#thinking about this too much makes me want to curl up and

[roastedoatmilk]

Arcane Women Strap Hcs

characters: sevika, vi, caitlyn, mel, ambessa

A/N barely proofread sorry, also my first time writing for arcane please be kind 🙈 i hope y’all enjoy lmk your thoughts :)

Sevika

first things first she has a dark purple strap i’m talking almost the same color that shimmer is and boy does she know how to use it

whenever she pulls the strap out be prepared to not be able to walk the next day

she prefers to fuck you in missionary but if she had to choose a different position it would be fucking you from the bottom, she just loves to be able to see your face while she pleasures you

her strap game is DIABOLICAL, she always makes sure to hit that spot inside you that makes you let out a squeal and causes your toes to curl

honestly she could just cum from fucking you alone but if you feel up to it once she’s done with you she loves when you eat her out after

“that’s it baby, you’re taking me so well just a little more”

Vi

vi screams black strap to me like it just makes sense

she prefers to fuck you slow and DEEP, i’m talking girly lifts your hips off the bed and grips them so hard that you can feel bruises form

shes so cocky about it too like she knows she’s good

vi’s another one that could cum from pleasuring you alone and 9/10 times she does, however the one time she doesn’t she will literally sit on your face once you’re well enough to take care of her

“that feel good pretty girl ? yeah i know it does, you’re always so good for me”

Caitlyn

dark blue strap sorry yall i don’t make the rules

caitlyn loves when you’re on top and she’s fucking you from below

she revels in the sight of you falling apart above her while she’s gripping your hips guiding you

she’s 100% a brat tamer and you can’t tell me any different

“oh darling is it too much ? you shouldn’t have behaved like that if you didn’t want me to fuck you like this”

Mel

HEAR YE HEAR YE she has a gold strap idc idc

mel also likes it when you’re on top however she prefers to gently guide your movements while she praises you

don’t let that mislead you tho shes a HUGE tease

she can and will make you edge yourself until you’re literally crying begging her to let you cum

“ my love you look so beautiful when you ask nicely like that, go ahead and take what you need”

Ambessa

ruby red strap that’s all imma say

the cruelest of the bunch, she’s not afraid to leave you dry while she takes what she needs

another brat tamer yall you love to see it

she doesn’t make love she FUCKS, be prepared to constantly be buying new headboards

she makes you suck on her strap NEXTTTTT

“sweet girl did you think i’m finished with you ? no no we aren’t done until you can’t remember anything but my name”

[multipleoccupancy]

The Inspector nodded to Violet as she greeted him and then gave a short and quiet hum of agreement at her dismissive reply. Taking mental notes of her attitude and deciding he didn't much like it but she was at least holding her own for now and had not done anything outwardly troubling. He turned his attention back to Theo who was still considerably uncomfortable but had put his hand on Mauve's as it rested on his shoulder.

"I work for an organisation who specialise in things like this," he gestured to the monster on the floor, "I and many other agents strive tirelessly and endlessly to keep people safe and on more than several occasions already saved these United States and even the world from this danger and I think that you," he pointed to Theo specifically for now, "might be the sort of person who could help us."

Theo looked over at Mauve, amazement in his eyes as it had been exactly what they had talked about, an official branch helping to save the world from monsters! Their agent idea had already been done and here was a man offering it all to them... or just to him? He looked back to the agent.

"Now I have an offer to make you. You can come with us and we are interested in putting you through school, getting you into the FBI Academy for you to follow that path which you have expressed previously. We'll wipe everything clean, you'll be cleared as innocent and wrongly interned in this ward so that you can walk around free and innocent. Your parents won't have to pay a cent, you will be sponsored through collage and you will work hard to achieve the results necessary to become an FBI agent." The inspector waited for a moment while Theo clearly observed him, he was after all the man who had put him inside in the first place and he was offering him everything he wanted on a plate, just like that. "On the condition that you work for us. You do as we say, you protect our secret from everyone including family and friends, no one can know. You do exactly as you are told and follow every instruction we issue you to the letter."

The Inspector knew that was less appetising as an end point but he leaned forward and looked Theo directly in the eye, ignoring Violet completely for now, she wasn't who he was after. "Or," his voice had dropped to a more threatening tone, "you can stay in here and become nothing more than a drooling mess until the end of your life. Stuck with absolutely no way out. You will stay here, where no one will believe you, where you will one day get one shock therapy session too many." He eyed Theo who gulped loudly, terrified of that thought and squeezing Violet's hand on his shoulder. "This is a one time offer, lad. What's it going to be?"

Theo opened his mouth but it was dry inside, it was as if he had just lost his voice, the man had offered him everything he had ever wanted and now was threatening to force him through his worst nightmare. However, he couldn't leave Mauve. "My friend helped me, Mauve needs to come too." He insisted, "We both deserve to be out of this ward. Please, promise me that she will be freed with me." The Inspector's lip curled and he looked to Violet, one eye brow raised.

"She will have her own deal." He said lowly and then offered his hand out for Theo to shake. "Now or never kid, I am not playing around, that deal has a time limit of seconds. You shake my hand and get out of here today or I get up, walk out and leave you here to rot." Theo's heart raced in his chest, his eyes were wide and his breath was almost frozen in his lungs, stinging him and aching at every bruise, shock, or most recently stab and bite he'd ever had in that ward. He couldn't go through more of it and with Mauve getting her own deal to leave, Theo took the Inspector's hand and shook it.

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

Violet quickly fell asleep, but she woke up just as fast, startled by a nightmare. After that, she didn't dare fall back asleep, discreetly observing the orderly as he cleaned up the whole cell. It wasn't too hard to pretend to be asleep, lying down next to Theo. After a while, the cell was perfectly clean (save for the dead monster in the corner), but Violet wished the orderly would have given them clean pajamas too. She was still covered in blood, but it had dried up now, forming an uncomfortable layer over her skin.

With her eyes half-closed, she noticed the two men as they stood outside the room. Violet didn't know who they were, but she assumed they were the Delta Green agents sent to offer Theo his "deal". When the orderly went to wake Theo up, she didn't bother acting as if she was sleeping, simply sitting up on the bed.

Theo's warning confirmed her thoughts: this was a Delta Green agent. But not just any agent. The agent who had framed Theo and sent him to the ward. Her look hardened, and she put a protective hand on Theo's shoulder.

The man sat in front of them, introducing himself. "Hello, inspector," she replied coldly. Violet was unmoved by the agent's praise. She really didn't care if he was impressed! As far as she was concerned, he was a wicked man. But she knew she couldn't make a scene, and risk Theo's deal in the process. She had to grit her teeth and swallow all the things she really wanted to say.

"It ain't our first rodeo," she replied dismissively, hinting at Theo's first monster encounter, and her own "encounter", which was in her file.

[keikikait]

hiii can i request rafe or jj reacting to the reader getting nipple piercings??

ɢᴏᴅᴅᴇꜱꜱ (ᴊᴊ ᴍᴀʏʙᴀɴᴋ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

read my other jj fic here!

pairing: jj maybank x pouge!f!reader, (not au, both are early to mid 20s)

word count: 2.9k 

summary: you get nipple piercings and your boyfriend is eager to get his hands on them

warnings: SMUT 18+, smut under the cut, nipple piercings, nipple play, fingering, cunnilingus, dom!jj & sub!reader, mention of p in v (although no protection is mentioned, it is implied), i've never gotten nipple piercings but i tried to be as accurate as possible, although i do know that touching them or kissing them after is a big no-go, this is a fanfiction lol.

a note: the skin colour in the photo isn't correlated with the reader's skin colour. i just like the picture! and, also, a BIG THANK YOU for 500 followers! i know in the grand scheme of things, 500 isn't a lot, but i never thought i would get this far! thank you all, i love you all so much!!!!

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

You pull away breathless, lifting your arms as JJ pulls your top off before tossing it aside. He pulls you into his lap, kissing down your neck as he unclips your bra, the black fabric joining the tank top discarded on the floor. JJ kisses down your neck, lips brushing over your collarbones as he slowly kisses down your sternum. You squirm in his lap, his hands roaming over your curves as you feel his cock pressing against you through his shorts. 

“Mmm, you're so soft,” JJ murmurs, fingers dancing along the edge of your panties. His other hand cups one of your breasts, thumb teasing over the nipple. “You know what would really suit you, baby?” He brings his thumb and pointer finger together and squeezes, tugging at your nipple harshly.

You gasp, your back arching, your chest pressing against his. You whine as he pinches and squeezes again. “What, Jay?”

“Little piercings here,” He pinches your left nipple. “And here,” He pinches your right nipple, grinning at the way you squirm and wiggle. He leans in close, hot breath fanning over your ear as he whispers, “Fuck, it’s making me hard just thinking about it. Two little bars, just begging to be played with,” His fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties, tracing over the sensitive skin of your lower belly. “I bet you'd look fucking stunning if they were gold. Or maybe silver. Fuck.”

“You know,” You breathe heavily as he tugs and twists your nipples again. “I’ve been thinking about getting some.”

“Oh yeah?” JJ chuckles, giving your nipples another sharp pinch before releasing them. His fingers continue their path south, slipping beneath the thin fabric of your panties to stroke over your slick folds. “I'm more than happy to help you pick out the perfect bar.” He rubs his thumb over your clit in slow circles, applying just enough pressure to make you shudder. “Because I gotta say, imagining your cute little nipples adorned with sparkly jewellery while I eat this sweet pussy... fuck, that's even hotter.”

“I’ll get them then,” You pant out in between moans. “Just for you, baby.”

JJ groans low in his throat, hips bucking up as he grinds his cock against you. “For me? Oh, pretty girl, you have no idea how much that turns me on,” He slips a finger inside you, curling it to hit that spot that makes your legs tremble, your back arching as a strangled whine escapes your lips. “But don't forget, these pretty tits are all mine too,” His free hand reaches up to pinch and squeeze your nipples. “I want to see those piercings, feel them against my tongue when I suck on your nipples,” He adds a second finger, pumping them in and out of you faster now, thumb still circling your clit. “Gonna make you cum so hard on my fingers, pretty girl. Then I'm gonna bend you over and fill this tight little cunt with my cock.”

You squeal as he picks you up and flips you over, pinning you underneath his weight.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

You kept your promise to JJ.

After researching and asking around Kildare, you found your piercing studio; Prickink just across the thoroughfare on the mainland. $175 for both the piercings and the jewellery. You would get simple silver bars for now, but they had the cutest pink heart nipple rings that you wanted for after they’re all healed. Only the best for JJ.

You push the door open, walking into Prickink, greeted by the buzz of tattoo guns and the smell of rubbing alcohol, 80s rock playing softly in the background. The receptionist smiles when she sees you approach the counter, holding your ID and a wad of cash. “Hi, welcome to Prickink! How can I help you?” She's decked out in tattoos, covering her arms and chest, with a cute nose ring with a bat charm on it and large gauged ears. “Piercing or tattoo?”

“Uh, piercing,” You say nervously. “I have an appointment today at 12:30 with Yvette.”

“Alright, lemme see here…” The receptionist types away on her computer. She confirms your name before taking your ID and checking it. “Nipple piercings?”

You nod. “Yeah. Kinda nervous, but it’ll be worth it.”

She hands you your ID back. “Nerves are normal, but everything will be alright. Yvette is one of the best in North Carolina,” She types on the computer before looking back at you. “Alright, it’ll be $175 including the jewellery. We can’t put in the heart rings until your piercings heal, but you’re welcome to take them home. Will it be cash or card?”

“Uhh, cash.” You say, pulling out $175. She takes the cash and recounts it, sliding a consent form over to you to fill out and sign. You check every necessary box and sign your name, handing it back to her.

“Alright. You can go and sit down, Yvette will come get ya when she’s ready.” She gestures over to the seating area where a few other people are waiting. Some have their phones out, some reading a magazine, and some were waiting as couples excited to get their matching tattoos.

You sit on one of the chairs, pulling out your phone and scrolling, trying to calm your nerves. It would hurt, yes, but everything would be okay. JJ would be more than happy to help you clean and take care of them. You wait for almost 10 minutes before Yvette rounds the corner, calling your name. You stand up and follow her through the hallway, shoving your shaky hands into the back pockets of your shorts. 

Yvette leads you through the tattoo shop, passing a few different rooms before arriving in the last one at the end, closing the door behind you. There’s a tattoo chair, a small stool, and a shelving unit built into the wall full of supplies. “Alright, take a seat. I’ll need you to remove your top and bra. You can set them on the stool right there.”

You take off your shirt and your bra, folding them and setting them aside on the stool before sitting down on the chair, leaning back against the seat. You clasp your hands in your lap.

She sits on the small stool at the end of the chair, putting on a pair of nitrile gloves. She grabs a thin black marker and holds it up to your chest, making a small dot at the centre of your left nipple, before marking the right as well. “Alright. Any questions before I get started?”

“How long is the healing process?” You ask. “I just… I have an eager boyfriend, ya know?”

She lets out a laugh. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one plenty of times,” She puts the marker down. “Well, it’ll usually take about six to nine months for you to fully heal. It varies person to person, and a bit if it’s done right but a good guideline.”

You nod, leaning back in the chair. “Okay. Sounds good.”

She scoots forward slightly, the stool rolling smoothly on the wheels. “I’m going to start with the left one. Deep breaths, and try not to move too much.” You nod again as she wipes your nipple with an alcohol prep pad before pulling out a fresh needle, picking up the clamp with her free hand.

It all happens so fast. One second you’re feeling the cooling sensation of the pad, the next second you’re in unbearable pain. You keep still, gripping the armrests so tight your knuckles turn white. You let out a shaky breath as Yvette slides the bar in, twisting the ball bearing closed. “Alright, one down. You need a second?”

“Yeah,” You say breathlessly, your face growing hot. “Holy shit.”

She sets the needle down, giving you a pat on the knee. “Yeah, that’s the worst part. Nerves are in there and it’s super painful. Once I’ve got the second one in the painful part will be over, and you can just sit there and look cute.”

You laugh, even though you didn’t find it particularly funny. Yvette dabs up some of the blood as you shut your eyes, taking deep breaths. “Okay. I’m ready.”

You grip the armrest again and prepare for the second needle. This time it goes a lot smoother. One pinch of the clamp, a quick swipe of the prep pad, a slide of the needle and a twist of the bearing. “And, done,” She says. “How you feeling?”

“Good,” You say. “A little lightheaded. I got cookies in my bag though.”

Yvette smiles as she puts the clamps down. “Not the first time I’ve heard that one either. It’s perfectly normal. Let me just tape some gauze over them before you get dressed again. I would recommend leaving the bra off,” She gets up from the stool and heads to the storage cabinet, picking out two thin strips of gauze with some medical tape before returning to you. She places them over your nipples, then tapes down the edges. “Keep those on until tonight, then you can take them off to shower.”

You sigh. “Alright, cool. Thank you so much.”

“No problem. Now, make sure you don’t play with them while they’re still healing. You’re gonna want to,” She chuckles. “I would also avoid all swimming, even if it's in a pool. There are a lot of bacteria that you don’t want that getting into the piercing,” She hands you a business card from one of the shelves. “Call or come back if you have any questions about healing.”

“Sweet, thank you. Have a good day.” You say, pulling your shirt back over your head. You tuck your bra into your bag before heading out of the piercing studio. You pull out one of the cookies and munch on it while you head back to your car, a small smile on your lips.

JJ is going to love them.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

You push JJ down to sit on the edge of his bed, running your fingers through his hair. “I got something I wanna show you, baby.”

He smirks, putting his hands on your hips as he sits, fingers dipping under the waistband of your leggings. He leans closer, the smell of your shampoo filling his nostrils, your hair still damp from your shower. “Oh yeah? What is it, pretty girl?”

“Did you wash your hands like I asked?” You ask, moving your hands to rest on his shoulders.

He shrugs nonchalantly, not bothering to remove his hands from your hips despite your question. “Yeah, yeah, course I did. Don't worry about it,” He reaches up to grab your ass, pulling you flush against him. “Now, show me what you've got for me.” You roll your eyes, moving your hands from his shoulders to grip the bottom of your t-shirt, pulling it over your head. Your new piercings glitter in the lowlight of his room. 

JJ's eyes widen as he takes in the sight of your newly pierced nipples, his gaze fixated on the glinting metal, his cock hardening in his sweatpants. “Holy shit, pretty girl…” He trails a finger over the barbell piercing your left nipple, watching intently as it twitches with the movement. “Look at that. So fucking sexy,” He leans in, taking your nipple into his mouth, sucking gently before switching to the other side to do the same. “Mmm, love the way it feels against my tongue, fuck you’re so fucking sexy,” He releases your nipple with a pop, looking up at you with a hungry grin. “Do you like having them played with?”

You let out such cute, soft little gasps as he rubs his thumbs over them. You nod, grabbing his biceps. “Yeah, Jay. I like it a lot.”

He chuckles, rubbing his thumb around them slowly. “Good, baby, I’m glad. You look so fucking sexy, baby. Like a goddess,” He wraps his arms around your waist and spins around, throwing you onto the bed and climbing on top of you, pinning your hips down with his own. “When they’re all healed up, you should get those rings that have the connecting chain. Wanna tug on it and hear your sweet little whimpers.”

You giggle, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Only if you promise to play with them often,” You reach down, rubbing your fingers over his hard cock, feeling it strain against his shorts. “Got ‘em just for you, my love.”

JJ groans, hips thrusting into your touch as he grinds his hardness against your palm. “Fuck, you're killing me, baby. I'll play with them every damn day if you want,” He captures your lips in a searing kiss, tongue delving deep to claim yours. Breaking away, he pants, “Need you naked, now. Remember what I said last week? I wanna eat you out and watch how you look when you cum with your nipples all pierced.” 

With swift movements, he tugs your leggings down, sending them flying across the room. He yanks down your soaked panties, pocketing them for later. “Christ, you're dripping wet already,” JJ groans, spreading your thighs wide. He buries his face between your legs, lapping at your slit hungrily. “So fucking sweet…”

You squeal, back arching as your thighs clamp down on the sides of his face. Your hands immediately fly to his hair, gripping and tugging on the blond strands. “Fuck, JJ!” He moans loudly, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your core as he laps at your clit, flicking his tongue rapidly over the sensitive nub. His hands grip your ass, kneading the flesh as he devours your pussy. He pulls back slightly, blowing cool air over your wet heat before diving back in, tongue delving deep to taste your arousal. It’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, his favourite taste in the world. 

“Mmm, fuck, you taste amazing, baby,” His voice is mumbled as he sucks your clit into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it before releasing with a pop. “Gonna make you cum so hard, pretty girl. Wanna hear you whine and cry for me.” He resumes his relentless assault on your clit, fingers digging into your thighs as he eats you out like a man starved, one hand going up to tweak your right nipple.

Your jaw goes slack, and you throw your head back, thighs trembling against the sides of his face. “Fuck, JJ, please!”

JJ looks up at you, eyes dark with lust, saliva dripping down his chin as he continues to feast on your pussy. His eyes are drawn to the silver studs on your cute little nipples, and his cock throbs as he slides two fingers inside you, pumping them in time with his licks and sucks on your clit. “Please what, baby? Tell me what you need,” He murmurs against you, the words vibrating against your clit and making you shiver. His free hand moves to your left breast, rolling and pinching the nipple roughly. “Wanna hear you scream my name when you cum, wanna feel your little pussy gush, but you gotta ask for permission, baby.” He redoubles his efforts, sucking harder on your clit as he curls his fingers to hit that magic spot inside you. Your body starts to quake, toes curling, as your orgasm builds.

You gasp, trying to find your voice. “Fuck, please JJ, please let me cum! I’ve been good! Please!” You tug on his hair, back arching off of the bed.

JJ smirks against your pussy, blowing more air directly onto your clit. “Alright, alright, baby. You can cum, but only because you asked so nicely,” He sucks hard on your clit, flicking it with his tongue as he pumps his fingers fast and deep inside you. At the same moment, his hand moves back up to your right nipple, rolling the stud between his fingers and tugging.

The dual sensations send you hurtling over the edge, your body convulsing as your inner walls clench tightly around his fingers, pulsing with each wave of pleasure that crashes over you. JJ moans in satisfaction, continuing to lap at your spasming pussy, drinking in every drop of your release. Only when your tremors subside does he finally pull away, licking his lips clean of your juices. He gazes up at you, eyes shining with pride and desire. “That's my good girl. Fuck.”

