#and thinking over everything that happened and being thanked and all

[lymtw]

hi!! i love your fics theyre highkey my fav rereads🤭idk if youre taking requests but if you were, could you possibly do a hurt/comfort fic with toji and shy reader where shes mad/upset with him? hope youre having a great day btw!

A/N: Five years later... 🫩👍 I'm sorry this took so long. I really, really appreciate your support 🫶 I hope this turned out at least okay, it's been a minute since i've finished any writing 🥲 Anyway, I hope you're having an amazing day :))

Thank you for sending in this request 💙

Toji and His Shy Girl

It's been a week since you and Toji have spoken, not for lack of effort or opportunities, but because the one sided attempts are not corresponded. It's hard to think about him, it's hard to read his words through your screen and see his name flash briefly, before your phone does its job of sending him to voicemail.

'Maybe we shouldn't be together, Toji. If me simply trying to talk to you is such a burden... I don't know if I should keep trying.'

You said this to him a week ago. You clicked the door shut and he sped off in his car, bleary-eyed, brimming with rage and regret the whole way home. He couldn't get the sound of your voice out of his head—the cracks, the occasional sharp inhales that came with your suppressed emotions. Even in the moment, he knew it was so, so wrong for you to be looking the way you did.

The instant he got home, all hell broke loose. His fists were clenched as he treaded towards his bedroom, and as if possessed by the force of a natural disaster, he tore apart his room—demolished it—throwing things blindly, uncaring if they broke beyond repair. The picture he keeps on his nightstand of the two of you was not safe. The encased memory was thrown with all the strength he has, at the wall, the frame instantly falling apart and the glass shattering to pieces.

He couldn't stop, it all hurt so much. His chest burned, his head was pounding, he felt like he couldn't breathe, and once there was nothing left to throw, nothing left to break, he finally broke down—wholly. Harsh, uncontrollable sobs racked his entire body as he sat there in the debris—the aftermath of losing his mind over you. Barely any sound came of it, his voice was shot, courtesy of the tormented screams that accompanied his meltdown.

This all happened a week ago. You won't talk to him and these days have been hell without your company. You won't respond to his good morning messages, and if he asks to meet up, you always have something to do. He calls you whenever he can, but you don't pick up. You're avoiding him like it's your job.

Everything feels pointless without you around, his little sunshine, the reason he wakes up motivated every morning, the light of his life. His routine has been altered in the worst way. It's work, home, work, home, and he absolutely detests it because if it weren't for that damned day, he would be with you, smothering you with the borderline overwhelming love he holds for you, making you laugh and watching you get flustered over the words he whispers in your ear. He wants it back—all of it. He can't let you go, it would break him entirely.

You don't want to let go of this love you have for Toji, either. You miss being in the warmth of his embrace, and you miss the sound of his voice, and the way he calls you 'sweetheart' when you're not focusing on him. You see every single one of the messages he sends you and the phone calls.

Good morning, baby.

Morning, sweetheart. Make sure to eat breakfast and lunch. One meal isn't enough.

Saw those fields of flowers you point at all the time on my way home. I miss you.

Baby, will you talk to me, please?

[Missed Call]

And you cry, because all you want to do is respond to every one of those messages and hear his voice again, but something always stops you. The memory of when he snapped at you. The sound of his voice—cutting and utterly spirit crushing. The furrow of his eyebrows that made you feel like everything you did was wrong. It hurts to think about the whole situation, and all these notifications only serve as reminders. Reminders of the way you immediately wilted when the door shut, chest heaving as you cried your way to bed and then to sleep, wondering what you did to deserve being lashed out at.

You're lying in bed, scrolling through your phone when he calls again. The instant you see his contact picture, your heart plummets to your stomach, but an irrepressible giggle escapes you. The picture on your screen... it's kind of blurry because he was chasing you and you were laughing so hard that you couldn't hold the phone steady, but you love it. You love the man in the picture, you love that he can make you smile through memories, even during tough times.

"Baby?" You hear through the speakers of your phone. A lump immediately forms in your throat and you painfully swallow. "Baby, can you hear me?" He tries again.

"Yeah, I'm here," you respond, quietly.

"Holy fuck, doll. Can I... Are you busy? Are you doing anything right now?"

"No, i'm home," you mumble.

"Can I come see you?"

"Toji..." you start, your tone conveying what you haven't even said yet. Your uncertainty.

"Baby, we have to talk. It's been a week and-- This can't be it. Please, just... just five minutes. Five minutes and i'll go."

You know it won't be five minutes. You can't force a solution out in five minutes—not a sincere one at least. Some part of you is soothed by the sound of his voice, regardless of how frantic and desperate he sounds. That's your love right there, and no matter how much hurt lingers from this whole dilemma, there's nothing you can do about your heart's response to him. So you open a door for him.

"Okay, Toji. I'll be here waiting for you."

"Thank you, pretty girl. I'll be there in a few. Love you."

There's a heavy, tense pause. Neither of you has hung up the phone, because something hasn't been done yet and he knows you know what he wants to hear. It would be enough for him to believe that you haven't forfeited. It would make him feel even the slightest bit of relief if you said those words he's been aching for.

"I love you, too, Toji," you utter, hanging up a couple seconds after.

Toji would be bouncing off the walls if he wasn't in such a hurry to get to you. He's been deprived of any form of love from you for a week and he was starting to go crazy, but hearing you say those words was all he needed for now.

Twenty something minutes later, you get a text from him, letting you know that he's outside. Your heart is in your throat, your stomach keeps flipping, and yet you use all the strength you have to get out of bed to meet him. Though you decide to take your time to get to your front door, you find that you're still there too soon, no time left to mentally prepare yourself for what is about to happen. With a final deep breath, you turn the lock, twist the doorknob, and open the door.

There Toji stands, hand suspended in the air with your spare key pinched between his thumb and forefinger. He steps back instinctively when you step aside from behind the door.

"I uh... I wasn't sure if you'd be okay with me using it, but you were taking a bit, so I thought maybe you'd want me to come in and we can talk inside or... I don't know."

He's rambling, there's a light stubble on his face, he's smiling at you like he always does—like you're his everything. Him being there doesn't actually process in your mind until he speaks up again.

"Hi, baby," he says, softly, observing you like you're some majestic painting hung up in a museum. Your eyes well up and it feels like there's a red-hot metal sphere lodged in your throat. "You're a saint for letting me come here and see you, you know that?"

Out of habit, you nod and mumble out a small, "yeah."

"I'm sorry, doll," he says, reaching for your hands to hold them. He barely manages to grab them, get a feel for your soft skin after so long, before you're pulling them away from him. "No, come on," he pleads, grasping your hands again. "Please? Please, look at me."

"You can't talk to me like that, Toji," you utter, voice unsteady because you're not used to having to stand up for yourself against the one who loves you like it's his life source.

"I know. I know that, baby, and I'm so fucking sorry," he says, nearly tripping over his words. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of the shit I said. I was having a bad day, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I don't know what the hell got into me, but please..." he mumbles, bringing your hands up to his lips, pressing weightless kisses on your fingers and knuckles. "Please, I love you, you have to believe me."

"You said..." you inhale sharply, doing all you can to get through this without choking on your emotions. "...you said you didn't have time to listen to me talk about nonsense, and that you wanted peace and quiet for once. Isn't... Isn't that all you get from me?"

"No tears," he says, warm palms moving up to cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing away the crystals that glide down them. "No tears," he repeats, softer this time. "This is gonna get worked out, my sweet girl. I swear."

"I don't know how you want me to be," you admit, your voice wavering. "And I don't have the ability to read minds. You acted like everything was fine when you texted me, and then when you got here..." You let out a shaky breath, your hold on your emotions slipping. "I don't want to be upset with you, anymore, but i-i'm trying... It's not right."

It's as if someone is jabbing at his chest over and over again, relentlessly, even when his skin starts to bruise and little pinpricks of blood begin to appear. He hates seeing you this way, especially when he knows he's the reason for why you're hurt this bad. He wants it to stop and for this enormous raincloud above both of you to just dissipate.

"Come here," he says, low, almost inaudible. His hands lower, arms making contact with your sides. It's been too long since he's held you, yet, pulling you in feels as natural as breathing.

Your hands come up to rest on his abdomen, keeping him at a distance. It feels unnatural, because you're so used to letting him handle you like you're a stuffed animal, pulling you around when you're adventuring together and picking you up just because he feels like it. Your mind immediately clouds with guilt at your denial of his embrace, you can't even meet his eyes, opting to look down at where your hands are.

"Please don't," he says, his voice so soft that it makes your chest feel tight again. He grabs ahold of your wrists, just to have some sort of contact with you. His grip is almost entirely loose and you're in control, he won't move until you pull your hands away. "I'm not gonna hurt you like that again."

You love him and you know he needs this—holding you in his arms, your confirmation that it's all going to be okay. You've said it before and the words have become one of his greatest comforts. What could be so bad when you tell him that it'll all turn out just fine?

"We've been apart for too long. A week shouldn't have gone by like this... and, fuck, I know it's my fault. I don't blame you for not wanting to see me, but... please, baby." His thumbs brush the insides of your wrists, eyes never leaving the sadness of your face, regardless of whether you look at him or not. He'll take this over not getting to see you at all, any day.

"Sweetheart."

You sniff, unmoving for a few more seconds. Your heartbeat is thrumming wildly in your ears, almost suffocating you with its relentlessness. It's all you hear, words lost in a spiral of ongoing silence. You still don't look at him when you finally pull your hands away, but you can feel his heavy, unwavering attention on you.

You're glad he doesn't wait for you to give him the green light to pull you in, because you have nothing to say at the moment, and it would be another test of patience. Instead, the second your hands are balled up at your sides, he moves at the speed of a lightning strike, your body colliding with his in an almost aggressive manner—there's an audible thump. His body heat mingles with the cologne on his shirt, the smell coiling around you and rushing through your nose with every breath you take. The feeling is familiar—love, safety, comfort—a second home, all wrapped up in your favorite person.

His hands scrunch up the back of your shirt like he's afraid you'll push him away again. "Baby," he mumbles, his voice almost inaudible. "Don't disappear like that again." A soft breath is expelled from his chest, riddled with the genuine fear he felt that he would never get to see you again.

"I know it's unfair of me to say this. I was an asshole and you were hurt, but, doll... I thought you were leaving me." There's a pause. Toji stares at the ground behind you, his hands deepening the creases he made on your shirt due to his unfaltering grip. "I don't want that."

"I'm not," you respond, heart shaking. "That day... it felt like you didn't even want to see me and you only came over because I asked not because you wanted to." The familiar ache in your chest stirs slightly, but you give it your all to get everything out in a steady and clear manner. "You can tell me you're tired, Toji. That you want to rest in the comfort of your own home, and I'll understand. I don't want to be another cause of stress for you."

It pains him to hear that because you're the one who keeps him sane, the one he thinks about when he settles into bed but can't get to sleep, the first person to know that he's still alive in morning, the one who has made him feel so safe, that he feels no shame when he occasionally calls to confirm that he's still loved by you.

"You're not," he simply murmurs. "It's not true."

"You don't have to worry about protecting my feelings."

His arms loosen around you, the back of your shirt wrinkled but freed from his clutches. Your heart is beating too fast, attempting to leave your chest. Now you're standing up straight, doing your best to not avert your gaze from the man before you.

"You're not a burden to me. Okay?" He says, and you want to believe him because of the way he's looking at you, like he's searching your eyes for even the smallest bit of confidence from you about the fact. "Say it."

The words are stuck, it's visible. Your lips twitch, but your voice doesn't progress. You just look at him, feeling the sadness seep into every part of you.

"You're not a burden to me. I need you to get that through your pretty head, right now," he says, only to feel his own heart skip a beat at your reaction.

"Sorry," you mumble, unable to instantly straighten out the curl of your lips.

In this moment, Toji knows that everything is going to be okay. He hasn't heard you laugh in a week, and though it was only a small, congested giggle, he savors it along with your inability to regain your bearing, like it's his last sip of water while he's stranded in the desert.

"Gets you every time, huh?" He says, his own faint smile emerging.

'Right now', a habitual phrase of his that is meant to comfort you. You've told him before that not everything can be fixed or healed in an instant—things don't work that way—but he never backs down. You've translated it into something akin to a bandage—the words are meant to cover you while you take the time to fully and properly heal. The joy you find in hearing them is a small beginning.

"It's funny," you respond, taking in his amused little grin. God, you missed his handsome face and the way he looks at you like everything about you makes perfect sense to him.

"My impatience is funny to you?" He teases, loving the way you press your lips together before proceeding to nod. He can't even be playfully offended, too entranced by the way you're actually smiling at him. He sighs through his nose and just watches you—admires you for a couple seconds, and when you start nervously shifting on your feet, he pulls you closer to him, his hands on your lower back as your body presses against his once more.

"Can you just say it, please? For me?" He murmurs, recognizing every one of the stars in your eyes. Though he thinks it's a tragedy to have gone a week without this view, he'll make up for lost time by creating new constellations.

"I don't know," you say, softly—filler words, your brain short circuits whenever he looks at you like that.

"For me, baby," he pleads once more. "Just wanna hear you say it."

You hum, unsure of whether you can say something you don't entirely believe. You want to make him happy, you want things to be better, you want to believe what he said—what he wants you to repeat to him, but it's hard. Damage is easy to inflict and hard to heal. It won't go away immediately, no matter how much you love the person who is trying to fix their mistake.

"I don't know-"

"Please?" he blurts.

"Toji, I don't-"

"Pretty please?" he cuts again, seeing the way your seriousness falters like before. Your laugh finds his ears once more, a sound he just wants to keep hearing. The sound embraces him. "With a cherry on top?" he adds, a sly little grin on his lips.

It's getting harder and harder to turn him down. He's precious, he's trying, and you cherish his effort. It's not going to kill you to just say it.

You sigh, "I'm not a burden."

"To who?" He questions, seeking elaboration from you.

"To you."

"Damn right," he says, proud. "We'll get you there. I'm not gonna leave you like this, alright?"

"Okay," you confirm, nodding slightly.

"Can I get a kiss?"

Again, you nod, expecting a quick peck—maybe a few quick pecks, but no, he goes on to kiss you like its been months since he last saw you, not a week. He's desperately chasing after your lips, seeking more and more of what he's been deprived of for too long. In his mind, he says 'never again, never again, never again', because he can't imagine going so long without your sweetness again. Without the softness of your lips against his, without those pretty smiles and laughs being thrown at him. It sounds like hell 2.0. when he thinks about losing it all over again.

"Fuck, I missed this," he murmurs, still just a breath away from your lips.

"Yeah," you respond, eyeing the short little pins of hair that sprinkle over his jaw and upper lip area. It makes you smile, you don't always get to see his face when it's not clean shaven.

"I was in a rush," he explains, unnecessarily, following the way your eyes trace his face.

"Mm," you hum, smiling. "Can I shave your face?"

"You wanna clean me up?" he asks, almost as if he's surprised.

"Only if you want me to. It was just an idea," you say, smiling sheepishly.

To that, he chuckles, a low sound that makes your stomach flip and your cheeks feel warmer.

"Oh, I want you to," he says, leaning forward to peck your lips, luring quiet giggles from you when he doesn't want to pull away.

-

Now, you sit on the counter of your bathroom sink, with Toji standing between your legs. There's a slight tremble in your hand, spurred on by his hands resting on your hips and the way he watches you with so much focus, trusting you enough to let you do this without a word from him. You drag the razor carefully along his cheek, making sure not to move too fast or use too much pressure.

Toji waits until you're cleaning off the blade to make his move of leaning in to press kisses to your face. Small peaks of foam are left behind on your skin, wiped away by gentle strokes of his thumb.

"I'm about to start again," you say through a laugh, leaning away to avoid ridding his face of all the protective spume on it. The razor remains beside you until he finally behaves himself. He huffs like you've been rejecting his affection the whole time, but nonetheless stands up straight and as still as a statue.

After some time, longer than it would have taken him alone—longer than it would have taken you if he didn't smother you every time you paused to clean the razor—you got it done. You brought back the smoothness of his skin.

"Am I pretty again?" he jests, drying his face with one of your towels.

"Stunning," you quip in response, shifting on the counter to signal that you're going to hop off.

"You're stunning," he says, low, unmoving from where he stands between your legs. "My gorgeous, gorgeous girl," he adds, seeking more of that feeling the flustered smile on your face gives him. "Missed you lots, you know that?" You just laugh and shake your head, like you're silently calling him crazy. "What? I'm serious," he says in response, a soft grin on his face. "Did you miss me? Even a little bit?"

A single second passes by. You can't lie to him and say you didn't. You missed him every single day, through the hurt. Your chest ached and your heart dropped every time you remembered the incident, but your love for him never wavered. You couldn't stop thinking about him, and with how often he tried to reach you, it was nearly impossible not to have him on your mind.

"Of course I did. I took the time I needed, but that doesn't mean I wanted it."

"I know, baby. And I would never hold it against you. I'm just... glad I can see you again, is all."

You smile. The gleam and sincerity in his eyes is a wonder to witness and well worth the butterflies that overly crowd your stomach.

"I really did miss you," you mumble.

"Yeah?" He asks.

"Mhm," you hum, nodding. "'Lots.'"

A soft chuckle rumbles in his chest, then he leans in close for nth time, peppering kisses across your cheek until he reaches your lips. He can feel you smiling into the kisses, a sensation he yearned for with every fiber of his being for the past week. One of his hands rests on your thigh, caressing the inner part of it, while the other slides up your shirt and settles on your waist. The lip-lock steals your breath away, but even then, you challenge your lungs for your lover's sake, only pulling away when you're a panting mess and Toji's breathing is more audible.

The tension is palpable, the silence loud as you look at one another like you're still taking in the fact that you can be loving towards each other again, in a manner that doesn't derive from guilt for the time that you didn't get to demonstrate how much you truly love each other. Enough to not be able to leave a fresh wound alone, enough to forgive while outwardly expressing that you have not healed but are patient enough to work towards regaining that strength.

"I don't wanna go home," he murmurs, eyes flitting between your eyes and lips before focusing on solely your eyes.

"You don't have to," you respond. "Stay as long as you'd like."

"And if I said I wanted to spend a week here with you? Would you hate it?"

You shake your head. "No, but I think you'd get tired of seeing me all the time."

"You're wrong, pretty girl. Is this your subtle way of saying you're tired of looking at my mug, already?" He asks, lips curling with amusement at your giggle.

"No, I want you to stay," you say, honest.

"Promise?"

You nod, followed by an affirmative hum.

"Say it again," he requests, heart thudding just a little faster when you smile.

"I want you to stay, Toji," you repeat, his name on your tongue causing your cheeks to warm up.

"Again." His hands mold around your hips—squeezing, loving.

"Stay," you say, softer.

He sighs, heavy, an enamored look in his eyes that you have never been able to comprehend. Those dark, viridescent eyes, have a brilliance to them as he looks at you like you're the last good thing he'll ever be able to call his. You're good for him, you're good to him, and there is nothing in the world that he wouldn't do for you because you gave him your heart.

"Yeah... you're stuck with me here for a week and you're come with me to pick some stuff up from my place, tomorrow. Okay? Okay."

"Okay," you respond, with a laugh.

"Now, we get you off this counter," he says, lifting you like you're a teddy bear that he carries around for protection. He doesn't miss the way you gasp at the suddenness. "Hold me tight, baby," he says, allowing you to wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist before moving anywhere. A kiss is planted on your shoulder as he turns around to exit the bathroom.

"And now you let me show you some love," he says, low, carrying you to your bedroom.

[kuidore]

More random ZoeYstery HCs ✧ KPOP demon hunters ✧ Zoey x Mystery

✧ They’re a little codependent but the sprinkles of toxicity are mutual so it cancels out

✧ Mystery never wants to go anywhere if Zoe isn’t going. He goes to social stuff because she goes and he wants to spend time with her.

✧ Zoey will still go to things on her own sometimes, leaving Mystery to hangout at home, but she spends a lot of time on her phone texting him and always leaves earlier than she would have if Mystery was with her

✧ This is entirely her choice, not once has he ever asked her to come home or complained about her going out. She just misses him extra hard sometimes and finds herself getting bored way faster when he isn’t around

✧ If it was up to either of them, they’d be together literally all of the time.

