#he literally does not have to do anything he can just stand there

[skzficdump]

Hey, Emo Boy

paring: han jisung x fem!reader

gender: smut

word counting:

warnings: unprotected sex (dont), soft dom/sub dynamic, submissive han jisung, teasing, dirty talk, clear consent, emo/y2k aesthetic.

note: just because I'm so obsessed with karma and bluesung's photos and because he's sub emo

The first time you saw him was at a party filled with neon lights and guys trying too hard to look cool. But not him.

He was in a corner, black hoodie, smudged eyeliner, headphones dangling from his neck, and that “don't talk to me, I don't care about you” expression plastered all over his face. You glanced at him once. He didn't notice. You glanced at him again. This time, he did. He looked down. Bingo.

“Hey, emo boy,” you said as you walked past him, just enough for him to hear. “Do you always hide like this, or only when you know someone might tame you?”

His face turned red. And he didn't say anything. He just followed you with his eyes. You loved it.

Now you're in his room. Dark, with punk band posters hanging on the walls and a half-burned candle burning on his desk. Jisung is in front of you, sitting on the edge of the bed, biting his lip with that mix of anxiety and desire you recognize so well.

"Are you good when I'm away, Han?" you ask, your tone sweet but poisonous.

He nods, lowering his gaze. "Yeah… I try."

"Try?" You move closer, standing between his legs. "That doesn't sound very convincing, baby."

Your fingers tangle in his dark hair, gently pulling him back so he looks at you. His eyes open, shining with that silent plea that makes you addicted.

"I want to do it right," he murmurs. "For you."

Your smile is poisonous. And your voice, pure sugary poison.

"Then show me."

He kneels in front of you without you having to say it. He adores you. Literally. The way his hands rest on your thighs, the way his mouth leaves a soft kiss, then another, and then another higher… and higher. When you lift your shirt, his eyes widen as if he's seeing something sacred.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, kissing your stomach. "I can't stop looking at you."

"Then don't," you reply as you slowly remove your underwear, letting it fall to your knees. He looks at it as if it were a trophy. "I want you to use that little mouth for something more useful."

And he does.

His tongue explores you with devotion. Not desperate, not clumsy. He knows what he's doing, and he likes it. You moan softly, stroking his hair hard, tugging a little when he sucks right where you need him most.

"That's… yes, just like that, Han. Good boy."

His fingers dig into your legs, as if he needs to hold on to something as you shudder against his mouth. When you reach your climax, you do so looking at him. And he, panting, his lips glistening, watches you with wide, needy eyes.

"Can I…?" he asks, shyly lowering his gaze to his crotch, where his erection pokes through his pajama pants.

"Take everything off," you command. "And get on the bed. Spread your legs for me."

He does it immediately. Without hesitation. His face flushed, his cheeks flushed, and his body trembling with anticipation.

When you position yourself on top of him, your pelvis rubbing against his, you feel his breathing quicken. Your nails dig into his chest, and he moans.

"Tell me what you want, emo boy," you whisper in his ear. "Tell me properly."

"I want you to ride me," he gasps. "I want you to make me yours, please… please…"

And you do. Slowly. Feeling him tremble beneath you as you envelop him completely. Your movements are provocative, deep. He clings to you as if he can't take any more, moaning your name, his lips pleading, his hips moving beneath yours without being able to stop himself.

"So needy," you tease between gasps. "Is that who you are, Han? My desperate boy?"

"Yes… I'm yours," he answers without hesitation. "All yours."

When he climaxes, it's with your name escaping his lips, his fingers clutching your hips, and his whole body trembling. And you see it all. You absorb it. You love it.

You collapse on top of him, and he wraps his arms around you, his breath still shaky.

"Hey, emo boy," you whisper with a smile against his neck. "You should hide less. I love it when you let yourself be seen like this."

"Only you can see me like this," he replies, kissing your forehead. "Only you."