You let out a strangled whimper as he kneels, pulling his shorts down before climbing over you. He pulls his hard cock out, fingers brushing over the tip to gather some pre-cum, spreading it out over his length as he jerks himself off. JJ grips his shaft firmly, stroking it in long, even motions as he hovers above you, his heavy balls slapping against your thigh with each pump. Pre-cum beads at the tip, leaking steadily as he gets closer to the edge.

His chest heaves with ragged breaths, abs clenched tight. “You're so fucking beautiful like this,” he rasps, his gaze roaming over your flushed skin, the glint of metal on your nipples, the messy hair around your face. “Can't wait to bury myself deep in this perfect cunt and fill it up. Fuck.” He leans over you, lining himself up before starting to push in, giving you time to adjust to his size. He pauses for a moment, savouring the feel of your hot, slick walls wrapped around him, before starting to move, one hand going to tug on your new piercings.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

let me know if you want me to do this prompt with rafe!

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[lostfracturess]

LAST DECEMBER MORNING — SATORU GOJO

pairing — satoru gojo x sorcerer!reader

summary — on a frost-bitten december morning, you watch satoru gojo prepare for his fated battle with sukuna with infuriating calm, like he isn't planning to sacrifice himself for the greater good. you've spent years being his secret, clearing battlefields for him and stealing kisses between missions, but now you're faced with the most brutal truth. that sometimes the cruelest curse isn't the one that kills you — it's loving someone who belongs to the world before they belong to you.

word count — 5.4 k

warnings — heavy angst, hurt/no comfort, mentions of blood and violence, implied death, unhealthy relationship, sad ending

author's note — this has been rotting in my drafts since the final jjk chapter dropped, and i finally dragged it out into the light bc i'm procrastinating uni. fair warning, this is pure angst with zero comfort, just two people breaking each other's hearts because sometimes love isn't enough. anywayys, happy reading <3

masterlist

Winter had never felt so much like an ending.

You watched frost creep across the windows of your shared apartment, each crystalline pattern forming like cracks in glass, spreading slowly but inevitably.

Outside, the world lay hushed under winter's blanket, everything soft and serene. Birds traced lazy patterns against a sky so blue it hurt to look at, and fresh snow made everything clean and new.

It was the kind of morning that belonged in fairy tales, the kind poets write about when they want to capture peace in words. Strange, how you'd never imagined death would choose such a beautiful day.

You watched Satoru move through his routine, each gesture precise and unhurried. White hair caught the pale sunlight as he smoothed it back, his reflection in the mirror handsome as ever before he adjusted his clothes, and put on his blindfold.

You'd watched him prepare for countless missions before, but this felt different. This felt final.

The normality of it all was almost cruel — how he could stand there, getting ready like this was just another day, just another fight. Like the sun wasn't rising on what could be your last morning together.

The clock on the wall ticked steadily forward, each second falling like a stone into still water. Time felt strange, both rushing too fast and moving too slow. You wanted to grab the clock's hands, force them to stop, to give you just a few more moments in this morning that felt like borrowed time.

"You're staring," he said without turning around, a slight smile playing at his lips.

"Can you blame me?" You were curled up in the window seat, tea growing cold in your hands. "It's not every day your— whatever we are goes to fight the King of Curses."

He turned then, and even through the blindfold, you could feel the weight of his gaze. "Whatever we are?" There was amusement in his tone. "After all this time, you still don't know what we are?"

"Well, we're not exactly big on labels," you pointed out, trying to keep your voice light despite the heaviness in your chest. "Secret relationship and all that."

"Ah, but that's what makes it fun, isn't it?" He crossed the room to where you sat, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. "The sneaking around, the secret meetings—"

"Satoru." You caught his hand. "How are you so calm about this?"

He tilted his head, considering. "Would you prefer if I was panicking?"

"I'd prefer if you showed any emotion at all about the fact that you're about to fight Sukuna." You stood up, setting your tea aside. "You've been acting like this is just another day, just another fight, but it's not. You know it's not."

"I think I've shown plenty of emotion," he said, pulling you closer with a playful smile. "Just last night, if I recall—"

"Don't." You pressed a hand against his chest, keeping him at arm's length. "Don't deflect. Not today."

The smile faded from his face, replaced by something more serious. "What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me why you're so calm. I want you to tell me why you're not worried." Your voice cracked slightly, but you pushed on. "I want you to tell me why it feels like you're saying goodbye."

He was quiet for a long moment, his thumb tracing patterns on your wrist where he still held it. Finally, he spoke, his voice softer than before. "The world needs to move forward. It needs to find someone stronger."

"What are you talking about?" You pulled back slightly. "You're the strongest there is."

"Am I?" His smile was gentle, almost sad. "Or is that just what everyone needs to believe?"

"Satoru—"

"The world has relied on me for too long," he continued. "They've made me their symbol, their savior, their stupid hero. But what happens when I'm gone? Who protects them then?"

"You're not going anywhere," you said. "You're going to win. You always win."

He cupped your face in his hands, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. "Sometimes winning isn't about surviving. Sometimes it's about making sure what comes after is better than what came before."

"That's not funny."

"I'm not trying to be funny." He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours. "I'm trying to tell you that whatever happens today, the world will keep turning. It will find new leaders, new protectors. Maybe even better ones."

"I don't want new protectors," you whispered. "I want you."

"Ah, but you've always had me," he said softly. "Ever since that first mission together, when you told me my head was too big to fit through doorways. Do you remember?"

You huffed. "You were showing off, making everything more complicated than it needed to be."

"I was trying to impress you."

"You're always trying to impress me."

"But it's working, right?"

You pressed closer to him, breathing in his familiar scent. "You know it is, you idiot."

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight against his chest. For a moment, you both stood there in silence, listening to each other's heartbeats. The familiar rhythm brought back memories of how this all began, of the first time you'd been close enough to hear his heart race.

For loving Satoru Gojo had always been the most beautiful and dangerous thing in your world.

It started in blood, as most things in your world did. A mission gone wrong, cursed spirits thick in the air, the metallic taste of death sharp on your tongue. You’d seen him fight before—who hadn’t?

But that night was different. That night, you saw him bleed.

A special-grade curse caught you both off guard. One moment, he fought three curses at once like some untouchable god, and the next, he was crashing through three buildings, blood gushing from his mouth.

Something in your chest cracked at the sight — not from the impact of being thrown back yourself, but from seeing him, the strongest sorcerer alive, look so terrifyingly human.

You remembered how his blindfold had been torn, those devastating blue eyes meeting yours across the wreckage. Blood trickled down his chin, his usually perfect hair matted with debris, and yet he smiled. That damn smile that made your heart stutter even as cursed spirits attacked you from all sides.

“Trying to steal my spotlight?” he’d joked, wiping blood from his lips as he stood. “I’m the only one allowed to look cool here.”

You wanted to strangle him. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to scream at him for making jokes when he could have died. You did none of those things. Instead, you cleared the area, giving him the perfect opening he needed to obliterate the special grade.

Later, after the dust had settled and the reports had been filed, he cornered you in the darkened hallway of Jujutsu High.

“You’re angry,” he said, not a question but a statement.

“I’m not angry.” You were furious. “I’m just wondering how someone who’s supposed to be the strongest can be so fucking reckless.”

He stepped closer, backing you against the wall. “Worried about me?”

“You wish.” But your voice shook, betraying you. Because you had been worried. Terrified, actually. The image of him lying in that wreckage, blood staining his white hair red, had burned itself into your mind.

“Liar,” he whispered, and then his lips were on yours.

Everything they said about Satoru Gojo was true — he was overwhelming, all-consuming, impossible to resist. Kissing him felt like being struck by lightning, like being unmade and remade in the space between heartbeats. You broke apart, both breathing hard, and reality came crashing back.

“Fuck,” you summarized eloquently.

He laughed, the sound low and rich. “That could be arranged.”

“Satoru.” You pressed a hand against his chest, feeling his heart race under your palm. “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re you. Because I’m me. Because there are a thousand reasons why this is a terrible idea.”

“I’m only hearing excuses.” He caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. “Not actual reasons.”

And that was how it started — with blood and curses and kisses in dark hallways. With terrible ideas that felt too good to resist.

Keeping it secret was both easier and harder than you expected. Easier because everyone already knew how Satoru was — flirtatious, tactile, always pushing boundaries. No one questioned when he draped himself over your desk during meetings or appeared uninvited in your office and stayed for hours.

Harder because every moment felt like a lie of omission. Harder because you had to watch him walk into danger again and again, had to maintain professional distance when all you wanted was to grab him and never let go.

You stole moments where you could find them. Quick kisses in empty classrooms, heated encounters between missions, quiet nights in your apartment when the world thought he was somewhere else entirely.

It ate at you sometimes. Not because you wanted to announce it to the world, but because each moment felt borrowed, stolen from a future you might never have.

Every time he left for a mission, every time he faced another curse, you wondered if this would be it. If this would be the time your last memory of him would be a secret smile across a meeting room, a cryptic message that no one else understood. But then he’d come back, always with that insufferable smile, usually with some ridiculous story about how amazing he’d been.

He’d find ways to touch you in public that looked casual — a hand at the small of your back during briefings, fingers brushing as he passed you documents, his body angled toward yours in crowded rooms like a sunflower seeking light.

And the worst part? The absolute worst part was how good he was at pretending. How easily he maintained his public persona — the untouchable, unbeatable Satoru Gojo, who flirted with everyone and meant it with no one.

Sometimes you’d catch him looking at you in meetings with the same expression he gave everyone else, and for a moment, you’d wonder if you’d imagined everything between you.

But then night would fall, and he’d show up at your door with takeout and that soft smile he saved just for you. He’d kiss you like he was trying to apologize for every moment he had to pretend you were nothing special, like he was trying to prove that this, the two of you, was the only real thing in his world.

You never talked about the future. How could you? In your line of work, tomorrow was never guaranteed. Each mission could be your last, each kiss could be your goodbye. The closest you ever came to acknowledging it was in the desperate way he’d hold you after a close call, in the way you’d trace his features in the dark like you were trying to memorize them by touch.

Some nights, when sleep eluded you both, he’d tell you about the weight of being the strongest, about the exhaustion of being everyone’s last hope.

He’d whisper his fears into your skin — not of death or defeat, but of failing those who believed in him. Those were the moments when the great Satoru Gojo disappeared, leaving just Satoru, just a man who carried the world on his shoulders and made it look easy.

You lived for those moments. The quiet ones, the real ones, the ones where he wasn’t the strongest sorcerer alive but just yours. Just as you were his.

You carved out your own little infinity in the spaces between battles and duties. A secret world where his laugh wasn’t for show, where your touch wasn’t professional, where you could just be the two of you without the weight of expectations and reputations.

But infinity, as it turned out, had limits. Even his.

Looking at him now, preparing to face Sukuna with that same causality he brought to everything, you wondered if this was how your story was always meant to end. If all those stolen moments were just preparing you for this — one last morning, one last smile, one last chance to pretend tomorrow might come.

The world needed someone stronger, he said. But you needed him. And maybe that was the cruelest curse of all — loving someone the world needed more than you did.

"Promise me something," you said then.

"Hmm?"

"Promise me you won't just give up. Promise me you'll fight to come back."

He pulled back slightly, reaching up to remove his blindfold. His striking blue eyes met yours, intense and clear.

"I promise," he said, "that everything I do today will be for a better tomorrow."

"That's not what I asked."

"It's the only promise I can make."

"Stop." Your voice turned sharp, anger finally breaking through. "Stop talking about tomorrow. Stop talking about the future and the next generation and whatever noble sacrifice you think you need to make. I don't care about any of that."

"Don't you?"

"No, I don't." You grabbed his jacket, fingers twisting in the fabric. "I don't care if the world needs someone stronger. I don't care if the next generation needs to step up. I care about you, you impossible man. I want you here, alive, with me. Is that so wrong? Am I not allowed to be selfish when it comes to you?"

"Huh." He caught your hands in his, but didn't pull them away from his jacket. "And here I thought you understood me better than anyone."

"Don't." You tried to pull away, but he held firm. "Don't you dare try to make this about understanding. I understand perfectly. But you're wrong. You don't have to do this."

His smile faltered slightly. "It's not that simple."

"It is that simple!" Your voice cracked. "You're choosing to make it complicated. You're choosing to walk away, to... to what? Make some grand statement about the future? Prove that the world can survive without the great Satoru Gojo?"

"Someone has to."

"But why does it have to be you?" The words burst out of you, raw and desperate. "Why do you have to be the one to show them? Why can't you just fight to win, to live, to come back to—" You cut yourself off, biting back the words that wanted to follow.

"To you?" he finished softly.

"Yes," you said, dropping your forehead against his chest. "To me. Call me selfish, call me short-sighted, I don't care. I want more mornings like this. More everything. More of you, being insufferably calm and making terrible jokes and acting like the world isn't ending when we both know it might be."

He was quiet for a moment, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head. When he spoke, his voice was gentler than before.

"I can't promise to come back." He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "But know this, every moment with you has been worth fighting for. Worth living for."

You pulled back enough to look at him, really look at him. "Then fight for more moments. Fight to make more memories. Fight to come back to me, not for some greater purpose or stupid sacrifice, but because you want to."

"And if I told you that wanting isn't enough?"

"Then I'd call you a liar." Your voice turned cold. "Because you're Satoru fucking Gojo. When has anything ever been impossible for you? When have you ever let anyone tell you what you can't do?"

​​"This is different—"

"How? How is this different? Because it's Sukuna? Because it's the fate of jujutsu society? Or because you've already decided how this story ends?"

His hands tightened on you, and for a moment, just a moment, you saw something flicker behind those blue eyes — doubt, fear, longing, you couldn't tell. But then it was gone, replaced by that same calm certainty that made you want to scream.

"Because I can't protect everyone—can't protect you if I allow myself to believe in a tomorrow," he whispered.

The gentleness in his voice, the soft way he delivered words meant to cut, made you want to tear the world apart. It was so perfectly Satoru — to break your heart like he was doing you a favor, to wound you with a tenderness that felt more cruel than any violence could be.

"I never asked you to protect me," you said finally. "I asked you to stay. There's a difference."

"Is there?" His hand came up to cup your face, shaking ever so slightly, betraying the calm he fought so hard to maintain. "Because every time I look at you, all I can think about is how many people would use you to get to me. How many would hurt you just to prove they could touch something I care about."

"So your solution is to what? Die nobly? Make sure there's nothing left for them to use against you?"

"My solution is to make sure the world doesn't need me anymore." His thumb brushed across your cheek, catching a tear you hadn't realized had fallen. "To make sure you don't need me anymore."

"That's not your choice to make. You don't get to decide what I need. You don't get to martyr yourself for some greater good and pretend it's for my protection."

"Then what would you have me do?" For the first time, there was a hint of frustration in his voice. "Ignore my responsibilities? Pretend I'm not who I am?"

"I would have you fight like you want to come back!" The words ripped from your throat. "Fight like there's someone waiting for you after. Fight like you love me as much as I love you!"

The confession rang out between you, and the moment it left your lips, you realized you'd never said it before. Through all the stolen moments, all the secret touches, all the nights you'd spent memorizing each other's bodies — you'd never actually spoken those words aloud.

You'd both danced around it, implied it in every action, every look, every unfinished sentence, but neither of you had ever dared to make it real with words.

Until now. Until you were angry enough, desperate enough, terrified enough to let it slip from your heart straight past your defenses.

"Love?" His voice was barely a whisper.

"Of course I love you, you idiot." Your voice equally quiet. "Why else would I be standing here, begging the strongest sorcerer alive to be selfish just once?”

He made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, maybe a sob, his fingers tightening on you. "Don't," he whispered, and for the first time that morning, his voice was shaking. "Don't make this harder than it already is. Don't say things that make me want to—" He cut himself off, jaw clenching. "That make me want impossible things."

"Impossible? Since when does Satoru Gojo believe in impossible?"

"Since I realized loving you means putting you at risk." His thumb brushed your cheek, the gesture achingly gentle. "Since I understood that staying alive isn't the same as keeping you safe."

"I hate this." You shook your head. "I hate how calmly you can stand here and talk about sacrifice like it's inevitable. Like there's no other way."

"Would you prefer if I fell apart?" His smile turned sad. "If I raged and cried and promised things I might not be able to keep?"

"Yes," you admitted, your hands coming up to cover his where they still held your face. "Because at least then I'd know you want to stay as much as I want you to."

"Oh, my love." The endearment fell from his lips like a confession. "Wanting to stay has never been the question. The question is whether I can live with myself if I do."

"And what about whether I can live with myself if you don't?" Your voice broke. "What about whether I can forgive myself for not fighting harder to make you stay?"

"This isn't your fight."

"Like hell it isn't." You pulled back. "You think I spent months learning to clear battlefields just so you could take center stage? You think I perfected my technique to complement your infinity because I had nothing better to do?" You dug your nails into your palms, throat tight with fury. "I've been fighting alongside you since before you ever kissed me in that hallway. Before you ever decided I was worth protecting. Don't you dare tell me this isn't my fight when I've spent years making sure you had the space you needed to be great."

He was quiet for a long moment, studying you. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, almost reverent. "And that's exactly why I need to go. The world doesn't need more people making space for me. It needs people who'll fill that space themselves."

You recoiled like he'd slapped you, hurt burning in your chest. "Is that what you think I've been doing? Making myself smaller for you? Made space for you because I was afraid to reach higher?" You stepped closer, deadly calm now. "I made space for you because that's what you do when you love someone."

His lips twitched into a smile. "So you do understand me."

"Don't pretend those are the same thing."

He was quiet for a moment. Then, instead of answering, he pulled you into a kiss that tasted like goodbye. Like all the tomorrows you'd never have, all the moments you'd never share, all the promises neither of you could keep. You kissed him back with everything you had — all your fury and fear and love condensed into this one perfect, terrible moment.

His hands tangled in your hair like he was trying to memorize the feeling, yours gripping his jacket as if you could keep him here through sheer force of will. When you finally broke apart, hearts pounding, foreheads pressed together in the space between one heartbeat and the next.

"I'll hate you," you whispered against his lips. "If you don't come back, I'll hate you for the rest of my life."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, and for once, his smile held an edge of something raw, something that looked almost like pain. "No, you won't."

"I will." Your fingers tightened in his jacket. "I'll hate you for making me fall in love with someone who was always planning to leave. I'll hate you for every morning I wake up alone, for every mission briefing where someone else stands in your place, for every year I have to leave flowers on your grave."

"You'll move on. You'll find someone—"

"Fuck you," you cut him off, the words sharp enough to draw blood. "Don't you dare tell me how I'll feel. Don't you dare stand here and plan out my future without you in it."

"I'm just trying to—"

"To what? Prepare me? Make it easier? There's nothing easy about loving you, Satoru Gojo. There never has been. But I chose it anyway. Every day, knowing this moment would come."

"What do you want me to do? Do you want me to say goodbye? Make it messy and painful and real?"

"I want you to stop pretending this is just another mission and show me something that tells me this is killing you like it's killing me."

The silence stretched between you like a chasm. For just a moment, beneath his careful composure, you caught a glimpse of the man behind the name — vulnerable, conflicted, maybe even afraid. But he buried it quickly, like he buried everything that might make him waver from his chosen path.

You'd always known this about him, hadn't you? Known it from that first bloody mission, from every fight where he'd put himself between the world and destruction.

Satoru Gojo was a man built for sacrifice, shaped by duty and power into something that could never truly belong to just one person. You'd fallen in love with him anyway, foolishly hoping that maybe love could be enough to make him choose differently.

But watching him now, seeing the gentle finality in every movement, you understood with crushing clarity that this was always how it would end. No amount of pleading or anger or love could change what he'd already decided.

He'd made his choice long before this morning, probably before he'd ever kissed you in that darkened hallway.

"Keep the tea warm for me," he said finally, stepping back. The words were casual, almost playful — exactly the kind of thing he'd say on any other morning. But that's what made it cruel. Even now, he was trying to soften the blow, pretending this was just another goodbye, just another mission.

You didn't say anything as he walked to the door. Didn't wish him luck or tell him to be safe. The time for those platitudes had passed.

Instead, you watched him pause in the doorway, his hand resting on the frame. For a moment, you thought he might turn around, might drop the act and let you see something real. One last true moment before the end.

He didn't fully turn, but his voice carried back to you, soft and achingly sincere. "I love you. More than anything." A pause. "That's why I have to go."

The words hit you like a physical blow, knocking the air from your lungs. You'd never expected them, had made peace with the silence between heartbeats where those words should have lived.