✧ They can’t actually do that, so he just follows her everywhere like a puppy on an invisible leash as much as he can

✧ He can see perfectly fine through his bangs (demon logic) but he still has a habit of running into things as if he couldn’t. Poles, signs, corners, fire hydrants. He’s surprisingly clumsy

✧ that’s because he doesn’t look where he’s going. he stares at Zoey instead

✧ totally worth it to him, especially the times when Zoey would start fawning over the possibility of him being hurt

✧ ‘a girlfriend wants a boyfriend who she can turn her brain off around’ except Mystery is the girlfriend

✧ He’s sorta an airhead, he’s ignorant to a lot of things that humans would think of as common knowledge

✧ Mystery thinks Zoey is the smartest person in the entire world and he says it a lot

✧ he eventually gets comfortable enough to ask her questions not just about herself, and she answers him with lots of details and excited hand gestures

✧ She’s happy he’s curious about humans in general and happier that he was asking her.

✧ In reality he’s still just curious about her and not all humans. No other ones, really. Maybe the rest of Huntrix, barely. he could handle her friends because they were extensions of Zoey.

✧ he was asking about topics he remembered her mention before in conversation.

✧ Zoey forgets what stories she’s told and what conversations she’s had with what people, so it doesn’t really click together that she just happens to know at least a little bit about pretty much about everything he asks

✧ he’s not doing it with manipulative intentions. Dude just genuinely could not care less about anything if he can’t play ‘seven degrees of Zoey Huntrix’ with it

✧ He compliments her multiple times a day, usually just blurting out something he was thinking as opposed to any sort of setup or cute delivery. In his eyes he’s just saying things that are true, but Zoey always giggles and thanks him anyways

✧ His deadpan tone and complete lack of awareness, in Zoey’s eyes, is a cute delivery

✧ Zoey is a crazy good baker. Mystery will hangout in the kitchen with her, sitting down and staying the hell out of her way as she zooms between cupboards

✧ Every so often she stops in front of him, a piece of chocolate or pastry or whatever else she was messing around with pinched between her fingers, and pops it in his mouth for a taste test

✧ He’s never any help when she’s trying to figure something out, but Zoey already knows that. She’s not expecting critique, she just gets all giddy seeing him smile and say it’s yummy when he tastes it

✧ where Jinu never lets Rumi see his demonic eyes, Mystery is exactly the opposite with Zoey

✧ When they’re at home, even after he’s started pinning up his bangs, he only ever has bright amber eyes with cat-like pupils

✧ Mystery has nothing but his demon form in his past, and as much as he didn’t care, sometimes he wondered what Zoey thought. If she ever remembered he was a demon when she was alone and recoiled at the thought of his ‘real’ form

✧ it’s the first question he’s afraid to ask her, so he doesn’t

✧ One day when she’s laying on top of him on their couch and his eyes are closed, she presses her lips to his eyelid, telling him not to open them as she did the same on the other side

✧ He opened them back up and just raises an eyebrow, and she shrugs back at him and tells him he has pretty eyes

✧ she gets a new thing for her ‘what makes Mystery blush?’ list

[lucenra]

Triggered

𝓟airing ↳ Jinu X F!Reader

𝓘𝓷 𝔀𝓱𝓲𝓬𝓱 .. Reader tries her best to ignore her ex.

𝓦arnings .. flashbacks, mentions of cheating

𝓐uthor's note .. inspired by jhene aikos song triggered everyone are normal humans in thid

Part 2!

It’s been a year and a few months since you and Jinu broke up. You’ve been handling it pretty well. The popular K-Pop group HUNTR/X, also known as your bestest friends in the whole world, have been helping you get through it. You finally managed to get him off your mind.

Until..

You went out with the girls to get Rumi’s tonic juice. Everything was fine, until a group of boys walked into the same alley. Mira and Zoey immediately started thirsting over one of the guy’s abs, while Rumi scolded them, and you just shot them a look. Not that you could blame them.

Then, another guy appeared behind them.

"…Jinu?" you whispered to yourself.

Your breath hitched, and Rumi instantly grabbed your arm once she realized who it was. Jinu looked at you with yearning eyes. And just like that, the memories flooded in. Every date, every joke, every moment you bonded, every gift exchanged—it all came rushing back. Your heart ached. Burned. It felt just like it did when you first found out he cheated.

But for some reason, you couldn't bring yourself to look away from him.

Luckily, the girls stepped in before it could go any further. Before you knew it, you were being pulled away, your arms in their grasp. As you looked back, Jinu was still staring.

"Are you okay Y/N?" Zoey asks as her hand is still on your arm.

“Yeah.. yeah. Don’t worry about me. It’s fine.” You sighed, trying to convince yourself.

Mira let go of your shoulder, arms now crossed. “I’m gonna kill that bastard. Who does he think he is showing up here? Ugh. Pisses me off.”

“Thank you, Mira.” You laughed softly.

“Hey,” Rumi chimed in, trying to change the mood, “why don’t we just get your mind off things? Watch the Saja Boys perform or something?”

You nodded. Anything to distract yourself.

What you didn’t know was that you were about to see your ex again—this time, on stage.

“What the…?” Mira muttered as the same group of boys from earlier suddenly appeared and began singing. All the girls turned to look at you. You just pressed your lips together and stared at your feet.

“This is just amazing,” you muttered, Rumi then feeling bad for you.

But surprisingly… the song was actually catchy. So, you decided to stay and watch. Every time Jinu sang, his eyes were locked on you.

Wow. What a unique way to get your ex back.

♡

After the performance, the group mingled with fans. You were about to leave when someone grabbed your wrist. You prayed it was just someone letting you know you dropped something.

Of course not.

“Wait, Y/N. I want to talk to you,” Jinu said, desperation in his voice.

“Yeah, no thanks. I’m good,” you replied flatly, yanking your wrist out of his grip and following the girls.

He ran after you. Persistent.

“Can we please talk?” he asked again, this time placing his hand on your shoulder.

You shrugged him off. “You don’t get to touch me anymore. And you sure as hell don’t get to have a conversation with me,” you snapped.

He stood there, stunned. You walked away, pretending like none of it happened.

♡

Later, you lay on your bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything in your mind. What you said. What he said. Were you too harsh? Were you being rude?

No. He deserved it.

But… maybe he changed?

Your thoughts spiraled, too fast to control. You needed air. So, you went out for a walk, hood up, hands in your pockets, AirPods blasting music.

Eventually, you walked into a convenience store to grab a snack. Hood down now, you were scanning the shelves.

“Why don’t you get the blue Takis? I know they’re your favorite,” a familiar voice said behind you.

You turned. Of course. Jinu.

“You just never stop, do you?” you scoffed, brushing past him, your shoulder bumping into his.

“I really want to talk. That’s all.”

You moved to a different aisle, but he followed you like a puppy.

“What is there to talk about?” you asked coldly.

“I just need a chance to show you I’ve changed. I want a second chance. Please,” he begged.

You stood there, arms crossed. Silent.

“Please,” he repeated, softer this time.

…

“Well…”

[violetcamryn]

OMG HII I READ THE UR RECENT FIC ABT SNOTLOUT AND I NEED MORE OF HIMM!!

Just an idea maybe an enemies to lovers trope w him and they got together bc he got jealous over smth?

thank you for the request. i hope this is sort of what you were looking for 🤭

“SOMETHING UNSPOKEN”

Pairing: Snotlout Jorgenson x reader

Trope: slight enemies to lovers (they just don’t know how to communicate)

Warnings/ heads-up: use of “Y/N” literally twice (i’ve heard some ppl don’t like to read fics that use “Y/N” so here’s your heads-up). Other than that, none!

AN: this is literally my first fanfic ever, please be kind. i’m so nervous to post this. anyways i hope you love it! as always, reblogs are greatly appreciated

You were pacing around your room, thinking about everything that had gone wrong earlier today.

First, Hiccup had accidentally stepped on your heel during dragon training which made you get distracted and end up getting eliminated in front of the students (he apologized profusely afterwards).

You had been late to teach the younger dragon riders and ended up only getting half the lesson done, which would set them back even farther than they already were.

But the cherry on top was Snotlout being in the way every time you needed to do something.

Every day there was the constant flirting, which was so poorly executed and poorly timed all it did was annoy you. He knew it too, he just wanted to get a rise out of you.

Then there was the fact that every time you had a moment of peace and quiet, he had to go off on some tangent about how “nobody else knows how to ride dragons like he can” and “he should be teaching his own class”. Everybody knew it wasn’t true, because nothing would ever get done if he was teaching his own class, but he believed it nonetheless.

The worst of it was when he’d kick your shins under the dining table, and then deny it was him. You weren’t sure why (or how) you ended up sitting across from him almost every meal, but I guess the fact that he showed up late to every meal and just happened to sit down across from you would account for it.

After pacing your room for what felt like hours, you finally laid down to get some sleep after a rather agitating day.

In the morning, you made your way to the mead hall to have breakfast with everyone. Fishlegs had brought along the dragon manual to study, and everybody was completely engrossed in it.

You slid onto the bench in between Astrid and Fishlegs, and they welcomed you by sliding you a plate of breakfast. You probably should have paid more attention to the seating arrangements, you realized after a few seconds.

Directly across from you was Snotlout, who was unsurprisingly causing a ruckus. Him and Tuffnut were pushing eachother across the bench and knocked into Ruffnut, which didn’t help the noise level after she shouted at them to stop.

When they finally started to eat breakfast like normal people, you were able to focus on the day ahead.

The day was going to be busy— dragon training in the morning, lunch and study sesh with the gang, fence repair in the afternoon (the sheep got out again, shocker), and then dinner at the lookout in the evening.

“So, who’s teaching the class with me this morning?” you asked the group. You had checked the schedule and Astrid was supposed to be helping you, along with some new guy, but the schedule was always changing.

“Well, there’s been a slight change of plans. I know I was supposed to help you today but I have to help Gobber with this stupid project he’s started, so we figured we’d send Snotlout with you today” Astrid said hesitantly.

You looked her dead in the eyes with an “are you serious right now” glare, and all she could do was shoot you an apologetic smile.

“I’ll be on my best behaviour, I promise” Snotlout chimed in with a smile, taking a quick pause from his extremely messy eating.

“You better be” you replied.

After everybody had cleaned up their breakfast, you all made your way out of the hall and off to your morning routines.

——————————————————————

The arena was full of younger dragon riders, all eager to learn the new skills you had planned to teach them.

The new trainer, some guy whose name you didn’t know yet, was there and greeted you with a smile. You smiled back but didn’t have time to chat. Not that you cared for small talk anyways, you were there to teach.

You anxiously checked the time, and everyone except for one person was at the lesson on time.

“Great way to start the lesson” you mentioned when Snotlout finally showed up, late.

He gave you an apologetic smile but that didn’t make up for the fact that you had lost 10 minutes of valuable teaching time.

You got over it quickly though, because your mind became preoccupied with just how incompetent these younger dragon riders were.

One of them couldn’t even get his dragon to sit still for more than 5 seconds, so for the majority of the class time there was no hope of him learning the new flying skills you had planned for the day.

The other dragon trainer, whose name you now heard from one of the kids was Leif, managed to get the kid onto his dragon after 15 minutes of him trying on his own. Thank Odin.

The rest of the lesson went smoothly, and soon enough it was time to clean up.

You walked over the Leif and gave him a pat on the shoulder.

“Thanks for your help, I’m not sure what that lesson would’ve looked like if you hadn’t got that kid on his dragon” you said.

“No problem, anytime” he replied with a smile.

You turned to leave the arena, and you saw Snotlout standing with Hookfang, looking…upset?

“Jeez, who pissed in his drink this morning?” you thought to yourself as you walked out of the arena.

The rest of the day went by quicker than you anticipated. Lunch + study sesh with everyone was the same as usual, except for the fact that Snotlout was nowhere to be seen.

You chalked it up to him not wanting to study and skipping out again. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Fixing the fence was a pain, especially since the twins (who were the only other people assigned to help) were absolutely useless. They so much time fighting about who would fix it better, that neither of them actually helped fix ANY of it.

You were so thankful that dinner came as soon as it did. You strolled up to the lookout where everyone had planned to meet up for dinner.

You and Snotlout just happened to be the first people there.

“I see you’re actually early for something for once” you half-joked.

He didn’t say anything back, which surprised you. Normally he would take a jab at you any chance he got, but not today.

“I guess skipping out on the study sesh earlier really must have given you some time to get here early” you tried again.

Still, nothing.

You sat silently for what felt like hours (it was literally 5 minutes), before the rest of the crew showed up. Fishlegs was the first to arrive, and he immediately noticed Snotlout’s quiet demeanour. He was not going to be the one to complain though, he was going to enjoy the peace and quiet for as long as it lasted…

It lasted a total of 15 seconds before the twins showed up and started talking loudly about everything they did (or didn’t) do that day, which included NOT helping you fix the fence (you were still bitter about it).

Once everyone else had arrived, everyone began eating and chatting. Not Snotlout though, he was quiet. None of the usual kicking your shin or pushing Tuffnut off the end of the bench. Just…eating silently.

You wondered what had brought on this sudden change of character, but you were soon preoccupied with the group conversation.

Dinner went by quickly, and you were thankful for it. All you could think about was how badly you wanted to be back in your bed. You had hoped that after a nights rest, tomorrow’s dragon training lesson would go better.

You usually stayed behind to clean up, as it gave you something to do to wind down from the day before you went home.

Everyone else made their way down from the lookout and started to head home, thanking you as they left.

But one person had stayed behind.

“So you and Mr. Dragon Trainer must be pretty close then, huh?” Snotlout asked suddenly.

You turned around with a confused look and didn’t know how to respond.

“I saw you two at the end of the lesson today, you seemed like you REALLY enjoyed his company” he said.

“I was thanking him for getting that kid on his dragon, that’s all. Plus, why do you even care?” you responded. “It’s not like you offered up a helping hand much today” you added before scooping up the rest of the leftover food and tossing it to the dragons that were lying below the lookout.

“Well I would have if I had a chance to, but you seemed to busy with good ol’ Mr. Dragon Trainer to notice if I did” he said.

“Why does it matter if I notice? You’re there to teach a class Snotlout, not show off” you replied, sitting down on the bench across from him.

“Why do you think I even took up teaching that class? I knew he was going to be there, but do you really think I enjoy teaching a class with that guy? No I certainly don’t” he retorted.

“What are you getting at, Snotlout?” You were completely lost about where this conversation was going.

“I took up teaching that class because I would get to teach with you” he blurted out. He immediately looked like he regretted it, and looked down at the floor.

“What do you mean you wanted to teach with me? You treat me like you can’t even stand me half the time. You’re constantly trying to annoy me and get me to be frustrated with you, why would you want to spend MORE time with me?” you asked, sincerely confused.

“You ever think about the fact that maybe I don’t want to annoy you? Maybe I just wanted the attention that came from it?” he asked softly, still looking at the ground.

“What- huh?” you stammered, trying to compose your thoughts.

“You really thought I wanted to annoy you because, what, I disliked you? No, I wanted you to notice me.” he said.

You took a moment to process what was happening; the man who had spent the past who-knows-how-long pestering you, teasing you, and picking fights with you, wanted you to…notice him?

“I didn’t think that being nice would make you notice me. I thought I’d just seem like every other guy in the village. Which apparently seems to be your type, seeing as you were buddying it up with Leif earlier…” he mumbled at the end.

“Please for the love of Thor, enough about Leif! I don’t care about him. In fact, he didn’t even know his name until today. That should show you just how little he matters to me” you responded, slightly irritated.

“Sorry. I just..I don’t know. Seeing you with him today, touching his shoulder, I got jealous. I wanted you to notice me but you were too busy with him” he admitted.

You almost couldn’t believe the words you were hearing.

He finally looked up from the ground, and took a deep breath.

“I guess I’m too far into this now not to get it all out, so I might as well just tell you. I’ve been into you for a long time, Y/N” he said, while scratching the back of his neck nervously.

“I took the shift today because I wanted to finally show you how I really am, that i’m not just some obnoxious guy and I actually know what i’m doing. This is obviously not how I planned for the day to go, but here we are” he said.

“I just didn’t know how to tell you or show you how I felt. I don’t like annoying you, I just thought it was the only way I’d get your attention. I’m sorry, I didn’t want you to think it was because I disliked you” he said sadly.

You looked at him for a moment before getting up to go sit next to him.

You didn’t touch him, you just sat silently next to him and listened.

“I want to show you that I’m a good guy, and—“ you cut him off.

“Look. Now that I know all of this, there’s some things I need to say too” you started.

“You didn’t have to do all of…that to get me to notice you. I really liked being around you, but you just made it so difficult and I thought you didn’t like me.” you said.

“You know, I was into you for a while too…it started around a year ago” you admitted quietly after a moment of silence.

He looked surprised.

“I just couldn’t bring myself to sacrifice my focus on teaching for some feelings that I was pretty sure weren’t going to be reciprocated. So, I started to ignore you, and then you started to do…whatever all that was to get my attention” you looked at the ground as you said it.

“You should’ve just told me” he said.

You looked at him for a moment, analyzing his face to see whether he was being sincere or not.

“I’m serious. I wouldn’t have made fun of you. Gods, I was already crushing on you back then. I would’ve been ecstatic if you just told me” he said with a smile.

“Look, I feel like some apologies are in order. I’ve been an asshole. I shouldn’t have tried to get your attention the way I did, and I really shouldn’t have gotten so jealous today. I’m sorry, Y/N” he said, turning his body to fully face you.

You took a moment to appreciate the apology before answering.

“I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did either. I just shut you out instead of dealing with my feelings and I just made everything worse” you said.

You both sat silently for a moment, trying to process everything that had been said in the last few minutes. Everything was going to change now.

“Can we…start over? I want to show you who I really am, not just some obnoxious guy who can’t flirt to save his life” Snotlout said.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that actually” you responded. “But can we skip the part where we pretend we don’t have feelings for eachother? I mean, now that’s it’s all out in the open anyways…” you asked.

“Yes, please” he said with a smile.

You smiled back and inched closer to him on the bench. You gave him a very light smack on the arm.

“That’s for all the times you tried to get on my nerves” you joked.

You quickly leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“That’s for everything after”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

AN: Omg this is my first fanfic ever, i hope it’s not too bad. Feedback is appreciated (pls be kind though)💗💗

More coming soon! I have a few WIPs cooking in my drafts waiting to be finished to get ready for more Snotlout x reader content

[intoanotherworld23]

After Hours

Summary: Joel Miller was a very successful businessman, and you just worked for him. Then one night the two of you stay late, and make use of an empty building.

Warnings: mature content, explicit content, smut, unprotected sex, rough sex, submissive reader, dominant Joel, minor spanking, dirty talk

A/N: Hi my lovelies it’s been a hot minute since I’ve posted anything on here, but I’ve just been really busy and couldn’t find the time to write. Hope I still have your love and support, and that y’all continue to enjoy my work! Hope you guys are still obsessing over Daddy a.k.a Pedro pascal. Reblog and comment if you like it they would be greatly appreciated and encouraged. If you have any notes or tips or something nice to say about my work don’t hesitate to express it! Always show support for your fellow writers. If you wish to be added to a tag list let your girl know! Thanks everyone! Enjoy! XOXO

Tag list for everything: @iam-laiya @rosie-posie08 @madzleigh01 @alwaysclassyeagle @mytbel0st @shanimallina87 @marvelstarker-mha98 @powellssugarbaby @lora21 @kmc1989

Tag list for Pedro Pascal: @pedrohoe04 @k-k0129 @livingdeadmaria @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @milly-louise @kittenlittle24 @trisaratops-mcgee @subconsciouscollapse @hooked-on-penapascal27 @red-red-rogue @fellinfromthetop @drewharrisonwriter @vickie5446 @millerfan @lover-of-books-and-tea @bbyanarchist @justajoelsreader

Hall Of Hunks

The office was quiet, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning and the click of your heels echoing against the polished floor. Everyone else had gone home hours ago, but you stayed. You always stayed. And tonight, so did he.

Joel leaned in the doorway, tie loosened, sleeves rolled to his elbows. "You're still here," he said, voice low and a little rough.

Looking up from your screen, smirking. "So are you."

“Touché.” He stepped into your office slowly, as if crossing some invisible line. "I could say I forgot something, but that wouldn't be true."

You stood still, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "Then what is true?"

"That I wanted to see what would happen if we were the last two in the building."

Silence stretched between the two of you, thick with anticipation. The tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. Neither of you blinked as his eyes remained glued to yours.

Crossing the space between the both of you, stopping just shy of touching. "And?"

“I didn’t think anything was going to happen.” His fingers brushed your hip, feather-light. "I guess we could find out."

You didn't stop him when he leaned in. When your mouths met, it wasn't tentative . It was the kind of kiss that made time irrelevant. Hands explored, breath hitched, and the sharp thrill of being somewhere you shouldn't only made it more intoxicating.

