tousled, dirty-blond hair was gone. Completely buzzed down to almost nothing.

The sharp angles of his jawline, the slope of his cheekbones, and his ocean-blue eyes were suddenly the stars of the show, all of his features more prominent than ever. "Holy shit," you muttered, standing up slowly. Rafe smirked, trying to play it cool as he tossed his keys onto the counter. "What? You don't like it?"

"Are you kidding me?" You gasped, crossing the room in a daze. Your fingers reached out instinctively, brushing over the soft, short stubble of his buzzed hair. "You look... different." His grin widened as your hand lingered on his head while his found the curve of your ass. "Different good or different bad?"

You teasingly bit your lip, "Good," eyes locked on his. "Really, really good." Your fingers drifted down to his jaw, and you tilted your head, studying him like he was a work of art. "It makes your eyes pop even more. God, Rafe, why didn't you do this sooner?" He chuckled, taking your wrist and pressing a soft kiss to your palm. "Didn't know I needed your approval to change things up."

"You don't," you said quickly. "But, wow. Like, really, wow." Rafe’s ego was definitely fueled by your words, your approval meaning everything to him.

Everything else passed in a blur, but you couldn't keep your eyes, or your hands, off of your boyfriend. Every time he passed by, you reached out to touch his head or his face, not believing how effortlessly handsome he looked, stealing kisses amost every minute. And Rafe—well let’s face it. He absolutely loved it.

A little later, you were curled up on one end of the couch, watching Rafe as he sat on the other. He was sprawled out, completely manspreading right infront of you. Fucking tease. His phone was in his hand, and he looked completely absorbed in whatever he was doing. His jaw clenched slightly as he concentrated, his brows furrowing just enough to make him look impossibly sexy.

You couldn't take it anymore.

Without an ounce of hesitation, you jumped up and crawled over to him, grabbing his phone and tossing it onto the cushion beside him. "Hey, what the-" Rafe started, but his words were cut off as you climbed onto his lap, straddling him. Your hands were on his face in an instant, lips crashing against his in a heated kiss.

Rafe froze for half a second before groaning against your mouth, his hands sliding up your plush thighs to grip your waist. "You're killing me, Rafe," you murmured breathlessly between kisses, your fingers threading through the short stubble of his buzzed hair. "You look so fucking good. I can't even think straight."

"Yeah?" he rasped, his voice low and teasing. "Is that why you're humping my leg like a bitch in heat right now?" You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, eyes dark with desire. "Shut up," you whispered, kissing him again.

Rafe growled against your lips as the kiss deepened, both of you losing yourselves in the heat of the moment. Your hands roamed over his broad shoulders and down his chest, your red nails scraping lightly against the fabric of his shirt, desperate to feel more of him. His hands were just as eager, gripping your hips firmly, pulling you flush against him as your bodies rubbed against each other.

"Doll," he murmured against your mouth, his voice low and full of want. Without warning, Rafe's hands slid under your thighs, gripping you firmly as he stood up in one fluid motion, taking you with him. You gasped, instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you toward his bedroom. "You're not playing fair," you teased, breathless, as your arms looped around his neck. "Fair's overrated," Rafe shot back, smirking as he kicked the door shut behind him.

He tossed you onto his bed, your hair splaying out across his pillows as you landed with a soft gasp. Before you could say a word, he pulled his shirt off in one swift motion, revealing his toned chest and making your heart race even faster. He was on you in seconds, his hands braced on either side as he hovered over you, his ocean-blue eyes dark with hunger.

"God, you're so fucking beautiful," he murmured, leaning down to kiss you again. Your hands roamed over his bare chest, tracing the hard lines of muscle and pressing against his warm skin. You arched into him, your body craving every bit of contact you could get. His lips moved down to your neck, nipping and sucking just enough to leave faint marks.

As his hands slid under your top, pulling it up and over your head, you let out a soft whimper, desire building with every touch. Rafe pulled back slightly, his gaze raking over you, taking in the sight of your perky tits. You were perfect. He immediately leaned in, capturing one of your nipples between his lips. You tugged him closer, nails digging into his shoulders as you whimpered out, "I need you, Rafe."

His breath hitched at the raw need in your voice, his hands sliding down your sides as he licked and sucked all over your chest, his touch leaving your cunt aching for him. "Tell me what you want," he said against your skin, rough and low. You pressed your head into the pillow, biting down on your bottom lip, "I want to sit on your face."

Rafe froze for half a second before a devilish grin spread across his lips. "Yeah?" he said, his voice laced with amusement and excitement. You nodded eagerly, licking your lips as you looked up at him with anticipation. "Whatever you want, Doll," he said, his voice dropping even lower as he leaned back, settling himself against the pillows and pulling you with him “Come here."

Your pulse raced as you straddled his chest, hands braced on his shoulders as you hovered over him. Rafe's hands slid up your thighs, his digits pulling the soft lace of your soaked panties to the side. "Shit—you’re drippin’, baby.” he murmured, his blue eyes locked on your as you positioned yourself over him.

Rafe’s hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he kissed your inner thighs, his touch sending sparks through your entire body. You threw your head back, a soft moan escaping your lips at Rafe's teasing. He didn’t waste anymore time though, his tongue lapping through your wet folds, leaving you gasping for air.

“Such a sweet fucking pussy.” he mumbled quietly, his hot breath against your core sent shivers down your spine. You gripped the headboard for balance, head tilted back, a soft cry escaping your lips as you shuddered against him.

"ray—oh my god," you whimpered, voice shaky as you rutted your soaking cunt against him, his lips wrapping around your sensitive nub, sucking and circling his tongue as if his life depended on it. Your fingers instinctively drifted to his buzz cut, the soft, bristly feel of it only adding to your overwhelming senses. You couldn't stop touching it, letting your nails lightly scrape across his scalp as you rocked against him.

"That.." you breathed, voice trembling, "feels so fucking good." The sound of your voice, so needy and desperate, only spurred him on. His grip on you tightened, helping to drag your cunt against his tongue. “you’re gonna make a mess for me, baby?” he groaned, his blue eyes looking up at you from between your legs. You nodded hastily, the band in your lower stomach about to snap as Rafe moaned against your clit. within moments, you fell apart completely, body trembling as you released all over him, moaning out his name.

You were panting as Rafe lapped up your juices, overstimulating your poor cunt as your legs trembled, “Shit.” Carefully sliding off of him, you leaned down and kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips. Your hands found his head again, fingers stroking the soft buzz as your body pressed close to his. "You really can't stop touching it, huh?" he teased, his blue eyes glinting with amusement. You grinned, cheeks still flushed from your orgasm. "Can you blame me? You look so good, rafey. It's actually insane."

He chuckled, his hand sliding down to rest on your hip. "If l'd known buzzing my head would make you act like a needy little slut, I would've done it a long time ago." You rolled your eyes, yet you couldn’t help the tingling sensation in between your legs. "I'm serious," he murmured, smirking. "I'm definitely keeping it now. If this is what I get, l'm never growing it out again."

"You better not," you teased back. Rafe let out a low chuckle, but his amusement faded quickly as your lips attached themselves to his jawline, your eagerness reawakening. Your teeth grazed his neck before you pulled back to meet his gaze. "I want more, Rafe." His blue eyes darkened, and a cocky smirk spread across his lips.

"You want more, huh? Still can’t get enough of that shit?"

LINKS .ᐟ doll!reader masterlist

TAGS .ᐟ @gibson-g1rl @beausling @rafescokewhore @rafeysbunny @rafesweetie @rafeslacy @rafesangelita @starkeysprincess @starzify @drewspinkbunny @whinyangel @httpsdrewstarkey @rafey-baby @littlelamy

[4linos]

they call you clingy.

ot8 x fem!reader

warning: really angsty, feeling insecure/unworthy, no happy endings. (sorry)

wc: 8708

they call you clingy part 2

bang chan

You and Chan had been together for a while, and things were generally great between you two. You had your own lives, your own routines, but there was always a sense of closeness between you that you both cherished. Lately, though, you’d found yourself tagging along with him more often, especially when he had dinner plans with the members.

At first, he didn’t mind. In fact, he enjoyed having you around, and the other members seemed to appreciate it too. Some of their girlfriends were there as well, so it felt natural, like a group gathering. But after a while, you started coming along more frequently, not wanting to spend evenings apart. You thought it was a way to spend more time with him, but you could tell it was starting to weigh on Chan, though you weren’t sure why.

Chan said nothing at first, but you could tell he became quieter and more distant throughout these dinners. He looked at his phone more frequently, and his smile seemed forced when you spoke with him or the others. Still, you tried to ignore it, telling yourself it was just your imagination. You weren't doing anything wrong by wanting to be with him, right? You had every right to join him on nights when he was with the other members. But you couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

One evening, as you all gathered for a casual dinner at a restaurant, the atmosphere was different. You were laughing, eating, and talking with some of the other girls when you realized Chan was particularly quiet. He was nibbling at his food and not really participating in the conversation. You leaned over to him, laying your hand on his arm, attempting to draw him into the moment.

"Chan, is everything okay?" You asked, your voice gentle and anxious.

He shuddered slightly at the contact and gave you a fake smile. "Yeah, everything's fine," he said, but the tiredness in his voice was clear. The others didn’t seem to notice, but you did. It felt like he was pushing away from you just a little. Your stomach twisted as you tried to ignore the unease creeping in. Then, the conversation shifted. As the dinner continued, someone brought up how often you came along with Chan to these meals. You didn’t think much of it at first, but you could feel his discomfort growing.

“Honestly, though,” Chan suddenly chimed in, his voice a little more sharp than usual, “it’s getting a bit much. She’s always tagging along. It’s like she can’t ever be away from me. It's kind of suffocating.”