You'd imagined them differently, in all the quiet moments you'd shared — whispered against your skin in the dark, laughed into your mouth between kisses, murmured sleepily on lazy mornings. Not like this. Never like this.

How cruel, that he would finally say them now, when they felt more like a funeral rite than a confession. A parting gift from a man walking towards his own chosen end, making what should have been beautiful feel like another wound. The words you'd never dared hope for now hurt more than a lifetime of silence ever could.

Your throat burned with all the things you wanted to scream at him — about how love should mean staying, about how he was breaking your heart while trying to save it, about how dare he make those words sound like goodbye when they should have been a beginning.

"I hate you," you whispered.

He made a sound that might have been a laugh or might have been something more broken. "No, you don't." The certainty in his voice felt like another wound. "You love me. You said so yourself."

"I'll hate you." Your voice hardened with each word. "I'll hate you so much it'll make you wish you'd stayed."

His hand tightened on the doorframe, knuckles white with tension. For a heartbeat, you thought you'd finally cracked his composure. That he might turn around and choose you over duty, love over destiny.

He didn't.

The door closed behind him with a soft click that sounded like an ending.

"But I'll wait for you anyway," you whispered to the empty room, hating yourself for the truth in those words.

The truth was, you'd always known it would end like this, known that loving Satoru Gojo meant loving someone who belonged to the world before he belonged to you.

But you'd been naive enough to hope. Foolish enough to think that maybe, just maybe, love could be enough to make him choose differently. That your selfish desire to keep him alive and whole could outweigh his selfless need to reshape the world.

The morning light cut across the empty room, highlighting the space where he'd stood moments before, and you wondered about the cruelty of it all.

Was it wrong to want to keep him here? To ask the strongest sorcerer alive to choose personal happiness over humanity's future? How many would suffer because you'd asked him to be selfish just this once?

But then again, how many had already been saved by him? How many times had he bled and broken and pieced himself back together for a world that only saw him as a shield, never as a man? Didn't he deserve the chance to live for himself, just once?

If love died today, buried six feet under noble intentions and greater goods, then maybe hate was all you had left. And wasn't there something pure in that? In hating him with the same intensity you'd loved him? In letting that hate fill the spaces he left behind, burning away the softness until all that remained was sharp edges and bitter truths?

The world needed Satoru Gojo the symbol, the untouchable god of jujutsu. But you'd needed Satoru, just Satoru, the man who brought you tea exactly how you liked it and kissed you like you were his everything. The man who was walking away, leaving you with nothing but memories and the taste of hate on your tongue.

Was it selfish to think your love was worth more than the world's need? Was it cruel to measure the weight of one heart against humanity's future?

Love and duty were never meant to be weighed against each other like this, weren't meant to be choices that tore a person in two. And perhaps that was the real tragedy — not that he was walking away, but that you'd let yourself believe he wouldn't.

You'd known how this story would end from that very first kiss. Had tasted it in every goodbye before a mission, felt it every time you waited anxiously for his return, seen it lurking behind every smile that never quite reached his eyes.

Loving Satoru Gojo meant loving someone who was always meant to be sacrificed. You'd just been naive enough to think sacrifice could look different, that it didn't have to end with you here, choking on love turned to ash in your mouth.

Your fingers traced your lips where those three words still lingered like a curse. The tea was getting cold on the windowsill. You should pour it out, make a fresh cup. Should start preparing for a world where Satoru Gojo was just a memory, a legend, a story of sacrifice and strength. Should learn how to breathe around the thorns growing in your chest where love used to live.

Instead, you stayed frozen, caught in the space between what was and what could have been. Because maybe he was wrong. Maybe the world didn't need someone stronger. Maybe it just needed him to come back. You certainly did.

But it was too late for maybes now. He was already gone, walking toward a destiny he'd chosen long before he'd chosen you. And you were left here, caught between hating him for leaving and loving him for exactly who he was — a man who would always choose the greater good, even when it shattered both your hearts.

But perhaps the cruelest irony was that in trying to protect humanity, he'd forgotten he was human too. That in becoming everyone's shield, he'd forgotten shields could break. That hearts could break. That yours was breaking.

The sun climbed higher in the sky, indifferent to your pain, indifferent to the way your world had just walked out the door with a smile and a promise he might not be able to keep.

You'd wait anyway. Even knowing how the story was meant to end, you'd wait. Because that's what love was — not just the beautiful parts, but the ugly parts too. The waiting. The hoping. The hating.

The choosing to love someone even when they choose something else. Even when that love turns to poison in your veins.

Even when they choose the world over you.

The tea had long gone cold when you finally moved, muscles stiff from standing still for so long. You'd sworn you wouldn't watch. Had promised yourself you wouldn't be there to see him die for his greater tomorrow.

But your hands were already reaching for your jacket.

Because that was the thing about loving Satoru Gojo — even when it turned to hate, even when it felt like acid in your throat, you couldn't look away. You'd watch him fight Sukuna. Watch him smile that infuriating smile as he chose the world one last time.

After all, you'd already promised to hate him if he didn't come back.

The least you could do was be there to keep that promise.

author's note — thank you for reading this little piece of heartbreak. i was very unsure if it will ever see the light of day but i finished it now bc i was in the mood for pain. if you enjoyed, i would greatly appreciate a reblog or comment. hope your heart isn't too broken <3

ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here!

tags — @fayuki @starmapz @saurondriell @starlightanyaaa @sxnkuna

@cocomanga @nanamis-baker @rosso-seta @shervinss @chiyokoemilia

@janbannan @bloopsstuff

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[kinardsevan]

𝐢'𝐦 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤

listen. i'm still so convinced it's Tommy up on that crane in 807 that my brain keeps writing scenes 😂😂😂😂 so have this:

"Buck, you need to-"

He can't hear Bobby's words as he races up the ladder, panic rising faster and faster in his chest.

"Hey no no no no no!" He yells, throwing himself over the side. His hands grasp tight around Tommy's. "Stop stop stop! Please!" The words are coming out of him in sobs, but large hands grip around his wrists and a moment later, the older man tilts his head up and his eyes lock with Evan's.

"Ev-..." He cuts himself off, his voice wobbly and raspy from his current predicament.

"Just stop," Evan replies, snuffling as tears run down his face. "Stop moving, stop- just stop."

"Ok," Tommy replies, his voice weary as his fingers tighten around Evan's wrists that much more. The blonde glances up toward Chimney on the opposite crane. He's still working to get the harness unstuck, but apparently only having mild success with it.

"My legs are numb," Tommy states, blinking slowly. Chim looks up at them.

"Fuck this. I'm going to cut him down. The 217 can get the line fixed," Chimney states before heading back down the ladder in quick succession. "I need bolt cutters!"

"Evan," Tommy rasps. His hands are sweaty now, hanging onto the other man's arms.

"No," Evan replies, his voice tinged with anger now. "You have to hang on."

"You have to let go," Tommy counters to him, his voice exhausted. "Evan-" His grip slips on Evan's arm, and beneath them there's scrambling to get the inflatable placed properly. He glances over at the other crane as Chimney finishes reascending it.

"I can't," Evan replies, his own voice strained as he grips onto Tommy's arm with both hands now. "Fuck, Tommy, I can't."

"Why not," he asks wearily.

"Because!" Evan yells at him. Several tears fall off his face in quick succession, one landing on Tommy's own face as it continues its descent downward.

Somehow, even from beneath him, even with most of his blood volume hanging out in the lower half of his body with no way to make it circulate properly, Tommy manages to give him that look, the one that says he's really paying attention.

"Evan." He says it like it's Evan who needs to be talked off the ledge, like he's the one hanging in the middle of the air being held up by a crane.

"You don't get to give up now," Evan growls at him. "You already did that to me once this week."

"Are we really talking about this now," Tommy asks him. His fingers slip a few millimeters, but Evan curls his hand tight under Tommy's elbow, trying to pull him up.

"Seems as good a time as any," he replies. A humorless laugh slips out of him.

"I've almost got it," Chimney calls from the other crane.

Evan gulps. "It was too much, too fast," he states. "Asking you to move in. I s-said things that made it sound like I wasn't invested-.."

"It's fine," Tommy replies, sounding mildly exasperated.

"No its not," Evan argues, squeezing tighter on Tommy's arm. "it's not. Because it made me sound like I was asking you to move in because it's the easy option, like I wanted you to stay without any consideration of what your life looks like outside of what we are. Or were."

Tommy stares up at him, still blinking slow and long. Evan pulls his arm up inches higher, trying to take more of the weight off of his lower body.

"But it's not that," he says, sniffling again. "I lept before thinking, a-and made it into a thing that it wasn't and has never been." He sniffles again. "I didn't ask you to move in because I wanted to be impulsive. I said it because I want a life with you, a-and I was afraid to own that and what that means for me." He pauses and gulps, lets out a breath. "I was so pissed at you for breaking up with me, a-and you were doing the same thing I did. You were protecting yourself." Tommy stares up at him, eyebrows quirked slightly in confusion.

"I thought if I didn't say it, it was safer, that we-..." He shakes his head at himself as he feels the tension pulling Tommy back toward Chimney starting to wane as the bolt cutters work through the metal. "But I also want the whole damn thing with you. I'm not in it because it's easy, or because you were the first man to kiss me. I'm in it because I'm in love with you."

Tommy stares up at him still, giving him that damn look again, and the slack goes looser, his weight becoming even heavier on Evan's arms.

"I love you," he repeats. "I love you so damn much."

Tommy grants him a weary smile. "I love you too, Evan."

His weight falls entirely on Evan then, and both of their arms jerk out straight, Evan leaned roughly over the crane as he tries to keep holding on.

"Evan, let go," Tommy tells him.

"Please," Evan begs him, and he's not even entirely sure what it is he's begging for. "Tommy-.."

"I love you too," he repeats. "But you have to let go."

Evan gulps, forces a breath in, forces his tunnel vision to open up, and realizes the inflatable is ready and will catch Tommy. "I'll meet you at the bottom."

"Sounds good," Tommy rasps. And then, against everything that tells him he should, Evan lets go, watching as Tommy drops the 30 feet onto the inflatable crash pad. As soon as his body hits, Evan is already double-timing his way down the ladder. He makes it down in what he's sure is record time, running past everyone else to get to Tommy's side. Hen already has him on a stretcher, attached to a dozen leads and assessing his legs.

"Risk of compartment syndrome," she states. "Likely dislocation of the left hip. He needs x-rays and we need to go."

"I'm going with," Evan announces, refusing to hear reason to any other option. His hand is tight in Tommy's as soon as he's next to him, his other hand combing down the other man's hair as he stares down into those blue eyes. They're already brighter from his circulation picking back up. "I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you."

"Good lord just kiss the man already," Gerrard calls from the back of the crowd. Evan whips his head around and Tommy leans up off he gurney, both of them giving the old grump a shocked expression.

"What?" He asks. He has that grumpy look on his face once more, like he still thinks that their lifestyle is beneath him (at the very least). "We all know it's what you're thinking. I just said it."

Evan turns back toward Tommy, and the blue eyes meet.

"My boyfriend's sister once said there better ways to get someone's attention than this," Tommy says. Evan lets out a laugh, color flushing through his cheeks at the dignification of boyfriend. He curls two fingers under Tommy's chin and kisses him, both of them ignorant of the whooping and hollering happening around them.

"Like that," he whispers when they finally part, pressing his forehead into Tommy's. Tommy has a hand fisted around Evan's shirt, keeping him close.

"Yeah, that works," he whispers back. "I love you, too, Evan. I love you, too."

[heesimp]

omg hi im the anon who suggested forced anal with jay … do u think u might have time to write a drabble about it? i feel like you would execute it so nastily and so well lol

something about anal sex…

anyway this link is what she looks like after

warnings: dubcon (ish, reader wants it but is too embarrassed to say it and jay gets off on pretending it’s forced), jay eats reader out for a while, jay licks reader’s asshole, anal sex.

-

You’ve known he’s wanted this for a long time and the idea of pretending you don’t want him is ludicrous on the notion that you do want it. But you’ll do anything to see him happy, especially on nights where he’s been extra good to you.

“Such a sexy pussy.” Jay moans right against you. You’re on your hand and knees, your back in a deep arch with your cheek on his pillow. His tongue is so warm against your wet folds, licking you up like he depends on it. You can’t help but push your hips back into his face until his tongue is stiff inside of you. “You’re phenomenal…Will you let me eat your cute little ass?”

And really, it’s not like you haven’t thought about it. Jay moves his body to better angle himself towards your ass as you contemplate his question. You feel his breath before you can register and the familiar feeling of his mouth has completely disappeared.

Jay kisses your wrinkled hole and lets a ball of spit seep right into it. The unfamiliar feeling makes your toes curl and pull away from him. “Relax. You’ll love this.”

His tongue pokes into your hole as his large palms come to rub your asscheeks as if to soothe you. Jay’s tongue slathers over you slowly, dragging his muscle over you again. His movements are slow, hands gently squeezing you every time you jolt against him and when your body instinctively pulls away from the feeling of his tongue on your ass, Jay grips your thighs.

“Where you goin’, baby?” A soothing hand runs along your spine and forces your hips back on his mouth. Jay’s tongue latches back onto your asshole while his hands move to keep you locked against his face.

You tense up. Jay feels you clench your body and soothes you by rubbing his soft palm on your backside. His mouth is so warm and the tingling sensation makes your ass feel so good. He closes his eyes and hums in satisfaction when you open up and allow him to lick you up repeatedly. Jay puts in one finger at a time until he’s stretching you open with three fingers.

He decides you’re ready when you moan against his pillow. “Goddamn, you’re so good. Gonna fuck this cute little ass of yours, okay?” You don’t protest but you don’t really say anything. Your cheeks heat up and even if you know he’d stop if you asked him too, you’re too embarrassed to speak up by how much you like it.

You hear Jay’s wet cock as he jerks himself off. His tip comes in contact with your asscheeks and Jay slaps the tip on both of your globes until he reaches your hole. It winks at him the more he stares at it, and you hear him moan from behind you.

Jay lets the head rest against your asshole, feeling your subtle pulses as you accommodate to this new feeling. He spits until it lands on the head and moves it around until your ass becomes wetter too.

He pushes the head in and watches your fingers flex. “Oh yeahhh. Your ass is squeezing me already. You’re so wet too. Do you like anal sex, baby?” He doesn’t wait for your answer and relishes in your moans when he thrusts the tip in and out of you, pushing more of himself in every time he dips back inside of you.

Jay looks down. “Your pussy’s drooling. You must like it if you’re this wet.” The feeling of his hard, warm dick sliding in and out of your asshole makes you grip the bedsheets under you for dear life. The searing pain is nothing short of euphoric and Jay grunts when he sees you biting the pillow under you.

“Such a tight ass. I love that you’re a little anal whore. Turns me on so much.” Jay speeds up his rhythm and holds your waist to control the pace he’s pushing in and out of you. His fingers give you a gentle squeeze.

“Hurts so much,” you choke.

“But does it hurt so good?”

“S-So good.”

“I know, sweetheart. I love seeing my cock disappear into your ass. It’s so sexy when you let me use you like this.”

“Take it out,” you whine.

“Can’t do that, baby. You feel too good.”

“Please,” you say with a moan. “Pull it out.”

Jay chuckles, cock already twitching inside of you. “Gonna cum inside of your tight asshole.” The wetness reverberates around the room and his dick pounds you from behind, his balls slapping against you too.

Your heart sinks when you clench around him. Ot feels so good. “Don’t fight it, princess. Let me use your ass. Girls who love anal are sexier than girls who don’t.”

“J-Jay!”

He picks up the pace. “Uh huh, that’s right. Moan my name. Who’s fucking your ass this good?”

“Jongseong!”

You cum when he does, the pearly beads dripping from your folds. Jay fucks you through his orgasm and dumps his load right into your little asshole as he grips onto you.

“That’s right. Your ass is so good. I could bury myself in here forever.”

[evilslushy]

would you be open to doing bf headcanons for hamzah? they could be sfw and nsfw or just sfw. love ur writing :). <3

BF Headcanons _♡

SFW

i’m a very opinionated person, so asking me about my hamzah headcanons is a FIELD DAY for me

I’ve always said this but I feel like hamzah (in the beginning of the relationship) is very shy? Not in the way of “ignore any possible interaction between you and him” but more of a “ignores eye contact after a kiss” or “blushes when you call him a nickname for the first time”

He acts like he hates when you baby him but behind closed doors… BIGGEST BABY EVERRRR

It took him a while to hold your hand in public, not because he's embarrassed but again because he gets too flustered when you run your thumb up and down against the back of his hand,,, or when you play with his hands in general.

I MENTIONED THIS BEFORE IN FIC BUT HAMZAH IS AN EAR BLUSHER AND HE'S SO CUTE WAA

If you get on his lap and play with his hair while talking about random stuff, and you kiss him out of nowhere HE’LL SMILE THIS BIG SMILE AND COVER HIS EARS IM CRYINGGGGG HES SO CUTE

Speaking of kissing lololol

Hamzah’s kisses are SENSUAL, he takes his time and really makes sure you feel his love

Contrary to popular belief i feel like if you’re with hamzah for long enough his love language becomes physical touch

And i dont say that and mean ONLY kisses but hes such a cuddly person. HE NEEDS THAT TLC HES A BIG BOY

BUT. Big but! He is not the type of person to show affection publicly IM SORRYYY

Holding hands and hugging is fine but i think more intimate things he’d rather do in private…

Not because hes embarrassed as i said, he gets shy at other people perceiving that version of him especially since he isn’t ‘acting’ or ‘joking’

Also he feels like only you deserve to see him like this hehehe

His love language is quality time. Like actually.

His head on your chest, playing stardew valley on his ipad. You watching TV or reading while playing with his curls.

Another form of this is that he’ll ask you to be him and martins cameraman just to have you there with him

Or he’ll ask if you want to try a new coffee shop that opened down the street

He’s a man that likes to be around you 24/7

ALSO ALSO ALSO OMG OMG

HE WOULD SO FORCE YOU TO DO BACKGROUND VOCALS FOR SOME OF HIS MUSIC LIKE THE RAPPERS HE LIKES LMFAO

I dont wanna go on too long with this but one thing is for sure

You’re his princess for REAL treats you like ROYALTY lol

If you guys get into an argument. Even if you’re wrong, he ends up apologizing

“I shouldn’t have let it boil over to this anyway.”

10/10 boyfriend. Totally recommend.

NSFW

SISTA. I HAVE NEVER EVER THOUGHT I’D HAVE THE PLATFORM TO SHARE THESE THOUGHTS BUT I HAVE TO MAKE SURE YALL UNDERSTAND ONE THING!!!!

Hamzah is NAWT a boob or ass guy. HE LIKES BOTH EQUALLY. (He is secretly is ass-leaning tho LMFAO)

This is so funny but he totally is the type to smack your ass randomly when he walks by.

Do you get mad? Yes. Do you tell him to stop it? Yes. Does he stop? No. Do you secretly think it's kinda…? WELL YESSS

TWO WORDS. Boob squeezer.

I think from what we can understand so far. is that Hamzah is the handsy man. HIS HANDS ALWAYS SOMEWHERE LOL

sex drive is for sure high. and when i say high… ITS HIGHHH

Contrary to popular belief AGAIN.

Hamzah doesn’t partake in dirty talk much… not that he doesn't like it—he just wouldn’t in my opinion? It's not that he wouldn’t talk at all, but he is more of a heavy breathing, whimpering, moaning guy—pretty much more noises than actual words

Though as i said, he would talk sometimes, especially if he’s feeling really good, or his stamina is lasting him longer than he thought… he starts getting a little cocky

On the topic of dirty talk, if he does talk, 99.9% of it would be praising, i don't see him enjoying degrading unless you ask him to.. but he’ll be a little awkward about it LMFAOOO

Something like: “fuck, baby you’re taking me so good.”

(Unironically starts actually using good girl after a while of making it a joke btw)

Someone sent a request a few days ago and said “i feel like hamzah has a breeding kink” and why was i gagged?! NEVER THOUGHT ABOUT IT BUT YES, i feel like hes more into the thought filling u with *** then the thought of impregnating you if that makes any sense

Im talking too much… digital footprint go hard.

(A/N): this isnt proofread, i kinda braindumped but i had fun doing this!! Thank u anon for the request I HOPE U LOVE THIS CUTIE MWAAAAHH

[revelboo]

I'm in love with the way you portray Jazz, and there just so little writing for him.

I was wondering if I could request another part for Jazz or IDW Starscream 🙏 your fics are giving me life. I check Tumblr every day hoping for more!