It was a moment suspended between rules and desire, and you both knew that you had crossed the line long before the door clicked shut behind you.

Clothes ripped off and thrown across the room with in seconds, as your naked bodies fell down on the leather couch on the other side. You on top hovering over his body slightly hesitating on if you really wanted to do this or not.

Joel could sense your worry and reached a hand up to grab your face, and pull your lips back to his. Groaning in your mouth in the most sensual way possible. That was all it took for you to gain more confidence.

“It’s just you and me.” His hand gripping the base as he rubbed it up and down your folds. A shiver running up your spine as he pushed the tip slowly inside you.

“That’s it baby girl, that’s a good girl.” Soft praises echoing in your ear as you slowly sank down his erect cock. His soft hands caressing your skin so delicately. “You feelin all of me?”

“Mhm.” Struggling to speak just one word concentrating on adjusting around his thickness. Twisting your face in an unusual manner causing him to softly chuckle at how cute and hot you looked at the same time.

“Cat got your tongue baby? Can you not speak?” His tone playful and low.

“Joel please.” Whimpering pathetically as you continued to grind your hips back and forth. Joel loved to see how desperate you were for him.

“You like fucking your bosses? Does the thought make your cunt wet? Huh?” His words repeating over and over in your brain as they got more filthy. “Bet that cunt has been dripping everyday for me.”

Joel loved the feeling of your skin touching his. The way your body molded perfectly against his. Like two magnets connecting together. A powerful and intimidating man holding you like a delicate glass cup. Joel was enjoying this way more than what he thought he would, and he was never going to let you go.

“Fuck you are tight.” Large hands holding the fat flesh of your behind squeezing your cheeks in his palm. Feeling so warm and incredibly deep. “Such a shame you haven’t been fucked properly.”

Nodding your head in complete agreement still unable to form a complete sentence. Wrapping your hands around his neck softly, beginning to tremble as you moved your legs to raise yourself better. Joel helping guide your hips so you never lost your rhythm.

“Take it easy baby girl, wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.” He teased as you started to struggle bouncing up and down. A hand coming down swiftly on your backside in warning, but you never flinched.

“I can do it Joel.” Reassuring him with your glazed out eyes, as he smirked up at you loving the wicked gleam in your eyes. “You’re just so fucking big.”

“Fuck.” That was music to his ears as he wrapped his arms around your back pulling your chest on top of his. Hearing those words sounded like a challenge to him, and did he love a good challenge.

Gasping as he lifted his knees up, and started to pound up into your cunt with no mercy. His warm lips peppering kisses along your shoulder and neck. His hands keeping a firm grip on your ass using it as leverage.

His pelvic hair brushing against your exposed clit it had your thighs shaking aggressively. Joel feeling this smacked a hand against your lower thigh.

“Oh my god.” Crying out so loud that if anyone was on the floor above or below you would definitely hear.

“Nobody else could ever make you feel like this.” Hissing in your ear, and in just mere seconds tears are glistening in your eyes. “My cock, and my cock only can make you feel this good.”

“Yes sir.” Dropping your voice when saying sir, and something switched in Joel’s eyes when you called him that.

Suddenly your body was being grabbed and flipped onto your back. Your skin smacking against the warm leather sticking to your skin. Pulling your legs over both his shoulders, getting right back into the same rhythm.

Drilling into your sweet spot over and over again. Face leaning forward slightly just enough to where your lips couldn’t reach his. Joel always just oozed with confidence whether it was during a business meeting or in the bedroom. A bit surprised a wealthy, attractive man like him would go after with much lower status.

“I’m so close.” Quickly informing him as your body started to tremble. A fire igniting in the pit of your stomach. Head tossed back in complete ecstasy as you couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Let go baby girl I’m right here.” Cooing softly in your ear like he was telling a secret. His deep and seductive voice was sending you right over the edge.

“Oh fuck fuck.” Crying out as your orgasm was rapidly approaching. Joel looking down at the remarkable expression on your face. Loving that he was the one in control for your pleasure. It made him feel like he was invincible.

“Fucking cum around my cock.” Commanding as he gritted his teeth as a hand reached down to your connected bodies rubbing your puffy clit. Rapid circles around your neck causing you to scream as your hands scratched down his back leaving marks.

Your ribcage falling and rising with each unsteady breath you took. Hands falling down to your sides loose and numb. Stomach trembling from your euphoric orgasm you just received. Your battered cunt was feeling sore and thoroughly stretched from his cock. His hands stroking your thighs soothingly waiting for you to come down from your high.

“I’m so glad you decided to stay after hours.” He chuckled to which you laughed shaking your head.

Then a soft knock came from the door both of you looking over your eyes going wide. “Umm when you guys are done in there, I was wondering if I could get my folder I left on your desk.”

[distuff]

How about ‘would they be jealous if you were talking to/hanging out with someone for a long time’? Just how would they act with jealousy for all the saja boys, or baby and mystery if u don’t want to do all of the saja boys

Answer: Hello my dear readershi! Thank you for the prompt. As it gives me a tOn of creative freedom lol I hope you'll enjoy what I've created for ya ( ´ ꒳ ` ) Also! arigatou for givin mhe a choice, bUt I'll happily do all of 'em for ya. Note. The person who asked for another jealousy troupe, as well, please note that yours will be posted tomorrow if nothing major comes in between��

📍Requests:

OPEN

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

Demon Boys' And Others With You

Featuring: Jinu Saja, Abs Saja, Mystery Saja, Romance Saja, Baby Saja Reader: Gender neutral

<><><>

Jinu Saja

🐦‍⬛ So. Let’s get one thing straight. Jinu was not the jealous type. Why bother? I mean really! He’s a demon for crying out loud! He can shift into the most handsome being, conjure up anything he wants with a snap of his fingers if he so much as wished to. He had no reason to be jealous of others - if anything, others should be jealous of him.

🐦‍⬛ So why is it that when you tell him you’ll have to cancel your date because of this “other person”, he feels like… he doesn’t have everything? His silence must have been confirmation for you. Or maybe it was the call from that other person in the background that made you hang up with a quick, “Love you!”

🐦‍⬛ Jinu doesn’t know - nor does he care as much as he cares about the setup in front of him. It took effort to kick the other guys out and get the living room to look the way it did now: pillows spread on the floor, fluffy blankets tossed around, and a perfect mix of warm and cold snacks for your lazy night together. Some random movie was already playing quietly in the background.

🐦‍⬛ It took considerable self-restraint not to set the calling device - “phone,” as humans called it - on fire, or smash it to bits. Instead, he threw it onto the couch with a dramatic groan, scowling at the feeling curling tight in his chest. It felt far too familiar for his liking - a reminder of his pathetic past.

🐦‍⬛ Jinu brushed it off the first time. Whatever. Fine. You had a life outside of him. Who cares! Not him! ... The Tiger and the Magpie gave him unimpressed stares. Or at least, the bird did. Tiger - Jinu hoped - was trying to console him, especially when he slowly walked over… only to pass him without pause and disappear into Jinu’s room. “Ungrateful cat…” Jinu muttered.

🐦‍⬛ The second time? It wasn’t even supposed to be just the two of you. The guys were also there to hang out with the two of you. Jinu refused to acknowledge the tick in his brow when you told him over the “phone” that you’d unexpectedly had to meet up with someone else.

🐦‍⬛ Jinu also pointedly ignored the sidelong glances the others were giving him. Baby looked utterly disinterested in this matter, while the rest tried to hype him up in their own... unique and completely unnecessary ways- Jinu takes it back. Baby wasn’t the asshole this time. Safe to say, when it kept happening, Jinu was starting to seriously consider binding you to him with a demonic contract.

Jinu would’ve congratulated you - for managing to make him think about anything other than his mission or his desire to reclaim his soul. But you weren’t here. Again. It wasn’t like you two didn’t hang out at all anymore... but it was less than what Jinu was used to. With a heavy sigh, Jinu closed his eyes, pressing his forearm against them as he lay sprawled in bed. Who knew what hour it was? Judging from the low hum of the honmoon barrier mingling with the underlying energy of the others, it wasn’t late enough for them to rest. Not that they needed to - but it helped pass the time when there was nothing else to do. Like right now. Right now, when Jinu could - should - be focusing on the reason he was even in the human world to begin with. But he couldn’t. Because every time he tried, his mind circled back to you. To the thought that maybe you’d figured out who - what - he was. That maybe he didn’t have whatever it was you were looking for... and you were seeking it in someone else. “Ridiculous...” he muttered. Unsure if it was aimed at himself or the situation. His thoughts betrayed him, replaying moment after moment with you. His hand reached automatically for Tiger, who had curled up on his stomach and was now purring softly. Comforting. He thought of your first meeting. The first time you went out to dinner and actually made him laugh - really laugh, not the practised kind he’d perfected over centuries. The way you smiled when you were just being you, and how that let him ease into showing bits of himself - shifting between disguise and truth. He remembered introducing you to the others. The way you slowly, but surely easier into his life more. You even hung out with th—

Jinu's eyes snapped open. He shot upright so suddenly that Tiger had to duck off the bed to avoid being smacked in the face. Jinu sat there, eyes blown wide, as a memory slammed into him like a newly turned demon. He hadn’t corrected either of them. You hadn’t been with them at the time - but knowing those idiots? There was no telling when they might’ve run into you without mentioning it and just blurring the same words in front of you. Teasingly or not, Jinu could easily imagine you not taking it well. Could it be…? His eyes narrowed, glowing gold for a brief second before flicking back to black as his ears strained, hearing the phone on his nightstand vibrate seconds before ringing. He glanced at the screen - then instantly answered it, pressing the phone to his ear. Your voice, as beautiful and soothing as always, spilled into the quiet and Jinu felt tension he didn’t even know he was holding unravel inside him. “Jinu~ Why aren’t you sleeping?” He pulled one knee up to rest his elbow on it, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he answered just as gently, “Who says you didn’t wake me up, hmm?” It seemed it was late for a human then. Hearing you laugh and shifting around in the background, Jinu zeroed his attention on you. “Because when you sleep, you sleep, hahaha!” Not true, Jinu thought - but didn’t say. He was wide awake plenty of times. But if pretending to be asleep meant you’d play with his hair longer, he’d do it every time. There was a pause. He could only hear your breathing. And usually, that was enough. It brought him peace. But even across the distance, he could feel your hesitance. A subtle uncertainty within your honmoon signature that made something twist in his chest.

Why are you hesitating… with me?

He pressed the phone tighter to his ear, fingers twitching with the urge to reach for your wavelength through the barrier as the hollowness in his chest thrummed with quiet ache. Before he met you, the void was easier to ignore - insatiable, familiar. But now… even if it wasn’t full, you brought warmth. A soft light that flickered in the emptiness where a soul should have been.

He didn’t want to go back to that empty place. He didn’t want to go back to before you. “Jinu?” you finally said his name, and the hesitation in it made him tense again. He wanted to ask, What is it? He wanted to ask, Are you going to end this? But his thoughts spiralled too fast to settle on just one question. Which was ridiculous. He had nothing to lose and nothing to give you. This whole... arrangement wasn't even there to last... That should’ve made it easier. Should’ve. But did not. Jinu let out a deep breath, realising you wouldn’t continue unless he showed he was listening. Shifting, he lay back on the pillow, gripping the phone tightly. “Yeah?” he finally breathed, ignoring Tiger’s piercing gaze and Magpie’s scrutinising stare from across the room. He expected a lot. Maybe an awkward apology - not that you needed to apologise. He’d never outright said anything was wrong. Maybe you’d tell him you weren’t comfortable anymore. Maybe— That’s why, when your next words came, his eyes widened, and he blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Is something wrong?” you asked, unsure and worried. “No—No. Pffft. Nooo—why would you think that?” he said, way too quickly. Even a blind human would’ve known something was off. Another pause. Then a sigh. “Jinu…” you said his name with a tired, warning tone. He grinned shakily, even though you couldn’t see it. “Yeeees?” he drawled, teasing - but you huffed. He could almost see your expression: the smile tugging at your lips, the brow you always raised when he was clearly bullshitting. Then there was silence again. This time, Jinu broke it. With a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagged. Under Tiger’s drilling gaze, Magpie’s quiet judgement, and your pressing silence he finally admitted what had been weighing him down. “You never—” No, that wasn’t right. He inhaled and tried again. “We don’t spend as much time as we used to and I - I can’t help but wonder if… the person you always seem to prefer has something I… don’t.” He couldn’t hide the flush in his cheeks. Embarrassed. But it was either say it or let it rot the short-lived connection that brought him comfort. Thankfully, you didn’t let him stew for long. “Baboya~” you said fondly, and Jinu could hear your smile. “These people are just part of the project I was assigned to.” Jinu blinked. Speechless. “…Project?” he echoed. Barely registering this "person" were "people". You laughed gently. “Yes! Hahaha! I really do apologise. Looks like I forgot to tell you… It’s just hard to focus on all my responsibilities when I’m with you, Jinu. I promise! This time, I won’t bail on you, ’kay?” He felt his face soften into a grin. Something in his chest buzzed - there may be no heart in his core, but he could still feel the growing warmth. He bent forward, clutching his shirt with his free hand, grinning like an idiot. “You better… You don’t want me to steal you right in front of them, do you?” You laughed, probably thinking he was joking. But Jinu wasn’t. Not even a little. Your words reassured him that he was enough - but after everything he’d experienced, he wasn’t going to let anyone take your time meant for him. He wasn’t that reasonable of a “man.”

<><><>

Abs Saja

💪 Abby had no issue with you hanging out with others. He trusted that you had eyes and knew he was a catch - and that you’d tell him if something wasn’t right, just like he bluntly did to you.

💪 Family hangouts? Easy. Abby had no problem showing up and showing off to your relatives even when he was not invited. Friends? Peers? All of that was just background noise - opportunities, really - for him to flex as your partner while the cute little rats around the two of you squealed his praises. It was a win-win.

💪 His eagerness and chill attitude about you being around others, however, was not a green light for you to pull a: “Me and the others are having a slumber party!” - followed by a kiss on the cheek and a swift sprint out of the apartment he shared with the guys.

💪 Abby respected your clever escape, because he knew if you didn’t plan it like a prison break, he would’ve already had you trapped in his arms, hoisted over his shoulder, and dragged off to his room for his required daily dose of nightly cuddles - unbothered by your flailing attempts to escape.

💪 Abby was a demon who couldn't hide his reactions. So when the door shut behind you, his brain was still buffering - trying to piece together what the hell just happened - before his lips pulled into a dramatic pout. He turned to his brothers lounging in the living room and pointed at the door with his thumb in a wordless: Can you believe that?!

💪 Jinu and Romance exchanged a glance while Mystery just shook his head - less in understanding and more in quiet pity. Baby released his lollipop with a loud pop as he looked him over with drooped eyes. “Pathetic.” Then he put his lollipop back and went right back to scribbling in a notebook, no doubt perfecting Jinu’s lyrics again.

It was safe to say Abby didn’t require rest. He didn’t have a heart like humans, meaning he didn’t need rest to produce whatever the blood was formed from for it to function. For demons, sleep was more of a pastime - something to do when there was nothing else going on. But for Abby? There was always something going on. He wasn’t the structured type - he always went with whatever caught his attention or he thought was a great idea to do. However, ever since you entered his life, Abby had developed one routine. You, in his bed, sleeping next to him every night. No exceptions. Until today. Because today, you decided a bunch of squealing meat sticks were more important than him and your shared cuddles. And for what, exactly? A slumber party? What the fuck even was that? Well, he knew now - thanks to Mystery, who had flipped through one of his human books and casually explained that slumber parties were events where humans “bonded” by staying up late, talking… and summoning demons. Which - hello? You already had a demon. Him. Or were you trying to tell him he was supposed to go to that party and fight off some pathetic, low-ranking worm of a demon to prove himself to you? That theory was quickly shut down by Juni, who waved his arms frantically and made a big “X” with his hands. “No, no,” Juni said, exasperated. “It’s not that kind of slumber party.” Yes, it was about bonding and talking, he explained - but mostly it was eating snacks, playing games, and then cuddling together before falling asleep. Abby did not like that. Were you saying he wasn’t good enough to cuddle? Not warm enough? Not sturdy enough? He could change forms if you needed him to! All you had to do was say the word - he could be anything for you. All he needed to do was tell you that he was a demon who could- Abby let out a frustrated growl into his pillow, which was currently trapped in a suffocating death grip. The others - excluding Romance, who had flashed him an enthusiastic thumbs-up - had shot him sharp, warning glares the moment he suggested it. Their not-so-subtle way of saying: fucking try it.

He huffed, burying his chin into the pillow that still smelled like both of you. His bored eyes drifted toward the glittering honmoon barrier, pulsing in slow, even waves on the bed. He hated how badly he wanted to devour you - to keep you with him at all times. The craving swelled in his chest as he hugged the pillow tighter. A glimmer of your energy flickered inside the honmoon. Abby’s eyes sharpened. Without realising it, he reached out - his clawed finger sinking into the mattress just inches from the glowing thread of your wavelength. That glimmering crimson pulsed over the faint blue. He grinned. Leaning forward, he easily cast your line into his shadow, the dying blue and vibrant red of your link illuminating his face. His sharper teeth gleamed. Abby growled in approval, "My small, precious human..." he murmured, nuzzling his nose into the line, pressing his cheek against it as your wavelength trembled. Seconds later, the device Juni called a “phone” began ringing on his nightstand. Lazily rising, Abby leaned over, using one hand to balance himself while the other reached for the phone. The moment he saw your name on the screen, his grin deepened. Satisfaction pulsed through him as he accepted the call. He purposely lowered his voice, making it gravelly - like he’d just woken up. “What’s up...” “Abby?” Your voice was soft, startled, like you were rudely awakened by something. He hummed deeply in response, shifting on the bed so his feet touched the floor. He could hear you moving around in the background too, still disoriented. “Ah—sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you…” “No, no,” he replied gently. “You called. Did something happen?” He added a slight rasp, pretending to wake himself up for you. You yawned, which made him chuckle as he stood and stretched his shoulders, muscles flexing. “No, nothing really. Just… do you think I—” He cut you off smoothly, already halfway to his closet. “Want me to come get you, sweet thing?” There was a pause on your end as he pulled on a random shirt. As soon as he put the phone back to his ear, your answer poured out, soft and almost drowsy. “…Please.” That one word was all he needed. Abby's grin stretched wider. Your voice sounded fuzzy, affected by the pull of the honmoon - probably a side effect of him tampering with it earlier. Nothing dangerous. Just made it a little easier for him. Especially if your wavelength was already weakened by their influence on you.

<><><>

Mystery Saja

🐶 Mystery was the only one among the others who was genuinely curious about the human world - in the way a scientist might be fascinated by their test subjects. A curiosity that wasn’t driven by affection or sentimentality, but by the cold, sharp edge of analysis.

🐶 That same curiosity had granted him rare insight into human behaviour. And comparing it to the era he hailed from? Mystery often wondered if he’d been born on an entirely different planet.

🐶 One of the more puzzling subjects he studied was the human desire to bond. Or more accurately - the innate need to form multiple, meaningful connections with others.

🐶 Okay… but so what? You already had Romance, with whom you could talk endlessly about new trends. Abby, who behaved like an oversized golden retriever, constantly dragging you around the city and showing you places even you - a human who lived around here - didn’t know existed. You had Juni, who could pass as the most "normal" out of all of them and offered you the kind of grounded interaction humans seemed to crave. And Baby, who teased you endlessly until you smacked him with a pillow and he cackled like it was his reward.

🐶 You even had a good rapport with Tiger and Magpie, who you adored taking on nightly walks on which Mystery tended to tag along.

🐶 And he had given you everything a human partner could possibly want. Warm meals, stimulating conversation, the kind of scorching pleasure that left you trembling - your pleas for more eventually turning into breathless gasps begging him to slow down before you could faint.

🐶 So please. Enlighten him again how meeting these random strays was more important than spending time with him, while he read, and you used him like your personal massage therapist for your feet.

“There are not strays, 'Tery,” you sighed, arms crossed, standing your ground before him. He stood perfectly still, blocking the front door of the apartment he shared with the others. “They’re my cousins.” Mystery blinked once - not that you could see it with his fringe in the way - so he tilted his head slightly instead, the silver earrings on his left ear swaying. “What’s the difference?” You let out a short snort, stepping forward to playfully shove his chest. But Mystery remained unmoved. He couldn’t comprehend how being blood-related made a difference. Related or not, they were still doing the same thing. Taking you away from him. Having to realise that was not a joke, you straightened your posture, running a hand through your hair and said, “Mystery—” Oh no. You said his full name. It wasn't even the real one. It was the name Juni had given him. And yet, somewhere along the way, it had rooted itself into his core so deeply that hearing it from your lips had a startling effect.