[redeemingvillains]

with all due respect - lorenzo berkshire

summary: lorenzo berkshire is a compulsive playboy, an obsessive flirt and a disastrous tease, so when you come to visit hogwarts for the spring term hot off of a terrible breakup, your best friend pansy has one rule: he can look, but he can't touch. word count: 4.6k a/n: i love this messy, chaotic, disastrously hot boy.

Lorenzo's head throbbed with the reminder of every shot he'd taken the night before as he rubbed his hand slowly over his face and sunk further into the common room couch.

Pansy had “called a meeting" whatever the fuck that meant; all it had entailed thus far was getting dragged out of bed alongside the rest of his friends who looked just about as terrible as he felt.

She stood in front of them and cleared her throat as he peered at her behind half-open eyes that he tried to shade from the bright morning light.

"My best friend is coming to visit for her spring term" she announced.

No one said anything.

One person grunted.

"She has recently been through a horrific breakup and she's coming here to relax and escape. She is NOT—" she said loudly enough that Mattheo jumped, clearly having dozed off "—here to have a fling, a hookup, a one-night stand—"

Lorenzo raised his hand.

Pansy's eyes shot furiously to him.

"—nor a sneaky snog."

He lowered it.

"I am kindly asking—begging you to keep your hands and your dicks to yourself...Please" she said, closing her eyes in an effort to rein in her emotions and control herself before she shot Lorenzo another glare.

His lip curled in anger.

"Why does this feel pointed at me?" he asked.

"You went to the party last night with Penelope Farrell and left with Avery James. Do I have to say anything further?" she asked.

"Since when is that a crime?" Lorenzo replied, genuinely confused, a hand to his heart.

"He's been trying to get with Avery for ages" Blaise mumbled in support.

Pansy rubbed her temple.

"Just... be nice and keep your hands off of her, Berkshire" she relented.

He raised his hands in mock surrender and, seemingly satisfied, she pointed her ire elsewhere.

As soon as her back was turned Blaise leaned over with a sizable stack of coins in his hand.

"Two hundred galleons says you can't resist" he teased.

Lorenzo's eyes narrowed at him.

"Do you really think I'm incapable of restraining myself?" he asked, his voice rising in frustration at the way everyone was picking on him amidst how fucking horribly hungover he was.

"Yes" all five of them responded.

"Give me that" he snapped, yanking the coins out of Blaise's hand. "You've got a deal" he said, shoving them deep in his pocket.

That evening the boys were back on the common room couches, showered, changed and with decidedly more energy, ready for another night of debauchery as they passed a bottle of firewhiskey around whilst focusing on the videogame in front of them.

"Why does Pansy take for fucking ever to get ready, Malfoy?" Mattheo asked, his eyes glued to the TV as his fingers slammed the controller.

"We're going to miss the start of the match" Blaise mumbled.

"Every time. Every fucking time" Lorenzo agreed.

"—Alright, alright, enough, we're ready!" Pansy huffed behind him.

"Sorry!" offered another voice, one he didn't recognize.

He pulled his gaze from the TV as his friends looked over his shoulder.

Blaise's jaw quite literally dropped.

Theo fumbled his controller onto the floor.

And Mattheo's character died tragically on screen, completely forgotten.

Enzo turned to see Pansy before his eyes slid to you and his next breath caught in his throat.

His heart stopped and stuttered like it was trying and failing to restart. And his mind emptied completely, void of thoughts, of words, of his effortlessly cool and calm composure and any concept of what expression he should have on his face.

Suddenly every warning, every glare in his direction, and every bribe made an enormous amount of sense, because you weren't just jaw-droppingly gorgeous, you were the perfect amalgamation of every. single. one. of his weaknesses, from your hair, to your eyes, your lips, every dip and curve of your body and the way you were dressed.

If Lorenzo had spent a lifetime describing what perfect looked like to him, Merlin himself couldn't have conjured you.

He swallowed.

And then you glanced at him and fucking smiled, a beautiful, genuine, heart-wrenchingly perfect smile on flawlessly glossed lips and Theo leaned in, whispering just loudly enough for him to hear.

"Amico... you are totally fucked."