Over It Now Pt 10

IDW Jazz x Reader

• It’s such a little thing, nothing really, but when you start reaching out to him, it’s like a weight lifted from his shoulders. Asking him how his day was. How it really was, not letting him just smile and play it off. Encouraging him to be real even if it leaves him vulnerable and it means so much to him, even as he can’t let go of that mask just yet. There’s still the fear that if he does, you won’t like what’s underneath. Maybe if you see all the frustration and anger just under the surface, you’ll finally refuse to sit with him altogether. So he keeps the smile in place, keeps joking, but at night before you disappear inside to sleep, he sings for you in Cybertronian everything he wants to say, but is too afraid to. He bleeds out the poison night by night, needing the warmth of you against him so he doesn’t drown in it, because there’s so much.

• “You’re quiet today,” you say, studying the big Autobot. And that unusually somber expression is gone in a twist of a sly smile. Playing that part again, but it doesn’t bother you as much as it once did. After that night, you almost feel like you understand that his smile is sometimes all that’s holding him together, because when he sings? Even though you can’t understand a word of it, there’s anguish and hope and fury all twisted together in that haunting voice. It cuts you straight to the bone, hurts you, but you just curl against him and let him sing. Because as much as it hurts you, to keep all that inside must be slowly killing him.

• “Just thinking, doll,” he says, a shoulder lifting in a shrug. Not entirely a lie, though worrying might be a better word. They’d found a viable energon mine, but so had the Decepticons. The same mine. Bumblebee had reported seeing Ravage skulking about. It’s not like he hadn’t known the war would eventually boil over again, but both sides are so starved for energon, he’d thought this uneasy truce might last just a bit longer while they replenished their stores. And worst of all, that mine is far too close to your home, to the nearby city. He’s already started setting up a space for you in his quarters, knowing you’re going to hate him for it, but if fighting breaks out? He can’t leave you here. He can’t lose you. “Didn’t mean to worry you.”

• Watching him drum a servo nervously against his thigh, you know he’s lying, but you make yourself let it go. He’d promised to not lie about the big stuff and while he lies as easily as you breathe, you’d believed his serious tone that night. The same night he’d first sang and then pulled you into his arms while you cried for him. Just thinking about makes you feel unsettled, like there’s something hanging right between you both, just out of reach. Something that if you try to take it, will shift everything between you and you don’t want to risk what you have. He’s frustrating and you can’t trust half of what he says, but he does make you laugh. He makes you happy.

• “I have to worry,” you say, eyes so serious as you lean on your crutches and look up at him. “Because you won’t.” Oh, kitten, you have no idea how he worries, but he smiles crookedly, reaching out to gently tap you on the nose with a servo. Playing the clueless, goof even as anxiety eats him alive and you swat at his servo without any real heat. Just like you have no idea how much you mean to him, how much he’ll sacrifice to protect that feeling of peace you bring him and to protect you.

Previous

Next

[wabatle]

𓆩⚝𓆪 — How do the brothers act when they're tired?

𓆩⚝𓆪 — Featuring: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan

𓆩⚝𓆪 — Warnings: n/a

𓆩⚝𓆪 — Contains: gn!reader, fluff

𓆩⚝𓆪 — A/N: did I cook??

Tired!Lucifer who, while still working at his desk, can't stop thinking about how badly he wants to see you and relax with you in his arms.

Tired!Lucifer whose sigh of relief stretches throughout the entire HoL now that he's done with his work.

Tired!Lucifer who uncharacteristically throws himself on your bed, immediately pulling you down to lay with him.

Tired!Lucifer whose voice is a mere mumble, but the only words he whispers are declarations of love and how much he cares for you.

Morning!Lucifer who, every morning without fail, makes you swear you won't tell his brothers anything that happened.

Tired!Mammon who spams you non stop for you to come to his room. Yeah he's tired but not tired enough to not spam you.

Tired!Mammon who immediately curls around you when you lay down next to him, basically a weight on you that completely prevents you from getting up and moving.

Tired!Mammon who mumbles how much he missed ya, and how much he hates being away from you, but it doesn't mean much (it does).

Tired!Mammon who doesn't care whether you're in his arms or he's in your arms because he's comfortable and happy either way. You can always tell from his blissful expression.

Morning!Mammon who yaps about how you should just forget about what happened last night even though he secretly wants you to hold it close to your heart.

Tired!Levi who stayed up too late and went all day without sleep, so he's absolutely tired. He still wants to game though.

Tired!Levi who texts you to come and play with him. You tell him that he should sleep when you arrive, but he insists on gaming with you.

Tired!Levi who can barely keep his eyes open while gaming, but he has to keep playing since this is one of the times he gets you alone.

Tired!Levi who finally gives in and sleeps on your shoulder, completely unaware of the position he's in.

Morning!Levi who wakes up and jolts up, his face bright red as he stutters out some sort of explanation to why he's lying on your shoulder.

𓆩⚝𓆪 — thank you for reading!

𓆩⚝𓆪 — taglist (ask 2 be added): none

𓆩⚝𓆪 — obey me masterlist coming soon!!

[wtfdemother]

Does anyone recall Eldritch!König?

I personally miss him NSFW below, happy kinkvember day 10 ☃️🤝

post dividers by tsunami-of-tears

CW: mild bondage, tentacles, some rough handling, mild dub-con and invasion of privacy

Eldritch!König X Witch!Reader

Eldritch!König who on one of your drunken stupors, tried to summon on a bitter winter night. You succeeded to your bewilderment, the earlier booze mixed in with self pity had you convinced the spell wouldn’t work, but by some intervention from the great beyond, you managed to perfectly scribble all runes required to summon him. In chalk, no less, finally somebody who didn’t fall for the old wives tail of using virgin’s blood. He’s here, you crumple to the floor.

Eldritch!König who you immediately regret disturbing on such late notice, fear consumes you whole. You scramble on cold tiles, pushing back with your feet until your back hits something solid. Your bed. You’re scared, and you’re so screwed. You feel as if your heart was about ready to burst from your rib cage, your breath constricted, what was once a well respected witch had turned into the equivalent of a deer caught in headlights. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, Ô Great One…”

Eldritch!König who pities your trembling form, a hard working witch far too overworked had made the simple mistake of summoning him for an ill cause. Curiosity, he’ll never understand it. He tsks, the click loud enough to reverberate off the walls. It sends chills crawling down your spine, already more than the two black holes peering behind his veil, highlighted by streaks of red below the cuts. He stood tall, menacing, slowly he closes the gap between you two. Dark, hulking tentacles pool at his feet, he takes a step closer, out from the chalky circle.

Eldritch!König who hasn’t encountered such a careless little thing with so much potential wasted away, he senses you oftentimes get in your own way. He thinks a lesson is in order, curling one of his many extremities around your ankle. He yanks your body forward, sliding you right under him. Your heart’s in your throat, tears blur your vision, burning. He whispers something foreign, a language you don’t understand but it lulls you, pulling you into a false sense of security. He hushes your cries, you full heartedly believe that this is it, his presence overwhelmed your mind and soul, causing all rationality to fizzle into nothing. He doesn’t know how to convince that he’s not mad, little witch, just disappointed.

Eldritch!König who binds a heavy tentacle around your wrists, the grip tight enough to hold you in place while he slips a slimmer one into your mouth. He kept the one on your ankle steady, carefully the slimy sounds of his fleshy extremities make it around your waist. You can feel the smaller tentacle inspect each individual tooth, each sucker digging into your skin and inner cheek like odd kisses. “You… didn’t brush your teeth.” He finally says, assessing the damages done to your enamel before slipping the tentacle out of your warm orifice with a pop. “When was the last time you even took care of yourself, kleine?”

Eldritch!König whose voice was higher than anticipated, kinder, like he genuinely wanted to engage with you. It leaves you feeling puzzled, your mind clashing with the need to flee and his none threatening guise. “Let me take care of you,” he utters into your ear, already sliding an appendage up your shirt. “We will discuss how you behave with yourself in the morning…” A deep rumble emits from his chest, an approving hum as he circles your breasts, squeezing at the ample flesh. His suckers begin to trail perfectly round hickeys on your skin, you are too afraid to move, afraid of upsetting him or setting him off.

Eldritch!König who catches your discomfort, “My word is my bond,” he mutters against your skin, kissing your forehead over the veil. “Let me take care of you.” You nod with a shuddering breath, he wipes the remainder of your tears away. “There we go… focus.” He tweaks your nipples with his suckers, slipping more appendages down your thighs and into your panties. Slowly, he works you open, the slime of his tentacles already acting as lubricant as he pries your pussy lips apart. You writhe under his touch, feeling the tip of a tentacle swipe up from your hole to your clit. You inhale a sharp gasp, a sucker had latched onto your swelling nub. Gently he circles it, you can feel even the smallest of his slithering limbs work their way inside your velvety walls, brushing against your cervix.

Eldritch!König who chuckles almost condescendingly at your eager wetness. “Du bist so nass, kleine. So eng…” He cooes, “Shhh… I know, I know how it feels, I know…” But it only serves to edge you more. He doesn’t swallow your cries, rather letting you whine and squirm from the feel of his tentacles, the pop! pop! pop! of his suckers reminding you of the marks he placed on your body. You buck your hips to the delicate rhythm of his tentacles pumping slowly out of your pussy, the sucker only doing so much to stimulate your throbbing clit. You hiccup from a frustrated sob, “Please… Great One…” Like honey to his ears he relishes in your begs, he will not be a cruel being to such a precious thing, relief floods your burning core as he picks up the pace.

Eldritch!König who hoists you up in the air, wrapping his limbs tightly around your thighs and wrists anew. He suspends you above your own bed, leaving you stunned and confused from the sudden emptiness. He leaves your cunt exposed to the cold air, tentacles roughly dig into your tits while he teases your hole. You throw your head back and your toes curl at the fullness of a larger tentacle, he fucks you with the bigger appendage with reckless abandon. “Are you going to stop neglecting yourself?” He grunts between sloppy thrusts, sliding the glistening member in and out of your drenched cunt. You nod absentmindedly, agreeing to anything as long as he lets you come already. “You gonna take up a healthy routine in the morning, witch?” He probs at the swollen bud, waiting for a reply. “Yes, yes, yes!” You chant, babbling promises about never putting yourself on the back burner anymore with tears in your eyes.

Eldritch!König who makes you come on his command, keeping your legs wide open and your arms bound as you come undone under the slimy mass of his tentacles. He gently sets you down on the bed after the high comes down, the same tentacles who’d fucked you earlier are now tucking you in. He swiped a loose strand from your forehead, “You did so well… rest, you need your strength for tomorrow.” You fall into a dreamless sleep, spent from everything. In the morning, he’s there to greet you to your pleasant surprise. The bruises peppered along your body are now more prominent in the light, you never thought a summoned being could look so bashful and sheepish from his own actions. You start the day early, he makes sure of that, hovering over your shoulder as you pad bare foot to the bathroom. “Don’t pull that look, miss grump. Go brush your teeth and I’ll make you breakfast.”

And that’s how you landed yourself an eldritch partner. You prefer not to look a gifted horse in the mouth, although sometimes you catch yourself wanting to return him. The man’s insufferable about his routines. You love him.

[tkomptgoedluv]

icantbelieveiletyougetaway.

joost klein x f! reader

tags: dead dove do not eat, f! reader, non-famous! reader, reader really needs to see a therapist, established friendship, they’re so in love with each other it hurts but can’t admit it, joost just wants to be her everything, angst, hurt, comfort, all characters are dutch and speak in dutch but dialogue is written in english for obvious reasons.

word count: 4,156.

warnings: very brief allusion to drugging, heavy and frequent references to SA, violence, vague mentions of non-specific mental illness, rpf.

notes: in my head this takes place in 2021-2022 when joost had that really short, almost buzzcut like hair? like the wachtmuziek era. also, very sorry this is late!! it’s still only been half-proofread and i’m not even sure i like how i wrote the ending but here she is anyway. i love her and i hope you do too 💋.

── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ── ── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ── ── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──

with shaking hands, you fumbled around the bathroom floor to find your phone. your chest was heaving, the cries that you struggled to keep quiet were getting all caught up in your throat as you fought meekly through the nausea. you wiped at your face again, desperate to clear your vision and leaving behind a mixture of tears, snot, and smeared mascara on the back of your hand.

the room itself was dark, barely lit up by a singular dim, yellow light, though despite the shadows you could still see how everything was spinning. you couldn’t remember how many drinks you’d had — it hadn’t felt like a lot, you weren’t a lightweight by any means but you didn’t know how else to explain the state you were in. you couldn’t stand up even if you wanted to, your legs strangely numb to the touch and the pounding in your head made staying on the floor all the more appealing anyway.

face down on the grimey, tiled floor you found your phone laying just underneath the sink. you ignored the low battery warning as you swiped through your contacts, squinting through your tears at the screen as if it would actually help you see any better. you were only looking out for one name; the third out of the four that were listed under the letter ‘J’, and the only name to have an emoji next to it.

over the sound of the heavy, techno bass that seemed to shake the walls and the buzz of a hundred different people all talking amongst each other, you heard the line start to dial. it didn’t make sense to call him out of everyone else that could possibly help you; he was infamously known for never picking up the phone. it was ironic for someone so notoriously attached to their screens, his face typically glued to either his phone or his ipad.

but still, you hadn’t so much as thought twice about it as you clicked on his contact and then the call button. With your head tilted back against the wall and your knees curled up tightly against your chest, you prayed to any god listening that by some miracle, he wouldn’t be busy.

“hallo?”

you let out a whimper at the mere sound of his voice, a small, pathetic noise that quickly turned into a cry that you didn’t bother to stifle. he called out your name for a second time, though now in a tone that was much softer than the one before it.

“i’m sorry, i know it’s late.” you paused to take a breath, your voice having cracked like glass as you spoke. “but i need your help. i don’t…joost, i don’t know what to do.”

“it’s okay, just take a big breath for me.” for just a moment you heard shuffling around on the other end of the line. with each of his footsteps the background noise grew quieter until it disappeared completely, following the sound of a door being shut. “where are you?”

“i’m at…i’m at this house but i uh, i really don’t wanna be here anymore. do you think you could…can you just come get me, please? i’m sorry.”

over the sound of a drum and bass beat that played so obnoxiously loud, you struggled to catch all the whispers from joost’s side of the phone call. there was another voice there, that much you could hear, and you struggled to place it despite how familiar it sounded. you tried to concentrate on the faint muttering, straining your ears to hear it over the song that blared just below you.

but then you jumped when the banging started. a sudden flurry of fists pounding against the wood and making the bathroom door rattle within its hinges. from the deep laughs that followed, chances were it was just a group of guys trying to be funny, probably thinking it was one of their friends getting lucky on the other side. and yet still, you found yourself gasping for breath as you choked back fresh tears, all the blood that ran through your veins turning cold.

“schatje? did you hear me?”

you could only hum back in response.

“i said i need you to send me your location, okay? and then i’ll come get you, i promise.”

it was the moment you figured out how to do so that your phone finally gave up on you. after hitting send, the little map displaying your whereabouts popping up in yours and joost’s text chain, your screen began to freeze. in a moment of panic you managed to choke out that you were locked away in a bathroom before it all went black, leaving you to stare at the taunting dead battery symbol.

you weren’t oblivious to the irony of it all. in a house crammed full of people, perhaps even a few too many than it was built to hold, you felt alone. just a few minutes ago that was all you wanted, to be by yourself, but now it left you with a ringing in your ears. the absence of joost’s voice was enough to throw you inside what felt like a black hole, where time seemed to slow the longer you waited for him.

you found a brief comfort in watching the time pass on the old, analog clock that hung high on the wall opposite you; you figured it was a better thing to focus on besides the sharp ache between your legs. it helped keep you distracted from the way everything just hurt now, whatever it was that was in your system already starting to wear off. without it numbing you to the pain of it all, you could feel the headache brewing behind your eyes and the sting of your split lip.

with each minute that dragged by, the slow, high-pitched tick of the clock echoing inside your ears, your mind began to slip further and further away. every time that you closed your eyes you could see it happening all over again; you could feel his hands back on you, ripping at your clothes and bruising your skin.

all the tears that you had only just managed to blink away came rushing back, continuing to decorate your face with more long, dark streaks of black. surely, this was going to be the thing to finally break you. there would never be any redemption or recovery for you — he’d get to live the rest of his life without burden whilst this was bound to be the death of you.

the more you unravelled, the more erratic your cries grew with hiccups racking your body and a deep burning in your eyes. for once you found yourself grateful for the music’s mind-numbing volume, though somehow it still wasn’t enough to mask the sound of a soft tapping against the bathroom door. like a coward you froze, failing to answer back before you heard your own name being yelled out to you, followed by a harsher knock.

“hey it’s me, it’s joost. can you open the door please?”

as you steadily climbed to your feet, using the edge of the sink to help push you up, your knees began to shake. they threatened to buckle out from under you with every step that you took, each limp towards the door sending a short stabbing pain up to your abdomen. the sensation made you wince, your jaw clenched and a grip on the door handle so strong that it turned your knuckles white.

it was almost sardonic how despite being in a house so loud, everything went quiet as soon as that door swung open. the music never stopped nor did anyone dare to change its volume, but all joost could hear was his own heartbeat thumping in his ears as his eyes met yours. all he could do was swallow, pushing down the bile that was quickly rising up his throat.

even in the low, warm light of the bathroom, he could see the streaked mascara that painted your face and the bloodied lip that was still trickling down your chin. your favourite shirt, the one that he himself had bought you, was torn and just about hanging off your shoulders. it exposed a trail of black and blue spots that started along your shoulder and went all the way down your arms, a couple even dotted down your legs.

joost uttered your name, his voice barely audible over the music downstairs. the corners of your frown twitched, your bottom lip quivering as you shook your head, already answering the question he hadn’t even asked yet. from where you stood he could see you shaking, your knees weak and barely holding you up right. he didn’t hesitate to pull you into him, an arm locking around your waist as his hand found the back of your head, keeping you hidden in his chest.

“jesus christ, what happened to you?”

you couldn’t speak, couldn’t find the right words to even try and explain what it was you had gone through. you could only weep into the fabric of joost’s jacket, so exhausted and overwhelmed that you didn’t have the strength to hold yourself together in front of him. but it was more than enough of an answer for joost who just held you tighter the harder you cried, fighting back tears of his own.

pulling away as gently as he could, joost still kept you in his grasp. his hands cupped either side of your jaw, calloused thumbs wiping away stray-fallen tears as his eyes danced over your face. with a gaze so intense, you could see his eyes growing sadder the longer he looked you over in the dull light of the bathroom.

“i left stunts outside — he’s still in the car. we could…we should go to the hospital.”

“no!” your own dramatic change in tone caught even you off guard. you couldn’t help it, you were panicking now, pulling joost back by his sleeve as he tried to guide you out of the bathroom. the action made you wobble and almost trip over your own feet, flinching at the sudden cramp you felt deep in your stomach. joost’s grip on you hardened, not nearly enough to hurt but enough to keep you from falling back and hitting your head on the sink. “not tonight. please, i just wanna go home. i’ll be fine.”

“you can barely fucking stand, schatje. you need help.”

“then i promise i’ll go in the morning! but right now i just really need you to take me home, okay? i’m begging you.”

perhaps if joost had a little bit more of a backbone and wasn’t so hopelessly head over fucking heels for you, he would’ve had the courage to say no. he would have been able to look you in the eye and still say that he was going to get you to a doctor, whether you wanted to go or not. but no matter how much he wanted to, how much he hated what you were asking of him, he couldn’t. feeling you trembling in his hands and hearing the fear that shook your voice meant there was longer a single thing that joost wouldn’t do for you.

you were his best friend just as much as he was yours, regardless of all the very non-platonic things the two of you had done together over the years. as far as you were concerned it was just something that you’d do sometimes, only ever as friends. there were never any conversations about it the next morning, never any acknowledgment for what it was you had done the night before; it was almost like it never happened until it would undoubtedly happen again. you always liked it like that though — as long as it meant that you never had to think about how you really felt.

joost, on the other hand, was painfully aware of what he felt about your situation, about you. it was never just sex for him, not even once, and he wanted to talk about it. and he tried to, a couple of times, spending the first few mornings after trying to coax you back into bed just so he could hold you skin-to-skin for a little while longer. but you never wanted to stay and you never wanted to talk about it, either, so joost stopped. he let it become another pain he had to live with and spent each day telling himself that he was okay with that.

it was with only a slight hesitation that he nodded before standing back up straight, slipping his big black jacket off his arms and draping the material gently over your shoulders.

you let joost take on most of your weight as you leaned into his side, letting him guide you back through the house as you focused on just trying to make it down the stairs without tripping. to say that the place was packed was an understatement. people were crammed into every room like sardines, dancing and grinding against each other with stiff, swinging jaws. you hadn’t even heard what it was that had been said over the music, its volume still just as loud and disorienting as it had been when you first arrived.

but joost had heard every word, somehow, despite the sound of his own song polluting the room. it made him freeze on the spot, pulling you to a stop right along with him as he slowly turned to face the group of guys that were standing just in front of the front door. you felt your throat start to close at the sight of him amongst them, standing front and centre with a sick grin plastered across his face, his eyes darting between you and joost.