Your closeness was even worse. The way you stood there, just a breath away. The possibility of closing that distance— It made shivers spread under his skin. The corners of his mouth twitched, ears straining to catch each syllable that left your lips. “I’ll be back by 5:20,” you said, voice calm, trying to sound reasonable. “Maybe earlier. I don’t know how long they’ll keep me.” You really were sounding logical. But not to him. Mystery didn’t move. A thick silence settled between you as you stared him down, and he stared back through the veil of hair over his eyes. He relished the way your gaze roamed over him, your brows furrowed with concern. Without saying a word, Mystery reached up and gently smoothed the crease between them with his thumb. Your shoulders dropped. You exhaled. “Fiiine,” you groaned, giving him a look. “You can come with.” Good human, he thought, stepping aside and offering his arm. You looped yours through it without protest, and together you left for the café where your strays - your cousins - were waiting. At the café, Mystery immediately picked up on the subtle awkwardness between the strangers and himself. The two you’d introduced as your cousins kept glancing between him and the curious patrons nearby, who were clearly trying to place his face. Hmm. Maybe this wasn’t about you wanting to get away from him. Maybe you were trying to avoid drawing attention? Not that he cared. He adjusted the cap you'd jammed onto his head before leaving the apartment and relaxed into the chair. Now he could casually tell the others that he’d simply taken the opportunity to do “fan outreach.” Humans adored that kind of thing, didn’t they? Idols doing normal things. Going out for disgusting oil-water - what was it called again? Coffee. Romance had explained it to him once with a flair. Something about chic trend and university aesthetic... Whatever.

Mystery barely stifled a sigh when your male cousin awkwardly introduced himself, followed by your female cousin. After that, the conversation mostly flowed between you and them. Meanwhile, Mystery was simply trying not to spit out the moldy tar water in front of him and onto your cousin’s face. You said it wouldn’t take long - and thankfully, it didn’t. The two cousins had places to be. Finally outside in the fresh air, Mystery nodded at the male who returned it, a polite bow exchange with the female - and then they hugged you one by one, flashing bright smiles as they said goodbye and left behind their stench on your clothes. Mystery watched with idle disinterest… until you turned toward him with a bright smile and started walking. Without missing a beat, he fell into step beside you, his movements effortless. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he slid his arm around your waist, drawing you closer with practiced ease. “'Tery,” you hissed, startled, your head twisting as if to check whether your cousins were still nearby. “What if they—?” Before you could finish, his hand slid up from your waist to your back and finally settled on the back of your neck. He gently tilted your head forward, voice soft and steady, “No worries. They’re already gone.” You checked him for reassurance, and upon seeing his relaxed smile, you finally eased up, trusting him entirely. As you leaned into his side, Mystery kept his hand on the back of your neck - his fingers slowly kneading the base. Casually, he lifted his other hand to fix his hair, as he hooked few fingers under the strands of his fringe, letting them part as he subtly turned his head to the side, revealing one of his eyes. Sky blue, rimmed with glowing gold - until, in a blink, the gold swallowed the colour whole. His pupil narrowed into a sharp horizontal slit as his gaze locked onto your cousins. They were now frozen in place, lingering by the café entrance. He let them see it. The flash of inhuman sharpness in his smile. The knowing glint. He let it linger just long enough for their wavelengths in the honmoon to spike in alarm before he blinked, his eyes returning to their human form as he turned, letting his fringe fall back into place, Without another glance back, he walked leisurely beside you, pleased with the phantom of their fear still dancing at the edge of his senses like static. Mystery drank it all. And oh, how sweet it was.

<><><>

Romance Saja

🌹 Romance would proudly say it aloud: he didn’t understand the word jealousy.

🌹 He’d only first heard of it when he’d tagged along to the human world with the others. Baby had been grumbling about how absurdly jealous their fans could get, muttering it with a dramatic eye-roll. When Romance asked what the word meant, the younger demon had stared at him flatly, gave a shrug, and went back to chewing his gum. He waved him off lazily with, “Ask Fringy, I heard it from those shitty movies he watches. ” That word had piqued Romance’s interest. So, naturally, he went to Mystery as Baby had advised him.

🌹 Mystery didn’t bother answering directly. He simply set aside the book he’d been obsessing over, rising from the couch in one slow, fluid motion. Without a word, he drifted over to his beloved bookshelf - the one Romance secretly admired for its intricate, hand-carved detailing - and retrieved a hefty, leather-bound volume. Returning to him, Mystery opened it on some page, tapped a single word with one painted finger, and said coolly, “Read.”

🌹 Romance blinked at him, raised a brow at the demon's tone, then shrugged and did as told. A moment passed - and then he wheezed out a sudden burst of laughter, clutching his stomach as he tried not to choke on how own spit. Mystery, unfazed, simply straightened. With his usual calmness, he closed the book, returned it to its shelf, and without a single glance back, strolled wordlessly to his room, shutting the door with a soft but final click - leaving Romance in the midst of his hysterical laughter.

🌹 What a ridiculous term! Only self-pitying, bone-dry beings with not an ounce of self-respect could feel "angwy" over something they didn’t have and wished to possess. For what? To feel better?

🌹 Oh, honey~ If you feel miserable without it, you’ll still feel miserable even with it. To Romance, jealousy became just another made-up human excuse - an elegant little lie to mask their fear of revealing their true beauty. Easier to envy others than to honour one’s own shine he guessed.

🌹 He shook his head, the corners of his lips lifting into a pitying smile. Truly pitiful. And that’s exactly what made humans so very entertaining.

It was late into the night, and with nothing better to do - everything already set and ready - Abs had declared a Monopoly match. Now, they were all gathered around the coffee table in the living room. Juni was subtly stealing from the "bank," deep in debt to Abby, who was somehow winning - though even the big guy himself didn’t seem to realise it. Mystery’s section was the most organised; he had to keep pushing up his fringe, revealing glimpses of his sculpted face and paralysing eyes - eyes Romance often claimed were more brilliant than diamonds - as he squinted at the fine print on the cards, just in case. He didn’t seem to notice Baby quietly stealing from him… again. The youngest demon among them always somehow landing in jail. Romance hoped it wasn't some future sign. He, on the other hand, was also losing, apparently. But he didn’t care. He was far more invested in choosing the more aesthetically pleasing structures on the board that he could buy. They were waiting for Mystery to roll the dice when Romance’s ears twitched at the soft sound of his door opening. He looked up just as you stepped out, dressed in an eye-catching outfit - comfortably casual, yet still striking enough to turn heads and leave people wondering if you were even real. Pride swelled in Romance’s chest. The entire ensemble was one he’d picked out for you. With an approving nod, he turned back to the board. Mystery seemed to be deciding whether to use the card in his hand now or later, causing everyone except Romance to glare at him impatiently. Naturally, the demon was unbothered. Romance heard your footsteps approach and, knowing exactly why, he straightened. Tipping his head back, he smiled just as your gentle fingers lifted his chin and your lips brushed the corner of his mouth. Neither of you paid any mind to the eyes now locked on you - nor to Juni’s dramatic gagging, which earned him a shove from Abby - or the loud pop of gum before Baby scoffed, “Disgusting,” and turned back to the board. Romance wasn’t even sure Mystery could see - his fringe was so rich it was practically a curtain. Not that Romance cared; all his attention was on the angel standing above him.

You smiled softly down at him. “I’ll be out with some of my friends and their acquaintances. Should be back around eleven.” Romance hummed, flashing a dazzling smile. “Enjoy the night, darling. Don’t be cheap on yourself,” he said with a lilting, playful tone, then turned back to the game, perfectly content - though he noted your gaze lingered. When it didn’t shift, and neither did you, he eventually looked up. The other guys had stared at him too - besides Mystery who finally rolled the dice. Romance tilted his head at you, curious. “Yes, love? Something the matter? Do you want to borrow one of my pieces of jewellery, is that it?” he asked earnestly, clearly confused by your startled expression. There was a pause - just the two of you in your own pocket of silence - before you shook your head quickly and gave a hesitant smile. “N-No! No need. Thank you for the offer though,” you said, bowing gratefully before flashing him a radiant grin. “Enjoy your night!” Romance returned it with one of his own, lifting his hand to wave as he watched you leave. “You shall too, my lovely darling!”

<><><>

Baby Saja

🍼 Baby never understood the whole concept of jealousy. He always squinted suspiciously whenever he saw one of those people inside the magic box Juni told them humans called the “TV.” A box Mystery had grown as attached to as he was to his stupid books.

🍼 With nothing else to do today, Baby had two equally terrible options: Be dragged to some human food chain by Romance and Abby like Juni had - relegated to “human translator” duty for demons - or sit in his room while Mystery sat through one of him movie marathons on that box, volume turned low... which, for Baby’s hearing, may as well have been blaring at full blast.

🍼 He had zero intention of venturing out alone. No need to provoke the huntresses any more than they already had. They knew what he and the others were, and Baby didn’t feel like fighting - not with his brain still aching from today’s string of stupid shows designed to entertain the masses like they were circus animals. Baby swore Gwi-Ma was punishing him twice for his human sins.

🍼 So, he ended up sitting on the floor with his back to the couch, arms loosely draped over his knees, while Mystery’s attention remained glued to the humans on-screen. The female protagonist had just spotted the male lead talking - laughing, even - with another woman after getting a message from the male that morning that he would be busy. The girl’s face twisted. She marched into the café, called him a player, and dumped his own drink over his head.

🍼 Baby narrowed his eyes, unimpressed, and bit into the lollipop in his mouth. “What the shit...” he muttered, gesturing vaguely at the screen. “Why not just talk to the guy instead of pulling a tantrum like a brat?”

🍼 He leaned back with a grimace. Even as a demon, he was rooting for the male lead to ditch her. “Man... just give up and take the other chick,” he muttered, rotating the lollipop stick slowly between his fingers. “Humans are fascinating...” Mystery said, voice flat and unreadable. Baby snorted, smirking. “Sure they are. Can’t even think rationally.”

🍼 The hair on the back of his neck suddenly stood up - his instincts prickling. He could feel Mystery’s gaze drilling into him. Unable to ignore it, Baby snapped his head around and glared up at his senior. “What?”. Mystery tilted his head slightly. “We were once humans, too.” Baby scoffed, turning back to the screen. “Yeah, and? Look where our rationality got us,” he muttered, biting down sarcastically on the word.

🍼 With nothing else to add, the two demons lapsed into companionable silence, watching as the male protagonist ran after the girl with the temper tantrum. Baby’s canines lengthened unconsciously, piercing through the candy in his mouth. Pathetic, he thought.

Baby didn’t even know how the fuck he got here. It started with Abby hyping up some “amazing BBQ chain” on the outskirts of the city - and ended with all five of them sitting in one of the private cars, courtesy of the industry that scouted them after that godawful “Soda Pop” song. Baby still shuddered at the memory. That song was a fucking curse. If any lesser demon so much as whispered it near him- He huffed and slouched deeper into his seat, pulling out the "phone". Your chat log stared back at him: a single cat sticker, a cheery “Good morning!” and a short I’ll be busy today. That same moment, Baby had immediately messaged back asking, Busy with what?, reacting to the sticker with a sun emoji. You hadn’t read it yet. “Tch.” Whatever. Baby brushed it off like he brushed off the growing void in his chest - and the saliva pooling in his mouth. The urge to devour your soul was stronger than usual. He figured even his demon body was getting impatient to blend with you already. Soon, he thought, lips quirking into a smile. That was enough to earn a suspicious glance from Abby, who immediately commented that he looked “creepy.” So Baby chucked his phone at his face. It nearly escalated into a full-blown brawl, if not for Mystery and Juni unleashing just enough demonic aura to force the two of them to sit back down. Baby hated that he couldn’t fight back properly without risking his head getting sliced off. His body would regenerate - eventually -but sitting around bodyless for hours was a major buzzkill. Now, they were trailing behind Mystery, who’d been told to “smell out” the BBQ spot since none of them knew how to use phones beyond the bare minimum. And even that had taken months of trial and error. Romance was banned from dialling the emergency number after he’d used it for every minor inconvenience, so they wouldn't get locked up even before the mission could start. So as they followed the demon bloodhound through the streets, Baby came to a sudden stop. His droopy eyes, widened. He felt it - a faint tremble in the air. Your wavelength. His skin buzzed. Instinctively, his hand reached out to grasp it, only to recoil with a snarl as the huntresses' protection burned his palm.

Fucking nuisance. The fact that you were still untouched by demonic influence - still holding strong even after getting closer to him - set Baby’s teeth on edge. It made him boil. He wanted nothing more than to go head-to-head with those three bitches and rip apart whatever invisible leash was tied around you. All so he could feel your line clinging to him without restraint. While the others continued walking, Baby peeled away from the group, scanning his surroundings. The honeymoon wave meant you were either nearby or you lived on this specific street. And no - he was pretty sure you didn’t live out here. He followed the trace across the road, dodging pedestrians, until he came to a halt. There you were. Sitting inside a café. Laughing. With some rando. You were perched on a bar stool beside them, hands cradling a cup as you spoke, giggled, playfully nudged the other - and received a shove back followed by more laughter. Baby’s lip curled, a low growl escaping him. His eyes narrowed. Is this what that female protagonist felt? Fuck no. He didn’t have pathetic self-pitying thoughts. He was untouchable. He didn’t need validation. He knew he was great. No, what Baby felt wasn’t that flimsy human brand of jealousy. This was something far more primal. An urge. To walk straight through the café doors, wedge himself between you and that leech, threaten them without saying a word, and drag you out of there. Just because your time - your presence - belonged to him. Relaxing into the sensation, Baby smirked to himself. Adjusting the bucket hat shielding some of his features from rabid fans, he casually strolled toward the café. The cashier greeted him. He ignored it. Each step he took was precise. Measured. Confident in a predatory grace wrapped in an attractive human shell. His boots clacked sharply against the wood flooring, but you didn’t hear him. The ambient café noise covered his approach, and your back was turned - attention fully on the leech across from you. The leech, however, did see him. And instead of meeting ordinary human eyes like they had to expect, they met glowing gold, shadowed under the brim of his hat. Pupils slitted in sharp attention. Baby tilted his head, lips peeling into a smile far too wide, sharp canines flashing. The leech flinched hard, nearly falling off the stool. That finally got your attention. You whipped around with an adorable little glare, ready to scold whoever scared your friend- Only to find yourself face to face with Baby. Silver-blue eyes blinked innocently. Calm expression. Head tilted owlishly as if he were the one surprised to see you.

[ryomenslvr]

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interlude

rockstar!ryomen sukuna x reader x rockstar!satoru gojo

synopsis: Two rival bands. One sound engineer. Trapped between Gojo’s charm and Sukuna’s intensity, you navigate a world where music is war, tension runs high, and falling for the frontman, or both, could change everything.

a/n: this fan fiction is heavily inspired by @/indiewritesxoxo ‘s no. 1 party anthem series! (which you should 100% check out! it’s such an incredible concept and it’s very addicting. you can find it here)

content warnings: MDNI, emotional conflict, slight smut, blurred boundaries, complicated relationship dynamics

series masterlist

You’re not sure why you agreed to this. Maybe it was to avoid what happened at the venue. Maybe it was because, deep down, you really did want to go back to Sukuna’s place.

You weren’t sure.

That’s what you were thinking as you sat in the passenger seat of Sukuna’s, admittedly nice, car. Clean leather, deep red interior lights, quiet music pulsing through the speakers like a heartbeat. It didn’t smell like him, not exactly. More like winter air, soft cologne, and something faintly metallic. The kind of scent you couldn’t name but would remember.

He didn’t talk much on the drive.

You didn’t either.

And maybe that was the first thing you noticed, how silence with Sukuna didn’t press in the same way it did with others. It wasn’t awkward. It was patient. Steady. Like he knew the words would come eventually and he wasn’t going to fish for them before you were ready.

When he pulled up to the curb outside a tall, narrow building tucked into a dim side street, he glanced at you, not expectantly, but just to check.

“You good?” he asked simply.

You nodded, even if you didn’t fully mean it.

The inside of his apartment was… unexpected.

Clean. Minimalist. Dark wood floors and black walls, lit only by warm, golden track lights and a single floor lamp. A guitar rack stood against one wall, lined with instruments that looked expensive and well-loved. There were band posters too, some framed, some slightly crooked. Not all of them were his.

He toed off his boots by the door and gestured for you to come in. “Make yourself at home.”

You hesitated before stepping fully inside, your fingers brushing the doorframe like you were trying to get a read on the space through touch alone.

“It’s nice,” you said quietly.

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “Didn’t peg you for someone who’d be surprised by furniture.”

You snorted softly. “Didn’t peg you as someone who dusts.”

“I don’t. My manager sends someone once a month.”

You wandered further in, pausing in front of a set of black-and-white photos hung over the couch. One showed a younger Sukuna on stage, no tattoos yet, hair longer, his mouth open mid-scream. Another showed his band’s first tour lineup, all in sharpie-scrawled t-shirts, sitting on a cracked curb with fast food bags between their feet.

“You look… lighter here,” you said without thinking.

He joined you, arms crossed, eyes flicking to the photo. “I was.”

You nodded slowly. “What changed?”

He was quiet for a beat. Then: “Success. Pressure. Satoru.”

That last word made your chest tighten.

He didn’t elaborate. Just walked to the kitchen and pulled two bottles of tea from the fridge, same kind he always left on your console.

He handed you one.

“Thanks.”

You both sat on the couch, and for a while, the silence returned. He flicked on a playlist, mostly instrumentals, ambient and slow. Nothing flashy. Nothing with words.

“Why’d you say yes?” he asked eventually.

You turned to him. “To coming here?”

He nodded.

You stared at the tea bottle in your hands. “Because I didn’t want to go home.”

“That all?”

You exhaled. “I don’t know. It’s like, being around you is confusing, but being away from you is...”

That earned a small, sardonic smile. “You’re not exactly easy for me either.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded, then turned fully to face you. “You walk into a room and everything feels like it’s about to change.”

You blinked. “That’s dramatic.”

“It’s true,” he said, and there was no teasing in it. “You ask questions no one else does. You make things feel like they’re worth saying out loud.”

You looked away. “Gojo says stuff like that too.”

“He would.”

You turned back. “He’s not a bad guy.”

“I never said he was.”

“You hate him.”

Sukuna’s gaze sharpened slightly, but he didn’t deny it.

“I respected him once,” he said. “Maybe still do, in ways I don’t like admitting. He was the first person who made me feel like I had to prove myself. I used to think that was a compliment.”

You let the silence settle again.

“He’s in love with you,” Sukuna added, like it wasn’t a question.

“I know,” you whispered.

“Do you love him back?”

You didn’t answer right away. The words tangled up in your throat.

“I don’t know,” you said honestly. “I think I did. Maybe I still do, in that way you love the people who grew up beside you. But he’s… he’s always been my anchor. And lately it feels like I’ve been trying to swim, and he’s afraid I’ll drift too far.”

Sukuna’s eyes stayed on you, unreadable.

You reached for something to change the subject, heart pounding.

“Earlier, when you were teaching me guitar, can we go back to that?”

He blinked. “Yeah. You still interested?”

“Sort of,” you said. “It just felt like something I didn’t have to overthink.”

Sukuna stood up and retrieved a guitar, handing it to you with careful hands. It wasn’t the same one from earlier in the day, no, this one was a deep red. It matched his eyes.

You held it like it might break.

“Relax,” he said, moving to sit beside you. “You’re gripping it like it owes you money.”

You laughed. “Sorry. It’s expensive.”

He chuckled and shifted closer, knees brushing yours. “Here. Try this chord.”

You fumbled. He reached around you, one arm across your back, his hand guiding yours into position.

Your breath hitched.

His voice was low, barely above your ear. “There. Feel that?”

You nodded, unable to speak.

He didn’t move away immediately. His hand lingered on yours. His presence wrapped around you like gravity, quiet and impossible to ignore.

You didn’t move.

You couldn’t.

His breath was warm on your neck. His arm still draped lightly behind you, steadying the guitar, steadying you. You weren’t sure when you’d started leaning into him, or if you had at all, but suddenly the space between your bodies didn’t exist. It was like the air itself had shifted, grown heavier, slower.

“You’re holding your breath,” Sukuna murmured.

You exhaled, shaky, caught.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

He tilted his head just enough for his temple to brush yours. “You always apologize when you get close to something.”

Your fingers tensed slightly around the fretboard. “Close to what?”