The words hit you like a smack in the face. You froze, your heart sinking to the bottom of your stomach. The table fell silent for a moment, the tension in the air evident. You could feel everyone's gaze on you, and your cheeks reddened with shame. You tried to shrug it off, believing it was a joke, but the expression in Chan's eyes revealed his disinterest. He was not joking. Time seemed to slow down, and you could feel the sting of his words settling deep within you. Without thinking, you excused yourself from the table and went to the restroom, your chest tight and your eyes welling with tears. You locked yourself in a stall and tried to calm your pounding heart, but the words replayed in your mind over and over again. “Clingy,” “suffocating.” You felt small, insignificant, and utterly hurt.

Meanwhile, at the table, the other members exchanged glances, seemingly uneasy about what had just happened. After a minute, Hyunjin spoke up, his tone surprisingly soft. "Chan, that wasn't cool, man. Why would you say anything like that? She isn't clinging at all. She's just trying to spend time with you."

Felix nodded in line, his tone quiet yet forceful. "Yeah, we really like having her around. She makes things more fun, you know? I don't understand why you'd say something like that.”

Chan wasn't sure how to answer. He had meant it as a joke, something to relieve the stress he'd been experiencing lately, but now that he'd heard the other responses from the others, a rush of shame swept over him. He felt he'd crossed a boundary, but it wasn't until they spoke out that he recognized how serious the situation was. "I didn't mean it like that," he whispered, but his apologies seemed hollow even for him.

His thoughts was muddled by remorse, and for the first time in a long time, he felt completely embarrassed. "I think you should go talk to her," Minho said softly. "She is probably really hurt right now. You have to make it right."

Chan’s stomach churned. He didn’t want to think about how badly he’d hurt you. His usual confident self was gone, replaced by a knot of regret.

lee know

It was one of those days. The sort where everything you touched seemed to fall apart, and every corner you turned revealed another disaster ready to happen. The day began with your boss screaming at you for something you didn't even do, his anger pouring out on you as if it were your responsibility that the world was collapsing. You hardly had time to calm yourself before spilling your coffee all over your blouse at lunch. The entire day had been an upsurge of humiliating incidents, missed deadlines, and biting your tongue to resist snapping at everyone who gave you the wrong look.

You were physically and emotionally drained when you arrived home. You just wanted the day to end, to close your eyes and forget everything. However, when you walked through the door, you were welcomed by a familiar, comfortable smell.

Minho was in the kitchen, wearing an apron and humming softly to himself while making something. Your heart lifted a little because he was here, cooking for you. The simple gesture of kindness was a welcome breath of fresh air after a long day of drowning.

You stood by the door, hesitant whether to interrupt, but then he turned toward you with a gentle smile. "Hey, how was your day?"

You forced a smile, despite the weight of the day pressing on you. “It was... fine. I’m just glad to be home.”

He noticed the weariness in your eyes and walked over to you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders in a gentle embrace. It was the kind of comfort you needed, even if you didn’t know it until he offered it. “Relax. I’ve got dinner covered. Why don’t you just sit down and take it easy?”

You nodded, thankful for his concern, but something inside you refused to just sit back and do nothing. It felt awful to be passive while he was so busy. "Let me help," you volunteered, heading near the counter, attempting to gather yourself after a stressful day. Minho gently shook his head, a teasing gleam in his eyes. "There's no need. "Please relax, okay?" You couldn't help but feel a sense of dissatisfaction. He was always so selfless and compassionate, and you didn't want to be someone who just sat by. Instead of disputing, you nodded and gave in to his desire. He was right, after all; you could use a break. “Alright. But give me something small to do.”

Minho paused for a moment to contemplate, then assigned you a tiny task. "Okay, could you please tidy up a little while I finish the soup? Just wipe down the countertops." It seemed simple enough.

You took a rag and followed his instructions while he worked on the soup. The house was peaceful, almost serene, and you hadn't felt that type of peace all day. It was good to be here with him and feel like you weren't confronting the world alone.

But in the middle of cleaning, your eyes darted to the pot of soup on the stove. It smelled incredible like something he had poured his heart into. You felt a surge of gratitude, the kind that made you want to help him, to show him how much you appreciated everything he did for you.

Without thinking, you decided to move the pot, to give him a little more space so he could focus on finishing everything. You gently lifted the heavy pot, but as you tried to shift it, your grip faltered. The edge of the pot slipped from your hand, and in an instant, it tilted, the boiling liquid splashing violently all over the kitchen floor and onto your leg.

You screamed out in shock, the searing heat of the soup burning into your skin, but the pain on your leg was nothing compared to the way everything seemed to shatter around you. The kitchen became chaos. The pot had fallen, splattered everywhere, and the delicious smell was suddenly replaced with the pungent scent of spilled soup. You tried to gather yourself, but the kitchen was now a disaster, and so were you on the verge of tears, overwhelmed, hurt, and defeated.

Minho turned when he heard the accident. His expression shifted from worry to annoyance in an instant. You looked up, and his eyes were filled with anger. The following words he said struck you harder than the burn on your leg. "Why are you always so clingy? I spent hours making that! "If you had just stayed out of the way for once, this could have been avoided!" His voice was harsh and slashed through the air like a razor. You stared at him, frozen in shock.

Was this actually happening?

His words felt like a punch to your chest. They were not what you expected, not from him, not when you were already dealing with the weight of the world. Your mind scrambled to make sense of it. How had it come to this? How had you gone from being the person he always tried to comfort to someone he now seemed to resent?

He stayed there, hands clenched at his sides. "God, I can't believe this," he said quietly, shaking his head. You always do this. You always get in the way. "Why can't you just relax and let me do it?"

You couldn't react because your heart was hammering painfully in your chest. You had spilled more than simply the soup. It was not only the mess. It was the sting of being accused of something you never wanted to do, like being too much. You did not want to be a burden for him. You never intended to make things more difficult, yet everything you did seemed to make things worse.

Minho sighed, looking at the mess with frustration. “Just… go to the room or something,” he snapped, turning away from you.

You stood there, unsure of what to do, feeling smaller than you ever had before. You knew he was angry, but the way he dismissed you, the way he acted like you were just an inconvenience, was something you hadn’t expected from him. He wasn’t usually like this. But right now, it felt like you had done something unforgivable. It felt like everything you had ever tried to do for him had been wrong, every gesture of kindness or help misplaced.

Your legs gave way, and you sank to the floor, trying to steady yourself, but your hands trembled with the weight of his words. Hot tears welled up in your eyes, and you didn’t bother wiping them away. The physical pain in your leg from the burns was nothing compared to the ache in your chest. You had wanted to help, to make things better for him. But now, all you could do was try to tend to your own wounds both physical and emotional alone.

You pulled yourself up slowly, wiping away the tears you hadn’t realized were falling, trying to find the strength to move. Minho was still in the kitchen, silent now, cleaning up the mess you had made, but his anger still hung in the air, thick and suffocating.

You left him there, retreating to your bedroom, feeling more isolated than you had in a long time. The night was quiet, but the silence between you and Minho felt louder than ever. And in that silence, you couldn’t help but wonder how long you could keep trying to be the person he wanted you to be when everything you did seemed to push him further away.

changbin

The evening started out like any other. You and Changbin were going to go to the gym together after a long day. You were excited to spend more time with him, especially since you had been trying to join him at the gym more often recently. At first, it seemed like a fun bonding activity. You'd go to encourage him, attempt to keep up with some of the exercises, and simply enjoy being with him. Changbin had always been a bit of a lone wolf, preferring his own time to recuperate, but he'd been nice enough to let you tag along at first.

You didn’t realize that things had slowly started to change. What had initially felt like an innocent way to spend more time together had started to weigh on him. Maybe it was because you’d started following him around everywhere always just a few steps behind, trying to do what he was doing, lingering around him during his sets. Maybe it was because he didn’t have his usual space anymore. But whatever the reason, Changbin was beginning to feel the pressure, and he didn’t know how to tell you.

You had no idea how much your presence at the gym was bothering him. He wasn't trying to hurt you or make you feel bad about wanting to spend time with him, but tonight was different. He could feel his patience fading and his irritation growing the more you wanted to incorporate yourself into his routine. It was supposed to be his time to escape. He needed the gym to be his sanctuary, a place to unwind and clear his mind. But tonight, as you followed him from machine to machine, everything came to a head.

The air in the gym seemed heavier than usual. Changbin could feel his patience fraying as you followed him for what seemed like the umpteenth time. You weren't doing anything wrong, yet he couldn't shake the overwhelming sense that you were constantly present. His gaze shifted to the clock on the wall; he'd been here for nearly an hour. And it wasn't that you were clingy in an obnoxious way; it was simply that you were always with him, which was enough to frustrate him.

He couldn't concentrate, couldn't clear his mind as he used to. You were always there, following his every move, asking questions about his setups, and attempting to get in the way of his routine. His thoughts were clouded, his mind no longer able to concentrate on the iron and his own movements. He couldn’t unwind. He couldn’t breathe.

When you followed him to the weights area once again, his frustration bubbled over.

“Y/N, can you just stop?” he snapped, his voice harsh and sharp, completely different from the usual warmth you were used to. His words cut through the air like a slap. “Can you just let me have this one thing? The gym isn’t supposed to be some place where you follow me around all the time. I need it to be my own. I need my space. You’re always here, and it’s... it’s too much.”

You froze, a cold shiver of confusion running through your body. Your eyes flickered from his irritated face to the ground, unsure of what to say. You had always been so excited to share things with him, and this was the last place you thought something like this would happen.

“B-Bin... I didn’t—" you started, your voice faltering, but he cut you off, his frustration spilling over.