“what did you just say?”

it might have been the gruff, nauseating voice that you recognised, or maybe it was those ring-heavy hands of his that you could still feel pressed into your skin. you didn’t know, and it didn’t matter, because you knew it was him.

“i said good luck with that one, dude. she doesn’t go down easy; kept trying to fight me the whole time.” his stare then fell from joost onto you, his tongue gliding over his bottom lip as he looked you up and down. “but we still had our fun though, didn’t we schat?”

the crack of joost’s knuckles colliding with his jaw was something you heard before you saw it; the thud of him hitting the ground following soon after. a chorus of screams and cheers rang painfully in your ears as you watched a small circle quickly form around you. anyone that could still see straight had either ran from the fight or pushed forward to get a better view of it, their phones held high and already recording.

“bet that made you feel like a man, huh? forcing yourself on a girl half your size. you piece of fucking shit, i should fucking kill you!”

in all the years you’d known him, you had never seen joost like that before; his voice low and angry as his shouts drowned out the music. he hadn’t waited for him to get back up before throwing another punch, the sharp crunch of his noise breaking making you wince and your eyes water.

you went to step forward, your hands already reaching out to grab joost’s arm when one of his friends pounced. a shriek was ripped out from you when a fist struck joost right across the cheek, knocking him into you hard enough to almost send you both tumbling to the floor. any chance for you to try and intervene again vanished when you were pushed back before you could get close enough, joost quickly shoving you behind him as he swung for the other guy.

a strong pair of arms wrapped your middle and pulled you further back as you cried for them all to stop, keeping you locked against their chest no matter how hard you thrashed. distance was put between you and the fight when you were picked up and half-dragged out the door, joost’s blond hair disappearing from sight amongst the growing crowd around him.

the bitter air of the early morning stole your breath, your chest tight and aching as the cold consumed you. small flakes of snow drifted down from the paleing sky, dusting each rooftop and the old, cracked pavements in a thin layer of white. still, there were a handful of people gathered on the house’s front stairs, clad in various leather and latex, that only stood and watched as you were hauled away from the party.

“get the fuck off me! we’ve gotta go back, we can’t just leave him! stuntje, please!”

your feet only met the floor again once you were next to stunt’s car, safely across the street. even from there, you could hear the childish chanting of ‘fight! fight! fight!’ and the occasional glass break from inside.

“martijn -”

“- stay here; i’m gonna go get him.”

you weren’t allowed to argue, so you just did what you were told. for four minutes you sat waiting in the back of the car with the heaters on full blast and still shivering as you nestled yourself deeper into joost’s jacket. after another minute you saw them heading back your way, their pace fast as they slipped past the last few people that loitered on the steps. in the glow of the streetlights you could just about make out the soft shade of purple that was joost’s eye, and the deep scowl that contorted stuntje’s face.

neither of them spoke as they joined you in the car but for joost, you never really gave him the chance to. his seatbelt hadn’t even clicked into place yet before you were turning away from him, desperate to pretend that he wasn’t there burning holes into the side of your head. if joost knew that you could see him staring from the corner of your eye, he didn’t care. if anything, he probably would’ve hoped that it might have made you look back at him, because then that at least would’ve been something.

but seeing joost storm out of that house with a violet eye and raw knuckles, having just risked everything for you without a second thought, it scared you more than you wanted to admit. he was only supposed to come find you, and bring you back home. you never wanted a fight, never wanted joost to wind up with a black eye over you. so no, you couldn’t look at him — couldn’t even talk to him, either.

except your silent treatment didn't last very long, did it? it couldn’t, because joost wasn’t going to let you get away with it this time. for as long as he had known you, you always had this habit of internalising what you felt and shutting down. it never mattered what it was you were going through, you just wouldn’t talk about it.

this time though, he wasn’t going to let you disappear in on yourself again, and he wasn’t going to let you shut him out, either.

as soon as the car came to a stop, joost was up and already outside your car door. with a sweet smile, gentle hands were pulling you up and slowly helping you onto your feet before you had the chance to protest. there was a part of you that wanted to, now too proud to admit that you still needed his help. already, he had done more than enough, even too much, for you.

still, you didn’t dare to fight it — or him, rather. besides a small goodbye to stuntje, no words were spoken as he slipped an arm under your knees and pulled you up to his chest. it was like that, that he carried you up the three flights of stairs of your building, glancing down at you every so often with soft, worried eyes. it was miraculous how he managed to open your front door with you still in his arms, his very own key to your home dangling from the clip on his jeans.

it wasn’t long before the soft leather of your sofa was dipping underneath your weight, its cushion beneath you feeling cold against the bruised flesh of your thigh. joost left you for only a second, just to switch on a couple of the lamps you had dotted around and to dig out your old first aid kit from the bathroom.

you still weren’t really looking at him, not even as he perched on the edge of your coffee table and carefully took your jaw in his hold. the brush of the alcohol wipes along the small cuts that marked your face stung and made you wince, your nose scrunching up at the pain. a string of quiet apologies followed as joost concentrated on cleaning you up, wiping away each and every smear of blood and smudged makeup.

the longer that you sat there whilst joost devoted all of his time and energy to you, the more teary-eyed you felt yourself becoming again. it felt almost…foreign to feel so loved after everything, like you were still somehow worth saving. there was no way that you could possibly deserve it — nothing you could’ve done to deserve having someone adore you so unconditionally without earning it.

and yet here he was, your joost, doing anything and everything to try and help, and you couldn’t even fucking look at him.

the only thing you could do was cry. the way you clutched your mouth did little to muffle the sounds of your distress and it drew back his attention after he turned away only to throw out all of the dirty, used wipes. it was the guilt that was doing this to you, the guilt of knowing that you were the reason why joost now had a black eye. that joost had risked his whole career by starting that fight, and you had been the one to punish him for it.

a warm hand squeezed your knee as another tucked fallen strands of hair behind your ear. it took a few tries of quietly calling out your name to finally get you to meet his eyes, but eventually you got there. nothing could have prepared you for just how sick he looked, the bags under his eyes seeming considerably darker than before and a deep frown tugging at the corners of his lips.

“i’m sorry i did this. i never should’ve gone with him, i know i shouldn’t have because i know that i know better but i still went and i should’ve done something more, i could’ve hit him harder or yelled, and i’m sorry i called you because your eye, that was me, that was my fault and i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i -”

with your face pressed flat against his chest, his sudden embrace almost swallowing you whole, you couldn’t find the rest of your slurred, blubbering words. somehow, at some point, joost manoeuvred you both onto the sofa and with his arms around you, kept you curled up against his side. a few fingers moved up the back of your neck to scratch your scalp as others held onto your hip.

it was the only thing he could think to do to shut you up, to calm you down enough to take big, slow breaths, in and out.

he didn’t have it in him to let you finish that sentence.

delicate reassurances were mumbled into your hair, quiet ‘you’re okay’’s and faint ‘it wasn’t your fault’’s becoming mantras that helped soothe the pain in your chest. you wanted to believe him and knew that you didn’t. you knew that as the deep baritone of his whispers slowly lulled you to sleep, you’d wake up with that pain still very much there.

but joost wasn’t going to stop trying anytime soon, noor was he going anywhere. it was one of the few things you’d actually let him do for you, making himself a home on your sofa whenever you would have one of your episodes. he’d sleep there, eat there, work there. sometimes joost would spend entire weeks of his life in your living room just so that he could know for sure you were still alive and breathing.

he was the only thing offering you the slightest bit of comfort. you could feel his fingers running through your hair as you curled up even further into his side, his voice still low in your ear. it was becoming to struggle just to keep your eyes open, but you knew that he wouldn’t mind.

you could fall asleep just to wake up with that same ache in your heart still there, but joost would still be there too. for now, that was all you needed.

[whimsicalpolitical]

Use me - Matty Healy x Reader

in which you always come to matty when your boyfriend doesn’t get you off

content warning: 18+mdni, smut, p in v, cheating, face sitting, fingering, oral (m & f receiving), dirty talk, handjob, aftercare,

“Sorry, where you uhm, going somewhere?” You ask Matty, pointing to his loosened tie and shirt.

“Nah, came back from dinner,” your eyes shoot up at his face. Dinner sounds romantic. He sees right through you though and eases your nerves, “dinner with my mates, love.”

You nod, taking another sip of your hot tea which matty brought you five minutes after banging on his door in the middle of the night.

“D’you need something else?” He asks, “anything at all?”

“No, thank you,” you smile, sinking deeper into the couch, hoping you could stay here forever.

Matty hums and sits next to you, at the end of the couch. He’s throwing his head back slowly, rubbing his forehead.

You watch. You trace the vein under his neck until it disappears into his shirt. His tousled hair reminds you of all the times you tugged at his curls because it was too much. Fuck. You’re still sticky between your legs. You were not able to chase your own pleasure because it doesn’t matter to your boyfriend, it never did and it never will.

Matty always gives a shit, perhaps that’s why you’re here, because you know you’ll feel good. Or maybe you’re here because he shows you an escape from the reality and he’s the only one who has that ability.

“Do I have something on my face?” He jokes, his eyes on you.

You shake your head, “no, it’s perfect as always.”

“Charmer.” Matty spreads his legs further and turns to you, “now, would you like to talk about why you came to mine at two in the morning or should we skip that part where you tell me your little boy isn’t enough for you?”

“Matty-“ you tilt your head and want to apologize, that you’re not using him for your own good but to tell him you enjoy his company.

“Actually, I would like to know what happened this time. Couldn’t he make you finish or did he not care in the first place, c’mon what was it?”

You sigh before locking eyes with him. The brown eyes you can’t stop thinking about. Ever.

“The second,” you respond with shame, “but I don’t care anymore, I just want you, can’t stop thinking about you.”

Matty lets a laugh slip out of his mouth before he moves closer to you, taking your legs and dragging them across his lap.

“Oh, darling, that’s a fucked up situation you’re in, s’ a real shame though- for him I mean.”

His hands are going up and down your thighs, teasing you, making you go crazy.

“What did you say to him ‘fore you left, sure didn’t say you were going to see me.”

You shrug, “told him I need to get work done, I guess.”

Matty hums, his hands now closer to the place you want him the most.

His knuckles brush against your lower stomach which is on display because your shirt had risen up. He sends goosebumps down your body at the feeling of his warm hands on your bare body and you want nothing but to feel them everywhere.

Matty wants to be close to you as well so he takes the opportunity and drags you onto his lap with his arms under your knees.

You don’t have time to make a sound because his mouth is on you again.

You part your lips willingly, gasping when he lurches forward and slides his tongue along yours, biting and sucking at your lips. Matty groans softly at the faint noises you make, your fingers tightening in his hair, the pleasing sting in his scalp sending jolts down to his hard cock.

“mmm matty” You’re panting, desperate for air he won't give you. He likes this—making you gasp, making you weak, making you forget entirely about your boyfriend.

Your hips move over his’ one slow time, gasping at the friction.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he grips your hips and drags you across his bulge again, enjoying the pleasure himself, “is’ good?”

“Yeah-“ you breathe out, his hands kneading your hips to pull you back and forth over his hard cock beneath his jeans. With his eyes closed, lost in the feeling of your tongue in his mouth, his hands finding his way to your ass.

“Matty-“ you gasp, as his jeans hit your clit over and over. You can’t wait, it’s impossible. You tried all night to chase your pleasure but how, if your boyfriend stops when he’s done and doesn’t help you.

“Please, can we-“

Matty is quick to lay you down on the couch, dragging your jeans with your panties down your legs. He shakes his head though when he throws your jeans down the couch.

“I don’t want you to beg, alright? M’sure you’ve done enough of that tonight. I just want you to use me, make yourself feel good, the way you deserve.”

You bite down on to your bottom lip, nodding.

“Want to kiss you here first, that alright?” He asks, spreading your legs with his hand.

“Fuck- yes.”

“Mhm,” he leans down, eyes looking up at you one more time before his gaze fixates on your dripping cunt.

"Fuckin' christ. You're a mess down here. You really tried, hm?” he says, and you can feel every word blow against you.

"Uh-huh," you say, a kiss sucked to your thigh striking stealing all thought from your mind.

"Get close?" he asks, with another kiss, hands kneading at your thighs and ass as they wrap around you and try to tug you closer.

You nod, hoping he can see you as your eyes slip closed with the feeling of him right here, between your legs.

“That’s fucking cruel though,” he chuckles, “fucking dickhead, would make you come everyday for the rest of my bloody life.”

He bites the inside of your thighs until you feel a soft, teasing kiss to your clit. You shudder and whine and your hand falls to his curls to encourage him to give you more.

“Please just-“

“Darling, ease up, like I said, use me, c’mon let’s switch places.”

You frown, not knowing what he actually means but it gets clear when Matty shoves a pillow under his head and you straddle him but he tugs you up his chest.

“Wait-“ you slow him down, “shirt off?”

“Sure,” he says, opening the four buttons that were closed, “now.. up.”

He's licking his lips and looking up at you - all over every inch of you - eating you alive with his stare.

He pushes and pulls you then, dragging you up his chest until your knees are settled either side of his face. You can feel the gust of his breath against your thighs iust before he hauls you forward a little more until his half face is completely covered by your cunt, only his eyes and the bridge of his nose visible now.

“Fuck, love, need me so bad you’re dripping down your thighs. I’m not making you wait, sit down, darling.”

“That’s it.” You settle down slowly onto his face, listening as he guides you down until you feel the first broad swipe of his tongue up through your folds.

"Perfect,” he says, swallowing the taste of you.

He kisses around your clit, nudging it with the curved tip of his nose when he finally licks up into you again.

And then, he's pulling your flush to his face and feasting.

The noise that leaves you is stupid. Somewhere between a gasp and a moan and a question all at once. His nose is pressed against you, his laughter fanning out across your mound as you try not to squirm and wiggle against him, fearful of crushing his head beneath your weight, or at the very least suffocating him.

His face burrows deeper, his hands holding you firm, squeezing and scraping calloused fingertips against your delicate skin.

His hands move from anchoring you to his face, locked around your thighs, to pressing against your ass, gripping the globes of them in each of his broad hands.

He grunts, squeezing your thighs up to your hips as he pulls your clit into his mouth, lathering it with his spit and your wetness. It's white-hot: the pressure on your sensitive little bundle of nerves, the insistent bump of his nose against your clit as he teases his tongue around your tight hole.

"Matty, Matty, fuck," is all you can manage, sweet little gasps that he drinks in, his hips bucking involuntarily with the delicious pain of your fingers pulling at his scalp. You're losing grip on the real world and slipping elsewhere, and he wants to get you there.

One of Matty’s hands slides between your legs, easing them open even more, and rests on your belly, shifting to your ribcage and helping you steady yourself atop him. His fingertips graze your breasts under your shirt.

“Mhmm, fuck, perfect,” he mumbles.

The sounds are slick and obscene, mingled with your drunken sighs and words of encouragement as you curl your fingers against the couch uselessly.

"Matty,” you whimper, your hips rolling against his face, “so good, shit.”

He groans, his hand smacking your thigh, feeling your cunt gush on his tongue as he flicks his tongue against your clit repeatedly.

He groans, his hand smacking your thigh, feeling your cunt gush on his tongue as he flicks his tongue against your clit repeatedly. He'll imprint the feeling of him on your skin forever-if he hasn't already. He'll make sure you never have another man like you have him.

"I'm... oh, fuck, I'm gonna..." Your hips buck wildly, and a growl rumbles deep in his chest, holding you steadfast and firm to his face. He sucks your clit back into his mouth and fixes his tongue to you, wiggling slightly as he feels you stiffen above him. "Matty, shit.”

He knows. You're already coming. You’re both not surprised, you’ve been trying the whole evening and the orgasm that’s been stolen is now more than back.

“Yeah, like that, darling,” he praises, lapping at your cunt in the same pace.

Your hand leaves his hair and braces next to your other one on the couch, ensuring you don't fall over as your thighs shake uncontrollably and your mouth drops open in a keening whine. Matty keeps sucking at your clit long after your orgasm fades and you cry out from the overstimulation.

Gently, you reach down to tug his hair, and he reluctantly pulls away. He's so hard he can't conjure much mental activity besides getting his dick wet.

“Alright?” He asks with a big grin on his face.

“More than,” you respond.

Your chest is heaving as you try to pick your leg up and get off him, but your strength fails you. Instead, Matty grabs your hips and sits up, your cunt sliding down to sit on top of his erection. Experimentally, you grind down on him, watching a muscle in his jaw feather.

"Need you. Are you going to let me take your pants off?" you ask him, teasing, your finger tracing the metal of his belt buckle.

He grits his teeth, letting you take control for a moment, sliding the belt achingly slow out of each loop.

“Do anything you want to, you’re in control. Don’t need to act all modest with me.”

You dip your body low to his chest and press gentle kisses all the way down to his stomach.

Matty moans brokenly when you shuck his jeans down his legs and squeeze his hard length before it can slap up against his stomach. Your tongue darts out and licks up the precum pooling at his slit, making his cock twitch in your grasp. “jesus,” he groans. “You don’t have to, darling, you can make this all about yourself.”

You ignore him.

Your soft lips part around the throbbing head of his cock. Squeezing his strong thighs to ground yourself, you swirl your tongue around the tip and take him deeper, your throat expanding to accommodate him in your mouth. Your thumb rubs over his ‘we are kings’ tattoo like you always do, you look at him as you do so. His eyes are watery, blinking hard to expel the tears, his hand instinctively cradling the crown of your head to keep you on him, keep you choking around him.

“Christ, fuck,—” His fingers curl in your hair and gently urge you off his cock; you pout, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his length. His dick jumps at the sight, lying hard on his stomach.

“Don’t pout, don’t need to come in your gorgeous mouth if you want me again,” he rasps.

“Fine,” you playfully roll your eyes but of course you listen and crawl up his body until your hips are flush, his hardness slotted, thick and throbbing, between your folds. The hum that leaves your mouth is wanton, your teeth tugging at your bottom lip. His hands move to your lower back, digging into the flesh just above your ass so you’re forced to roll your hips along his shaft.

“Have at it, darling,” he says.

You lift yourself up but instead of sinking down you take his cock into your hand and start moving up and down.

Matty shudders and grips your wrist, “fuckin, d’you want to kill me?”

You only giggle and shake your head innocently, “want you to fuck me now, I’ve been good.”

“Yeah, you reckon you are?” he reaches down, his hands going to your hips and guiding you down onto him. You both let out a moan as he fills you, the sensation almost overwhelming.

“You feel so good, love,” he breathes, looking down at where his cock disappears, “want you all the time n’ I can’t fucking stand the thought of you being with him.”

You look at each other, pupils dilated, mouths parted. You don’t move, not just yet, but you lean forward to crash your lips against Matty’s as a response.

Your hand grips the back of his neck to keep him exactly where he is, his tongue gliding across yours, filthy sounds coming from the both of you when you finally start to move.

“Yeah- fuck, you’re so good.”

You can feel his gaze on you, and it only served to heighten the pleasure building inside you. You start to ride him properly, your hands grabbing onto his shoulders.

His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips, his grip almost painful as he struggles to maintain control. The sounds he is making are sinful, the low moans and gasps escaping his lips spurring you on.

“Oh fuck, Matty,” you moan, “you make me feel so good.”

“Y-yeah?” He gasps, his thumb coming down your body to rub your clit in a torturous, slow pace, wanting to build the pressure, “s’ what I want, babe, need you to feel good.”

You moan again when he lowers his face to kiss you all over your breasts, sucking and biting at your nipple, offering you another way of stimulation.

“Need you, Matty, need you,” you repeat, your head falling against his shoulder while you keep your pace, your hips moving up and down.

“You have me, love,” he groans, moving his thumb a bit faster.

You clench around him and he can’t help himself but thrust into you so deep it makes you scream his name so loud you thank yourself he doesn’t have neighbors.

“Keep doin’ that,” he moans, “fuck.”