He didn’t answer, not directly. His hand ghosted down your arm, knuckles skimming your wrist as he took the neck of the guitar from you and gently set it aside. His other hand landed on your knee, barely touching, just enough for your breath to catch again.

“Maybe it’s not the guitar that’s making you nervous,” he said, voice quiet but deliberate.

You met his eyes.

It was hard not to.

In the soft light, his expression was unreadable again, but his focus was unshakable, like everything about him was wired for intensity. He didn’t look at people, he looked into them.

“I don’t usually do this,” you admitted, voice low.

He gave a slow nod. “I figured.”

You laughed once, awkwardly. “That obvious?”

“Only to someone who notices,” he said.

His hand slid just a little higher along your thigh, resting there with purpose. Not pushing. Not testing. Just letting you feel him.

“Sukuna…” you said, unsure of the rest.

“I won’t rush you,” he said quickly. “If you’re not sure, just say so. I don’t need the wrong kind of silence.”

But you weren’t unsure.

That was the terrifying part.

Your whole body felt like it was strung on a wire, every nerve humming. You weren’t afraid of him, you were afraid of how easy it was to want him. How easy it was to forget the rest of the world existed when his voice dropped to that tone and he looked at you like nothing else in the room mattered.

“I’m not confused about this,” you whispered.

A pause. His gaze sharpened just slightly.

“Then what are you confused about?”

“Everything else.”

That made him smile, small, crooked. But real.

“Good,” he said, leaning in closer until your noses nearly brushed. “Let everything else wait.”

And then he kissed you.

Not cautiously. Not testing the waters. It was deliberate and slow, confident in a way that left no room for doubt.

His mouth was warm, more grounding than dreamy. Where Gojo’s touches always felt like flirting with gravity, Sukuna’s felt like being claimed by it, steady, certain, unmistakably real.

You opened to him without meaning to, lips parting as he deepened the kiss. One of his hands moved to your waist, the other brushing your jaw, holding you still like he didn’t want to let you drift.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to catch your breath, to feel your pulse in your throat. “This isn’t complicated for you?”

He shook his head. “It could be. But it’s not. Not when you’re here.”

You swallowed.

“Then take me out of my head.”

He didn’t need more than that.

In a fluid motion, he leaned back into you, drawing you into his lap, your knees bracketing his hips on the couch. The guitar was forgotten, pushed somewhere behind you. His hands slid up your thighs, then under the hem of your shirt, thumbs tracing slow, grounding lines against your skin.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he said against your throat, even as his lips pressed there, open and slow.

“I’ll tell you,” you breathed, your hands curling into the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, though it didn’t sound like a question.

“So are you,” you whispered back.

That got a laugh out of him, a low, warm sound that vibrated against your collarbone. His hand moved higher, palm splaying across your back as he pulled you closer.

Then his mouth was on yours again, hungrier now. Like something in him had snapped once he knew you wanted this too. His teeth grazed your lower lip, and you gasped, heat licking through your body at the sound of it.

You didn’t know when your hands started tugging at his shirt, or when his fingers found the waistband of your jeans, but suddenly you were drowning in sensation. His body against yours. His breath against your skin. His voice, low and wrecked, murmuring things you couldn’t even process as his mouth moved along your jaw, your neck, the curve of your shoulder.

“Sukuna,” you whispered, the word barely holding shape in your mouth.

He looked up at you, eyes heavy, pupils blown wide. “Say it again.”

You did.

You said it again and again as the couch shifted beneath you, as his hands mapped out your skin like he was memorizing you, as the last of the distance between you disappeared.

And by the time the room had settled again, clothes discarded in a lazy trail to the floor, your body aching in the best possible way, there was only one thing you knew for sure.

You hadn’t just gone to his apartment to forget what happened at the venue.

You had come here to be seen.

And Sukuna?

He had seen all of you.

You woke to quiet.

The kind of quiet that felt unfamiliar, not the cold stillness of your own apartment, not the background hum of an empty venue. This silence had weight to it. Warmth.

You didn’t open your eyes at first.

There was pressure against your back, steady, strong. A forearm draped loosely over your waist. The slow, measured rise and fall of a chest behind you. You were still tucked under a blanket, curled up in a bed that wasn’t yours. The scent of tea, cedar, and that faint metallic note from last night lingered in the air, now mixed with something warmer. Skin and sleep.

Sukuna.

Your stomach twisted, not with regret, but with the soft jolt of realization.

You’d stayed.

You’d fallen asleep in his bed. In his arms.

And he hadn’t let go.

Carefully, slowly, you shifted your arm and reached for your phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up with a low glow, casting blue light across the room.

It was past ten.

You blinked.

Two messages at the top of your screen made your stomach drop:

[10:07 AM] Ijichi (Venue Manager):

Hey. You and Ryomen were scheduled for load-in yesterday—everything okay?

And then another, from someone else entirely.

[9:46 AM] SATORU:

Thought you said you needed space.

Guess I just didn’t realize who you wanted space with.

There were several more messages from him, all scattered across the night, each one a little softer… and a little sadder.

[11:12 PM] SATORU:

You’re not answering. That’s fine.

I just wish you’d tell me when things change.

[11:24 PM] SATORU:

I keep wondering when I stopped being enough.

When did you stop telling me things?

[11:46 PM] SATORU:

Sorry. That wasn’t fair. I’m just—

I don’t know what I’m doing either.

[12:03 AM] SATORU:

Forget it. Pretend I didn’t say any of that.

[12:19 AM] SATORU:

I hope he makes you laugh the way I did.

Or better. Maybe you deserve better.

[12:47 AM] SATORU:

I keep checking my phone like an idiot.

Why do I do that?

[1:03 AM] SATORU:

I miss you.

Even when I try not to.

[1:26 AM] SATORU:

I’m going to bed. Don’t worry. I won’t message again.

You swallowed hard, pulse tightening behind your ribs. You turned your phone screen over, pressing it to the mattress like that would erase what you saw. Was satoru drunk? Why would he message all those things to you? It wasn’t like him at all.

Sukuna stirred behind you, it ripped you out of your thoughts. 

His voice was rough with sleep, deeper than usual. “You okay?”

You didn’t answer right away. He shifted slightly, pulling his arm back and propping himself up on one elbow to look at you.

“You’re tense.”

You gave a soft, humorless laugh. “We missed rehearsal.”

His brow furrowed. “Shit. I didn’t even set an alarm.”

You shook your head, not angry. Just… overwhelmed.

“I’ve got like five texts from Ijichi,” you added. “And a few from Satoru..”

That last part came out quiet.

Sukuna didn’t say anything. You looked over your shoulder at him.

He was watching you, awake now, his expression unreadable again. His hair was mussed and falling into his eyes, and there was a crease on his cheek from the pillow.

He looked human.

“What did he say?” Sukuna asked, voice steady.

You reached for your phone again and turned it around so he could read only the first message.

Sukuna’s jaw ticked just once. “Of course.”

“He’s not wrong,” you said, softer than you meant to. “I didn’t tell him anything. I didn’t even tell him I was with you.”

“You didn’t owe him that.”

“Maybe not,” you admitted. “But I owed him something. A conversation. Honesty.”

Sukuna leaned back, resting against the headboard. His voice was quiet now. Careful. “Do you regret being here?”

You looked at him, and you hated that you didn’t have a quick answer.

“No,” you said eventually. “That’s not the problem.”

“What is?”

You sat up, pulling the blanket with you, suddenly too aware of your bare shoulders, of his sheets, of everything intimate and raw that had been left behind from the night before.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted. “With any of this.”

Sukuna nodded once, like he’d been expecting that.

“Do you want me to drive you home?” he asked.

You hesitated, then shook your head. “I don’t want to go home. I just… need to think.”

He stood up then, grabbing a hoodie from the chair in the corner and slipping it on. “You can think here.”

You glanced up.

His voice had changed, less clipped, less guarded. A little gentler.

“I’ll make something,” he said. “You eat eggs?”

You blinked, surprised. “Yeah.”

“Cool. Don’t go ghosting on me while I’m in the kitchen.”

A faint smile curved your lips. “Not planning on it.”

He disappeared down the hall, and the sound of cabinet doors and the hum of a stovetop filled the silence he left behind.

You sat there for a long moment, the smell of coffee starting to drift into the room, mixing with the warmth left in the sheets beside you.

It was quiet again.

For the first time in days, it didn’t feel like running. But how come you couldn’t stop thinking of Satoru?

dividers by @/redroud1 <3

header art by @su2kuna on twitter <3

taglist: @indiewritesxoxo @evilari111 @ssetsuka @not-aya @macchianikato @kitassecretgf @universal-s1ut @kitty-yaps @shinrjj @linaaeatsfamilies @justanothersunflowergirl @nana1344 @bbokariii @reicyberia @bxnfire

[yaekiss]

𝑶𝒏𝒆 𝑴𝒐𝒓𝒆?

꩜ Room Content: GN! Dom! Reader x Male! Sub! Sydney the Faithful, no gendered terms for reader, no mention of reader's anatomy, prostate milking (Sydney receiving), fingering and use of sex toy (Sydney receiving), lmk if I missed out anything ! ꩜ A/N: def tried making this smut fic a lot more lovely-dovey than my usual ones as per the donator's req! hopefully it doesn't come across as too cringy/cheesy >< !! and thank you to the donator for being so niceys and understanding <33 once again, "800-1500 words" qi says. harharhar (2.5k words orz...) ANYWAYS hope you like the fic and thank you so much for donating !!!!!!! ꩜ This was written as part of my Care for a Fic fundraising event for Gaza! If you would to request a fic of your own, do check out the linked event post above ^^

Sydney supposes that there are stranger things than working in a sex toy shop (that's owned by your parent) with your partner. However, these things aren't really coming to mind when there's a patron who's definitely oversharing about their Friday night plans while he's trying to check out their items at the cash register. 

“I've read rave reviews about this model online from people who've bought it before. I can't wait to try it out and y'know, see how many it can wring outta me,” they continue to ramble on cheerily as Sydney tries to key in another product code manually for the umpteenth time today. (Curse you broken barcode scanner.)

“Maybe I'd even beat my personal best of-” The grating sound of the receipt printer working cuts the patron off. 

“Oh oops, my bad, feel free to forget everything I said!” The patron quips with a hearty laugh. “I really do overshare too much sometimes. Thanks for not cutting me off, huh. And for ringing me up.”

Whistling as they leave, the patron finally heads out of the shop, leaving a poor Sydney to stew in silence alone with everything he's heard for the past few minutes.

Unfortunately for him, Sydney does more than stew in silence for the rest of his shift. He finds himself staring off into space while daydreaming about certain activities more often than not, causing the diligent blond you know to make some rather uncharacteristic fumbles. Namely, bumping into your back whenever he follows behind you into the inventory room to restock merchandise. Or accidentally mistyping product codes repeatedly at the cash register.

Concerned about your lover's distracted state today, you pull him into the privacy of the inventory room when the both of you go for a quick break.

“You alright out there? You seem pretty out of it today Syd,” you start off, voice tinged with worry.

“Huh?” Sydney tilts his head before his brain catches up and he processes your question. 

“If you're tired, I could cover for you today while you rest up,” you offer.

You really are too sweet, he thinks. Worried that he might be tired when, in actual fact, he's been too busy thinking about you wringing out orgasm after orgasm from him until he's milked within an inch of his life. 

Heat rushes to his face when he realises that he should probably confess the truth to you in order to reassure you that nothing's wrong. Sucking in a deep breath, he starts rattling off the whole story a mile a minute, eyes trained anywhere except on you.

“...So that's why I've been so distracted and it's because all I can think about is you. Or your hands on me. Or your fingers in me! Whichever works! Ah I've said too much!” 

The silence that drags on after his near incoherent rambling is unbearable. When he finally hazards a glance back up at you to gauge your reaction, he certainly didn't expect you to look this interested.

“Let's ask if Sirris will let me stay over in your room tonight.” 

The remainder of the shift passes by in a blur with the prospect of what's about to happen later on. When the both of you clamber into the back seat of Sirris' car after closing up shop, you politely broach the topic of a sleepover with Sydney. And when they agree, you feel Sydney reach over and give your hand a light squeeze, a shy grin on his face.

“Why don't you shower first and get ready while I prepare?” Shooting him a reassuring look, he kisses you on the cheek before heading off to the bathroom. 

After getting everything ready and establishing a safeword, you instruct your lover to lie on the bed.

“Let me know if anything gets uncomfortable, yeah?” Reaching over to his bedside table, he hears you open a container of lube. Sydney waits with bated breath as you spread the thick substance around on your fingers, simultaneously warming it up. Once you've made sure that the lube isn't too cold, you also apply a generous amount to his entrance.

“Relax for me Syd.” He nods, inhaling before exhaling slowly. Your other clean hand goes to hold his as you massage the surrounding area for a bit. Eyes trained on his expression to monitor for any discomfort, you gingerly breach past his rim with a singular finger. Carefully, you slip more of your finger in, occasionally wiggling it and prodding around to loosen him up more. Each little movement causes Sydney to suck in a short breath, his gaze peering down at where you’ve entered him. Before long, you’re knuckle deep in him.

“Feels kind of strange,” he murmurs to you after you paused to let him adjust to the sensation, “but you can keep going.”

Your second finger enters without too much trouble and once more, you take it slow. After it's fully in, you start with some scissoring motions with both your fingers. This time, you get a bigger reaction out of him. You’re rewarded with the cutest breathy gasps and pants, and when you look back up at him, Sydney’s pupils are dilated whilst he sports a lovely light blush on the apples of his cheek. It’s a good look on him, one you’re keen to see unravel even more as the night progresses.

Belatedly, a thought occurs to him as it rises through the growing pleasing buzz in his brain, He dazedly realises that you’re probing around for something, the pads of your fingers dragging and tracing along his walls. It’s at that second, it hits him, in every sense of the phrase. Something akin to electricity shoots straight through him when your fingers find his prostate. Sydney gasps and jolts beneath you, eyes flying open at the foreign feeling, and that's when he notes how your eyes light up with a devious glint.

Wasting no time, you get to work, honing in on that spot. Immediately, you have your lover’s back arching off the bed as you rub and bully his prostate. Pitchy keening and moaning fills the room as you watch him begin to fall apart on your fingers. 

“Feeling good?”

“U-Uh huh…!” He nods dumbly, words suddenly starting to become too hard to string together.

The filthy squelching noises have him flushing all the way to the tips of his ears. When he squeezes down on your fingers, it's like everything feels too full, too good, too sinful. In the far back end of Sydney's brain, where he hasn't yet lost himself to the throes of pleasure, he realises that he's been grinding down on your fingers, chasing his own high mindlessly. For him to already be reduced to such a state this early on, he wonders how fast it'd take for you to completely ruin him tonight.

He feels the heat building up in him at the thought of placing himself wholly in your hands. Yours to wreck, yours to love. Only you could see this side of him. Sydney's pulse thunders in his ears, with every strategic movement of your fingers threatening to make him spill over at any moment now.

You know your lover well enough to spot the telltale signs that he's going to cum soon. The jagged, raspy groans, eyes rolling back before shutting tight, soft pants of please, please, please. Picking up the pace, you alternate between hitting his prostate dead on and rubbing circles into it. And when Sydney's whole body goes taut, his cock bobbing as white splatters onto his belly, a long, drawn-out moan ripped from his throat, you know you're done with your first round.

You’re gracious enough to let him recover for a bit, pulling your fingers out briefly to reapply another glob of lube onto them. During this downtime, Sydney manages to sluggishly peel open his eyes to peer up at you. Sweat causes his hair to stick to his forehead, but it doesn’t stop you from shifting over and leaning down to press a chaste kiss onto his flushed skin.

“You still with me?” Your clean hand goes to pet the crown of his head. He swears that if he could purr right now, he would.

“Yeah,” he says between languid lazy blinks, “I’m good. Thank you.”

With this confirmation, your two fingers return inside, drawing a breathy gasp from him at the sensation of being filled again. Additionally, you gradually try to fit one more finger in him to stretch him out even more, bringing the number up to three. Once you’ve made sure that he’s adjusted to the extra digit, you instantly resume the brutal pace you had earlier. Still sensitive from before, your dear blond blubbers and pleads for mercy, his head thrown back as he’s plunged back into pure ecstasy again without warning. 

“C'mon, you can give me another one Syd,” you coo out sweetly. The smile on your face is gentle. However, your ministrations are anything but. 

“Ungh! Ah, ah-!” You give him no respite from the growing pressure in him, working him just the way he likes. Always so attentive, eyes constantly watching all of him, learning what things makes him lose his mind. His thighs tense and he clenches tight around your fingers, losing himself to the euphoria clouding his mind.

He's shaking as another orgasm racks through him, eyes rolling into the back of his skull at the onslaught of pleasure. You're ruthless, he thinks, and that's exactly what he wanted.

Heavy panting fills the room as your dear Sydney tries to catch his breath but you don't give him a chance to. You pull your fingers out of him, eliciting a pitchy whine at the sudden loss, before it's quickly replaced by something else prodding at his rim.

Blearily, he looks down and sees that it's the toy that the patron had bought earlier, the exact brand and model they were rambling about. Turns out you swiped it from the inventory room while the both of you were closing up the shop. (“I'll just say we were testing out the shop's products. See if it was good enough to be stocked on the shelves,” you explain to Sydney the next morning.)

Slowly, you ease the toy into his hole after you applied a good amount of lube to it. It's just slightly thicker than the three fingers you had in him earlier, but the stretch doesn't hurt judging by how he's already subconsciously trying to fuck himself on it.

My, such an impatient lover you have here on your hands. But you suppose that this simply makes it easier to give him just what he wants. 

You continue pushing the toy in and angle it directly at the spot that he's trying to hit. His fingers grasp at the sheets underneath him as it ventures deeper within him. Sydney feels it all, the slow drag of the ribbed shaft against his walls, your thumb rubbing circles where you hold him at his waist.

When the tip of it bumps up against his prostate and starts vibrating? Sydney swears he sees heaven.

The effect that the toy has on him is immediate. As soon as you switched on the vibration function, all the breath was punched out of his chest. And the best thing was: It wasn't even on the highest setting yet.

“Ack! Too muh- hnn -much! No more!” Tears prick the corners of his eyes as he begs pitifully.

“You know the word to say to get me to stop Syd,” you say cupping his cheek gingerly. All he does is lean into your touch, nuzzling into your hand as if all he wants to do is to melt into you.  He cracks his eyes open, gazing at you with nothing but trust and adoration.

“Want me to keep going?” Your voice is impossibly tender and Sydney's heart pounds at the intimacy and affection of it all.

“Keep goin’, hah! Please!” He hears you laugh at his pleas and he doesn’t think he’s heard anything else more beautiful.

With his heightened sensitivity from all the previous rounds, it's not long before he's squirming, his mind melting into goo as the familiar heat within him is growing yet again. Instinctively, one of his hands shoots out and goes to find your unoccupied one, lacing your fingers together.

“Kiss me, p-please, please, ah! Needddd you!” Sydney's unintelligible babbling mixed with the whirring noises of the toy in him. Unshed tears glitter on his lower lashline, beautiful strawberry blond hair splayed out around him like some sort of divine angelic halo. How could you not want him, not need him?

Diving in for a kiss, he meets you halfway, his arms going to wrap around you tight as your lips crash together. He can’t believe he’s so lucky to be able to be yours. After holding back for so long, you’ve managed to coax out this side of him, introducing him to things he’s never even dared to want for. Perhaps, you truly were some sort of angel. One that, by chance, crash-landed into his life. One that’s loving enough to promise themselves to him, one that he can’t help but promise himself to.

“Hng! Love you! Looove y-you!” He all but slurs as he quickly approaches his peak. Burying his face into the crook of your neck, a string of unrestrained moans and muffled “Thank you! Love you!”s escape from your lover, punctuated by sharp hitches of airy gasps. It doesn’t take too long before his body is drawn taut as a bowstring, tongue lolling out from his mouth as he tips over the edge. As he rides out his high, Sydney grasps onto you like a lifeline, like he needs you to breathe. 

Turning the toy off, you let Sydney lay back down onto the bed before removing it from him and setting it aside. You give him a once over before smothering his face in kisses.

“You did really well, Syd,” a quick kiss pressed to his lips, “You with me? How’re you feeling?”

The hazy fog in his brain clears a bit and allows him to answer, “Mmm… Tired.” Lazily, he sits up, leaning against the headboard of the bed. You nudge a bottle of water into his hands, one which he very gratefully takes.

He downs half of the water, then bumps against your shoulder lightly, “You drink some too. Are you also feeling alright?” Sydney’s hand laces with yours.