“You’re always clinging to me, Y/N. And at first, I thought it was cute. But now? It’s just too much. The gym is supposed to be my alone time, somewhere I can relax, somewhere I can focus. But you’re here, and I can’t even do that anymore,” he said, each word feeling like a weight crashing down on you.

Your chest tightened and you found yourself unable to breathe for a little while. It felt as if the world had stopped moving around you, and all you could hear was the flow of blood in your ears. You weren't expecting to hear those words from him. Changbin had always been supportive and loving, even if he was a little protective of his space. What about now? Now it felt like he was pushing you away. And the way he avoided your gaze while he spoke, as if he couldn't stand to witness the pain he was causing, you could feel your heart breaking piece by piece.

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill, but it didn’t help. The lump in your throat was too big, and the pain was too overwhelming. You weren’t clingy. You just wanted to be close to him. You didn’t realize that your presence, something you thought was innocent, had been smothering him. But hearing it from him so bluntly… it felt like a punch to the gut.

You said nothing at first. Your body was stiff, your eyes filled with unshed tears. You wanted to say something, but the words would not come out. Instead, you simply turned slowly and began to walk away. "I'll go," you said softly, your voice barely audible. Your steps were wobbly as you approached the exit. Changbin turned around, his heart sinking into his chest. It hit him, followed by the look in your eyes. Your lips quivered. He realized what he had just said. The frustration and fury had been misplaced. He didn't mean to hurt you. He wasn't trying to make you feel unwanted. But it was too late now. The damage was done.

“Y/N—wait!” he called after you, but it was no use. You didn’t even turn around. You just kept walking, your back stiff, your steps hurried.

hyunjin

(a/n: you and hyunjin aren’t a couple here, you’re childhood best friends)

The after-party had been buzzing with energy all night, full of celebration and the kind of chaotic, joyful atmosphere that followed every successful concert. It was supposed to be a moment of relief, a chance to let go of the weight of the stage and just relax with friends. You, however, couldn’t seem to shake off the knot of tension that had been growing inside you for weeks.

It hadn’t been an abrupt change, not really. Hyunjin, your best friend, had slowly started to become distant. At first, it was subtle, a shift in the way he looked at you, the way he barely seemed to notice when you were around. But now, it had become glaringly obvious, especially in moments like this, when you found yourself desperately trying to keep the connection you two had built over the years.

You’d always been there for him, supporting him through everything the highs and the lows. But lately, whenever you tried to lean on him, he pulled away. The distance between you had begun to feel insurmountable, and tonight, surrounded by the group at the after-party, it felt like the final straw.

You felt an odd, uncomfortable pull as soon as you walked inside the party. The sight of Hyunjin laughing with the rest of the group should have made you happy, but instead it made your chest tighten with anxiety. He looked... unusual. His eyes, the way they avoided yours, made it clear that something had changed between you two. You despised the sense of being on the outside, like you didn't belong anymore.

You had tried to give him his space during the last few weeks, respecting the growing distance between you. But tonight, you were determined to be present. To pretend as if everything was still fine.

After all, you were his best friend, right?

You moved over to where he was sitting, talking with Seungmin and Jeongin. When they saw you approaching, Jeongin's face lit up with that warm, welcome smile that always put you at at ease. He gave you a warm nod and motioned for you to join them, which you immediately did, thinking that the familiarity of the situation could help the uneasiness that had begun to settle over you. But once you sat down, Hyunjin's tone changed. His eyes flicked across to you for a quick, unreadable look before returning to the others. You tried not to take it personally, but it hurt. Jeongin was chatting animatedly about something, but you couldn't pay attention. All you could think about was how Hyunjin had practically turned his back on you.

After a few moments, you couldn’t hold it in anymore. You leaned closer to Hyunjin, trying to keep your tone light, as if everything were normal. “Hey, Hyunjin... you good? You’ve seemed off lately.”

He looked at you, his expression suddenly sharp. “I’m fine,” he replied quickly, and there was a coldness to his voice that cut through you like ice.

You didn’t know what to say. You had always been able to talk through things before, but now it seemed like he didn’t even want to acknowledge you. You tried again, your voice trembling just slightly, “I’m just checking in... I’ve noticed you’ve been a little distant.

Hyunjin rolled his eyes, as if he were irritated with you asking. “You’re always around,” he said, his voice laced with annoyance. “I don’t need you following me everywhere. It’s annoying.”

The words hit you like a slap. You froze, the weight of his comment sinking deep into your chest. You had no idea where this was coming from. You had always been there for him, not because you needed to be, but because you cared about him. You wanted to be there. But now, suddenly, it felt like you were an inconvenience.

The room felt suffocating, the noise of the party growing distant as you tried to process what he had just said. You had always been careful not to smother him, always tried to give him space. But now he was telling you that your presence, your very existence, was too much for him.

It was too much.

The lump in your throat grew, but you weren’t going to let him see you falter. You tried to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over, but you couldn’t stop the rush of emotions that came flooding to the surface. You had tried so hard to be understanding, to be patient, but this was too much to handle.

Before you could say anything more, you snapped. “You know what, Hyunjin? I’m not following you around,” your voice trembling with a mix of hurt and frustration. “I’m only here because Felix invited me. As his date.”

The words hung in the air, sharper than you intended, but you didn’t care. You could feel the sting of betrayal, the way Hyunjin had made you feel small, and the anger bubbled up inside you. The room grew quiet for a moment, everyone’s attention now focused on the exchange.

You didn’t look at Hyunjin. You couldn’t. Instead, you turned on your heel, your pulse pounding in your ears, and walked straight to Felix, who was standing nearby. He gave you a surprised glance, but he didn’t ask questions. He simply wrapped an arm around you as you sat next to him, offering you a comforting presence in the midst of your emotional storm.

You didn't speak for a time, your thoughts racing from the argument, but Felix didn't press you to explain. He just let you sit there in peace, his arm resting comfortably on your shoulder. You leaned into him, attempting to center yourself and escape the overpowering pain that threatened to consume you whole. Felix did not deserve to bear the burden of your wounded heart, but in that time, his comfort was the only thing that made sense.

Hyunjin's gaze stayed fixed on you as the party went on. But you refused to look his direction. He'd already made it apparent that your presence no longer mattered to him. He had driven you away with his hurtful words, and as much as it pained you to admit it, you knew deep down that it was too late to fix things.

The rest of the night was a blur. You couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened, about how he had made you feel so small, so insignificant. The person who had once been your best friend, who had always been there for you, was now the one who had cast you aside. And the worst part was that you didn’t even know why.

As the party wound down and everyone began to leave, you stayed close to Felix, not looking back, not wanting to face Hyunjin. You didn’t know what had changed between you two, or why he had suddenly decided that your friendship wasn’t worth his time. All you knew was that the person who had once been your closest confidant, the one who knew all your secrets and fears, had just torn your heart apart.

And you didn’t know how to fix it.

HAN

The evening began like any other, or so it was supposed to be. But Jisung felt as if the world was pushing down on him with every step he made into the apartment. The intensity of the day still clung to him, like a physical weight of frustration, disappointment, and tiredness. He had spent hours in the meeting with the company staff, only to hear criticism for the smallest mistakes and missteps. It wasn't the first time, but it always hurt. This time, however, it seemed different; he couldn't shake the nagging sense of inadequacy.

The door clicked behind him, and the familiar aroma of home didn't bring much comfort. Instead, it was almost smothering. His limbs ached, his mind raced, and all he needed was peace, time to unwind.

But you were there.

You always were.

As soon as he walked through the door, your eyes searched his face, and he could see the concern etched over your features. He could tell you'd sensed something was wrong. He attempted to disguise it when he saw you earlier that day, brushing off your "are you okay?" with a quick "yeah, I'm fine," but now, as you stood there with that sweet look in your eyes, he couldn't help but see it. You could look right through him, like glass.

"Jisung," you said quietly, your voice carrying the gentle tone you always used when you knew he was struggling, "are you sure you're okay? You don’t look okay."

It wasn’t the first time you’d asked. You'd been asking since the moment he came home, like you always did when you saw him worn down, like you always did when he looked like he was holding a little too much in. But no matter how well you meant it, no matter how much you truly cared about him, he just didn’t want to talk about it. Not today. Not tonight.

"I’m fine," he muttered, his tone dismissive, but you could hear the edge in his voice.

You hesitated, eyes scanning him again, sensing the distance between his words and the tension in his body.

"Jisung… I know you’re not fine," you said softly, a frown pulling at your lips. You reached toward him, wanting to bridge the gap that was widening between you, but he stepped back before you could touch him.

"I’m fine," he repeated, louder this time, irritation lacing his voice. "Just stop asking."

Your heart twisted, but you tried to swallow the hurt, not wanting to push him further. But you couldn’t stop yourself from trying again, desperate to get him to open up. "Please, I can tell something’s wrong. If you need to talk, I’m here."

He froze at that, hands clenched at his sides, jaw clenched. His frustration, the irritation that had been building inside him all day, finally cracked open.

"I said I'm fine!" He snapped, his voice sharp, his eyes burning with anger, not at you, but at the world that had worn him down. "Why are you always so clingy? It's annoying. I do not need you hovering over me like this. I don't need you constantly keeping tabs on me!" The words were biting and nasty. You trembled, a flood of hurt smashing over you, but you tried to stay calm.

You couldn't help but feel the sting of dismissal and the weight of his harshness. "I'm just trying to help you," you said softly, your voice quivering slightly. "I just want to make sure that you're okay. Why don't you let me help?"

He glanced at you, the spark of guilt in his eyes swiftly drowned out by the a flood of frustration within him. He opened his mouth and nothing came out. He wanted to apologize. He knew he hurt you. But the words did not come, and he had no idea how to make it right. He didn't know how to ask for what he wanted when everything inside him felt like it was about to come apart.