“Please,” you beg, just wanting to come with him all together, “Matty please.”

“I’ve got you,” he says, his brown eyes melting when he sees your fucked out face, “wanna come so badly again? Couldn’t feel good all evening and you need me for it?”

“Yes,” you admit, your hips slowing down, not having the energy like you had in the beginning, “fuck- I can’t.”

Matty hums and grips your hips, helping you to ride him faster, “like that, s’good, rub your clit for me though.”

You don’t waist a second and start as fast as when he stopped.

“Fuck, matty.”

“You’re perfect,” he says, moving his hips with yours, doubling the pleasure, “I- fuck, are you close?”

You know he is. His thrusts are faltering, eyes closed, head thrown back, his hands definitely bruising you but you don’t care. You want him to mark you. And honestly you couldn’t care less, not when you’re at the edge, letting yourself fall into him completely.

You clench around him again, a sign that you are close.

“Kiss me,” you whine, “plea-“

He does, it’s not a perfect, sweet kiss. He’s moaning against you, lips messily on yours, licking into your mouth as you both move together.

"You deserve this, you deserve to be fucked like this every day. Not treated like you're worthless."

Matty’s mouth is everywhere-his lips moving over your neck, nipping at your skin before kissing and licking at the sensitive spot just below your ear.

His tongue flicks out, tasting the salt of your skin, and you moan, your fingers digging into his shoulders as his cock hitting that perfect spot deep inside you.

"You're so fuckin' gorgeous," he groans, “fucks sake, my girl.”

He spurs you on and you can’t go any longer.

“Matty, im gonna come, can I- fuck.”

You whimper, your body trembling as the pleasure mounts, your mind going blank as Matty’s cock slams into you harder, deeper. Your hand on your clit, his mouth on your neck, his body pressed tightly against yours-it is too much, and you feel yourself spiraling toward release.

"You don’t need to ask for permission, are you mental?" he laughs, “come for me, love, whenever you want to.”

With a final, devastating thrust, the coil inside you snaps, and you scream his name as your orgasm tears through you, your body shaking violently as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you.

Your pussy clenches around his cock, milking him as he groans deeply, his hips never stopping, prolonging your pleasure as he fucks you through your orgasm.

“Fuck,” he groans, your hips slowing down as his hips slam into you one strong time, releasing in you with a whimper, groan and moan, “jesus fucking christ.”

You whine, only grinding softly against him until you’re both too fucking exhausted to move.

You stay like this though- with him softening inside of you until he accidentally slips out making the both of you hiss.

“I really really like you,” you say, not being able to lift your forehead from his shoulder just yet, “I swear I’m not using you for this.”

“It’s alright,” he soothes you, hand brushing through your hair, “I’m the last to judge, m’just glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” you whisper.

After a long while Matty decides to lift you up, keeping your legs wrapped around him. You whine at the new coldness, air hitting your naked form.

“I’ll just need to clean you up, darling, you okay?”

“Mhm,” you hum holding on to him, “bed though, please?”

“Course,” he says, pushing the door with his foot softly that leads you into his bedroom, “I’ll be right back then.”

He lays you down softly but before he can walk to the bathroom you pull him down, holding his face to give him a sweet kiss.

He’s kissing all over your face then, asking you multiple times if you need anything, praises leaving his mouth, “you’ve done so good, love, going to let me get you a towel?”

“Fine,” you groan, rolling your eyes and pushing him away.

While he waddles over to the bathroom, slipping a pair of boxers on while doing so, you get yourself a piece of clothing as well. A simple black shirt from Matty’s drawer.

You flop down onto the bed then and not even a minute later he’s back, a wet towel in his hand and a lotion.

“Let me take care of you,” he says, kneeling on the edge of the bed and spreading your legs, “it’s what you deserve.”

You can’t help but smile at his sweetness, letting him drag the towel up your thighs to your core, hissing at the soreness.

“M’sorry,” he apologizes, being as careful as he can be, “even used warm water, thought it would be more pleasant than cold.”

“It’s alright,” you nod, “thank you.”

His brows are furrowed in that intense way of his, and you are lost, as always, in the precision of it all — how someone so careless about most things could be so careful with you.

When he finally sets the towel aside, his hands replace it, gliding along your thigh with a gentle grip. He reaches for the lotion he brought, squeezing a bit into his hand before warming it between his fingers. The scent is faint, familiar, like something he’d chosen just for you, and he slowly works it into your skin, thumbs pressing softly in circles along the tops of your legs.

You hum, a sound low in your throat, and he glances up at you, his mouth quirking into a half-smile. "Feel good, love?"

You nod, letting your head rest back on the pillows, eyes drifting shut as his hands continue their slow, steady rhythm.

"Matty?"

"Yeah?"

There is a pause, the silence stretching as you weigh the words you’re holding back. You swallow, feeling the weight of them settle in your chest before you finally let them go. "I think I want to break up with him."

For the first time that night, his hands still, his fingers still warm against your skin as he looks up, his gaze locking onto yours, eyes dark and searching. "You sure?" he asks, voice rough but soft. "I mean… I’d definitely drop that wanker if I were you. But… are you sure?"

You nod, your own voice quieter than you expected. "Yeah, I’m sure. I don’t…" you hesitate, trying to find the right words, "I don’t feel right with him. He’s a selfish bastard, Matty. Only cares about himself. Never really… I don’t know. Not like you do."

The corner of his mouth lifts, just a hint of satisfaction, but he covers it with a quick raise of his brow, setting the lotion bottle aside.

"About time, I’d say. I mean, you deserve better than some bloke who’s all talk and no bloody follow-through." He moves closer, leaning in so his face is just inches from yours. "What kind of idiot would treat you like that? He’s the one who’s missing out.”

"Yeah… I just kept thinking things would get better, you know? Like maybe I was the problem."

Matty’s scoff is loud, dismissive, and his hand finds yours, fingers threading through yours with a surprising softness.

"Nah, not a chance. Don’t you dare let him put that on you. You’re the best damn thing that’s ever walked into his life, and if he was too stupid to see that? Then he deserves what he gets." His fingers squeeze yours, grounding and reassuring. "But you already know that. Just needed a little push?”

You nod, squeezing back. "Guess so."

He lets out a soft chuckle, leaning back just enough to take you in, his gaze lingering on your face as he tilts his head.

“You shouldn’t be with someone who’s not good for you, you know?”

You nod, leaning forward to kiss his cheek and pull him up by his biceps, “you’re right, and that’s why I’m here.”

Matty gets the hint immediately, letting himself be drawn up until he’s lying half on top of you, chest pressing against yours, his weight warm and solid as he settles against you. His head dips down, burying into the crook of your neck, and he lets out a soft, contented sigh, his breath warm against your skin.

“Been wanting this all day,” he murmurs, his voice a little rough, like he’s barely holding back some deeper feeling. “Just you, here with me. None of that rubbish, none of him messing with your head. Just us.

You hum, the sound vibrating in your chest as you feel him relax against you, his hand reaching up to stroke your hair, brushing it back from your face with a tenderness that sends warmth flooding through you.

“Can I bring you anything? Water? Tea? Anything you need, just say the word.”

You smile, shaking your head slightly. “No, Matty, I’m good. You’ve done enough already, honestly. Thank you.”

He lifts his head, just enough so he can see your face, his eyes searching yours with that familiar intensity. “Enough? Don’t say that. Not a chance I’m leaving you without everything you could possibly want, got it?”

You squeeze his arm gently. “Well, in that case, just stay here with me. That’s all I want.”

His lips curve into a grin, his eyes warming. “Now that’s the easiest thing you could’ve asked for. I’m not going anywhere.”

“How about this: we sleep in tomorrow. Really let ourselves be lazy, yeah? Then I’ll take you somewhere nice, like that bakery on the corner. We’ll get those ridiculous pastries you like so much. What d’you think?”

You smile, the thought of it filling you with a cozy sense of comfort. “That sounds… perfect, actually. Can we get those chocolate croissants?”

“Anything you want.” He chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’ll get a dozen if that’s what it takes to see you smile like that.” His thumb brushes across your cheek, his expression softening as he looks at you. “Deserve to feel like this all the time. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Least of all some idiot who doesn’t know what he’s got.”

“Thank you, Matty,” you whisper, meaning it more than you can say.

“Just glad you’re here.” His eyes hold yours for a long moment, then he settles back down, pulling you closer until you’re tangled together. He murmurs one last thing, just as you’re drifting off.

“Sleep well, darling. Wake me if you need something or just feeling lonely.”

You giggle as you start to rub small, slow circles along the back of his head, your fingertips grazing his scalp. He lets out a soft sound, almost a purr, and relaxes even more against you, his kisses drifting down to the corner of your mouth, lingering there as if he’s savoring every second.

“I definitely will,” you joke, “good night.”

“Night,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder blade before you’re both drifting off.

[pricesprincess]

from this ask | fat fem! reader | asshole oc for story purposes

simon riley really did live up to his nickname ghost with the way he followed you from place to place and any obstacles didn't matter to him, not when it came to know if you were safe or not.

he knew your schedule like his own and after years of being together it was just natural and simon couldn't just give up on the notion that you weren't his wife anymore so that's why he calls you everyday.

it could be about the weather, if things around your apartment need to be fixed, or if any men are hitting on you at your job because the idea of you moving on makes him sick to his stomach with dreadful pain.

but the first thing he always asks is are you okay love? because he wants to know if you are doing alright, perhaps without him and it seems that you're struggling with it all as well.

so when you ask simon to crash your date when you're halfway through dinner because he keeps making odd comments that put you on edge the moment you two sat down from each other there was no way he wouldn't help you.

your date was polite at first but something in your gut was warning you to text simon a simple word. red. he knew what it would mean.

"i'll be right back, i just need to freshen up." you murmured with a fake smile as you grabbed your purse and stood up knowing that if you were to be honest he could flip out and do something crazy.

your date nodded looking you up and down with a slight lip curl. "you could've dressed better and sprayed more perfume." his words were said so nonchalantly like they couldn't hurt a person's feelings.

you couldn't get away from his faster.

once in the bathroom you leaned against the wall pulling up simon's contact, the picture was of him and the cat you had custody of, princess q-tip who you had to beg him to do it but gave in quickly.

white with blue eyes and spoiled since you weren't too sure on having kids with his job, while you would love to have a baby with him it was the practical thing to do right now.

instead of texting you called him.

hearing simon's rough voice made the hair on the back of your neck stand. "hello? everthing ollright love?" the use of your nickname had your mouth going dry knowing you only had so much time.

"i'm on a date and its in the red, if you're busy i know i can always call the guys too and one of them can save me." your words tumbled out in a rush you were nervous he didn't hear and you'd have to repeat it.

in the background you heard the television click off and simon grunt as he stood up to get dressed. "send me your location." he hung up giving you some time to prepare yourself before going back out.

when you came back your date was flirting with the waitress, his eyes undressing her as she stood there until she finally saw you and smiled awkwardly before leaving you two alone.

"don't worry about her, your rack is a lot bigger." he told you with a wink and tipped his beer back all but chugging the thing as you watched with a slack jaw, you weren't offended when insults came from people who were clearly miserable with themselves.

the moment you leaned down to grab your water cup to splash him with it you smelt him before you felt his hand on your hip giving it a squeeze as he towered over the table casting a shadow over it.

his intense gaze cut through the air like sharp daggers intimidating the man who looked up at your ex-husband who pulled on his mask for old time-sake. "she's coming home with me." simon told him.

there was no arguing from your date which only made you laugh mentally as simon guided you away from the table and prying eyes, his lips brushing against your ear. "you deserve a lot better than that."

his words were laced with a profound sense of sadness and his sentence had a double meaning. "thank you for saving me, i don't think i'm going to date for a while after all that." you murmured and let him walk you to his car and open the door as usual.

almost like you were both on autopilot.

simon listened as you told him about your date and you both laughed and joked about everything which was really what you needed and then when the porch light flicked on as simon pulled his car up into the driveway he knew he shouldn't ask but did so anyway.

"can i come in for a nightcap?" he asked turning to look at you before tugging his mask off, it was a rare sight that he never let anyone see.

without saying anything you leaned over and kissed his scarred cheek. "of course, i'll make your favorite." you told him with a grin feeling your heart ache at being so close to him again.

[littlestarbigsky]

been thinking long and hard abt soda and what it did to him to drop out of high school (i also feel bad bc somehow the only fics i have abt soda are all ships and i know i can do better for my boy)

so here’s a quick lil thing abt darry and soda after soda dropped out :p

darry couldn’t remember the last time soda had been this upset. even after their parents died, there were moments when the gang was all together and soda could laugh and feel the littlest bit normal again, but this felt like it was never going to end, and there was no reprieve. there was no end in sight, and darry couldn’t do anything to help him.

his grades had been going downhill for a while. it wasn’t his fault, or at least not entirely. it had been years since soda had done alright in school on his own instead of barely scraping by, and at some point the class had left him behind and it was like they started speaking another language.

and then their parents died.

soda already had enough trouble missing one day of school, let alone missing a week while they tried to throw together a funeral.

a month after their parents had died, after far too many nights at the kitchen table crying over math homework, after screaming matches that shook the roof over his grades, after darry had yelled so many times about how failing out of school was a surefire way to get them sent to a boy’s home, soda finally said that he was dropping out of school.

he could barely leave his room after telling darry, he couldn’t even tell ponyboy himself. he didn’t know what to do with himself, battling with his own mind every hour of the day. thoughts bouncing around his head of feeling like a failure for not even being able to graduate high school, bullying himself over not being able to joke around about it or making other people happy, which felt like maybe the only thing he was good at anymore. he knew that he was going to fail out eventually, so what was the point?

“soda?” darry cracked the door open, his eyes landing on his little brother where he had been for the last three days: curled up in bed, his back to the door. “do you want some dinner?”

soda silently shook his head.

darry sighed, “you can’t stay in here, forever, pepsi. we miss you out there.”

soda didn’t give much of a response, just gave a half hearted shrug.

“listen,” darry let himself into the room, sitting down on the bed and bringing a hand up to rub soda’s back. “i know you feel lousy, and i know you’ve got a lot on your mind, but you’ve gotta get back to living, soda. you’ve just gotta. we couldn’t get along without you.”

soda rolled over and sat up, and darry had to swallow a gasp at the state of his brother. soda’s eyes were rubbed raw and angry red from crying with deep shadows stamped under them, his hair was sticking up at all angles from the grease he hadn’t washed out in days, and his clothes were wrinkled and hanging loosely off of him.

“soda…”

darry could hardly get the word out before soda had thrown himself at his big brother, tears starting up again. god, he was so tired of crying.

“i’m so sorry,” he cried miserably, clutching to darry with everything he had in him.

darry felt the tears hit his shoulder and his heart ached for his little brother, “i know, i ain’t mad at you, honey.”

“mom and dad just wanted me to graduate and i couldn’t even do that! how am i supposed to do anything if i can’t do that?” soda sobbed.

“they’re not mad at you either, baby, don’t say that,” darry could feel tears prickling in his own eyes.

“listen, i don’t care if you’re lyin’ to me,” soda leaned back, his eyes not meeting darry’s. “but can you please tell me it’s gonna be okay.”

darry felt like he had missed a step going down stairs with the way the words made his stomach drop. he grabbed soda’s face in his hands and forced his brother to look at him.

“it’s gonna be okay, baby. i don’t know when and i don’t know how but i promise you, we’re gonna be okay. i’m gonna make sure we are.”

he wasn’t sure soda believed him, and maybe he didn’t even fully believe himself, but he had made a promise, and he had every intention of making good on it. some of the tension soda had been holding in his shoulders seemed to melt away, and darry knew he would be okay with saying everything over and over again if it meant soda didn’t have to be so scared.

“thank you… i know you hate lying to us.”

“i wasn’t lying.”

[jymwahuwu]

it's late at night and I am plagued with DUBCON THOUGHTS. No Capitano unfortunately, it's gonna be the man WHO EVADED EVERY SINGLE TICKET I HAD(79 at the time) YOU. ITS YOU, MOZE. YOU'RE THE CHOSEN ONE.

ignore my tiny rant, I will simply get him next time.

But thinking of Moze who wants you(afab reader!!) just..so desperately. He doesn't even care about the consequences anymore, the moment he saw you undress in order to change clothes, he was on you in a heartbeat.

He's invisible, you can't see the man. You can definitely feel him however.

After all, you're stuck gasping and whimpering in his hold, your legs held up by the back of your knees. He didn't even bother to bend you over your drawer, he just needed to have you this instant. You don't even know who is doing this but you..can definitely tell they weren't a pushover. Not from the way he was slamming you down onto his cock over and over as he held you up with his arms. You can feel his defined muscles from the way he's actively pushing your knees into your sternum. (I can't believe I'm using medical terms for smut. Please, professor, I can explain..)

You can't see him, he's completely invisible but..you can definitely see the way he's making a faint bulge in your lower stomach, right where..your womb is supposed to be at..through the body mirror in your bedroom. And he can see it too, from the way his eyes are trained on the sight of you.

Poor you who's an absolute mess in his grasp, unable to protest or even squirm against his grip. All you can do is..just take him over and over until he deems it enough. But it's never enough. He seeks to make sure you can't ever walk it seems. And you're just stuck taking every single inch of him, his keen eyes making sure you don't miss a inch every thrust. He does have to admit it's a pretty sight, your eyes glossy and face a mess from your tears as you drool mindlessly. And he especially loves it whenever he manages to make your squirt from penetration alone. It's his new mission now even.

I will now go back to bed after removing such thoughts, night nighttt

cw: yandere, non-con, break into your home, become invisible, masturbate

Hate you for keeping me awake (not really, don't worry) 😔😣😫💦 I was ready for bed but I couldn't sleep at the thought of Moze staying transparent and fucking us, so had to answer this to get a restful night.

Based on past history, Moze may rarely reach people. There are very few people he trusts and can socialize with. So he really didn’t know how to talk to you at first. He follows you to your house just to say hello and check if you have enough food in the refrigerator(?). Once Moze saw you starting to change…he was stunned. You lift up your clothes and take off your bra, skillfully taking off your pants/skirt and changing into comfortable pajamas. Moze witnesses you bending down and taking off your underwear, revealing the tempting and sweet place inside, and this Shadow Guard is right behind your back.

"Um…where?" You muttered, opening the cabinet and looking for the pair of underwear. Or go in to take a shower, casually wrapped in a bath towel, or walk out in comfortable cotton clothes, sit on the sofa, blow dry your hair and check your phone. You expose your skin casually, leaning on the sofa with your thighs, or curling your calves, shaking your arms, tying up some hair to expose the back of your neck (if you have short hair, it is always exposed!), and you don't pay much attention to the fabric on your chest. Some water droplets fall down your skin. Being ignorantly defiled - while you're checking your phone, someone is jerking off at you.

So, these are really doomed, sitting on the lap of an unknown transparent life form and being split open by his cock. You screamed, begged until your voice was hoarse, kicked and kicked, but didn't move an inch. Is the other side a solid, unshakable wall? His fingers dig into your hips and he lifts you up and puts you down repeatedly. Lift you up and put you down. "Please…please…who are you? Stop!" Is that a human? Can you push him away? But no. Unable to resist. It was a dizzying, dizzying pleasure and ecstasy. He'd bring up those electric feelings as he stroked your clit, those hands making sure there was no other way to pin you down on his thick cock, over and over again. He seemed to have muscles, and his warm and thick breath was completely transparent. He occasionally makes heavy breathing sounds and occasionally kisses your lips.

The mirror you use to change clothes somehow gets flipped over each time to reflect you sitting on something transparent, your vagina being squeezed and pushed open. You gasped with a cry, and your hands touched your abdomen in vain, trying to push it down, but there was no… the transparent one was still there, faithfully pistoning. Moze must admit, you are beautiful now. You're more beautiful than when he didn't touch you.

Every night, he looks at you holding some kind of exorcism charm, or some weapon, or even just a broom, thinking that he can stop him. You threw the exorcism talisman on the ground and breathed a sigh of relief, and the next second you were supported on your hips and started stroking and rubbing. Look at your momentary panic, as well as your chaotic tears and moans. You can never fight those desires. Really beautiful.

You don't know whether to lean on him or push him away.

[ducktoo]

Love is War

[Irene x Reader]

Note: I….friggin….love….Kaguya-sama so much. It’s just a funny show to watch and I’ve wanted to make something inspired by them. I had a lot of fun with this.