The boys gathered their composure and recovered quickly as they stood to greet you and shepherd you out the door, but Lorenzo beelined for Pansy.

"Pans, Pans! Hey. Heeeeyyy you look so nice tonight—"

"—No."

"What?" he asked innocently. "I can't compliment you?"

She whirled on him as the others walked past, fawning over you in a way that had him looking wistfully at your departing figure.

Pansy snapped her fingers in his face.

"I'm not an idiot, Enzo, I know she's your type."

"My TYPE? Pansy. She was made for me. Are you joking yourself?" he asked, exasperated. "This is bigger than you and me, babe, this is divine intervention—"

"—No, this is my best friend, whom you promised you'd leave alone."

An unexpected wave of emotion washed over her that had Lorenzo hesitating as he saw tears line her eyes.

"It's...bad, Enz. This guy really did a number on her and what she absolutely doesn't need right now is a messy rebound."

He pouted. He sneered. And he tried valiantly to ignore the creeping feeling of sympathy and compassion he felt welling up inside him, squashing it further and further down.

But Pansy put up with their shit constantly and he couldn’t remember a single time she’d ever asked for anything in return.

He opened his mouth and closed it again like a fish out of water, gasping for air, because that's exactly what he felt like.

The girl of his dreams had all but fallen into his lap.

And there wasn't a fucking thing he could do about it.

"I- fuck - fine" he muttered bitterly, depressed.

Pansy patted his back sympathetically and the two of them moved to catch up with the group.

Lorenzo pushed through the crowd at the Three Broomsticks completely and utterly deflated.

It was packed and the buzz of the crowd that normally would have fueled his exuberant energy felt overstimulating and annoying.

The group had managed to squeeze into a small booth that barely fit you all and in the hustle to arrange themselves, Mattheo, Blaise and Theo left Enzo the spot next to you, shooting him a wink and several thumbs up, whether in support or to torture him he didn't know.

He hadn't said a word to you, and he didn't intend to start now.

Being close enough to feel the weight of you against him, to smell your perfume, sultry and spicy, was enough to make his leg jiggle anxiously under the table, enough to force him to keep his hands and his mouth squarely occupied with his butterbeer as he stared at the quidditch match on the television.

So when you nudged him, he intentionally ignored it.

Until you nudged him again.

"Hey!" you said, leaning in to him to be heard over the noise of the crowd, close enough that he could feel your warm breath on his neck.

S'fine. Totally fine. I'm fine he thought as he turned his attention to you. His eyes rushed to drink you in hungrily, starved of trying to deny himself as he traced your lips, your bright eyes and your beautiful fucking smile that made his insides feel like someone had his heart in a vice.

You motioned him closer and he ducked his head.

"Montrose or Ballycastle?" you asked, nodding towards the TV, referring to the two teams on the screen.

"Oh, uhh Ballycastle" he answered, following your gaze to the action there. "We're Falmouth fans, but if not them, then, yeah Ballycastle for sure."

You smiled and nodded approvingly. "I think they have a shot if Quigley can get a few early goals" you agreed.

His eyes shot back to you.

"You... know quidditch?"

"Of course I do, what do I live under a rock? It's our national sport" you quipped, rolling your eyes as you took a drink of your butterbeer.

And for the life of him he couldn't stop staring at you, as he felt his soul crumble into a little ball. You didn't seem to notice, though, as your eyes stayed fixed on the screen and you chatted away.

"For what it's worth I also looovee Falmouth. I know everyone says they're too violent, but I think that makes their matches more entertaining" you shrugged.

"—That's literally what I've always said" he mumbled. "We're beaters" he said, pointing between him and Mattheo. "We take a lot of... inspiration from them" he laughed lightly.

"Yeah?" you asked, turning your attention back to him, your eyebrow quirked. "Okay, between the Broadmoor brothers who do you like better Karl or Kevin?" you teased.

He could have died.

He could have melted off his seat and then apparated to another town to start a new life where this wasn't happening because fuccckkkk you weren't just hot you were fucking cool. You knew quidditch, you rooted for Falmouth.