You did not wait for him to say anything. The anger, bewilderment, and hurt welled up in your chest, and before you could stop yourself, you turned on your heel and marched out, your footsteps loud and strong as you made your way to the bedroom.

The door slammed behind you, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence. You sank onto the bed, feeling the weight of the frustration both his and yours press down on your chest like a suffocating blanket.

You didn’t want to cry. You didn’t want to feel this way. You had only wanted to help him. To be there for him when he was struggling. But all he had done was push you away.

You heard no footsteps, no soft knock on the door. Normally, when something like this happened, he would come after you. He would apologize, his voice soft and regretful, and you’d make up. He’d say something about how it wasn’t you, how he was just having a hard time. But this time, the silence stretched on. The door stayed closed.

It wasn’t long before you realized he wasn’t coming.

The silence felt so loud, so suffocating, and it only made everything hurt more. He wasn’t here to apologize. He wasn’t here to soothe you like he always did.

And maybe this time it wasn't all about him. Maybe it was more than simply his tiredness and irritation. Maybe it was about something deeper, something more than just a bad day at work. Your heart broke at the thought that he might have pushed you away because he didn't know how to accept you. Maybe he'd been hiding his pain for so long because he was frightened to show you the parts of himself he thought were too shattered. Maybe he was just too stressed to recognize that you weren't a burden, but rather someone who wanted to help him shoulder the weight.

But right now, none of that mattered. What mattered was that he had called you clingy, had pushed you away when all you wanted was to hold him close.

You curled up in bed, hugging your knees to your chest, and tried not to cry.

You didn’t hear him come in, but you felt the weight of the bed shift beside you. Jisung’s presence was always so familiar, so warm, but tonight it felt distant. He didn’t touch you. He didn’t say anything. He just sat there, in the darkness, as the minutes dragged on.

And you, as much as it hurt, didn’t know if you could ask him again if he was okay. Not yet. Not until he was ready to admit that he wasn’t.

felix

It had been one of those days where everything seemed strange, as if a thin film of tension had been applied to the edges of everything you did. The kind of day where even the most basic tasks felt significant, and no matter how hard you tried to make things feel normal, you couldn't escape the growing distance. Maybe you chalked it up to stress. Maybe it was just a phase. Everyone goes through a hard stretch, right? But when you woke in the middle of the night, your hand instinctively going for the warm spot beside you, only to find it empty, that emotion became too strong to ignore. Felix had always been the one to stay close, even in sleep. He was always so attentive to your needs, so present. But now, the space between you was cold, and the bed felt too large without him there.

You sat up, the quiet of the room pressing in on you, your heartbeat loud in your ears as you swung your legs off the side of the bed. The soft glow of the TV in the living room flickered across the hallway, casting long shadows.

As you made your way down the hall, you saw him there, slumped on the couch, his eyes fixed on the screen but unseeing, staring at it like it held some answer that he couldn’t quite grasp. You could see the strain in his posture, the weight of something pressing on him, but he didn't acknowledge you as you approached.

You stopped a few feet away, unsure what to say. The silence between you two felt like a wall, immovable and unbreakable. This wasn't the Felix you knew, the one who would always offer a comforting smile or an encouraging word when you needed it. This version of him was remote and frigid, as if he built a fortress and did not plan to let anyone in.

"Felix," you whispered slowly, trying not to shock him, your voice trembling with emotion. "What's wrong?"

He didn’t respond at first, as if he hadn’t heard you, or maybe he just didn’t want to answer. The minutes dragged on, each second feeling like it added more distance between you two. Finally, when he spoke, his voice was low and strained, and it hit you in a way you hadn’t expected.

“Nothing,” he muttered, though it was clear that wasn’t true. His words didn’t match the heaviness in the air, the emptiness that had settled between you two. “Just… leave me alone, okay?”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Leave him alone? You didn’t understand. Since when had he ever asked you for space, especially like this? Felix had always been the one to reach out, to comfort you, to be the one you could lean on when things got tough. But now, he was shutting you out, pushing you away.

You stood there, paralyzed, staring at the back of his head as the emptiness in the room seemed to swallow you whole. His posture was stiff, almost defensive, like he was trying to make himself smaller, trying to hide from you, and it hurt more than you ever expected.

"You don't have to be so clingy all the time," he said, his voice more clipped and distant than you'd ever heard. It was as if the words were spoken by someone else, a stranger in the body of the person you loved.

Clingy? The word resonated in your thoughts, sending you reeling. You'd never considered yourself clingy. Have you really gotten so annoying? Was your affection and presence too much for him? You couldn't understand it. The connection, the intimacy that had once been so natural between you two now seemed so far away, as if it were a dream you couldn't fathom.

“I just…” Your voice faltered, and you took a shaky breath, willing yourself not to cry, not to show him just how much his words had wounded you. “I just wanted to know what’s wrong. You’re… you’re not like this, Felix. Not with me.”

You took a tentative step forward, hoping that your proximity would reach him, that your presence would somehow break through the wall he had built around himself. But he didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge you, and that hurt more than anything else. It was the silence, the refusal to face you, that felt like a betrayal.

"Please talk to me," you whispered, your heart breaking as you watched him remain motionless on the couch, his eyes still fixed on the television, as though he could pretend you weren’t even there.

But Felix didn’t respond. Instead, he kept his focus on the screen, the distant expression on his face more painful than any argument. You could feel the distance between you growing, spreading like a chasm, and it felt like you were standing at the edge, about to fall into the void.

It wasn't always this way, you thought, recalling times when simply being in the same room was enough to make you feel connected. It seemed as if you blinked and everything had changed. He wasn't the same Felix who would stay up with you when you were feeling sad, holding you and whispering comfort in the darkness. The man who had once looked at you with warmth and love now seemed so distant, like a stranger you didn't recognize.

Your heart ached; the anguish of losing him, feeling him slide through your fingers, was almost excruciating. You could not tolerate the deafening stillness between you any longer.

With a last, desperate glance at him, you whispered, “I’m here, Felix. I’m always here for you. If you need space, if you need time, I’ll give it to you. But I just… I just need to know you’re okay.”

But he didn't respond and didn't move. His silence hurt worse than words could, and you realized, with a sickening feeling, that you had no idea where you stood in his life. The Felix you knew, the Felix who would always reach out to you, seemed like a memory you could no longer grasp onto. You turned away, your feet feeling heavy as you walked back to the bedroom, the distance between you two becoming more than just physical.

The weight of his disinterest crushed against your chest, smothering you, and you wondered whether things would ever be the same again. Will he come to you eventually? Would he tell you about what was bothering him, or had you already lost him in ways you couldn’t fix?

You climbed back into bed, the sheets cold where he should have been beside you. And as the night stretched on in silence, you tried not to feel the unbearable emptiness that had settled in your heart, wondering if Felix would ever look at you the same way again.

seungmin

The front door creaked open, and you could hear Seungmin's footsteps in the hallway, dragging slightly, indicating how exhausted he must have been after a long day of practice and vocal lessons. You'd been waiting for him, possibly too eagerly, though you tried not to admit it. You had planned to talk, the conversation you'd been putting off for days because the silence had gotten unbearable. The subtle shift in his demeanor, the way he became more distant and engaged in his own world, weighed heavy on your chest.

You knew how busy he was, how much work he put into his training and craft. But it didn't take away the sting of feeling like an afterthought, as if you were no longer a part of his life. You had tried to keep it together, to give him his space when he needed it, but the continual feeling of being neglected was gradually pulling you apart. You needed him to see you. You needed him to care the way he used to, to put forth the same effort that you did.

So, as the door clicked shut and you heard him move toward the kitchen, you braced yourself and entered the hallway to greet him.

"Seungmin," you called softly, but there was no immediate response. He didn’t even look up, didn’t even glance in your direction.

You took a breath, trying to keep the anxiety from choking you. "Can we talk?" Your voice was steady, though you could feel the tremor beneath it. "It feels like we’re not the same anymore."

His footsteps faltered for half a second, and you thought maybe you had caught his attention. But instead of stopping, he just continued walking past you, brushing past your shoulder so closely you could feel the coldness radiating off him. He didn’t even spare you a glance.

"Seungmin," you said again, but this time there was a little crack in your voice, a vulnerability you didn't want to express. You needed him to hear and see you, even if just for a moment. But he did not stop. Finally, he gave a low, exasperated groan that hung between you like a wall. He turned halfway, his eyes flickering to you with an enigmatic expression. "Why do you always make things so dramatic?" His comments were harsh, cutting through the silence and making you flinch. "You're really clingy. Just leave me alone for once."

The words were like a punch to the gut. The force of them knocked the wind out of you, and your heart seemed to stop for just a moment, trapped somewhere in the space between your chest and throat. You hadn’t expected this. You hadn’t expected him to say something so cold, so dismissive. All you had wanted was to talk, to bridge the distance that had formed between you, but now it felt like you were drowning in it.

Your body went still. You opened your mouth to respond, to explain how unfair that was, but no words came. How could you even argue against that? How could you explain that all you wanted was his attention, his care? You weren’t clingy you were hurt.

"Seungmin, I’m not—" The words tumbled out weakly, but they didn’t seem to matter.

"You are," he interrupted, his tone now flat, distant. "I don’t have the energy for this right now."

He turned away from you, heading toward the kitchen without another glance, leaving you standing in the hallway, shattered.

You stood there for a long moment, frozen in the aftermath of his words. Everything you had been holding back, all the frustration, the confusion, the loneliness that had built up over the last few weeks, was suddenly crashing down on you like a wave. Was that it? Was that all you were to him now? Someone who was too much to deal with?

You had never felt so small. So invisible.