“I’ll be better after a shower,” chuckling, you point at the terribly messy state of him, “and I think you could use one too.” Pulling him off the bed, you lead him to the bathroom for the both of you to wash up. (You definitely did not laugh when you saw how wobbly Sydney was on his legs after all that.)

Once dried off and the both of you are tucked into his bed, cuddling without leaving any space between you two, you see Sydney’s eyes threatening to close.

“Go to sleep, Syd, g’night.”

“Good night beloved,” a yawn, “Do you think we could beat our personal best we set today?”

“What?” Sydney’s question snaps you out of your drowsiness and you open your mouth to ask him how many rounds exactly he wants to try going for next time but it’s too late. He’s already snoring lightly against your shoulder.

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

If you'd like to request a fic of your own, do consider checking out my event post!

[2000sangel]

What about tenna losing power during a thunderstorm? Or maybe being in pain from a severe power surge? I mean, it’s not like he has the modern conveniences built in of surge protectors, and it’s probably pretty scary to suddenly turn off/“faint” with no warning! Even if nothing happens, I imagine this would make tenna pretty scared of storms… a little comfort would go a long way I’m sure 💖💖💖💖

-✨

Hellow!! This was a very fun idea that I decided to make HCs for: I slightly tweaked the prompt though, and made it into general thunderstorm comfort HCs...power surges usually impact electronics quite badly and I have another request for something similar to the other idea you provided, sooo...winks, keep your eyes on my blog for updates °_^

And enjoy!! <3

P.S. - does anyone recognize this image that I used...? Eheh...

Tenna x Reader - Thunderstorm Comfort Headcanons

>It takes you a little by surprise when one stormy day, upon deciding to visit the Dark World, you find Tenna more nervous than usual; at the beginning he simply tries to brush it off, but as the storm picks up he becomes visibly more and more agitated until you finally connect the dots: Tenna is…afraid of thunderstorms, and not for stupid reasons! His Light World counterpart could very easily get damaged during one, and you actually recall it happening and having to call an electronics technician for repairs.

>You suggest willingly putting things on hold whenever a very heavy storm happens, it’s not like you really mind if he takes some time off, and he actually thanks you for this and ends up accepting your idea later down the line.

>This however doesn’t completely solve the issue; his shows might be under control, but he isn’t. He’s on edge the entire time, you can see it even though he tries to act like his usual eccentric self. So you bring up the idea of activities that only require a low amount of energy and to do them together, for example thinking up TV Time themes or playing board games.

>Tenna sounds immediately more excited upon hearing your ideas, and is glad that you’d be interested in helping with his show and just spending some chill time together; he’s a little flustered, even, that you’d consider doing all of this just to calm him down.

>Your visits end up becoming a must whenever the weather is even slightly bad, and over time Tenna becomes a little less jumpy whenever it happens. He stops worrying about what might happen so much and starts looking forward to the comfort of your presence instead; he even prepares everything himself when he notices the weather getting bad, hoping you show up every time. 

>When it eventually does happen that you don’t show up, an uneasy feeling settles in his chest until you can finally visit him and explain your reasoning: maybe you were outside, or maybe you got caught up in something or even in the storm itself, which is very understandable however it takes him a little while to shake the thoughts that you did it on purpose from his wicked head. 

>As he gets used to getting reassurance whenever you can’t physically be there for him, he eventually realizes that you’re not just going to up and leave, especially if something like a storm is going on. Storms actually kind of…help him in a sense: they help him build trust in your relationship, they help him take a much needed break once in a while…they help him connect better with you and with his subordinates, who secretly understand where his fear comes from and are willing to play those board games with him -he would never admit to the reason why he always suggests playing those during a storm, but it still makes for a fun time once in a while!-.

>You also change your habits a little back in the Light World, just for Tenna: whenever the forecast gives a storm warning, you hurry to shut off all of the lights and electronics in your house. More power and lives saved, you often joke with your friends when they ask you why you do it…! You also install surge protectors, as you guess that if something like that ever happened it’d be painful for Tenna. And then, if you don’t have anywhere extremely important to be, you warn everyone that you’ll be unavailable until the sky is clear again and run to your partner. 

[ishestillapunk]

Everybody Wants A Piece Of Pedro Pascal

tags: grief, death.

a/n: it was so hard to write all this and not kick my sheets because of the whole photoshoot. he's beautiful.

I don't usually do this, well, I never done this, but today and after waking up to such a brilliant, raw and profound interview I see myself in the need of disecting piece by piece of this interview and the parts that touched a deep fiber in me.

You, of course, don't have to read this. I mean, not if you don't want to. I would say this is more mine than other thing, like, a precious stone I want to keep memory of how I felt when this article came out.

Don't you ever get that feeling that something is yours? like, not in a delulu and possesive way, but in a sort of thank you-way.

This interview—article, post. Damn, I don't know how to call it, forgive my scarce vocabulary in English—appeared like water in the desert for me. I had a long night of insomnia, very long, used to deal with it, and also with it came the lovely question that every 20 yo makes themselves at one point.

What the fuck am I doing with my damn life.

My phone buzzes when I finally decide to let go of it so I grab it again, and there it is. Our beloved pascalispunk. Oh, he looks hella good. I say looking at the pictures. Oh, it's Vanity Fair. I say and then, I think: Of course there is an interview. So I look up for it.

I read and then the first thing that moves my chest is:

Over lunch in London, Pascal is a grand raconteur who tells stories with his hands and uses funny voices and loves to swear and drink cocktails and murder a cheese plate. He doesn’t take himself too seriously. At the same time, he’ll press right up against the sad and raw and confusing parts of being alive. His insides are on his outsides. He cries easily. He laughs loudly.

Maybe it's the writing, maybe it's me that lately I've been overly sensitive. It must've been the wind. I joke in my head when I feel like I want to cry. Something I love deeply about this man that is Pedro, is that he never stops being human. You get me, right? Like, with some celebrities I get the kinda... fake feeling. Don't wanna sound rude towards others at all, but, he just gives me that genuine and true feeling. That's what I mean by human.

Personally, I never been a fan of an actor before. A celebrity, in general. It just used to ick me, like, why would I do that? I had nothing against it, it just wasn't part of my persona. But then, I remember the first time coming across a video of him. I guess, yeah. Maybe we all want a piece of Pedro.

Pascal tells me about his “give up” years, when he was a struggling actor in New York decimated by the sudden death of his beloved mother, Verónica.

I felt connected truly with Pedro when I learnt about his life. The struggle and loss. That feeling that nothing is going anywhere, you know? Like. Damn, what is it all this for? I kinda feel like humans (or some of us, dk, mind you) have to search comparisions to other people to feel okay on where they are at the moment and its something that lately has been happening to me. My search is literally:

'Directors that got succesful at an old age'

'How to publish my first book while being fucking poor'

'How do I live'

Is this non-stopping loop where everything mixes with everything and I feel too exhausted to leave my bed. Ends won't meet. Food lacks in the fridge. Mama is sad. But he has been in the same spot, and he's here to tell it.

Life hurts a bit less.

“In my 30s I was supposed to have a career,” he says. “Past 29 without a career meant that it was over, definitely.” Feeling hopeless, Pascal started researching other professions. But whenever he came close to bailing on his dream, friends and family would step in. “When Pedro would say, ‘I’m going to nursing school’ or ‘I’m going to be a theater teacher,’ it was just like ‘No, no, no, no! You’re too good!’” says his older sister, Javiera Balmaceda, now a producer at Amazon Studios. “He’s wanted to be an actor since he was four years old. The one thing we’d never allow Pedro to do was give up.”

And here it is. The first tears I shed.

I dropped out of college after a month in a course of studies that I thought it was perfect for me. Turns out, I felt like I was dying because there was no art in it and I was fucking dying. It was driving me apart of my soul, I would cry on my way to class, I would have no very very happy thoughts about life. Then, a crisis. Me hugging my mom's knees and telling her "Mama, I need art" and she sees me, the girl who only went to arts school for her whole teen years and grew up attached to her desk computer, pirated movies in the night and writing down stories that keep her awake.

And she told me. "It's okay. We'll figure it out"

I was embarrased to tell my friends what I did after that crisis. God, you went through a freaking exam, burnt your lashes studying, passed it and now you're saying you want to do cinema?

Well. Nobody said that.

What I mostly received was.

"That's awesome. You were about to waste your potential"

And something that sticks with me that a friend said.

"The world deserves to see something created by you".

If you're reading this, I want you and oblige you to take it as a signal.

 A New Yorker cartoon featured a therapist reassuring his client, “It’s not strange at all—lately, a lot of people are reporting that their faith in humanity is riding entirely on whether or not Pedro Pascal is as nice as he seems.” “Well, then,” Ramsey tells me, “I’m relieved for humanity.”

Bella. I love you, Bella.

On days when she (Veronica) didn’t have a babysitter, she’d drop him off at the movie theater. He remembers being seven and in heaven, able to squeeze in two and a half showings of Poltergeist before his mom returned for him. At home he’d reenact scenes of being sucked into the closet or slide across the kitchen floor. Balmaceda tells me, “When our parents got cable, the HBO song would come on and Pedro would run around the house yelling, ‘A movie is coming! A movie is coming!’” [...]He sat at a distance from his family as usual, preferring to be close to the screen. But then he started crying so loudly when Whoopi Goldberg’s Celie was being separated from her sister that his mother had to collect him and help him catch his breath outside. 

When he talks about his childhood memories, I become honey. It gives me the assertive feeling that he is the kind of person that talks and talks and talks, and tells and tells stories and never run off them, and never gets boring, and they are always sweet (or bittersweet but sweet in the end)

He makes me think about my childhood with another lens to look through. Less remorse. More a kind of let-go-of-it.

Drugs were everywhere. Pascal remembers being 16 and taking acid and calling his mother to check in and let her know he was going to spend the night out. “And she sighs and goes, ‘Oh.’ And that was not normal. And I was like ‘Wh-why?’ and she said, ‘Oh, no, I was just hoping that we would all go to a movie.’ I was just so drawn to that kind of maternal attention, so I said, ‘I’m coming!’” He rushed home and sat mute and paralyzed, tripping in the back seat as they drove to see John Sayles’s City of Hope.

yes, more tears over here.

“I was having a really hard time when I was 18, 19, 20,” Pascal tells me. “I was struggling really badly with insomnia. I was reading James Baldwin and watching movies like Once Were Warriors and Muriel’s Wedding. I just was like an open wound to the reality of life.” He pauses to smack the table with his hand, groaning and laughing at himself. “It sounds so fucking pretentious, but I felt at this crossroads of coming into an understanding of what an unjust world we live in. This world, and its lack of equanimity, is just too painful to bear. How do you live in it?”

This is the moment where I had to stop reading. I was literally a cascade at this point. I felt like that song Killing me softly with his song by The Fugees and the part that goes:

I felt he found my letters

Then read each one out loud

I prayed that he would finish

But he just kept right on

I felt like he just grabbed all my diaries, my letters, my notes on my laptop. Everything. And just read them out loud.

And I felt less lonely for a moment, less detached from reality. More grounded to this moment that is, maybe, a wake up call.

That there is still time.

His grief had no place in Los Angeles, with its isolating highways and traffic and sprawl. So he went home to New York City, where he’d made some headway as an actor after college, only to find that his early luck had run out. He lived in a seventh-floor apartment of an East Village walk-up. Every night he’d have a cigarette on his fire escape and watch the moon rise between the Twin Towers.

Suicide grief is something I've never had the opportunity—well, more like favour of spilling my guts out for once—to talk with anyone. I went through it alone, mostly. I always think that there is no place as lonely as oneselves head (is oneselve's a word? am I dealing already with the precious side effects of twenty years of insomnia?). Reading Pedro talking about grief is ligthening.

I use to make myself a question, every now and then:

'When does it stop?'

Maybe never. And it's okay.

"Listen, I want to protect the people I love. But it goes beyond that. Bullies make me fucking sick.”

Just wanted to highlight this. Everyone should have this kind of values.

In the car, Pascal gasps and points out the window. “Look at that cemetery, isn’t it gorgeous?” he says. He doesn’t want to be buried—just throw him in the ocean. “Fish food, fish food, fish food,” he says. “And yet, I find sometimes cemeteries are so beautiful.” So, yes, now we’re back to talking about death.

In the car to Downey’s house, Pascal points at the word “FAITH,” which someone has spray-painted on a wall. He scrunches up his face in mock disgust. He’s agnostic, practically an atheist—and yet. “I still feel like I’m being mothered sometimes. I feel her witness all around me. I don’t feel like any of this right now would be happening if it weren’t for her.” There was something magical about María Verónica Pascal Ureta. Her firstborn son misses everything about her. Her beauty. Her smell. How funny she was, and how funny she found farts. “She couldn’t get past a fart of any kind without it absolutely destabilizing her into hysterics,” says Pascal. “She thought they were the most brilliant, hilarious, wonderful thing in the world.” She was also “very deep-feeling, very complex, very, very out of reach in a way,” he adds.

I tell you that I did nothing more than laugh and cry with all this part. Is that kind of make peace with death vibe that he sometimes gives me and I just take as a life advice.

I can't get mad at something that is long gone.

That I don't know the answers to.

That is as invisible as the air, and painful as a healed fracture.

And that I have to live, for those who aren't here anymore.

So... I will finish with this:

Of all the performances in Pascal’s now formidable career, Balmaceda singles out the monologue she saw him deliver as a sophomore in high school. It was a piece Pascal had written about a bike path near their house in Corona del Mar, a neighborhood he couldn’t wait to escape. Onstage, he described how, at first, he’d cross this narrow path that went over a bridge on foot, then progressed to riding over it gingerly on his bike, then with just one hand on his handlebars, and then, finally, being able to cross over with his hands in the air.

I can't wait to escape this place. A home that keeps me warm but silences me. Hugs that don't feel comfortable or familiar anymore. A room that is too little for the dreams that move this soul. A roof that isn't strong enough to hold me from touching what it's-maybe-waiting for me.

Somewhere.

Kudos to Karen Valby for such a great article.

if someone read this whole thing, uhm, thank you!

keep loving Peps. 💜

[alltoolewis]

Fast lane to forever- George Clarke

Request- what about George Clarke x Reader where he hard launches you by taking you to the F1 Premiere? (Thank you for requesting lovely! Two of my favourite things combined!!)

Word count- 1,639

You weren’t sure what gave it away first: the way George had grinned when he pulled out the invitation or the way he said, ”You’re going to need a dress that makes the photographers pause.”

That’s how it started — a casual line dropped over morning coffee in your flat, and now here you were, standing just off the red carpet outside the F1 premiere in London, your fingers intertwined with his in a quiet but steady grip.

George looked impossibly good — tailored tux, sleek shoes, a tiny F1 pin on his lapel, and that boyish grin that somehow felt completely unaffected even surrounded by flashing lights. You glanced up at him, eyes wide beneath the soft glow of the venue’s entrance.

“I still think they’re going to ask me to leave,” you whispered, leaning into his side as the crowd buzzed around you. “Like, ‘Sorry, miss, too pretty and not famous enough.’”

George laughed, his hand squeezing yours. “First of all, that’s the opposite of a problem. Second—no one’s asking you to leave. I brought you here. That makes you very welcome.”

You rolled your eyes with a small smile. “George, you have a very YouTuber view of power.”

He smirked. “Maybe. But tonight, it works.”

The red carpet stretched ahead like a blur of camera flashes, rumbling engines in the distance, and the kind of curated chaos that made everything feel dreamlike. PR teams herded celebrities like sheepdogs, cameras swept every detail, and yet — when George pulled you into the spotlight with him, none of it mattered.

The world narrowed to just this moment.

It was just you and him, standing side by side, and for the first time, you weren’t in the background. You weren’t the cropped-out hand or the blurry figure behind the phone. George had invited the spotlight — and brought you directly into it.

You could feel the shift happen in real time. The crowd around the ropes quieted just slightly as people whispered, heads tilting in recognition.

”That’s George Clarke, right?” ”Wait—who’s the girl?” ”Is this his girlfriend?” ”They look good together...”

George ignored them, or maybe he just didn’t care. His hand stayed locked in yours as the first camera turned, then the second. By the third, you felt him pull you closer. You glanced up — uncertain — but he gave you that look. That soft, cheeky, unwavering look that made you fall in love with him in the first place.

Then he kissed your temple. Right there, on the carpet, with half the internet watching.

Hard launch.

He held the pose for a few beats — long enough for the flash to capture it, long enough to make sure no one mistook it for an accident.

You laughed under your breath, your lips brushing his shoulder. “That was smooth.”

George leaned down, whispering, “I’ve had practice. Also... I wanted them to know.”

And you did. You wanted them to know too.

Once inside the venue, the noise softened. Dim lighting, champagne glasses, soft velvet ropes, the quiet hum of anticipation. George guided you through it with his arm around your waist, anchoring you in the chaos. Every so often, he’d lean in to share a quick joke or comment, or just to check that you were still doing okay.

He was different with you now — not in a way that felt like an act, but in a way that made it clear this was real. This wasn’t content. This wasn’t PR. This was George saying, ”This is my person. I want them here. With me. Everywhere.”

As you both settled into your seats near the front, you finally had a moment to breathe.

“I’m still reeling,” you said quietly, taking in the glitz, the exclusive energy. “This doesn’t feel real.”

He turned in his seat to face you, eyes crinkling with affection. “It’s real. Every bit of it. Especially you being here with me.”

You bit your lip, moved by the honesty in his voice. “Do you think it’ll... change things?”

George shrugged, and for the first time all night, his nerves showed through. “Maybe. But if it does, then good. I don’t want to hide this. You’re part of my life — a huge part. Anyone who follows me should know that.”

You didn’t respond right away. Instead, you reached over and took his hand again, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I love you,” you said softly, because suddenly it felt exactly right.

He blinked — not surprised, but clearly moved. “I love you too. More than I thought I could.”

The lights dimmed, the screen lit up, and the world around you melted into the roar of engines and adrenaline. But George never let go of your hand.

And somewhere between opening scenes and champagne toasts, the internet exploded.

Photos of the two of you flooded every platform, headlines buzzing:

”George Clarke debuts mystery girlfriend at F1 premiere”

”Power couple alert?”

”Who is George Clarke’s date — and can we stan?”

But none of that noise mattered as much as this: when the final credits rolled and the lights came up, George looked at you like the real show had always been you. The glitz, the cameras, the chaos — all of it was just background to a love that had been quietly racing down its own track.

The morning after (the internet knows...)

You woke to the soft clink of a spoon against ceramic and the smell of fresh coffee. London’s summer sun filtered through gauzy white curtains, bathing the flat in a glow so perfect it almost felt scripted.

George sat on the edge of the bed, shirtless, his hair a complete mess, holding two mugs —yours still had a lipstick-stained rim from last night, and he was definitely using it anyway.

“Morning,” he said, grinning sleepily. “You’re trending.”

You groaned into the pillow. “Please no.”

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” he said, handing you your mug and settling cross-legged beside you. “There’s already a fan account for us. They started with ‘clarkesplusone’ but someone changed it to ‘clarkesnumberone’ within an hour.”

You buried your face in the sheets. “This is your fault.”

“I know,” he said, practically glowing with pride.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand for the tenth time in a row. You picked it up, squinting through a blur of sleep and disbelief. Notifications flooded the screen.✨ You and George Clarke at the F1 premiere = literal goals 💬 Who is she? Why is she so effortlessly cool? 🐦 George finally hard launched and I’m crying into my cereal 📸 That forehead kiss? Oscar-worthy romance.

You scrolled through a carousel of red carpet photos. In one, you were mid-laugh with George looking down at you like you were the only person in the world. In another, his hand rested protectively at your lower back, caught in motion—like he wasn’t just posing but actually living in that moment.

“Okay,” you said slowly, “they’re actually kind of sweet. I thought it would be complete chaos.”

“Oh, it’s still chaos,” George said, lifting his phone. “Your DMs are probably melting down. Mine definitely are. My mum already texted me a screenshot of us with ‘About time you showed us her face.’”

You blinked. “Wait, your mum follows this stuff?”

George laughed. “My mum follows everything. She sent me memes of us before I even knew they existed.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, curling into his side with your head tucked beneath his chin. His arm wrapped around your shoulders without thinking.

“So...” you murmured against his chest. “Now that the whole world knows—do we hide in here for the next 48 hours or go full power couple with matching outfit photo shoots?”

He kissed the top of your head. “Why not both?”

Your phone buzzed again. This time, a text from a mutual friend.

“So this is what soft launch to hard launch looks like. Obsessed. Also, when’s the wedding?”

You showed George, and he snorted. “Tell them to relax. Give it like… another week.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Another week?”