He was going to kill Pansy.

He could have cried if he wasn't so intent on making sure you never ever stopped looking at him the way you were now, interested, excited, intrigued.

"Karl, obviously" he said quickly, dismissively. "Anyone who says otherwise is sorely misinformed—"

"—Absolutely not! No!" you shot back and your conversation delved into a heated argument about Falmouth's starting line, their match strategy, and how they stacked up against other teams in the league that had the two of you so totally absorbed with each other that when everyone else went to get a drink you waved them off, entirely too focused on your conversation whilst Lorenzo was entirely too focused on you.

Over the next several days whether you were eating breakfast or walking to Hogsmeade you found yourself gravitating towards him, squeezing in beside him, seeking his company. Something about him, the way he looked at you, the way he respected you made you feel comfortable, like you had a place amidst this impenetrable group of friends.

His smile was genuine, not given lightly or carelessly, but earned and his eyes had a surprising warmth in them that you loved to study when you held his attention.

He was devastatingly handsome in a careless and boyish way with his gorgeously long hair and a penchant for biting his bottom lip when he listened to you. He was magnetizing, enticing in a way that should perhaps make you want to keep him at an arm's length after everything you'd been through with your ex, but you found yourself unable to resist, just as you couldn't resist the thought of running your fingers through his hair, or over his lips...

…Your mind wandered, lingering on the way he'd looked in his fitted t-shirt this morning and the sound of his laugh but even as you lost yourself in your fantasy you couldn’t deny the ache you felt at the way he responded to you because even when you felt yourself flirting shamelessly with him, you didn't get anything from him in return.

Not a cheeky comment. Not a smoldering gaze. Not a brush of his hand. Nothing.

Pansy had described him as “a compulsive playboy”, “an obsessive flirt”, “a disastrous tease” and you thought you’d had a connection beyond the undeniable attraction between you; but if he wasn’t showing you an ounce of interest… what was wrong with you?

In your aggravation you’d started to lay it on thick, showering him with your attention, prolonged eye contact, a well-timed glance at his lips, ample praise, endless compliments, and indulgent physical touch from squeezing his muscular arm, to laying your head on his shoulder.

You even went so far as to rest your hand precariously high on his thigh last night where you could feel his muscles tighten in response, yet he hadn’t even broken his conversation with Theo, only turning to you later to offer a half smile.

You could have screamed.

Enzo lay in bed that night and stared despondently at the top of his four-poster bed questioning his morals as he listened to a storm kick up outside.

He'd always prided himself on his loyalty to his friends, but it was becoming near on impossible to deny you.

He wasn't an idiot. He knew you were flirting with him. He reveled in the way your eyes glinted at him, sinful in their insinuation, the way you touched him, squeezing his arm when you talked to him, or the way you'd nudge into his side when he walked, like even inches between you were too much.

And when you'd squeezed his leg the other night?

He'd had to grab a pillow from the couch to put over his lap and then pointedly ignore you for 20 minutes, and even still he'd just about thrown you over his shoulder.

He was exhausted.

He groaned and ran his hands down his face as thunder and lightning rolled loudly in the clouds overhead.

Fuck it he thought as he rolled out of bed and pulled on sweats, padding into the common room, there was no way he was going to get any sleep.

The searing lightning cast long shadows in the dark corridors and the dank air hung with the electricity of the storm, the noise of which reverberated off the stone walls of the dungeon louder than it did in the rest of the castle, which was why he didn't hear it at first.

He shuffled and rubbed his eyes until the thunder offered a reprieve long enough that he heard the distinct sound of muffled crying.

He picked his head up and saw you curled on the couch, a blanket nearly over your head.

As the next crack of lightning came, you cowered in fear and his feet moved before he could think of doing anything differently.

"Hey, hey" he said, coming to kneel in front of you.

As soon as you saw him, you sat upright and furiously wiped the tears from your face.

"Hey Enz!" you said with such manufactured cheerfulness that he briefly shook his head in confusion.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his eyes searching your face in a way that was so earnest, it made your chin wobble again, but for a completely different reason.