You had tried to keep it together. You had told yourself it wasn’t a big deal, that he was just stressed, that he didn’t mean it. But now, standing there in the hallway with nothing but the echo of his dismissal ringing in your ears, you realized that maybe this was the problem the distance. The lack of communication. The feeling that no matter how hard you tried, you could never reach him, never get him to understand what you needed, what you were hurting from.

You wanted to chase after him, to try again, to make him see how much his words had stung. But something inside of you had broken. There was a voice inside you now that said, "It’s too late. You’ve tried. He doesn’t want to listen." And that was more painful than anything else knowing that, deep down, he didn’t even want to meet you halfway anymore.

You had hoped, and even prayed, that things would return to normal, that the love you once shared would reemerge. But standing there, you couldn't help but feel as if you were fighting a losing war. You didn't ask for much: simply his time, presence, and devotion. You never expected this level of coldness in return.

The silence in the home became intolerable, and each second felt like a weight on your chest. You wanted to yell at him and urge him to care, but all you could do was stand there, feeling the barriers between you two grow higher and higher.

You turned away slowly, your legs heavy, your head spinning with everything you had just heard. You didn’t know what hurt more: his words or the fact that he had walked past you like you were nothing.

You needed him to care, but right now, it felt like the person you needed was already gone.

I.N

The evening had been everything you hoped it would be: thrilling, warm, and full of laughing. You'd been dating Jeongin for about a year, and he was finally introducing you to his members. It seemed like an important milestone in your relationship. You'd heard so much about them, and now you'd get to meet the people he cared about the most. The anticipation had you beaming all evening as you helped Jeongin in cooking dinner, your heart filled with delight at the prospect of cooking together and spending time with the people who were such an important part of his life.

The dinner had gone smoothly. The atmosphere was cozy, filled with the sound of happy chatter and the clinking of silverware. The members were friendly, teasing each other and joking around. You could see why Jeongin was so close with them they were like brothers, comfortable and at ease with each other. You had felt so welcomed by them, their laughter contagious, and the food you had helped prepare had been met with praises.

As the night wore on, everyone settled into the living room, enjoying sweet treats and wine. It was the perfect end to a perfect evening, or so you had thought.

But as the evening wore on, you noticed something that made your stomach churn. Jeongin was distant. He had been quieter than normal, with his focus wandering. Normally, he would be the first to steal a kiss from you or press his hand on yours if you were close. But tonight? Tonight, it felt as if he was purposefully keeping distance between the two of you.

You brushed it off at first, believing he was just weary or stressed after introducing you to everyone. After all, meeting his members was a major step, and maybe he was just concerned with making sure things went smoothly.

But it wasn’t just that.

When you leaned in to rest your head on his shoulder, like you had done numerous times before without thinking twice, he pulled away almost immediately. The action was swift and sharp, as if you had done something wrong. You blinked in surprise, a frown tugging on your lips, but before you could ask what was wrong, he mumbled under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear, "Stop being so clingy." The words struck you like a physical punch. You froze, the warmth of your feelings for him vanished, replaced by a frigid knot of perplexity and embarrassment. Did he mean it? You could feel the weight of the members' gazes as you looked around the room, though no one said anything. But you could tell they had heard, the awkward silence that followed making it painfully clear.

You felt heat rising up your cheeks, humiliated. Had you overstepped? You had never been clingy before and had never thought of yourself in that way. But his comments, which were cutting and contemptuous, hurt more than you wanted to acknowledge. The casual tenderness you had always shared seemed like a distant memory today, a bitter reminder of how things had changed without warning.

Jeongin had always been so warm and tactile with you. Kisses on your cheek while cooking, his arm slung over your shoulder while watching TV, all the little things that made you feel safe and cherished. But tonight? Tonight he was a different person.

You tried to ignore it, thinking maybe it was a bad moment. Perhaps he was just tired, or maybe something had happened at work or with the members that was weighing on him. But as the night continued, the distance between you only seemed to grow. When you tried to brush your hand against his, he pulled it away, a small frown on his face. When you tried to rest your head on his shoulder again, he shifted uncomfortably, avoiding your touch with a small sigh.

It was as if you were a stranger to him, someone he couldn’t stand to be close to.

Your heart dropped. It was a feeling you never expected to have with him, the type of coldness that made you question everything, including the entire foundation of your relationship. You had no idea what was going on in his mind, but the way he was treating you now felt so different from the Jeongin you had fell for.

You excused yourself to the restroom, needing a moment to collect your thoughts and prevent yourself from entirely disintegrating. The quiet hum of the talk in the living room followed you as you walked back, the members' voices merging into the background as your thoughts occupied you.

Was he angry with you? Had you done something wrong? Maybe he was embarrassed by you, by your clinginess. Maybe he didn’t want to be seen as the guy who couldn’t control his girlfriend. Maybe you were being too needy, too dependent, and he just couldn’t handle it anymore. Maybe he had changed, and you were the one who had failed to notice.

You stared at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, taking a few deep breaths, trying to calm the tightness in your chest. When you returned to the living room, you tried to smile, to pretend like everything was fine. But the look on Jeongin’s face when you came back made your stomach twist even further. He didn’t smile at you like he usually did. He didn’t reach for you. He just sat there, a distance between you that felt like an ocean.

You sat down again, feeling smaller than you had with him before. You did not want to confront him in front of the other members. Not when things were going so well. You didn't want to ruin the evening or make things uncomfortable for everyone. But the awkwardness was already there. It seemed like a thick cloud suffocating you, and you knew he felt the same way.

Eventually, the evening came to an end. The group began saying their goodbyes, laughing and conversing, although their voices were scarcely audible. You were too consumed by the subtle tension between you and Jeongin, who hadn't spoken anything to you since your previous conversation. You gently grabbed your stuff, not quite meeting his eyes.

When you reached the door, Jeongin still hadn’t moved. He was standing by the couch, talking to one of the members, completely ignoring you. It wasn’t how you thought it would go. This wasn’t how you imagined the night would end.

It wasn’t until you were halfway out the door that he finally spoke, his voice distant, flat. "You okay?" he asked, as if the tension between you hadn’t been there all evening.

You stood frozen, looking back at him, your chest tight. You wanted to say so many things. You wanted to ask why he was acting this way, to demand an explanation, to tell him how hurt you were by the way he had dismissed you. But you didn’t. Instead, you forced a small smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes.

"Yeah," you replied softly, your voice quiet, strained. "I’m fine."

And then you stepped out, leaving the apartment behind, the discomfort and uncertainty lingering in the air like a thick cloud. You had no idea what had happened or what had caused this abrupt change, but you couldn't shake the feeling that something in your relationship had just broken. Something that might not be fixable.

And as the door clicked shut behind you, you weren't sure if Jeongin noticed.

//

(proofread ❌)

masterlist

[cowboybeepboop]

Hunted

"What are you doing to me, little one? You're driving me insane.."

Pairing: Sergei Kravinoff x fem! Reader 

Genre: Smut

Word count: 4.5k 

Summary: Sergei finds you lost in the woods, comes to your rescue, and seduces you all in one day. 

Warnings: Mentions of being chased/harassed by men, being hunted, uses of “little one”, a size kink, unprotected sex, oral (both receiving)

a/n: Guys I’m so obsessed with Kraven omg, since I’m on break right now I’m grinding the fuck out of writing. also, I didn't proofread (per usual) I hope you all enjoy and send any requests you might have my way

You’re a little lost, well more than a little. Somehow you ended up being taken by a few strange men, and managed to get free but what good does that do if you’re lost, cold, alone, and limping in the Siberian forests? 

You drop down to rest, wrapping your arms around your body as the cool air assaults you. Trying to think of what to do next, while keeping in mind that there are three crazed men on the hunt for you. 

Kravinoff observes silently as he watches you drop to the ground, wrapping your arms around yourself to keep warm. His expression remains stoic, his eyes taking in every little detail about you. As he watches you shivering, he can't help but feel a small pang of...sympathy? No, that can't be right.

After a few moments of silent observation, Sergei finally breaks the silence, his voice gruff and blunt. "Lost, little one?"

You flinch at the sound of his voice, immediately reaching for a branch to attempt to defend yourself. "G-go away.." you murmur weakly, teeth chattering as you speak, your eyes trained on the floor. 

Kravinoff raises an eyebrow at your display, his lips twitching into a slight smirk as he sees you reaching for a branch to use as a weapon. 

He slowly takes a step closer, his heavy boots crunching in the snow as he does so. "You're a feisty one, aren't you? But that weak voice and shivering body are hardly intimidating."

"Please.." you murmur, eyes watery as you gaze up at him with puppy dog eyes, reminiscent of something his younger brother would do. "Please don't hurt me.." 

Sergei's expression softens for a moment as he looks down at you, the puppy dog eyes tugging at a very small part of his heart that he's long since tried to bury. "Hurt you? You think I'm going to hurt you?"

He takes a few more steps towards you, his eyes roaming over your form, taking in the sight of your shivering and shivering body. "You're trembling, little one. And that limp, you're hurt."

"It's not that bad, I can walk," you whisper, watching as he approaches you slowly. 

"Not that bad, hm?" Sergei lets out a scoff, his dark eyes flickering over your body. "You're shivering from the cold, and you're clearly hurt. You can barely stand, let alone walk."

He crouches down in front of you, his large frame towering over you. "Tell me, what's your name, little one?"

"My name is Y/N.. there's these guys, they're hunting me. I don't, I don't know what to do." Your expression is pleading as you weakly stand up, shakey voice matching the trembles of your body. 

Sergei's expression darkens at the mention of other men hunting you. He glances around, his eyes scanning the area like a predator watching for prey.

"Hunters, huh? And they're after you. Interesting." Sergei's eyes return to you, his hand instinctively going to rest on the handle of one of the knives holstered on his belt.