He leaned back slightly, meeting your eyes with that rare kind of seriousness that made your heart skip.

“I meant what I said last night,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to keep you behind the curtain anymore. I love what we have, and now that people know... it feels right.”

You studied his face for a moment. Even without cameras pointed at him, George was completely sincere. A little goofy, still slightly bed-headed, but full of heart.

“You’re sure?” you asked softly. “Even when they start digging, speculating... calling me things that probably rhyme with ‘clout’?”

He tucked a finger under your chin, bringing your gaze back to him. “Let them. The only thing that matters is when they look, they see someone who makes me happy. And you do. Every single day.”

You smiled, your heart melting like butter on warm toast. “That was dangerously romantic for someone wearing boxers with ducks on them.”

“Love makes me poetic,” he said without missing a beat. “Also, don’t slander the ducks. They’re my power pattern.”

You pressed a kiss to his jaw, your voice going soft. “I’m glad you hard launched me into your world.”

He smiled, pulling you closer. “You were never a secret. Just a quiet truth I wasn’t ready to share with everyone else yet.”

Your phone buzzed again, this time showing a post you’d been tagged in:”George Clarke and the mystery girl have the kind of chemistry that makes you believe in soft boys and soulmates.”

You flipped the screen toward him. He read it, laughed under his breath, then kissed your cheek and murmured against your skin, “That one’s definitely getting pinned.”

[uconndallas]

Name: Whiteout

A/N: Hi guys! I took the last two days to finish this story. I decided to keep it a short story, and I will post chapter four and five today and those will be the final chapter of Whiteout. I just wanted to say im very thankful for everyone reading this series it means so much to me. I already have something planned for the next series AND one shot, so the wait wont be long! Again tysm for reading <3

Summary: Paige and Azzi have been roommates all their college years teammates on the court but worlds apart off it. When a surprise snowstorm traps them together on campus overnight, old tensions boil up, and buried feelings start to surface. As the campus shuts down and the night stretches on, the walls between them begin to crumble. But can they face what’s really been hiding beneath the surface before the morning comes?

Chapter Four: What Was Never Said

The storm had softened to a hush.

It was still out there, still folding the world in snow and silence, but the rage of it had passed. The windows no longer shook with each gust. The candlelight danced steadier now, as though even the flames could sense the shift in atmosphere.

Inside the dorm room, Paige and Azzi sat side by side on Paige’s bed, knees barely touching beneath the thick blanket that covered them both. The silence between them wasn’t heavy anymore it was full. Brimming with things they hadn’t said for too long. With a closeness they had both tiptoed around since sophomore year.

Azzi had one hand loosely draped in her lap, the other fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. Her eyes were focused on the flickering candle on the windowsill, but Paige knew she wasn’t really seeing it. She was somewhere else. Back in a memory. Paige could feel it in the way her shoulder leaned just slightly into hers.

“I keep thinking,” Paige said suddenly, voice quiet but deliberate, “about the last time we were like this.”

Azzi turned her head, a flicker of surprise passing over her face. She didn’t say anything, just watched her, lips slightly parted.

Paige swallowed. “It was that night, after the South Carolina game. We stayed up late. You brought that bottle of Gatorade you swore was magic.”

Azzi smiled, just a little. “It was. We won that game.”

“And then we…” Paige hesitated, but there was no turning back now. “We kissed. We didn’t talk about it. You slept in my bed, and we held each other all night. And the next morning, it was like it never happened.”

Azzi exhaled slowly, like she’d been holding that breath for two years.

“I didn’t know what to do,” she admitted. “You acted like it didn’t matter. Like you regretted it.”

Paige blinked. “What?”

“You were so distant,” Azzi said, more firmly now. “You got dressed without saying anything. You barely looked at me. And when I left the room… I waited for you to say something. Anything.”

“I thought you were the one pretending,” Paige said, stunned. “I thought I had messed everything up. That you didn’t feel the same and didn’t know how to let me down easy.”

Azzi’s jaw tightened. “So we both thought the other one didn’t care.”

Paige nodded slowly. “Yeah. And then everything got weird.”

“That’s one word for it,” Azzi said. “I started pulling away because I didn’t want to embarrass myself. I thought if I kept being normal if I just acted like nothing had happened, maybe we could still be friends.”

“You’ve always been better at pretending than me,” Paige murmured. “I thought you were over it. Over me.”

Azzi turned her whole body now, sitting cross-legged on the bed so she was facing Paige fully. Her face was illuminated by candlelight, soft and open and vulnerable in a way Paige hadn’t seen in a long time.

“I was never over you,” she said. “Not for a second.”

Paige looked at her, and for the first time in years, didn’t look away.

“I told myself it was just a phase,” Azzi continued. “That we were just close because of the team. Because we lived together. But that wasn’t true, and I think I always knew it.”

“So why didn’t you say anything?” Paige asked, her voice tight with something between hurt and disbelief. “If you knew?”

“Because I didn’t want to lose you.” Azzi’s voice cracked at the end. “And I thought saying it out loud would ruin everything. I figured if we could just keep going if I could be close to you, even just as a friend it was better than nothing.”

Paige felt her chest ache. “You thought nothing was safer than something real?”

Azzi nodded. “I was scared. And I figured you were fine without it.”

“I wasn’t.” Paige leaned forward, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “I spent two years convincing myself I didn’t care, but every time you walked into the room, it was like I forgot how to breathe.”

Azzi’s breath hitched.

“I hated that sweatshirt,” Paige added quietly.

Azzi blinked. “What?”

“The one you used to wear all the time. The grey one with the stretched out collar. I loved it, because it was yours. But I hated seeing you in it after that night. Because it reminded me of how close we were… and how far away you felt after.”

Azzi was still, eyes locked on hers.

“I wore that sweatshirt because it smelled like you,” she said.

Paige looked down.

“I didn’t know,” she whispered.

“I didn’t want you to,” Azzi said. “I didn’t know how to be brave.”

“I wish I’d said something sooner.”

“I wish we both had.”

The words weren’t an accusation. Just the truth.

Paige reached out slowly, not touching Azzi yet just giving her the space to meet her halfway.

She did.

Their fingers brushed. Then held.

Paige looked down at their hands, thumb brushing Azzi’s knuckles. “So… where does that leave us?”

Azzi was quiet for a long moment. Then she whispered, “I don’t want to go back.”

Paige looked up. “You don’t?”

Azzi shook her head. “No. I don’t want to pretend we can undo what happened. Or try to be who we were before. Because we’re not those girls anymore.”

Paige’s lips curved slightly. “Then what do you want?”

Azzi’s gaze held hers. “Something new. Something honest.”

Paige nodded. “Okay.”

Azzi blinked. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Paige said. “Let’s try again. For real this time. No pretending. No walking on eggshells. Just… us.”

Azzi leaned into her, forehead resting against Paige’s. Their hands stayed laced, their breath slowing until they matched.

“I’m still scared,” Azzi murmured.

Paige smiled gently. “Me too. But I think we’re allowed to be scared. As long as we don’t run from it this time.”

Azzi nodded, eyes fluttering shut.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours. The storm had become background noise—just white noise now, soft and distant.

Eventually, Paige reached over to blow out the last candle.

But before she did, she turned back to Azzi.

“I never stopped loving you,” she said.

Azzi didn’t answer with words. Just leaned forward and kissed her—slow, steady, certain.

This time, there was no hesitation. No miscommunication. No looking away.

Just warmth. And breath. And all the things that had gone unsaid finally finding their way out.

When they pulled back, Azzi whispered, “You still feel like home.”

Paige smiled against her skin. “Good. Because I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

The candle flickered once. Then went out.

And for the first time in two years, they weren’t lost in the dark.

They had found their way back to each other.

[bigheartbuck]

i keep these longings locked

part i part ii mentions of abbytommy/tommy-centric/eventual bucktommy

tw: internalized homophobia/homophobic language

I promise the next bit is going to be more lighthearted!

tag list: @sweaters-and-silly (lmk if you wanna be added too) ______________________________

His chest is tight as fuck. Tommy breathes through it. Head between his knees, feels his pulse uncomfortably loud and present in his neck. Lockers have emptied out mostly. His vision is swimming. He feels like throwing up.

"Kinard? Oh shit, hey."

He can hear fast footsteps, and then a warm, big hand on his shoulder. "You got it," the voice says and Tommy's brain is desperately trying to place it. His hands are shaking. "Inhale.... hold your breath, three, two, one, ....exhale. Good. Again, come on."

By the time Tommy emerges from what feels like the deepest, darkest sea and comes up for air, he's realized that the warm hand and firm voice belong to his new captain. Hen had given him a week tops. But Nash has persevered. Four weeks and counting. Tommy would've rather been found dead before ever letting Gerrard see him like this but Nash has a softness to him. His whole lets have dinner together shtick, his we're a family and we ride together pathos, his unwavering determination to make them act like a team -- Tommy's not sure he quite fits in there. Right now, though, he's glad it's Nash who found him like this and not Howie or Hen. They'd stage an intervention immediately.

Nash hands him a water bottle, sits down next to him. "Better?"

Tommy lets out a shaky breath. “Thanks cap. I, uh, I don’t know what just happened." He rubs his hand across his face. “I don’t usually get… like this.” He forces a smile. "Guess it was a couple of tough calls."

Nash eyes him, somewhat curiously. Several beats. "Everything alright at home?" Tommy shrugs. He should go home. Sleep it off. He meets Nash's steady gaze, but there's a flicker of genuine concern. Tommy can't handle it, Nash's empathy.

"Yeah. Everything's good," he lies and reaches for his bag. Nash stops him. "Not so fast. I uh -- I'd been meaning to talk to you."

Tommy blinks, confused, his hand still hovering near the strap of his bag. He’s not sure where this is going. "Uh oh," he says dryly. His pulse is still racing and only slowly returning to normal. "Am I being fired, too?" Deluca is still pissed at Nash but Tommy knows it was the right call. He's been putting in the work, though. Doing his part. It would be really shitty timing for Nash to let him go as well.

Nash’s gaze sharpens for a moment, like he’s sizing Tommy up, and then he exhales softly. “No, you’re not getting fired.” He pauses, like he’s choosing his words carefully. Tommy's shoulders relax. "But?" he asks.

"But..." Nash continues, "I've been wondering if maybe you're not exactly who you're supposed to be."

"That so?" Tommy asks, aiming for casual. Nash doesn't know, does he? Fuck. He wonders sometimes if it's all over his face. Tommy Kinard thinks about kissing boys. Tommy Kinard is a queer. Don't ask, don't tell. But look at him, he tries so hard to be a big guy but he'd take it lying down, wouldn't he? Fuck. He needs to get his dad's voice out of his head. It's funny, the way he is still such a fuck up. How he tried to make it work so hard and how he still failed. He would've given everything to be happy with Abby.

He juts his chin forward. Nash looks at him with so much kindness it makes Tommy want to crawl out of his skin.

"You're a pilot," his captain says, oblivious to the dark spiral of Tommy's mind. Tommy exhales. Breathe. For fuck's sake. Breathe.

"And you're competent, skilled, you're quick. I'd love to keep you here. But I keep thinking maybe you belong elsewhere. And I hear the Harbor is looking for someone like you."

Tommy must look genuinely surprised because Nash lets out a huffed laugh. Tommy hasn't considered flying in years. "Seriously?"

Nash nods. "You're one of my best. But I saw the way you lit up when we called in air support last week. You loved working with them. So, my guess is, that's where your heart is."

Tommy thinks no one's ever paid attention to him like this before. His stomach unknots slowly. Shoulders uncurl.

"I'll -- I'll think about it."

Nash squeezes his shoulder. "You should. It can feel like suffocating. Denying yourself what you want."

Tommy stares down at his hands.

"Yes, cap," he says, throat working.

"Bobby." Nash points to the jeans he's wearing. "Off shift. I'm just Bobby."

"Bobby." Tommy echoes. His legs still feel like jelly.

He takes a few sips from the water. "I might --" His tongue feels heavy in his mouth.

"I might have to look for a new place soon."

He hasn't talked to Abby yet. But he needs to, has to. He wakes up, shirt soaked through with sweat at least twice a night. The darkest, deepest sea in his mind and his father's voice are so hard to turn off. He can't live like this anymore. He's been googling apartments. Abby doesn't even know yet.

"I really uh --" Tommy doesn't know why he keeps talking. "I tried to make a good thing work and it didn't work."

Bobby nods. "And that's causing the panic attacks?" He asks it matter of factly.

Tommy clears his throat. "One panic attack." Lie. But Bobby doesn't have to know or be right about everything. "And I guess --" He hesitates. "Gotta figure out some stuff. Big stuff."

Bobby doesn't say anything for a while. Keeps his gaze steady. Tommy thinks he could probably confide in him. Bobby would see the ugly, dark, twistedness of Tommy's insides and tell him it was okay. That it gets better. And the thing is, Tommy knows. He knows. He saw some kid online the other day on YouTube. They were what, 15? When Tommy was 15 -- well. He's mid thirties now, not any less terrified. It's difficult to explain, out loud. How his head works. How the stuff that goes for others, doesn't apply to him. How he's less deserving of it.

"The big stuff," Bobby says after a while. He looks at Tommy, face open. He says it like a question, gently prompting Tommy to continue.

Tommy's eyes prickle. He should go.

He exhales. "Yeah. Been pretending to be... Someone I'm not."

He's a teenager and his dad caught him with a magazine of naked men and his hand down his pants. He's in the army and Micah is kissing him. He's 34 and engaged to a beautiful woman and he feels nothing when she shakes around him.

His mouth is dry as cotton.

Bobby squeezes his shoulder. "I hear you." A beat. "Don't need to say anything else."

They sit like this for a little while longer. Then, Tommy gathers his things, shoulders his bag. The ground feels a little less shaky. His knees don't buckle. He'll find an apartment. And he'll tell Abby.

"Kinard," Bobby says when Tommy's already at the door. Tommy turns around. "Promise me you'll think about transferring, yeah? Go after what you want?"

Tommy huffs out a laugh. Shakes his head. His chest is lighter. "Aye aye cap." He gives a half hearted mock salute. What he means to say is thank you.

He's pretty sure Bobby hears it anyway.

On the way home, at a red light stop, a jeep comes to a halt next to his car. A guy leans out of the window and asks for directions to the LAFD training academy. He's young. Bright smile, short blond hair. Tommy tells him where to go and the guy thanks him profusely. "Starting a new chapter," he says enthusiastically and adjusts his backwards hat. Out of his stereo Tommy can hear hip hop blaring. Eminem. "Me, too" Tommy shouts back and watches the lights switch to orange. "Good luck then!" the guy shouts over the revving engine and grins. "See you around!"

Tommy laughs.

"You, too!"

Lights turn green.

[popcornforone]

Gloriously Dramatic

A Dieter Bravo Fan Fic

Well we were spoilt about 48 hours ago weren’t we? Madness. Pure chaos. Life admin did not happen on Tuesday for me, instead a bombardment happened& since then well… I’ve wanted to give something back, cos if you saw this look & you didn’t think Dieter, then I feel for you.

Synopsis:- Dieter has had a hard day doing a photo shoot, but you’re gonna make the next part of his dah even harder.

Word Count:- 2900

Warnings:- DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE OVER 18! Oral sex, established relationship, Rough PIV sex,praise kink, swearing, Teasing & banter, Mild overstimulation, Unfiltered monologuing which leads into dirty talk, fingering, remember dieter is a sex pedr, mentions of addictions & infidelity in the past.

Thank you all for reading this, hope this keeps you all nice & feral. I hope you enjoyed this.

You find him like this, draped over the pink armchair like a Renaissance painting having a “nervous breakdown” or that’s what he wants you to believe as he huffs & puffs. The green robe is still on, though barely. His legs are sprawled wide, silk boxers slightly rumpled, his hair tousled just right for a man who didn’t lift a finger to style it himself.

He groans, long, dramatic & theatrical.

“I’m spent,” he declares to the ceiling, then turns his head slowly, like he’s in a tragic opera to look at you. “Emotionally. Spiritually. Artistically. I gave them everything, babe.”

You don’t blink.

“You sat in a chair & winked at a camera, I’d hardly call that work.”

“With depth,” he counters, placing a hand dramatically on his chest. “With mystery. &… possibly a hernia. I haven’t ruled it out.”

You roll your eyes walk over & lean against the back of the chair, brushing a hand through his hair. It’s warm. He smells like espresso & ego, your favourite.

“You’re glorious,” you say.

He lifts his head, eyes narrowing. “Say it again.”

You smirk, his smell intoxicating . “You’re glorious.”

His hand snaps out to your wrist with unexpected grace. “You’re goddamn right I am.”

In one Swift yank, he pulls you into his lap in the chair, like he’s dragging you into his gravity field, equal parts needy & smug, before he buries his face in your neck. “Marry me. Or at least order sushi while I emotionally recover.”

“So this is foreplay now?” you ask. It’s the 5th time Dieter has asked something including marriage as an option in the last week, like it’s something so easy to do. Maybe to him it is, but he huffs at your response.

“This is method acting,” he mutters into your collarbone, with grand hand gestures . “They made me smolder, babe. For art.” Dieter groans again, flopping an arm across his forehead. “Do you know how many expressions I had to give? Four. Four! & the chair was aggressively velvet. I’ve been exfoliated & touched up against my will.”

“Tragic,” you murmur, kissing his temple. “First time you’ve ever complained about being touched up” he pulls a face at you before returning back to being a drama Queen.

“It is,” he breathes, eyes fluttering shut like a Victorian poet. “No one understands the toll of being this photogenic. It’s a burden. I carry it for the people.” You hum, your lips trailing to his cheek, down the angle of his jaw. He doesn’t react at first, too absorbed in the monologue.”…& the lighting! They asked me to tilt my head thirty degrees. Thirty! That’s chiropractor territory. I think I dislocated charm itself. My face will ache for days, it wasn’t even my good side” another huff. Your mouth finds his “overworked” neck now, warm & soft. You kiss just beneath his ear. His voice falters.

“Babe?” he says, one eye cracking open.

“Mhm?” You kiss lower, the edge of his collarbone peeking from the open robe. Your fingers glide over his chest, down to his stomach, warm, toned, ridiculously smooth. You press a slow kiss there, & his breath stutters.

“What are you… oh. Oh.” His voice is smooth. His tone changes. Less tragedy. More curiosity. You kiss him again, just above his navel this time, & ruffle his hair gently with your other hand. Ready to descend down his happy trail.

“You said you were recovering,” you whisper.

“I am,” he says, but his voice cracks. “Or I was. Now I’m…oh my god.” He props himself up on his elbows, hair a mess, eyes suddenly very alert. “Is this…are you seducing me while I’m vulnerable?”

You smile innocently. “Would I do that? & wouldn’t you do the exact same” you say as you pull off your pink dress so you are left just in your underwear. You both know that once you start you can’t stop. You’re each other’s addiction.

“Yes & yes, I respect it.” His eyes are wide now. Less theatre, more raw hunger. You smile, watching the realization bloom across his face like slow-motion fireworks. “Wait,” he says, his voice husky, “I thought you were comforting me”

“I am,” you murmur, fingers sliding under the waistband of his absurd white boxers. “This is a very specific form of therapy.”

“Is it covered by insurance? Do I need to tell tmz about this?” he jokes weakly, but his voice is already wrecked, breath catching as you start to tug the fabric down.

“Just say you need it,” you purr, eyes flicking up to meet his.

Dieter swallows. “I… Jesus. I need it. Fucking want it” The white boxers come off. He’s already half-hard, twitching under your gaze, the air cool against his skin. He shifts slightly in the chair, trying to look composed. He fails spectacularly.

“This is dangerously intimate,” he whispers. “I feel like a Greek god being worshipped by his mortal queen. Am I glowing? I feel like I’m glowing & glorious.”

You don’t respond. You kiss your way lower. One kiss just above the base, so responsive making his hips jump. Another, slower kiss down the length of him. A flick of your tongue along the underside & he lets out a choked, whimpering sound. Surrendering to your mouth.

“Okay,” he breathes, clutching at the armrests like he’s bracing for liftoff. “Yup. Definitely glowing.”

You can’t help but smirk & look into those big brown eyes alive with fire. You wrap your lips around him, slow & deliberate, taking your time. His head tips back with a soft moan.

“I think I just saw god,” he mutters. “She had your mouth.”

You hollow your cheeks slightly, bobbing your head, one hand stroking what your lips can’t reach. His thighs tense under your palms.