TW: a lot of second handed embarrassment

(She’s kinda like Kaguya)

You sit across from Irene in the empty student council room, the evening light filtering through the tall windows, casting long shadows that add a layer of mystery to the already tension-filled silence. Irene is flipping through some papers, meticulously reading, yet somehow ignoring your presence. Her focus, as always, is sharp, precise — but you've noticed the subtle glances, the way her lips curl ever so slightly when she thinks you aren’t watching.

You lean back, determined to stay calm. After all, if you show any interest first, it’s game over. Irene is the president, elegant and controlled, respected and even a little feared. And you, as her vice-president, know every one of her mannerisms by now, but this silent tug-of-war — this feeling she hasn’t just caught your eye but your heart too — has been going on for months. But you’d never give her the satisfaction of saying it first.

“So,” you say, nonchalantly, “another meeting… just us, huh?” You emphasize the “us,” making sure it sounds casual enough to not raise suspicion.

She raises an eyebrow, not even glancing your way. “You’re the vice president, remember?” She flips to the next page. “Or did you forget why you’re here?”

Ouch.

But you can play it cool. “Just making conversation,” you reply with a smirk. “Not everyone spends hours in silence like you do, President.”

She finally looks up, her eyes sharp, and for a second, you’re caught in her gaze. This is all part of the game, you remind yourself. Whoever slips first, whoever lets their guard down, loses.

“I don’t mind silence,” she says with a smirk of her own. “Unless you’re uncomfortable?”

“Oh, of course not,” you scoff, leaning forward. “If anything, I think you’re the one struggling to keep it together.”

She narrows her eyes, amused. “You think I’d give in that easily?”

“I didn't say anything,” you tease and put both of your hands up in innocence. Though your heart's pounding, every word a risky gamble. “You seem pretty close to breaking. Maybe you’re just waiting for me to say something first.”

Irene tilts her head, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “It’s funny. You think you’ve got it all figured out.” She leans in, just close enough that you can feel the warmth of her presence. “But if you’re so certain of yourself, why haven’t you said anything either?”

The challenge is clear, and for a moment, you’re both silent, the air between you practically crackling. You’re staring at each other, each waiting for a sign of surrender, for that one misstep.

Just then, you notice her hand on the table, fingers lightly tapping. You reach out, instinctively, to still them, and in that moment, her eyes widen slightly, the faintest flicker of surprise betraying her usual composure. Your hands linger for a heartbeat longer than necessary, and you can feel your own face growing warm.

You pull away, breaking the silence with a chuckle, hoping to cover up your own slip. “Nice try,” you say. “But I’m not that easy to trick.”

She looks at you with an unreadable expression before her lips twitch into a soft smile — a genuine one, not her usual restrained, dignified expression. “I’ll admit, you’re a little harder to deal with than I thought,” she murmurs, almost to herself.

You raise an eyebrow, feeling a rush of victory. “So, you’re admitting I’m getting to you?”

Irene crosses her arms and raises a brow, leaning back in her chair as if sizing you up. “Well…since you’re so intent on making conversation, how about a game?”

You match her confident expression. “A game, huh? Alright, let’s hear it.”

She holds up her fingers, ticking off each word. “Twenty. Questions.”

The challenge is clear, and your eyes narrow as you smile. This is an opportunity. If you ask the right questions, you might get her to reveal something. “20 questions?"

“Yes,” she says, looking far too pleased with herself. “I’ll ask first.”

You nod, already strategizing your responses. There's no way she’ll get you to slip up.

“Alright,” Irene begins, her tone deceptively casual. “Are you… seeing anyone right now?”

You blink, but you manage a cool response. “No.”

She hums thoughtfully, tapping her chin. “Interesting. Your turn.”

“Are you seeing anyone right now?” you shoot back immediately, watching her for any reaction.

She raises an eyebrow, giving you a slow smile. “No. Next question: Do you have a… special someone in mind?”

Your face heats up, but you don’t let it show. You tilt your head, pretending to consider. “No,” you say, stretching the truth just a bit. “Do you?”

She smirks, but her answer is quick. “No.” There’s a spark in her eyes now, and you know she’s trying to rile you up. “Have you ever… spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about someone without realizing it?”

You narrow your eyes. She’s getting clever with these questions. “No,” you lie, feeling like she’s closing in. “But have you ever been caught staring at someone and couldn’t look away?”

Her smirk falters for a split second, but she recovers quickly. “No.”

The room feels charged with each back-and-forth. Neither of you wants to back down, and every question seems to dig just a little deeper, as if you’re both trying to pry open a box that’s already bursting at the seams.

Irene leans forward, her eyes glittering. “Do you… think about me when you’re alone?”

The question catches you off guard, but you’re not about to let her win. “No,” you reply, keeping your expression neutral. “Do you think about me?”

Her lips twitch, almost into a smile, and her answer is a soft, measured, “No.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you’re sure she’s lying. But you’ve both committed to the game, and there’s no turning back now.

You decide to turn up the heat. “Have you ever wondered… what it would be like if you and I were… something more?”

Irene’s eyes widen slightly, and for a fraction of a second, you see a crack in her calm exterior. “No,” she replies, but the tiny hesitation is enough to make your heart race.

“Are you sure?” you press, grinning.

“Yes,” she snaps, recovering her poise with a steely look. “Absolutely sure.”

You can’t help but laugh, sensing her annoyance. But she doesn’t let you revel in it for long.

“Do you get jealous if I talk to other people?” she asks, raising an eyebrow challengingly.

“No,” you answer immediately, fighting the urge to look away.

Irene chuckles, clearly unimpressed. “Liar.”

Your cheeks warm, but you keep your gaze steady. “Sure, like you’re any better,” you say. “Have you ever gotten jealous seeing me with someone else?”

She narrows her eyes, leaning just a bit closer. “No.”

There’s a pause, tension thick in the air. Both of you know the series of no are getting less and less convincing, but neither of you is willing to back down.

Then, Irene clears her throat, her voice softer than before. “Alright, last question. And you have to be completely honest.”

You nod, bracing yourself. “Fine. Go ahead.”

She looks you dead in the eye, her expression unreadable. “Do you… feel anything special for me?”

Your heart pounds, the air between you both thick with unsaid words. You can feel every second stretching, every fiber of your being shouting to say something, anything other than—

“No.”

Irene’s eyes widen, and for a moment, her carefully guarded expression slips, replaced with something almost vulnerable. But she recovers, her smirk returning, even if it’s a little shaky.

“Good,” she says, trying to sound indifferent. “Neither do I.”

You both sit in silence, staring at each other, knowing you’ve just lied through your teeth and realizing that you’re both too stubborn to admit it.

But then Irene leans back, her smirk shifting into a resigned smile. “Well,” she says, standing up, her voice teasing, “it seems we’re both in the clear, then. No one’s losing anything here.”

You watch her walk toward the door, and before she leaves, she glances over her shoulder, her eyes holding yours for just a second too long.

“Good night,” she says softly, with a smile that tells you maybe, just maybe, she’s as frustrated as you are.

“Good night,” you manage to reply, watching her leave, and for the first time, wondering if this game is even worth playing if it means you’ll never actually win.

-

Back in your dorm room, you close the door and let out a long, frustrated groan. You’d spent the entire day locked in a ridiculous back-and-forth with Irene, trying to make her slip up, but "nooo", she had to be as stubborn as ever. You throw yourself onto your bed, grabbing your pillow and thrashing around in irritation.

“‘No,’” you mutter to yourself, mimicking Irene’s voice in the most exaggerated tone possible. “'No, I never get jealous, no, I never think about you, no, I have no feelings whatsoever!’” You yank the pillow over your face and yell into it, hoping it’ll somehow drain the frustration boiling over inside you.

“GET OUT OF MY HEAD BAE JOOHYUN!”

-

Meanwhile, across campus, Irene is pacing in her room, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Every step she takes sounds like she’s trying to stomp a hole into the floor. She mutters angrily to herself, face contorted in a mix of anger and — if she were to admit it — embarrassment.

“‘Do you think about me when you’re alone?’” she scoffs, doing her best impression of your voice, throwing her hands up in the air. “Absolutely not, why would I?” She frowns, blushing despite herself. “As if I’d be the first one to say anything anyway!”

She huffs and, in a rare moment of unchecked frustration, grabs her textbook off her desk and slams it down, a futile attempt to squash the annoyance bubbling inside her. She’s never felt so embarrassed — or so irritated that she can’t stop thinking about you.

“No,” she grumbles to herself again, as if the more times she says it, the more true it’ll become. “I am Bae Joohyun…why would I fall for you?”

-

Back in your room, you’ve started pacing now too, every nerve on edge. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, your face twisted in frustration, and throw your hands up. “This is ridiculous! I don’t even care!” You stomp over to your desk, slamming your hands down like it might somehow snap you out of this bizarre Irene-fueled haze.

“Of all the people I had to like,” you grumble, throwing yourself back on your bed, arms flailing dramatically, “it had to be the one shortie who won’t admit anything!”

-

Meanwhile, Irene’s found herself in a similar scene, on her bed, legs kicking the mattress in frustration. “And that kid KNOWS what they’re doing,” she says, voice muffled by the pillow she’s now buried her face in. “Just sitting there with that smug little smile, asking all those RIDICULOUS questions like they didn’t care one bit!” She lets out a loud, frustrated sigh, tossing her pillow across the room.

It’s not even five minutes before she stands, determined to shake off the restless energy building inside her, and starts pacing her room again. Each step lands with heavy frustration. She mutters under her breath, trying to convince herself: “It’s not a big deal. This is… nothing. And they were obviously lying anyway, just to mess with me. I mean, why would they ask those things unless they were trying to make me crack?”

-

At the same time, you’re staring up at your ceiling, arms crossed, muttering to yourself. “She just has to be so stubborn,” you say, voice heavy with annoyance.

“Every single answer, every question — it’s like she’s actually trying to lose her mind on purpose!” You cover your face with your hands, shaking your head. “But no, she’s just too proud to admit she feels anything.”

-

In the end, both of you spend the next hour or so in almost synchronized frustration — you, rolling around on your bed, groaning loudly every few minutes, and Irene, sighing dramatically and flopping from one end of her bed to the other, trying not to think about how much it bothers her that you refuse to admit anything either.

It’s only when you both wear yourselves out from the mutual thrashing and muttering that a sense of calm settles, leaving you both sprawled on your beds, staring at the ceiling, each lost in thoughts of the other.

But even in the quiet, both of you have the same thought lingering, echoing annoyingly in your minds:

“Why can’t they just confess already?”

“Why can’t she just confess already?”

-

The next morning, you drag yourself into the student council room, feeling the weight of sleep deprivation clinging to your eyelids like cement. You glance at the clock — 8:15 AM. You’ve barely gotten any sleep, and it shows. Your eyes are bloodshot, your hair’s a mess, and every step feels like it’s being weighed down by the universe itself.

You slump into your usual chair, rubbing your face. The room is eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of the fluorescent lights. No one else is here yet — except for Irene, sitting in her usual spot across from you, who seems just as disheveled as you feel. Her hair’s a little frizzy, and her posture is slumped like she might collapse at any moment.

You exchange a tired glance. Neither of you says anything. There's no point in it. It’s obvious you both didn’t sleep well, and it’s all because of that ridiculous game.

"Morning," Irene mutters, sounding less like herself than usual, her voice hoarse and low.

You nod. “Morning. Did you… sleep at all?”

She gives a small shake of her head, eyes slightly glazed. “…No.”

You groan. “Same.”

“I can tell,” she says, voice tinged with equal frustration.

You both fall into an exhausted silence, but just as the tension begins to build between you once again, the door creaks open. Seulgi, the treasurer, strides in, bouncing on her feet as usual, though today she seems extra chipper — like she’s somehow been recharged by a full night of sleep, which you both desperately lack.

She beams at you both. “Good morning, my higher ups! You two look like you barely survived the night.”

“Thanks for the observation,” you mutter sarcastically, leaning back in your chair, trying to ignore the painful throb in your skull.

Seulgi raises an eyebrow, clearly sensing the tense energy in the room. “You guys didn’t get any sleep, did you?” she teases, looking between the two of you. “Too busy scheming with each other, huh?”

Irene gives Seulgi a deadpan stare. “We don’t need your commentary, Kang Seulgi.”

Seulgi shrugs, unfazed. “Okay, okay, no need to get defensive. You two need a distraction.”

With that, Seulgi pulls a small notepad from her bag, flipping it open with dramatic flair. “Let’s play Would You Rather,” she announces, practically jumping into the chair beside Irene.

You blink at her, too exhausted to even care about the idea of playing another game. But Seulgi’s already too deep into her plans to let you escape.

“Would you rather,” Seulgi starts, voice rising in enthusiasm, “have the ability to read anyone’s mind, but only while they’re eating something, or be able to talk to animals, but only in a language they don’t understand?”

You glance at Irene, already half-suspecting she’s not going to entertain this nonsense, but to your surprise, she lets out a small sigh and leans in, trying to humor Seulgi. “The animals. No contest.”

“Really?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because I could ask a certain bear to stop stealing my snacks,” Irene mutters, eyes narrowing like she’s speaking from personal experience.

"I know nothing" Seulgi whistled and looked away, feigning ignorance.

You chuckle, despite yourself, because somehow that seems oddly relatable. But Seulgi’s not done yet.

“Okay, next one!” Seulgi says, flipping her page. “Would you rather always know when someone’s lying, but it makes you physically ill, or never know when someone’s lying, but it makes you constantly question everything?”

Irene shoots you a look, probably knowing where this is going. You tap your chin dramatically.

“I’ll go with the first one,” you say, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “I already get physically ill just dealing with you.”

Irene doesn’t miss a beat. “I’m starting to think you might be lying about that,” she retorts, a small grin playing at the corner of her mouth.

Seulgi, clearly loving this back-and-forth, just grins wider. “Alright, now for the real fun one…”

You both exchange a look of dread.

“Would you rather,” Seulgi pauses for dramatic effect, “have to sing every time you want to communicate, but only in opera, or be unable to speak at all and only express yourself through interpretive dance?”

You both sit there, silent for a moment, processing the absurdity of the question. Then, without missing a beat, Irene responds, deadpan, “I’d go with interpretive dance. At least it’s not opera.”

You stare at her in disbelief. “You would dance? For everything? For your class presentations?”

She shrugs. “I mean, it would be easier than singing opera in front of the entire school.”

You scoff, leaning back in your chair. “I’d rather sing opera. It’s at least... dignified.”

Seulgi looks between the two of you, laughing to herself as if she’s witnessing the world's most ridiculous standoff. “Okay, okay, one last one. Would you rather accidentally confess your feelings to the entire school, but the person you like doesn’t hear, or have to live your life with a giant embarrassing secret that no one knows except you?”

You freeze. Irene’s gaze flicks to yours, and for a brief, horrifying moment, it feels like the entire world has just turned its spotlight on you both.

Seulgi’s watching, clearly loving the discomfort she’s causing.

“I—” you start, but then you hesitate. “I’d rather have the secret,” you say quickly, then add, “I mean, I don’t want to confess in front of everyone!”

Irene laughs — a soft, almost bitter laugh — and answers quickly, “I’d pick the same thing. Secrets are easier to deal with than... that.”

You both stare at each other, and for once, the silence between you doesn’t feel as tense as before. In fact, it’s almost like... you’ve just admitted something without even trying.

But Seulgi, ever the expert at reading the room, lets out a dramatic sigh. “You two are impossible,” she says, shaking her head in mock disappointment. “But at least we had fun.”

Irene and you exchange a glance. Neither of you says anything, but the hint of something unspoken lingers in the air. Something that wasn’t quite said in the game, but was definitely felt.

“You know,” you mutter, standing up and stretching, “next time, we’re just playing chess.”

Seulgi grins, already plotting her next absurd question. “You got it. But just so you know,” she winks, “I’m totally adding opera to the rules.”

Irene shoots you a look as if to say, See? This is your fault.

And for once, you can’t help but laugh.

-

A few months pass, and life in the student council room has somehow become a bizarre, ongoing comedy show. You and Irene continue your ridiculous push-and-pull game, each day a new round of Who Will Crack First?. Neither of you has budged an inch, and yet neither of you has let up on the passive-aggressive scheming either.

It’s as if you’re both living in some weird, never-ending loop of “will they, won’t they” — and it’s driving everyone around you absolutely mad.

Seulgi, who’s practically an expert at this point in navigating the absurdity of your interactions, has given up trying to intervene. She now finds it hilarious, often leaning back in her chair with a smug smile as she watches the two of you exchange cryptic looks and challenge each other with passive-aggressive “Would You Rather” questions.

One particularly awful morning, Irene walks in wearing her usual perfectly put-together look — except today, her blazer is slightly askew, her hair a little more chaotic than usual. She’s clearly been running on no sleep, but as always, she gives you a pointed, unamused look when you glance at her.

“Not today,” she mutters, sounding exhausted, and collapses into her chair with a sigh.

You blink. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m tired of you,” she snaps back, without hesitation.

You sit up straighter, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Oh? So you admit it now?”

Her head whips to face you. “I didn’t admit anything, you idiot.”

“Right, right. Of course not.” You lean back in your chair, arms crossed, trying to play it cool, but inside you can feel a small victory bubbling up.

Yes, you’re getting to her. Keep going.

Before you can continue your “I’m always right” victory lap in your mind, Seulgi enters, holding an envelope in her hands.

“Good morning, everyone!” Seulgi greets, sliding into her chair and tossing the envelope onto the desk in front of you. “Got this for you,” she says, looking far too pleased with herself.

You blink at it. “What’s this?”

Seulgi leans forward, grinning. “Well, someone (ahem, our vice-president) just got accepted for the student exchange program. With a full scholarship, no less.”

You freeze, staring at the envelope as if it might suddenly burst into flames. It takes a moment for the words to fully process in your tired brain, but when they do — you can’t help but feel a mix of disbelief and excitement.

“Wait… you’re kidding,” you mutter, flipping the envelope open. Sure enough, it’s real. You’ve been accepted into the program — and with a scholarship at that. You can barely wrap your head around it, the magnitude of it overwhelming. A chance to study abroad? This is huge.

"I MADE IT MOM!!!" You shouted, as loud as you just won a well fought war.

Irene, however, is not as happy for you. She glares at the envelope, as though it’s personally offended her. “Congratulations,” she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

You grin, almost smugly. “Thanks, Pres. I’m going to study abroad! How cool is that?”

“Right, so you’ll be gone for how long?” Irene’s voice has a sharp edge to it, and you know instantly that something’s bothering her.

“I’m not sure,” you say, waving it off, still too distracted by the possibility of it all. “Maybe six months? Maybe more. It’s exciting, right?”

Irene doesn’t respond. Instead, she leans back in her chair, arms crossed, staring at you with an unreadable expression. Her lips are pressed together like she’s holding something in.

“You know,” you say, enjoying the rare moment of feeling like you actually have the upper hand, “maybe you should congratulate me properly. This is a big deal.”

She gives you a sharp look. “I don’t congratulate people who act like they’re already the best at everything.”

“Oh, please,” you laugh, “that’s not even true. We both know you’re just upset that you won’t get to have your daily dose of me tormenting you.”

Irene narrows her eyes, leaning forward like she’s about to bite back with something absolutely scathing. But instead, she just sighs. “Fine. Congratulations. I’m sure you’ll do great. Now, I’ll just go back to pretending you aren’t about to abandon me for six months.”

You blink, caught off guard by her sudden change in attitude. It’s almost like she’s… jealous? No, that can’t be right.

“Wait,” you say, your voice sounding strangely unsure, “you’re mad?”

She raises an eyebrow, looking at you like you're the dumbest person alive. “What do you think, Einstein?”

“Are you actually mad that I’m going abroad?” You almost can’t believe you’re asking. This is a new level of absurdity. She’s always acted like she doesn’t care about anything — least of all you.

Her response comes in the form of a heavy sigh, followed by her leaning back again with a dramatic thud into her chair. “I just don’t get it,” she mutters, staring at the ceiling like it’s the most tragic thing in the world. “One moment you’re here, annoying the hell out of me, and then poof — off to some other country like it’s no big deal.”

“Is that jealousy?” you ask, incredulous. “Pres, is that—”

“No!” She snaps immediately. “I’m just annoyed that you’ve been torturing me for months, and now you’re going to vanish, leaving me alone with Seulgi’s stupid games and that.”

You look at Seulgi, who’s grinning at the back-and-forth with a cup of coffee in her hand like she’s watching a reality TV show unfold before her. “I’m just here for the drama,” Seulgi mumbles under her breath, casually sipping her coffee.