"Why are they hunting you? What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything," you lean toward him, seeking the warmth that's radiating from his body. "At least I don't think I did? All I remember was waking up in a tent, they said that we were going to play a game.. I-" you trail off, a small tear falling down your cheek. 

Sergei watches as you lean towards him, a small pang of sympathy shooting through him again when he notices the tear rolling down your cheek. He's not used to comforting people, but something about you triggers a protective instinct within him.

"A game... What kind of game, little one?" He asks, his voice gruff but surprisingly gentle. He gently reaches out and places a hand on your shoulder to steady you.

"He said they would hunt me.." you mutter, voice barely above a whisper as a whistle sounds through the air. You press your body to his, eyes wide with fear, "i.. think they're getting close." 

Sergei's expression hardens as he hears the whistle through the air, his hand instinctively tightening on the handle of his knife. He glances around once more, his senses on high alert.

"Shhh," he murmurs, his other hand gently reaching out to hold you closer to him. "Stay quiet. They won't find you."

He pulls you to his chest, his large frame shielding you partially from view as he scans the woods once more.

You bury your reddened face into his chest, breathing in his musk and seeking safety in his grasp. Your arms move to cling to his waist, holding yourself closer to him. 

Sergei's nostrils flare as you bury your face into his chest, the scent of your skin, mixed with the musk of the forest, filling his senses. He can feel your arms clinging to his waist, the feel of your body pressed against his stirring something deep within him. He slowly reaches up and rests his hand on the back of your head, gently holding you against him.

"Don't worry, little one," he murmurs gruffly, his eyes still scanning the woods. "You're safe with me." You nod against his chest, too tired to speak. 

Sergei can feel the exhaustion radiating off you, your weary body leaning heavily against him. His fingers gently brush through your hair in a small, comforting gesture.

"You're exhausted," he murmurs, his voice still gruff but softer than before. "Let's find somewhere we can rest and get you warmed up."

Sergei shifts ever so slightly, his large frame adjusting so he's able to lift you gently into his arms, cradling you like a child.

You gasp as he effortlessly picks you up, arms instinctively going to his neck. "Where will we go?" you murmur.

Sergi glances down at you, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck, and a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He enjoys the feel of you in his arms, the way your body fits snugly against his.

"Somewhere safe," he replies, his voice gruff. "Somewhere these 'hunters' won't find us."

Carefully, Sergei begins moving through the forest, his powerful legs carrying both of you through the deep snow with ease. You nuzzle your face against his shoulder, finding him comforting in the vast forest. 

As you nuzzle your face against his shoulder, Sergei can't help but notice how much he's enjoying the feel of you in his arms. Your warmth against his chest, the soft sound of your breathing, and the gentle feel of you nuzzling against him.

He continues to move through the forest, weaving through trees and navigating the deep snow like a natural tracker. Every now and then, he glances down at you, his eyes taking in your tired, but now tranquil face.

You drift to sleep in his arms, body going limp as he continues to trek toward his home. Bringing you closer and closer to a warm safe shelter. 

Sergei feels your body go limp in his arms, signaling that you've fallen asleep. His arms instinctively tighten their grip on you, holding you securely against his chest as he continues to trek through the snowy forest.

Each step brings you both closer to his home, a small cabin nestled deep in the forest, away from the chaos of the outside world. As he approaches the cabin, Sergei can't help but feel an odd sense of protectiveness over you.

He gently pushes open the door to his cabin and steps inside, careful not to wake you. The cabin is warm and cozy, illuminated by the soft glow of a fireplace in the corner.

Sergei carries you over to a large, comfortable armchair and carefully sets you down, ensuring you're settled and comfortable. He takes a moment to gaze down at you, his eyes roaming over your tired face as you sleep.

He sighs deeply, his hands resting on the arms of the chair as he contemplates what to do next. You stir slightly at the lack of his body against yours, your arms reach out, seeking him once more. 

As you stir and reach out for him, searching for the warmth of his body, Sergei can't help but smirk to himself. He's not used to being sought after like this, and it brings an odd feeling of satisfaction to him.

He steps closer, gently taking hold of your seeking hands and holding them in his own large, calloused ones.

"I'm right here, little one," he murmurs gruffly, his voice low so as not to startle you.

As the morning sunlight streams through the windows, bathing the cabin in a warm, golden light, you stir in the soft, comfortable embrace of the armchair.

Sergei, who had spent the night keeping watch by the fireplace, notices your movements and rises silently from his chair. He watches as you pull the soft cloth blanket up to cover your face, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

He takes a step closer, leaning against the back of the armchair, and speaks in a low, gruff voice. "Morning, little one."

"You never told me your name.." you murmur, sliding out of the chair and sleepily moving to his side. 

Sergei's eyes roam over your sleepy form as you move to stand beside him, a small chuckle escaping his lips as he hears your question.

"I suppose I didn't," he says gruffly, his eyes watching you with a mixture of amusement and something else, something he can't quite place.

He lifts a hand and gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, before replying, "My name is Sergei. Sergei Kravinoff."

"Sergei.." You repeat, settling onto the ground next to him, basking in the heat of the flames.

As you say his name, a small shiver of satisfaction runs through Sergei's body. He can't remember the last time anyone has spoken his name with such soft, sweet lips.

He watches as you settle onto the floor next to him, your body seeking the warmth of the flames. He can't help but admire your small, fragile form, your skin flushed and weary but still so very beautiful.

He glances down at you, his voice still gruff but softer than usual. "You should eat something, little one. You must be hungry."

Your face lights up at the mention of food, your stomach growling as if on cue. "I am a little hungry.." 

A small, satisfied smile tugs at the corners of Sergei's lips as he watches your face light up at the mention of food, and hears your stomach growl in confirmation.

"Looks like that settles it," he says gruffly, pushing himself up off the floor. "I'll fix you something to eat. Stay there and warm up."

Without waiting for a reply, he strides over to the small kitchen in the cabin, starting to prepare a meal.

You turn to watch his movements, craving his company at your side once again. A feeling of heat rises in your stomach as you gulp, eyes glued to his muscular frame. 

Sergei can feel your eyes on him as he moves around the kitchen, his muscular frame easily handling the preparation of the simple meal. He can't help but detect a hint of something in your gaze, a heat that he's not sure he quite understands.

He glances over at you, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he meets your gaze. "What is it, little one?" he asks gruffly, his voice filled with a mix of curiosity and mild amusement.

Your cheeks flush a bright pink, causing you to shake your head. "Nothing.. it's nothing." you reply softly.

Sergei's smirk grows wider as he notices the bright pink flush on your cheeks, knowing that he's caused a reaction in you. He can't help but be captivated by the innocent, shy look on your face.

He lets out a gruff chuckle, returning to his task of preparing the meal. "It's not nothing," he says, his voice holding a hint of playfulness. "You're staring at me, little one. I can feel your gaze on me. What are you thinking?"

"You're just very big.." you whisper, shocked by the words coming from your mouth. Clenching the blanket tight around you, you carefully adjust your clothes, feeling your panties becoming wet.

Sergei's eyes widen slightly at your words, a soft chuckle escaping his lips at the innocent bluntness of your statement. He can't help but be amused by your shyness, your flushed cheeks, and the way your body fidgets under the blanket.

He turns to face you fully, his eyes roaming over your form, drinking in the sight of you. He can sense the change in you, the heat in your body, and he can't help but wonder if you're even aware of it. 

"Is that so?" he asks gruffly, his voice holding a hint of something else, something deeper.

You nod, mind wandering to.. other parts of him, and how big it might be. "Mhm.." you murmur, looking up at him as he brings you a plate of food.

As you nod and confirm his words, Sergei can't help but notice the way your eyes wander over his frame, lingering on certain parts of his anatomy. He knows what you're thinking, and a small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

He approaches you, holding out the plate of food. As he does, his eyes lock onto yours, his voice gruff as he speaks again. "Eat up, little one. You need your strength."

"Thank you Sergei.." you smile up at him, taking the plate and beginning to take a few small bites, your mind still focused on him. 

Sergei watches as you take the plate and begin to eat, his gaze studying you intently. He notices the small, subtle things, the way your eyes wander over his form, the way your lips move as you chew.

A small, amused smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he watches you, his own thoughts wandering to the same subject as yours.

"You're welcome, little one," he grunts, his voice gruff and low. "Make sure you eat all of it. Can't have you wasting away on me."

"Yes sir," you murmur between bites. Comfortable silence fills the air as he takes a seat next to you, his shoulder lightly brushing yours.

As you finish your meal, the silence of the cabin is filled with a comfortable stillness. Sergei lowers himself down to sit beside you, taking a moment to admire the sight of you as you finish eating.

His shoulder lightly brushed yours, the contact sending a small shiver through his body. Despite his gruff and stoic exterior, he can't help but be drawn to you, your innocence and vulnerability stirring something deep within him.

"Feeling better now, little one?" he asks, his voice a low, gravelly murmur.

"Much better," you grin, leaning against him, your hand falling to his lap. You're craving more, more of his touch, more of him, you just need him. 

As you lean against him and your hand falls to his lap, Sergei's body tenses momentarily, his breath catching in his chest. He can feel the heat radiating off your body, the slight weight of your hand on his thigh, and it awakening something within him.

He can't help but glance down at your hand, then back up at your face, a mix of surprise, desire, and a hint of hesitation in his gaze. "Little one..." he growls, his voice deep and hoarse.

"Yes, Sergei?" you breathe out, biting down on your bottom lip with desire. 

Sergei's eyes are fixated on your biting your lip, the sight sending a wave of heat through him. He can feel his body reacting to your closeness, to the desire in your voice.

He leans closer to you, his breath tickling your ear as he speaks, his voice a low, gruff whisper, "What are you doing to me, little one? You're driving me insane.."