“Fuck I love you,” he gasps suddenly, voice high-pitched with desperation. “I…i know I said that during a massage once & didn’t mean it but this time, I’m… I’m ooooh fuck”

“Shhhh” You pull back just enough to glance up at him. “Less talking. More praising.” You then get back to work, sloppy is Dieters favourite.

“Oh my god,” he groans. “You’re so hot when you dominate me. I’m gonna write you into my memoirs. Chapter seven: ‘Tongue of Glory.’”You hum around him in response. Still making him feel like a king. His whole body arches slightly, one hand threading through your hair, his thighs trembling under your touch.

“I’m gonna…. yes, yes, yes… babe, fuck…”

Always tasting tangy, he spills for you with a shuddering cry, voice echoing off the walls, he’s in heaven now. You pull back slowly, wiping your mouth as he collapses into the chair like someone just delivered a monologue into his soul.

“You,” he pants, chest heaving, “oooh fuck… you’re my religion now. I’m gonna build a shrine. Maybe two.”

He’s still breathless, slouched dramatically in the chair like a man who’s just survived a hurricane of intimacy and has seen things. You lean back on your knees, wiping your mouth with a slow smirk. Dieter slowly lifts his head, eyes dark, lips parted. “That was…babe…that was… That was …. Fuck… that was fucking biblical.” You giggle a little at how over the top he is, as you notice a few drops of cum on your breasts, you decide now is a good moment to take your bra off, your

“You’re welcome.” He reaches out and grabs your wrist like he’s making a pact with a god.

“You just sucked the will to act out of me,” he growls. “I think you broke my career.”

You laugh. “Please. You’re already imagining how to monologue this in an interview. Wondering how this can improve your profile” everything is over the top & an act with Dieter & you secretly love it, you just wind him up to get a raise.

“Correct,” he says, eyes gleaming now. “‘It was transcendental. I was vulnerable. She devoured me like a five-star dessert. I saw the face of Eros. I wept.’”

He pulls you up into his lap, hands suddenly firm on your thighs. That glint in his eye has changed, still playful, but now heavy with intent. Dangerous. Filthy. His eyes gawping at your breasts.”But now,” he murmurs, voice like honey and sin, “now it is your turn to suffer.”You snigger. “Suffer?”

“Yes. In the most exquisite way,” he purrs, nuzzling your neck. “I’m going to make you writhe, sweetheart. Gasping. Shaking. Haunted.”

He pulls back to look into your eyes, completely serious now. “I’m going to give you an orgasm so intense it’ll rewrite your personality. Your tax bracket might change. You might lose your taste for chocolate. You will definitely forget your own name mid-scream.” His hand slides into your panties, palm hot on your sex, your body responds. “Your thighs are going to shake like they’re trying to escape the room.”

“Bold promise,” you breathe, trying to remain composed.

“Oooh No, no,” he whispers, voice deadly calm, “it’s a prophecy.”

He grins wickedly. “So you better sit back, my glorious goddess of throat techniques, because Daddy Dieter is about to…”

“Don’t say ‘Daddy Dieter,’” you groan. The press new nickname for him. He went along with it for a few months but now you’re both collectively bored of it.

“Fine,” he whispers, leaning in to bite your ear gently, his thumb now inside you. “Then just scream it later.”

You rise slowly, teasingly, from his lap, dragging your fingers down his chest as you go. Dieter watches you like he’s hypnotized, still sprawled in his chair, gloriously naked, flushed, & completely wrecked.

You don’t say a word as you pluck his ridiculous green robe off the back of the chair & slip it over your shoulders. It dwarfs you, swallowing your frame, but you wear it like it was designed by gods.

“Wait,” he croaks, brows drawing together. “What are you, where are you going with my robe? That’s designer you know?”

You smirk. “You want to worship me?” He nods, reverently. “Then chase me.”You then roll your panties down & fling them at him, hitting his stomach & landing on his erection landing like a tent. You turn and walk off, hips swaying just enough to tease, leaving him naked, breathless, & stunned… but only for exactly two seconds.

“Oh hell yes,” he mutters, vaulting out of the chair like a man possessed. He’s on your trail in seconds, footsteps pounding down the hallway behind you, growling under his breath. “You minx. You robe thieving siren. You temptress with a throat like a goddamn spell. Get back here…” You squeal, half-laughing, as you burst into the bedroom. You don’t get far.

Dieter catches you at the edge of the dresser, spinning you around & pinning you hard against the wood with a strength that makes your knees buckle. His body is flush with yours, hot, hard, already back in full Bravo mode.

“Thought you could tease me & walk away?” he growls in your ear. “After that mouth? That look in my robe? You bear beneath? Oh no, baby. No escape now.” He yanks the robe open, exposing your naked body underneath. One hand grabs your hip; the other presses into the small of your back, bending you over the dresser’s edge.

“Now,” he says, lining himself up, breath ragged, “you’re gonna take it. Every inch. No soft lighting. No romance. Just me, fucking you like you stole my soul.& you’ll take it good like the little brat you are” You gasp as he thrusts into you in one deep, claiming motion. All the way, balls deep making your knuckles go white as you clutch the dresser.

“Oooh fuck… That’s it,” he growls, pace already rough & relentless. “You wanted drama? This is your climax arc. Screaming. Biting. Standing ovation.” His hips snap against yours, his grip bruising, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing around the bedroom. Your sacred ritual. “Gonna make your legs tremble,” he pants. “Gonna have you drooling on this dresser. So ruined you forget what gravity feels like.” One hand slides around to your front, fingers rubbing your clit in tight, fast circles. Your moans pitch higher.

“That’s it, baby. Louder. I want the neighbors to know your name. No… my name. Say it. Say it while I fuck you stupid.”

“Dieter…fuck… yes Diets… fuck” You can barely speak as he drives into you, relentless, focused, feral. His cock fills you perfectly, hitting deep, every thrust slamming your hips against the dresser hard enough to rattle the drawer handles. His fingers never stop moving on your clit, fast, precise, determined like he’s chasing a standing ovation.

“Come on, baby,” he growls into your shoulder. He’s gonna leave marks “Give it to me. I want you shaking. I want you ruined.” You’re close, so close you can’t breathe. The pressure builds impossibly high, & then it breaks like a wave, crashing over you with violent ecstasy. You scream his name as your orgasm rips through you, legs trembling, vision blurring, body convulsing around him. You feel it everywhere, in your toes, your scalp, your soul.

“That’s my girl,” Dieter groans, his voice tight. “God, you feel so good like this…” He keeps going just long enough to push you through the edge again, overstimulating, dizzying before he then snaps.

“Fuck fuckerty fuck…you’re gonna milk my soul out of me… Jesus” With a deep, broken moan, he spills inside you, thick, hot & pulsing. His hips stutter, breath ragged against your neck. For a second, neither of you move. Just panting. Gasping. Processing. Frozen in lust.

Then he collapses ,dramatically of course, dragging you down to the bedroom floor with him in a heap of tangled limbs &wrecked satisfaction.

“I think I broke a rib,” he mutters into your ear his hand still on your heat.

“I think I saw stars” you reply, dazed & fragile. He laughs weakly, one hand flopping dramatically over his forehead. “Next time,” you whisper, breathless, “you should try fucking one of the models from the photo shoot. They might be petter pussy.”His head turns slowly. His eyes narrow. He has a previous of fucking anything with a pulse. Before you tamed him, slightly.

“Don’t,” he says, “you dare.”

You smirk. “Just saying. Models are kind of… dramatic.”

“But you’re the one I love” you blush as he says that. He really does mean it. His jaw drops. “Watch your mouth,” he says, voice low & dangerous. “Or I swear to god I’ll shove my cock right back in it.”

“Promises, promises Daddy Dieter ,” you tease, already grinning. He’s already shifting on top of you again.

“Ooh your in such big trouble now girl”

Moon light pours in through the curtains, turning the living room into a dusky mood.

You wake slowly, a bit sore, deliciously sore, muscles humming in that very specific way that says: I got ruined by Dieter Bravo & I survived to tell the tale. You shift slightly & feel it. His arm, heavy around your waist. His breath, warm against the back of your neck. & that ridiculous green robe, draped over both of you like a cape of conquest.

You’re don’t remember heading back to the lounge but here you are on the couch. Naked. Entwined. Glowing in a sex haze. Dieter stirs behind you, his voice gravelly & sleep-wrecked.

“Mmmph. You’re still here. I didn’t dream you, right?”

“Nope,” you murmur, wiggling back into his warmth. “You asked me to move in remember & to marry me about 20 times” you giggle.

“Thank god,” he sighs, pressing a slow, soft kiss to your shoulder. “If that was a dream I would’ve sued someone for not delivering the tightest cunt… it would Probably be God.” You chuckle. His fingers trail lazily over your stomach, then slide lower, possessive but not urgent. Just wanting to feel. To touch.

“You good?” he mumbles its caring. All roughness & dramatics he can still be a gentle soul.

“I can’t feel my thighs. So yeah. Pretty great.

“You’re welcome,” he says smugly, nuzzling into your hair. “I think We broke a dresser. I feel like that should be in our wedding vows.” You roll over to face him. His hair’s a mess. Eyes still heavy with sleep. That faint stubble burn still marks your neck. He looks ruined. He looks in love.

“You look like you’ve been through war,” you whisper.

He smiles. “I was. You’re the war. & the peace. & the afterparty.”

You kiss him, soft & deep. There’s no rush now. No audience. Just him & you, & the lingering heat that even time can’t cool.

He sighs into your mouth. “I don’t need awards. Don’t need interviews. I just want this. You. Robe-thief. Soul-stealer. Bedroom deviant.”

“You’re full of shit,” you laugh gently, brushing your nose against his.

He kisses you again, lazily, as his hand strokes your hip. “Let’s not get dressed. Let’s just lie here & bathe in the moonlight”

“You’re ridiculous.” You tut before running your hands over him again.

“Thought I was glorious” he raises an eyebrow.

“True Gloriously Dramatic”

“Oooh more than that I’m in love,” he corrects. “It’s worse best thing to ever be involved in”

[ladyhoneydarlinglove]

one piece fic | zosan | pride kisses 2025 challenge

{REMEMBERED KISS}

(CONTEXT BEFORE READING: so i was going back through WCI while working on this prompt and discovered this particular panel of sanji telling reiju "i thought i could just sacrifice myself and everything else would be fine! what kind of fantasy world was i living in?" and thought 'oh hell yes, i can TOTALLY make this moment that has objectively nothing to do with zoro into a zosan thing about thriller bark' :)c )

It’s funny, Sanji thinks as he trudges back to his room through the pouring rain. Ever since he arrived on Whole Cake Island, every time he thinks he’s finally hit rock bottom, the ground goes out from under him again to swallow him whole. He wonders briefly what could possibly be the next thing that’s going to go catastrophically wrong, and then decides that it doesn’t really matter.

He’s going to die tomorrow. Nothing matters anymore.

His jaw clenches, tears dripping slowly down his cheeks as he grapples with this new reality in which everything he’d tried to do—for his crew, for Zeff, even for himself—has ultimately served no purpose. Sanji really, truly thought that if he just sacrificed himself, if he was the only one suffering, then everything else would be fine. He knows that his life has never been worth much, but he had hoped that it at least had enough value to buy some safety for the people he loves. To realize he can’t even achieve that much…

It sort of feels like Thriller Bark all over again, with Sanji offering himself belly-up upon the altar only for Zoro to say in everything but words that no, that isn’t good enough, you’re not good enough—

What kind of fucking fantasy world are you living in? 

Sanji stops, tears welling up hot and heavy as they begin to pour down his face in earnest while a pitiful sob forces its way out of his throat. No, he thinks to himself. That’s not fair to Zoro. Sanji was the only one on Thriller Bark who thought that even if his life didn’t mean much, at least his death could. Who naively believed that if only he could sacrifice himself, then everything else would be fine. It stings something fierce to realize how much he apparently didn’t learn his lesson.

Why the fuck didn’t you let me take your place, asshole! This crew needs you!

Oh what, and they don’t need you?

You could always find another cook, shithead! But a first mate—

Oh, bull fucking shit, twirly-brow! You really think we could just go out there and find another cook capable of even half of what you do on a regular basis? What kind of fucking fantasy world are you living in?

This is nothing like Thriller Bark, and Sanji knows it. Zoro didn’t stop him from offering himself up to Kuma because he thought Sanji wasn’t good enough; he’d stopped him because he thought Sanji’s life was too valuable to simply throw away. 

Zoro has…

Zoro has always been good at that. Seeing the inherent value in people that they can’t see themselves and reassuring them of it in his own awkwardly blunt way. Sanji has always admired that about him.

Sanji has always admired a lot of things about Zoro.

He slumps against the nearest wall, uncaring of the rough scrap of stone against his back as he slides down, or the wetness that begins seeping into his pants the moment his bottom hits the ground. Sanji buries his face in his hands and then cries like he hasn’t cried since the day his mother died—with all of his body, heart, and soul.

And in the midst of all that crying, remembers something that happened what feels like an entire lifetime ago.

Sanji.

Thanks for being there when I woke up.

Sanji slides one hand down his face until the tips of his fingers rest against his lips as he recalls the soft, barely there brush of Zoro’s kiss that night in the galley, a mirror of the one he’d left at the corner of the swordsman’s mouth three days prior, when Sanji sat by his beside and quietly begged him to wake up because he couldn’t imagine a life that didn’t have Zoro in it. 

Zoro in front of him, heads butting together in another heated argument. Zoro by his side, helping in the kitchen and doing dishes after meals whenever Sanji asked him to, no matter how much he might grumble and complain about it. Zoro at his back during a fight, in perfect sync with each other without either of them ever having to say a word, because that’s just how it’s always been between them. A push-and-pull, a back-and-forth, a song-and-dance that no matter how at odds they might find themselves, has always ended in a perfect balance, a perfect harmony.

Sanji wanted so badly to believe that he could find that somewhere else too. That maybe Pudding—dear, sweet Pudding, the one silver lining he thought he had in this whole fucked up mess—could fill the Zoro-shaped void in his chest. That even if all his other dreams were shattered, this one—a life spent with a wonderful, loving wife, the kind of wife Sanji’s always thought that he should want—might be able to survive intact.

What kind of fucking fantasy world are you living in?

Sanji lets both his hands drop into his lap, tipping his head back against the wall and staring blankly up at the dark clouds and pouring rain above.

He’s going to die tomorrow. Pudding said herself that she plans to put a bullet between his eyes. Nothing matters anymore.

And if nothing matters anymore, then maybe…

Maybe Sanji can stop lying to himself. Just for a little while. 

He’s been doing it for so long, after all. Since the day they got separated at Sabaody, since the aftermath of Thriller Bark, since riding the sea train from Water 7 to Enies Lobby, since the Davy Back Fight, since that first messy, violent kiss in Alabasta.

Since Arlong fucking Park, when Zoro yelled at him—

Thirty seconds! I won’t last more than that!

And Sanji had yelled back—

That’s plenty!

It was the trust, he thinks. Trust is something that has never come easily to Sanji; usually it has to be painstakingly earned with blood and sweat, tears and time. He knows Zoro is the same way; has seen it in the sharpness of his gaze whenever they enter a new place and meet new people, always watching, always waiting for the next threat to the crew.

And yet, even though they barely knew each other back then, Zoro gave Sanji his trust at Arlong Park without a second thought. 

What was Sanji supposed to do, except try and return it in kind?

What was he supposed to do, except start falling in love?

Sanji could never admit it to himself before now—too scared, too stubborn, too in his own head about what he should want versus what he actually wants. But he’s going to die tomorrow and nothing matters anymore and Sanji loves Roronoa Zoro. He loves him so fucking much. He has for a long, long time.

And it doesn’t fucking matter because unless there’s a goddamn miracle waiting in the wings for him, Sanji is going to die tomorrow.

Fuck.

(optional reading: bsky thread feat. my thoughts on why i think this particular moment is the one where sanji can no longer hide from his feelings for zoro (click the second post to get the whole thing, i fucked up the thread somehow).)

[camficdiner]

You are so talented!!! Could you please do:

[1.1] [2.1 and 2.9] [3.1] [4.3] They pretend to hate each other — everyone else knows they’re obsessed

You’re the best, thank you!!!!!

☕️ Cam’s Fic Diner — Order 055

🍒 Thank you for the fluff order! I’ve been deep-frying smut for a while so this is the perfect palate cleanser.

💬 “You Kiss Like You Hate Me”

✨ Description and prompts:

– Character: Jack Hughes

– Prompt: Kissing in a hallway + first time meeting his brother

– Tropes: fake hate, secretly obsessed, everyone knows, soft fluff

– Type: fluff, romantic tension, hallway moment, slow-burn-y

🛼🧁✨🍒

You’ve never liked Jack Hughes.

Well — okay, maybe liked isn’t the right word. You tolerate him. You’ve learned to navigate around him. You’ve figured out how to ignore his stupid smirks in the hallway and the way he always manages to sit at your table in the media lounge, even though there are seventeen empty ones literally everywhere else.

But like him? That’s never been part of the deal.

Not when he walks around like he owns the Prudential Center. Not when he chirps you for your Devils staff lanyard photo (“you look like you’re being held hostage, did they not let you retake it?”). Not when he acts like he’s God’s gift to hockey, girls, and… well, you.

And certainly not when you first met him — through Luke, actually. Luke’s sweet. You trust Luke. He’s the kind of rookie that makes you believe this team might actually have a soul. But Jack? Jack is everything you’re not interested in. Loud. Cocky. Annoyingly good-looking.

Also: not nearly as good of a player as he thinks he is.

Which you may or may not have told him. Loudly. In the locker room hallway.

More than once.

“Maybe if you kept the puck on your stick for more than three seconds, you’d stop blowing every rush,” you’d said once, arms crossed over your clipboard.

Jack had only grinned, slow and smug. “Jealous you don’t get to blow me?”

You hadn’t spoken to him for a week after that. A whole glorious, peaceful week. But then he showed up early to practice — just to sit behind you in the stands and ask dumb questions about how analytics even work anyway, like isn’t it all just vibes and luck?

You hated him. You hate him.

You especially hate that you’ve started noticing things.

Like the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching. Or how he’s always the first to volunteer for media duty when he knows you’re the one managing the schedule. Or the fact that you’ve caught yourself checking your phone more often than you’d like — wondering if he’ll text. (He never does. But he always finds you in person.)

And now? Now, Quinn Hughes is here.

It’s the last stretch before the offseason, and the Devils are letting loose in practice, the air a little lighter. Luke’s already run up to greet Quinn, all excited to show off. You’ve only ever seen Quinn on TV — and frankly, he seems too quiet and clean-cut to be related to Jack.

Which makes it worse when Quinn corners you in the hallway, just outside the media room, and gives you the most unreadable look.

“You’re the girl he’s always pissing off,” he says mildly.

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“He talks about you more than he talks about hockey.”

“Gross,” you mutter, crossing your arms. “And not true.”

“Oh, it’s very true,” Luke pipes up, appearing at Quinn’s side with a protein bar half unwrapped. “He follows her around like a golden retriever and then pretends he doesn’t care.”

“I don’t care,” Jack says, sliding in behind them like a storm cloud in skates. “She hates me.”

“She tolerates you,” Quinn corrects. “There’s a difference.”

Jack shrugs. “Whatever. She’s just a pretty face who thinks she knows hockey.”

You stiffen — and Quinn watches it happen. He clocks the way your jaw twitches and how Jack’s shoulders tense right after, like he regrets it the second it’s out.

Luke frowns. “You don’t even believe that.”

Jack doesn’t respond. Just tilts his head, eyes flicking to you. “Why are you even standing here?”

You smile sweetly. “Waiting for your brothers to say something useful.”

Jack opens his mouth, then closes it again. Quinn sighs. Luke mutters something about emotional repression and wanders off.

The hallway empties. You’re left standing there, across from Jack. He’s leaning on the wall now, arms folded, eyes unreadable.

“You actually think I’m just a pretty face?” you ask, voice low.

Jack doesn’t answer.

You step closer. One step. Two. His eyes drop to your mouth.

“I think,” you whisper, “you’re scared.”

He scoffs. “Of what?”

“Of me.”

And then — maybe because the hallway is too quiet, or the season’s almost over, or you’ve been pretending to hate each other for way too long — you kiss him.

Hard. Reckless. Like ripping the air out of his lungs. Your hand curls into the collar of his warm-up hoodie and his mouth crashes into yours like he’s been waiting months for this.

He tastes like spearmint gum and something boyish and warm, and when he finally pulls back, his voice is wrecked.

“I don’t hate you,” he says quietly.

“I know,” you breathe.

Neither of you move.

And somewhere in the background, you’re positive you hear Luke yell “FINALLY” from inside the rink.