“See?” Irene gestures to Seulgi. “I’m stuck here with this.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m just as confused as you are,” you joke, tapping the envelope on the table, “since it looks like I’m leaving you here to suffer alone with your secrets.”

Irene glares at you. “Stop talking about my secrets. It’s not like you even have any.”

You grin, sensing that you’ve touched a nerve. “Oh, I do, don’t worry. Just waiting for you to—”

“Stop talking.” Irene snaps, her voice so sharp it’s almost a threat.

The tension in the room is so thick you could cut it with a knife, but you don’t know whether to laugh or just keep pushing her buttons. It’s getting harder and harder to tell if she’s frustrated because of your “secret” or if it’s just the ever-present game you two have been playing for months.

Seulgi, clearly sensing the climax of your endless drama, looks between you both with a smirk. “You two are ridiculous,” she says, sipping her coffee and savoring the war, like a general on the side watching her neighbouring countries fight.

And as always, you and Irene stay locked in your little game — still stubborn, still not admitting anything, but both of you a tiny bit more frustrated than before. You can’t help but laugh, even though you’re not quite sure whether it’s from the excitement of the exchange program or the absurdity of your constant back-and-forth with Irene.

One thing’s for sure — you may be leaving soon, but the game will never truly end.

-

The days leading up to your final day at school felt like a drawn-out episode of Who Will Break First?.

The tension between you and Irene was palpable, like two magnets trying to repel each other while secretly waiting for the other to snap. It was absurd, and yet, you couldn’t help but be thrilled by the idea of ending this ridiculous game once and for all.

The exchange program was looming on the horizon, and you were determined to win this war — no more games, no more indirect jabs. One of you was going to finally confess, and it would be grand. You weren’t just going to do it quietly or casually.

Oh no. You had bigger plans.

Way bigger plans.

You could practically feel the dramatic music building in your head as you sat in the student council room, staring at the whiteboard, mapping out your elaborate scheme. It had to be perfect, a moment so spectacular that Irene would have no choice but to confess. You had one chance, and it had to be memorable.

The idea? A scavenger hunt.

But not just any scavenger hunt. A scavenger hunt for the heart.

“How can I make it even more dramatic?” you muttered to yourself, looking over your ridiculous list of clues and challenges. Every challenge would lead Irene closer to her inevitable fate — confessing her feelings, of course. But it couldn’t be too obvious. You had to make it like a game, because she would never confess otherwise. She was too proud.

You could already hear the sound of her internal monologue: I can’t let them get away with this. I’ll show them I’m not some softy.

Little did she know, you were about to turn this into the most obnoxiously grand gesture ever.

The next day, you casually walk into the student council room, where Irene is sitting at her desk, looking as stoic as usual. Her hair is perfect (obviously), and she’s in the middle of filling out some form that looks like it was written in some ancient bureaucratic language.

“Good morning, Pres.” you say nonchalantly, as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

She barely glances up at you, just giving a quick nod. “Morning,” she mutters, not even bothering to make eye contact.

Perfect. The stage was set.

“You ready for the game today?” you ask casually, leaning over to get a peek at her papers.

Her eyebrow twitches slightly. “What game?”

“The game,” you say dramatically, “The scavenger hunt. The ultimate scavenger hunt.”

Irene freezes. “What?”

You grin, feeling the thrill of your scheme starting to take effect. “It’s simple, really. I’ve set up a series of clues around the campus. Each one will lead you to the next, until you finally reach your destination. And guess what? You’re the only one who can participate. No one else is allowed.”

Irene stares at you as if you just suggested she run a marathon in high heels. “A scavenger hunt? Are you serious?”

“Yes.” You give her an exaggeratedly dramatic nod. “You’re going to love it. Each clue is going to lead you to a place that’s important to us. You’ll figure it out. Eventually.”

She blinks, clearly confused. “And what’s the point of this ridiculous hunt?”

“The point is,” you say, leaning in like you’re about to share the world’s greatest secret, “by the end of it, you’ll finally admit that you can’t stand it anymore and you will…”

You paused for a moment “…confess your feelings for me.”

Irene’s face is completely deadpan. “You’re out of your mind.”

But she’s intrigued. You can tell.

“Okay, okay. I’ll bite. Where do I start?” Irene asks, crossing her arms with that same defiant, no-nonsense look that always drives you insane.

You hand her the first clue, which is written in ridiculously dramatic handwriting. “Go to the place where it all started,” you say, practically bouncing in your chair, “You know, where we first met. Good luck.”

Irene glares at you for a second before unfolding the note. Her eyes scan it quickly. She’s already halfway out of her seat when she mutters, “This is so stupid.”

And off she goes.

What she doesn’t realize is that you’ve set up each clue in the most bizarre and over-the-top way possible.

The first stop is the fountain near the school entrance. But it’s not just a simple clue — oh no. You’ve surrounded the fountain with floating balloons that spell out “LOVE,” because you’re subtle like that. Next to the fountain, there’s a big, obnoxious banner that says, “First step to confessing your feelings: stop running away from the truth.”

When Irene arrives, she looks at it, rolls her eyes so hard you think they might get stuck, but follows the instructions anyway.

“Ridiculous,” she mutters, lifting the balloon with one hand and searching for the next clue.

Next, the clue leads her to the library — but not just any section of the library. It’s the aisle where you first bumped into her accidentally (totally not planned) on that fateful day. The shelf is stacked with books on love and confession. (Of course, you also made sure the most embarrassing ones were in plain sight.)

By the time she reaches the next clue, which is hidden inside a cookie jar in the student lounge, she’s had enough. “This is the worst thing you’ve ever done,” she says under her breath as she rips open the paper and immediately glares at the next clue.

It’s just one word: Confess.

Irene stares at the note for a solid minute, as though she’s trying to will it to self-destruct. “This is… absurd.”

She’s so close now. You’re practically jumping out of your seat, grinning so wide you’re certain she can hear the smugness radiating off you.

The final stop is, of course, the student council room. You’ve cleared out all the other council members and arranged the room like an oddly romantic restaurant, complete with candles (yes, real candles, because you’re extra) and a giant cardboard cutout of the two of you from a school event that she’ll definitely recognize.

“I swear to god, if you’ve done anything worse than this, I’ll…” Irene trails off as she steps into the room, eyes widening at the display.

You cross your arms. “Well?”

“Are you really going to make me do this?” she asks, her voice dangerously calm.

You grin, barely containing your excitement. “I think it’s about time, don’t you?”

Irene looks at you, deadpan as usual. “You’re impossible.”

You wait, your heart practically beating out of your chest.

She doesn’t say anything. The silence stretches for a few seconds, and just when you think she’s going to snap — she sighs. “Fine.”

She’s this close.

She takes a deep breath, looking you straight in the eye, and says in the most dramatically deadpan voice possible:

“I hate you.”

And just like that, you snap.

“WHAT?!”

“I said I hate you.” Irene smiles smugly, enjoying every second of your frustration. “But I think you’re kind of an idiot. And I’m sort of impressed by your sheer lack of self-awareness. So, confession done.”

You stand there, utterly flabbergasted.

“That’s not a confession!” you shout.

“I didn’t say it was a good one,” Irene retorts, crossing her arms. “But at least I win.”

And with that, you both realize — you’ve just played yourselves.

As Irene starts walking away, her smug expression plastered on her face, you stand there, still stunned, your heart hammering in your chest. You had come so close to victory — and then she just dropped the bomb on you like it was nothing.

I hate you.

What kind of confession was that? Sure, it was dramatic, but it was barely even close to what you had in mind!

But something in your chest tightens. You can’t let this end like this. No way. You won’t let her get away with this. Not when you’re so close

You take one step forward. Then another. You’re walking after her now, and you can feel the heat rising in your face as you approach. The whole scene plays out like a movie, but not the cool action kind of movie. No, this is a slow-motion trainwreck happening in real time.

“I—” You stop yourself. What the hell am I doing?

Irene turns around, still smirking as if she just hit you with the world’s greatest comeback. “What? Did you come to call me an idiot again?”

“No! I mean—YES, but—” You flounder, trying to hold on to whatever shred of dignity you still have. She raises an eyebrow.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” you mutter, realizing that at this point, the only way to salvage your pride is to act like you meant this all along.

You take a deep breath, already feeling the cringe crawl up your spine. “I—I think I like you. A lot.”

You don’t stop there. No. That would be too easy.

“Bae Joohyun, I think... I think I’ve liked you for a long time, and... and this whole thing, the games, the scavenger hunts, the balloons... it’s been ridiculous and stupid and—”

Your voice cracks, and you internally scream. This is so embarrassing. Why did I think this would work against the Ice Queen?

Irene just stands there, her smirk faltering for the first time. “Wait—are you—”

“Yes! I—yes! I like you, okay?” you blurt out, and then immediately want to crawl into a hole and disappear forever. “Like, really like you. More than I can even explain. And maybe I don’t always show it, and maybe I’m not the best at this, but I’ve spent so long trying to... uh... win this stupid confession game, and now I’m realizing that I... don’t care about that anymore. I just want you to know that I like you—like, like you—and I’m tired of pretending I don’t!”

There’s a moment of silence. You stand there, your face glowing with humiliation, hands clenched at your sides, waiting for Irene to react. You almost can’t bear to look at her. You can feel the awkwardness radiating between you like a thick cloud, and it’s so heavy that it might as well be an actual physical presence.

Irene doesn’t say anything at first, just stares at you with wide eyes. Then she opens her mouth, and you hold your breath, half-expecting her to laugh in your face or walk away.

Instead, she says, “...Are you... done?”

You blink rapidly, still trying to process her words. “What?”

“Are you done?” she repeats, her voice more amused than anything else. “Because that was about the most painfully awkward thing I’ve ever witnessed. I mean, are you seriously this bad at confessing?”

Your face turns bright red, and you immediately want to crawl under a desk and live there for the rest of eternity. “I—No! I mean... Yes, I am. I just... I don’t know how to do this! It’s like every time I try, I keep making it worse, and now I’m... I’m...”

You throw your hands up in exasperation. “I’m just going to shut up now.”

Irene crosses her arms, watching you with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “So, what exactly are you expecting from me now? A confession back? Do you want me to one-up you with some dramatic gesture too?”

The secondhand embarrassment is reaching a point where you feel like you might die from sheer awkwardness. “I—”

“Well, guess what?” she interrupts, her expression softening just slightly. “You’re not the only one who’s bad at confessing, you know.” She pauses, letting the words sink in. “I’m just better at pretending I don’t care.”

Your eyes widen. Wait. What?

“You’ve been so obvious for so long. But you’re... you’re a mess,” she says, voice dropping into something a little more serious now. “And I didn’t want to be the one to make the first move. I didn’t want to admit it either.”

Your brain short-circuits. “Wait, so... you—”

She gives a dramatic sigh and steps toward you. “I’m just saying,” she continues, “You’re such an idiot. And I can’t believe it took this long for you to get a clue.”

And then, out of nowhere, she leans forward and kisses you.

For a moment, everything stops. Your brain ceases to function as you try to process what just happened.

It takes about five seconds before you realize that you’ve been kissed, and another five seconds to realize that you’re staring at her wide-eyed, as if this were the most confusing thing to ever happen to you. But you’re also feeling like you might pass out from sheer shock.

As Irene pulls away from the kiss, you’re still standing there, completely shell-shocked. Your head is spinning, the words in your mind tumbling over each other, and your whole body is shaking like a leaf. You can’t believe what just happened — you’d been playing this ridiculous back-and-forth for so long, and now it was finally over.

Sort of.

Irene looks entirely too smug for someone who just outplayed you at your own game. “Well, that was definitely a moment, wasn’t it?”

Your mouth opens and closes, but you’re too dumbfounded to say anything remotely intelligent. You can feel your cheeks burning with embarrassment, your brain still processing the fact that she kissed you like it was some kind of casual Tuesday.

“Um... can I... can I just...?” you trail off, desperately trying to regain your composure, but it’s like trying to catch a greased pig.

Irene, on the other hand, seems completely unaffected, smirking as she watches you fumble. “What? Are you still processing it, or...?”

But before you can even think of a response, you hear it.

A very loud click.

Both you and Irene freeze at the sound, and the two of you turn towards the source of the noise. And there, standing a few feet away, is Seulgi — grinning like a cat who just got into the cream.

“Oh, this is rich,” Seulgi says, holding up her phone. “Vice president, you really should’ve told me you were planning on doing a ‘confession’ scene. I thought I was going to have to orchestrate this myself, but lucky for me, I had a feeling something like this would go down.”

“No...” you mutter, feeling the blood drain from your face. “No, no, no. Did you seriously just—?”

“Oh, you bet I did,” Seulgi replies with a grin so wide it should be illegal. She’s clearly enjoying every second of this. “You two have been at this for months. I was just waiting for the moment when one of you would finally break. And I caught it all on video!”

You can feel the panic rising in your chest. “Kang Seulgi, no! You—You can’t—”

She takes a few steps closer, completely unfazed by your distress. “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t post it... yet,” she says. “But let’s just say I also have some... interesting footage that could influence your future decisions.”

“Seulgi, you wouldn’t,” Irene warns, her voice uncharacteristically soft.

“Oh, I would,” Seulgi chirps, tapping away on her phone, her fingers flying over the screen. “I have all the juicy bits. You two were so painfully obvious, I might just have enough material for a whole documentary about your embarrassing little love war.”

(She said the title card! Don’t sue me thank you)

You turn to Irene, a look of pure despair on your face. “Please tell me this is not happening.”

“I swear to God, Seulgi, if you even think about blackmailing us...” Irene starts, but then her eyes flicker to the phone in Seulgi’s hand. She hesitates, realizing there’s really no way to undo this.

“Oh, I’m just kidding,” Seulgi says suddenly, and you almost collapse in relief, but then she adds, “Mostly.”

“What do you mean, mostly?” you ask, now suspicious.

Seulgi just looks between the two of you, her grin only growing wider. “Well, I was going to use this footage to make you two suffer with some embarrassing compilation videos... but honestly? It’s more fun to watch you both squirm. You’re so pathetically obvious, it’s hilarious.”

You groan and throw your hands up in exasperation. “I can’t believe this. Of course, Seulgi would have been lurking in the shadows, ready to capture every moment.”

Irene, meanwhile, takes a deep breath and glances at the phone again, looking more irritated than ever. “You better not show this to anyone. Or I will make your life a living nightmare.”

“Oh please,” Seulgi says, tapping the screen. “I’m just going to enjoy watching you two suffer in peace for now. But you know, if you’re ever interested in... making a deal... I’m all ears.”

Irene crosses her arms, giving Seulgi a death glare. “You really want to start blackmailing THE president and vice president of the student council? Don’t forget, I have connections.”

Seulgi raises her hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, I’ll back off... for now. But let’s just say, I’ll be keeping my eyes open. You two are so obvious.”

As Seulgi walks away, still chuckling to herself, you and Irene stand there, completely defeated.

You’re both speechless.

“I can’t believe this,” you mutter again, this time to Irene, who’s clearly just as done with the situation as you are. “I swear, Seulgi is too much.”

Irene lets out a long sigh and places a hand over her face, as if trying to hide her sheer embarrassment. “This is never going to be over, is it?”

You shake your head. “Nope. I’m stuck with this for life.”

“I don’t think I can show my face at school tomorrow,” Irene admits, finally letting out a little laugh despite herself.

“Same,” you reply, feeling the humiliation deep in your bones. “I’m going to pretend I’m sick. I’ll fake an injury. I’ll fake... I don’t know, something.”

“You should,” Irene agrees, “and I’ll be right there with you. The entire school will know about our ‘confession’ before lunch.”

There’s a brief silence between you both, and then, at the same time, you both erupt into groans of frustration and turned away from each other.

“This is why I hate you.”

“This is why I hate you,” Irene replies, her voice thick with secondhand embarrassment.

And there it is — the grand culmination of months of tension, teasing, and awkward games. And it ended up with you both being caught on video, standing like two idiots while Seulgi secretly enjoyed every moment of it.

Today’s result: Both lost (even with a fcking kiss)

-

The week after you left for the exchange program felt like a blur for you — the excitement, the new environment, and the unfamiliar routines made everything feel like a whirlwind.

But back at school, Irene was in a much different place.

Every day, Seulgi would come to school with a new glint in her eyes, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips, and a phone hidden somewhere on her person. She wasn’t as sneaky as she thought; Irene could spot her from a mile away, and each time, she’d smirk to herself.

“I swear, you’re enjoying this way too much, Bae Joohyun” Irene would mutter, though the grin never left her face.

And why wouldn’t she? Each time Seulgi presented her with another batch of pictures — snapshots from the infamous day of the confession — Irene’s heart would flutter in the most embarrassing way.

There was the one of you, mid-sentence, as you tried to pull off your grand declaration. Your face was a perfect mix of awkwardness and desperation, eyes wide as you blurted out the confession.

The best part? The expression on your face was so utterly panicked that it made Irene burst into a fit of giggles every time she looked at it.

Then there was the one of you standing there, your hands raised in dramatic surrender, as Seulgi’s camera flashed. Your face was a blend of mortification and determination. Irene would often catch herself replaying that moment in her head — how precious you looked, fighting so hard for that confession you never thought you’d be able to get out.

But the one that made her giddy the most was a candid shot — one taken right after the kiss. It wasn’t a perfect picture by any means, but there you were, lips still pink from the kiss, standing in complete shock as Irene pulled away with that smug smile plastered across her face. You looked like you’d just been struck by lightning…

…and Irene was absolutely in love with the image.

Every time she glanced at it, she could feel the warmth in her chest, the little skip in her heartbeat.

But the real kicker? The deal she made with Seulgi.

“If you promise to keep these between us... and not use them as leverage against me,” Irene had said one day, as Seulgi grinned with her phone in hand, “then maybe... just maybe... you’ll get something in return.”

Seulgi had raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly are we talking about here?”

Irene’s eyes glinted mischievously. “The ‘one’ photo you really want. The one where I’m looking adorably happy in front of that dork. I’ll give it to you... for a price.”

“Deal,” Seulgi said instantly, knowing exactly which picture Irene was talking about — the one of her, holding her phone with a soft smile, staring at all the pictures of you. The one where the subtle joy in her eyes was enough to make Seulgi’s heart melt.

And that, of course, meant that Irene had the perfect little “deal” in her pocket. She now had the ultimate keepsake of her vice president and all those memories of their relationship’s unspoken history — one that no one else would ever know about. Not just the hilarious moments, the embarrassment, or even the kiss itself, but the sweetness of it all — tucked away in her phone, a secret only for her to see.

The first time you sent her a message after you’d arrived at your exchange program, she stared at her phone for a moment longer than necessary, then quickly typed back:

“I miss you already. Do you remember that day?”

She hit send before she could overthink it. Almost immediately, she received a reply.

“Of course I do, Joohyun.” you texted. “How could I forget? My life will forever be haunted by that day, thanks to Seulgi.”

Irene couldn’t help but chuckle, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“I’m not letting you forget. I’ll be keeping all the best pictures. After all, I did get the perfect shot,” she teased, her fingers flying over her phone.

“You wouldn’t dare...” you wrote back, but Irene could tell you were joking. Your words were playful, the tone light.

“I would,” she replied, sending a winky face along with the message. She then paused, allowing herself to enjoy the quiet connection between you two.

As Irene walked through the campus, heading toward the student council room, she felt oddly content. Despite the distance between you now, despite the teasing and the games and the back-and-forth, there was this undeniable warmth in her chest. She might have started this war thinking she’d win, but now that it was over, she realized she had already won.

You.

Her vice president. The one who had made her life absolutely ridiculous and frustrating, but also the one who had somehow captured her heart in the most unexpected of ways.

Irene flipped through the pictures once more (and the candid shot that she had set as her lock screen)— the ones of you two together — and her smile softened. It was official.

She was never letting go of this.

As she walked into the council room, still holding her phone close to her chest, Seulgi shot her a knowing look. “So, when are you going to send them all the photos and just admit you’re head over heels for your vice president?”

“Soon,” Irene said, her voice thick with happiness, as she swiped through the next batch of pictures. “Just... one more time. I want to keep this to myself for a little longer..”

Seulgi rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the grin that followed. “You really are hopeless. It sounds more like you definitely lost this war, isn't it?”

“…maybe.” Irene admitted, unable to stop herself from smiling widely. “But I’m hopelessly in love.”

And with that, she tucked her phone away, heart full of giddy excitement, ready to face whatever came next. After all, she had time. The war might have ended, but this?

This was just the beginning.

(cue the outro)