You gasp as his voice sends shivers down your body, leaning closer to him you find a small amount of confidence. You slide your hand up his though, nearing the place you're most curious about. "Sergei.. I'm curious about something.."

As your hand slowly slides up his thigh, nearing a sensitive spot, Sergei's body tenses once more, his breath catching in his throat. He can feel the heat of your touch, the desire in your movements, and it's driving him wild.

He glances down at your hand, then back up at your face, his eyes dark and intense. "What is it, little one?" he growls, his voice thick with desire. "What are you curious about?"

"How big is it?" you gulp, looking up at him through your lashes as you settle between his legs. Almost salivating at the thought of seeing his cock.

As your words sink in, and your body moves between his legs, Sergei's breath hitches in his chest, a low growl escaping his lips. He can feel the heat in your body, the desire in your gaze, and it's driving him crazy.

He looks down at you, his eyes dark and ravenous, as he responds in a low, guttural tone, "Are you sure you want to know, little one?"

"Mhm, I'm really curious," you whisper, hand sliding to the buckle of his belt and slowly maneuvering to remove it. "Is this okay?"

Sergei watches as your hand moves to his belt, slowly working to undo the buckle. Your touch is innocent yet filled with a desire that he can't deny.

He takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling as he contemplates your question. "You're very forward, little one," he says gruffly, his voice thick with a mix of desire and surprise. "But yes.. it's okay."

You slowly remove his garments, moving to free his hardness. Your body trembles in anticipation, desire coursing through you.

As you remove his garments, revealing his hardness, Sergei's breath hitches in his chest, his body trembling slightly as you bare him to your gaze.

He watches you, his eyes roaming over your face, studying the mix of desire and innocence in your expression. He can feel his own desire growing stronger by the second, a mixture of primal need and unexpected gentleness.

"Look at you..." he mutters gruffly, his voice thick with want. "You're so, so curious.."

Your hand wraps around his thick hard dick, eyes wide as you take in the sheer size of it. "I want to taste you," your gaze is focused on his length as you stick your tongue out, licking his tip slightly.

As you wrap your hand around his length, a low, guttural moan escapes his lips, his body tensing at the feel of your touch.

He watches as you lick his tip, your gaze fixed on his manhood, and it drives him crazy. The heat in your eyes, the desire in your movements, it's driving him to the edge.

"Is that so, little one?" he growls, his voice thick and strained. "You want to taste me, do you?"

You nod, lips wrapping around his throbbing cock. Your mouth is full of his manhood, eyes fluttering shut as you moan at the taste of his precum.

With a deep, shaky breath, Sergei allows you to continue, his eyes fluttering shut as he feels the warmth of your mouth engulfs his cock. The sensation sends waves of pleasure through his body, his muscles tightening and his heart racing. 

His hands instinctively move to the back of your head, guiding your movements gently as you take him in deeper, your soft moans muffled by his flesh. The feeling of your wetness and the gentle suction as you work your mouth over him is almost too much to handle, and he has to fight the urge to thrust into you.

Sergei's eyes snap open as your eager mouth continues to explore him, his grip on the back of your head tightening slightly as he watches you with a mix of hunger and amazement. "You're a natural, little one," he grunts, his voice strained as he feels himself getting closer to the edge. 

His hips begin to move almost imperceptibly, matching the rhythm of your mouth. The warmth, the wetness, the way your tongue swirls around his head – it's all too much for him to handle. He can feel his orgasm building, the tension coiling in his stomach and balls, begging for release. But he doesn't want this to end yet. He wants more of you, all of you.

With a sudden urgency, he pulls you off his cock, panting heavily. "Not yet," he growls, his eyes burning with desire as he looks down at you. He lifts you up and carries you to the bed, laying you down gently before climbing over you, his large frame looming over you protectively. 

His hand moves to the hem of your shirt, sliding it up to reveal your soft, pale stomach. His lips follow the trail of his hand, kissing and nibbling gently, leaving a path of heat in their wake. 

You gasp and arch up into his touch, your own desires spiraling out of control. His rough hands begin to unbutton your pants, his gaze never leaving yours as he slowly reveals your most intimate secrets.

As he unbuttons your pants, Sergei's eyes are dark with need, watching your every reaction with a predatory focus. 

He can feel the heat between your legs, smell the sweet scent of your arousal, and it's all he can do to not rip the rest of your clothes off in one swift move. But he holds back, enjoying the slow, methodical unveiling of your body.

He slides your pants down, his calloused hands brushing against the softness of your skin. His eyes are drawn to the small, lacy underwear you're wearing, the stark contrast to the ruggedness of the cabin and his own attire not lost on him. 

With a smirk, he hooks his fingers under the elastic and pulls them down, revealing your bare, shaven pussy.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, his voice thick with lust. His eyes roam over the delicate folds of your sex, the sight of your wetness making his cock throb even more. He leans down and presses a kiss to your inner thigh, his breath hot and heavy against your skin.

You whimper at his gentle touch, your body quivering with anticipation. "Sergei," you breathe out his name like a prayer, your legs falling open wider to give him better access. You can't believe this is happening, but all you want is for him to keep going.

His mouth follows the path of his kisses, moving closer to your core. When he reaches your pussy, he lingers for a moment, his breath fanning over your sensitive flesh before his tongue darts out to taste you. The sensation is electric, sending bolts of pleasure shooting through your body as he explores you with the same curiosity and hunger he had when you first touched him.

"Oh god," you moan, your hands fisting in the sheets as his tongue delves deeper into your wetness. He licks and sucks, his beard scraping gently against your thighs, sending sparks of pleasure through you. Your hips buck against his mouth, seeking more, begging for it.

Sergei growls in satisfaction, the sound vibrating against your clit, sending you spiraling closer to the edge. His hands move to grip your hips, holding you in place as he devours you, his tongue swirling and flicking with expert precision. You're lost in the feeling, your world narrowing down to the warmth of his mouth and the exquisite pleasure he's giving you.

And as your orgasm builds, he slows down, teasing you, making you beg for release. "Please," you whine, your voice desperate and needy.

He looks up at you, his eyes dark with lust and something else, something that makes your stomach flip. "Please what, little one?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that resonates through your core.

"Please, make me cum," you plead, your voice barely above a whisper.

With a smirk, he goes back to work, his tongue and lips bringing you closer and closer to the precipice until, with one final, hard suck, you're tumbling over, your body shaking with the intensity of your climax. You cry out his name as waves of pleasure wash over you, leaving you trembling and breathless beneath him.

Sergei watches you come with a fierce satisfaction, his cock pulsing with his own need. He moves up your body, his eyes locked on yours as he positions himself at your entrance. "Are you ready for me, little one?" he asks, his voice a gruff whisper.

You nod, your eyes glazed with passion as you reach up to pull him closer. "Yes," you pant, your body arching up to meet his. "I need you inside me."

And with that, he pushes in, filling you up with one long, slow stroke that has you gasping for air. Your bodies fit together perfectly, like two puzzle pieces finally coming together. He begins to move, his thrusts deep and measured, his gaze never leaving yours as he takes you, claiming you as his in this moment of raw, primal passion.

With a fierce growl, Sergei slams into you, his cock stretching your tight pussy as he takes what he's craved since the moment he laid eyes on you. The feeling of you, warm and wet around him, is indescribable, and he can't hold back any longer. 

He begins to pound into you, each stroke hitting just the right spot, making you scream out in ecstasy. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper, your heels digging into his muscular back as you meet his rhythm, urging him to go faster, harder. 

The bed beneath you creaks and shakes with the force of his thrusts, the headboard slamming into the wall in a steady rhythm that matches the beating of your heart. The room is filled with the sounds of your passion, the slapping of skin on skin, the harsh breaths, and desperate moans that fill the air like a symphony of desire. 

Your nails dig into the smooth skin of his back, leaving swollen red marks on his tanned skin, your pussy clenching around him as he continues to thrust into you. With each move of his hips, you become more and more needy, gasping and moaning his name. 

Sergei’s movements stutter, his hips pushing flush against yours, his head digging into your g-spot. His thick cock swells inside of you as your grip around him, your body coaxing his orgasm out of him. 

He buries his face into your neck, moaning lowly as he fills you with his warmth. You arch up into him, spasming around his still-hard length. 

“Fuck, oh fuck…” you whine, eyes fluttering shut as he collapses onto the bed next to you, pulling you to his chest. 

[bambisnc]

            . . sippin' diet pepsi ♡

⤷ "fuck,.." his voice is slightly hoarse as he struggles to catch his breath, a delicate string of spit stretching from your lips to his, "y'taste so sweet. what is that, cherry?"

### . STARRING ⌢ n.rk ⋆ suggestive xx + 1.1k // uneditted + swearing + implied innocent!reader + first kiss, kissing + implied fuckboy!jungwon ˖ ✧

🗨️ .. ⌞ untouched, XO ⌝ shit's crazy + [m.list]

thinking about childhood bsf!nishimura riki.

thinking about how you've known him pretty much all your life owing to the fact that you literally grew up with him as your next door neighbor; it was only obvious that the proximity would lead to a close relationship between the two of you and, well, it was only obvious (to everyone but you, apparently) that you'd end up developing feelings for the boy.

but as time passed, you grew older and ended up going your separate ways and losing touch. of course, you didn't ever really end up getting proper closure on whatever it was that you felt for him, resulting in a weird crush you never really get over.

but fast forward and it's winter vacation! both your families decide it's the perfect time for a huge get together, because, it's been so long with everyone here~! so you're all but threatened to spend your time off back at home. well, hey, if it's any consolation at least niki will be suffering with you?

oh, what's that? he volunteered to drive you? well isn't that lovely! what a wonderful opportunity to spend time and catch up with your beloved friend!

...

"fuck,.." his voice is slightly hoarse as he struggles to catch his breath, a delicate string of spit stretching from your lips to his, "y'taste so sweet. what is that, like, cherry?"

the slight sheen of sweat on his features and mussed up hair from your hands running through his locks captivates you so deeply that you almost forget to answer. "... it's cherry lip gloss, yeah."

his tongue runs over his lips before he simply hums in response. you doubt riki knows how badly you want to lean in again, to close the little remaining space still between you and to kiss him again and again till he's completely senseless. even if for no other reason than to, somehow, convey your own yearning for more.

the cool metallic cans of half finished diet pepsi in the center console graze your thigh lightly when you shift to settle in your position on top of him more comfortably.

merely a half an hour ago, while stopping for gas and earlier mentioned refreshments, you remember him asking if there was anything you were looking forward to going back home.

and you, high off of sugary lollipops and cringey yelled out song lyrics, had promptly replied back, "yang jungwon."

"... jungwon? that nerd we went to school with?" riki had asked, voice almost alarmingly low pitched. "and why is that, exactly?"

"i mean ... he's cute; messaged me on insta a couple times recently."

"oh yeah? s’that right?.. never really took him to be ... your type."

"...? what is that supposed to mean. are you even in touch with jungwon?"

"mm, nah, i’ve just heard stuff through the grapevine. he's more the type to get around, if you know what i mean. more of an, ah,.. experienced dude," he pauses, letting his gaze trail up and down your figure, "and you're basically .. well.

... a naive little girl."

you didn't talk to him for a whole hour after that. 

the silence settling in afterwards was heavy, until the childhood best friend you’d been rather looking forward to meeting decided to be even more of a shit than usual and let slip a few more harsh jabs about how you were so, so innocent that you probably hadn’t even had your first kiss yet~.

“yeah, well,” you’d said, deciding you couldn’t take it anymore. “unless you’re planning on helping with that – just shut the fuck up and drive.” 

riki had glanced at you sideways, calculating, one hand casually draped over the steering wheel. 

“alright.”

“that’s what i thought — wait what?.”

“i said, yeah, i’ll help.” his face was rather composed, considering what he had offered up, only the barest hint of a smirk visible, “might as well, if you’re planning on whining about this all the way.”

“i wasn’t-,” but before you could even think about formulating a coherent response, he was already shifting into reverse and bringing the car to a halt. you’re pretty sure you’d all but sat there with your mouth hanging agape. was riki serious about this?...

his hand brushing against your jaw, moving your face towards his from how you were previously resolutely staring forward, jolted you out of your haze. “i’m going to kiss you now.”

“... okay.” 

and then his lips were on yours, and the world outside the car seemed to disappear.

…

fast forward to the present, which you’re brought back to by a harsh jab, tantalizingly veiled by the fact that the person mumbling it does so with his lips so close to yours that you feel riki say it before you hear him. “you suck at this, fyi.” 

and there was that infuriatingly gorgeous smirk of his again.

you huff, annoyance clearly oozing from the sound, "guess i need more practice, then."

“mhm.” he presses a soft peck to the corner of your mouth, “that’s what i’m here for.”

riki’s hands readjust themselves on your waist, pulling you closer, finally, but instead of kissing you properly, he only peppers a trail of featherlight ones along your jaw all the way down your neck. with an ease that can only be accounted for by a certain familiarity between you, you allow your head to tilt back. 

the increased access is taken full advantage of by him, obviously. one of his hands glides up to rest behind your neck, the softer kisses leading way to increasingly rougher, more bruising bites and nips. 

“hey – ouch. stop that.” 

“what’s that, hmm? ‘s it getting too much for you?” his thumb strokes your tender skin that is bound to end up with red and purple marks – marks that will definitely inspire questions you won’t really know how to answer. 

“‘m sorry, baby. let me apologize for it, yeah?” 

and you can’t really bring yourself to turn that down. not when he looks at you like that,.. kiss swollen lips, red flush against his honeyed skin, eyes half lidded with something you can’t exactly place…

unbeknownst to both you and him, however, riki’s phone buzzes where it lays forgotten in the backseat. when the vibrations stop, a soft ping! makes itself known. if either of you were paying any attention, that is. 

the display screen shows 4 new messages from a contact named “yang jw” 

riki wtf you guys were supposed to call like 2 hours ago. your guys' moms are freakin' PISSED at me rn

istfg i will beat ur ass. make out on YOUR OWN TIME MF

𐙚 . regulars : none yet! ⋆

[@bambisnc] 2k25

[wonderjanga]

Marvel and the YJ

So, Marvel in the YJ. He’s one of their den mothers and all that. So like, in this AU, and in fact in all of my posts so far, Billy’s kept it under wraps that he’s a kid. So, as a result, the YJ think he’s just this really cool big brother (dad (they just don’t know it)) type of dude. Like he’s so nice. And he’s so nice to them especially. Like, he treats all of them the same way he treats adults. He doesn’t doubt their abilities, and when they fail, he’s still there to encourage them to get back up and he doesn’t even make them feel bad about it.

Like, the one time he was asked to spar with the YJ cause they wanted to for funsies I guess, he positively whooped their asses and somehow, someway found a way to still compliment their abilities, even if they didn’t last that long because the battle was a little one-sided. To be fair though, they had asked him not to go easy, which he didn’t. In the end, he got promptly scolded by Canary heavily when she found out he quite literally used Kid Flash as a rag doll and threw him at Aqualad. She said that the entire tape of him having a “friendly spar” with those kids, was essentially just him bullying them. To which Billy tried to defend himself by saying those kids were plenty capable. The defense didn’t work.

Then, there was this time Kon mentioned he couldn’t fly and Marvel offered him a lift. This somehow ended up with Marvel sort of T posing mid air as Kon and Robin hung on one arm, Artemis and Aqualad hung on the other arm, then Kid Flash held onto one leg while M’gann held onto the other.

Flash: “Wow.” *looking up at the YJ and Marvel* “That’s… actually kinda majestic, not gonna lie.”

Superman: *also looking up at Marvel and the YJ* “Is it though? What if one of them falls?”

Flash: “Eh. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Kid Flash proceeds to almost slip off and fall, which almost gives both the speedster and Kryptonian a heart attack. Thankfully, he catches himself by moving his feet really fast to boost himself back up. Worst part in their opinion is that Marvel didn’t even seem to notice.

Then, there was the time M’gann with Robin about something. Batman was also working nearby on a computer.

M’gann: “Hmm… We need advice.”

Robin!Tim: “We need an adult.”

Batman: *keeping an ear out cause he’s always happy to help one of his kids*

M’gann and Robin!Tim: *thinking before they speak up at the same time* “Marvel.” *they then both walk out of the room to find the Captain*

Batman: *a little upset that Tim did didn’t come to him for help but also a lot more concerned as to why they thought Marvel was a suitable choice to ask for advice, especially considering the fact that just earlier that day, he had caught the man scribbling on one of the meeting tables like a 5th grader scribbling on their desk*

Contrary to what Bruce thought might happen (I.e. something going wrong) apparently Marvel’s advice wasn’t too bad, seeing nothing had gone wrong yet. (He later found out that the two had asked for the best advice on how to incapacitate your enemy quickly. He found this out when he saw Tim throat punch a man. Said man went down almost immediately. When prodded for information for as to why he did that, he proudly proclaimed “Cap taught me”)

Also a little tidbit from the Marvel Cursing post about the YJ thinking that Marvel called one of them a dumb cunt. Courtesy to @helps-the-writing-brain-go

Billy’s recently noticed that the kids are acting funny. Though, he supposes it’s not a bad funny. If anything, whatever’s got them acting weird has got them doing better on missions, but still. It’s weird. What’s weirder is that whenever he compliments them, they shine twice as brighter than they normally do. What’s even weirder than that is that whenever they’ve messed up recently they look twice as nervous. Speaking of which, this was one of the moments they’ve messed up.

Marvel: “So… Uh- that didn’t go so well.”

YJ: *obvious signs of anxiousness on some and subtle on others*

Marvel: “But that’s okay! But that’s okay.” *trying his best to make the anxiety in them disappear* “We just have to try to be better next time. Like, and I hate to say this, maybe try calling in an adult next time? Like me? I could’ve zoomed over and helped you guys.”

YJ: *look at each other*

Artemis: “Wally’s the one who said that we shouldn’t call you in a try to do this on our own.”

Kid Flash: *dramatic gasp* “You know why I said that! It would’ve helped us all if Kaldur had tried to put the fires near the gas tanks out with his water powers!”

Aqualad: “I was busy being attacked by nearly five different people.”

YJ: *dissolve into arguing*

Marvel: “Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wally what did you mean by it would’ve helped you all? Me not being there would’ve been good?” *confused*

YJ: *immediate silence*

Kon: “Wally found out that you think one of us is dumb cunt.”

Kid Flash: “Dude! You guys need to stop ratting me out!”

Marvel: “What.” *stares in befuddlement*

M’gann: “And then he told us. So we’ve been trying to think of ways to not be uh… dumb cunts.”

Marvel: *blinks rapidly* “Again, what? Wally, where did you get this information from?”

Kid Flash: “When you were making cookies! I heard you say blah blah blah, what a dumb cunt.”

Marvel: *still staring in confusion*

Kid Flash: “Then, when I asked what you were talking about, Mary said you were talking about our performance on missions.”

Marvel: “…Okay. I’m going to be completely honest with you. I don’t remember a thing of what you’re talking about.”

Marvel then goes on to make a speech about how they’re wonderful heroes who shouldn’t let one person’s words guide them, especially in risky situations like a mission. He then told them that he was now going to stress bake and make some Minnesota cool whip, jello, fruit, not really salad, salad. (Courtesy to @jedipirateking) On the bright side though, the speech did leave the teens feeling better.