"S-so sorry, I thought I was alone" you said, ignoring his question.

The storm cracked again and you jumped, eyes slamming shut.

"It’s s-silly to be scared, I know it's stupid, I'm f-fine" you lied.

He thoughtfully placed his hands on either side of your legs, deftly avoiding touching you as he met your eyes.

"You're sitting in the dungeon of a 1000-year-old castle in the middle of a storm that echoes in here loud enough to hurt my ears. Shit scares me too, all the time."

That made you pause, and now it was your turn to look confused as you took as shaky breath.

"No, but I shouldn't be crying, I'm sorry—"

"—Stop apologizing" he said, laughing quietly. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

You muffled a hiccup.

"But it's annoying when girls cry. And I know it's stupid to be afraid of storms."

He was genuinely baffled as he tried to say something before you interrupted him.

"Look, you don't always have to be so nice, Enzo. I know how guys think."

Lorenzo narrowed his eyes as he looked at you until it clicked, your fear, your words…

"Hold on, did-did your ex tell you you were annoying when you cried and stupid when you were afraid?" he whispered.

And just hearing the words from someone else's mouth made you realize how genuinely fucked up it was. You shrugged in defeat, at a loss for what to say in response as tears crowded your eyes again.

"Fucking hell" he said, forfeiting the effort to keep his distance as he sat next to you and pulled you into his arms.

You curled into him eagerly, nearly crawling into his lap, getting as close to him as possible and when the next flash of lightning came, he held you tightly against him and then rubbed your back as the thunder subsided.

"Did you ever hear about the time Theo's grandma ran from the cops?" he asked. "It's a great story."

You could tell he was trying to distract you and you let out a breathy laugh and shook your head as you sniffled.

He launched into the story, perfectly mimicking Theo's Italian accent in a way that had you laughing a little at first and then belly laughing by the end.

Enzo's deep voice continued to rumble beneath where your head rested just above his heart and between that sensation and the feeling of his warm arms around you, you fell into a deep sleep.

As you got heavy in his arms and he felt your warm breath against him he relaxed, relieved that you were okay. After a few minutes, you wound your arms further around him and snuggled into him, letting out a contended sigh.

He swallowed and let out a steadying breath as his insides churned, because this was going from wanting to pin you against every surface and kiss you until you forgot your own name to a whole hell of a lot more.

He'd hooked up with plenty of girls, but he couldn't ever remember holding a single one until they fell asleep.

Before long your warmth and the perfect way you held him, grasping his sweatshirt in your fingers like you never wanted to let him go coaxed him into a deep sleep of his own.

He dreamt of you, and he dreamt of the press of your warm lips to his cheek and when he woke up, he was alone.

At breakfast the next morning, you slid silently in beside him and bumped his shoulder in acknowledgement as you smiled up at him. He glanced down and smiled at you, quickly scanning your face and barely meeting your eyes but he didn't say anything, choosing instead to turn and talk to Blaise. Because even though falling asleep with you in his arms might have been the very best thing he could have wished for, after last night he finally understood that Pansy had been exactly right.

You had been hurt, you were still hurting, and you deserved someone a hell of a lot better than him on the other side of your pain. He was done trying to pretend like this could be something you both knew it couldn't, done trying to let himself dream a dream that would never come true.

Your heart sank.

And your insecurities grew.

Because despite the fact that you'd fallen asleep in Lorenzo's arms, head resting on his heart, fingers wound in his sweatshirt, things between you were still painfully platonic in a way that made your head spin.

“What’s the deal with Lorenzo?” you asked Pansy that afternoon, attempting to make it sound casual as you swiped your mascara in preparation for the boys’ quidditch match.

Her shrewd eyes shot to you. “What do you mean?”

“He’s ... hard to read.”

“That’s the infamous Berkshire charm. He’ll give you just enough attention to get what he wants and then he’ll ignore you like you never meant a thing to him. Didn’t I tell you?”

“Yeah, I guess…” you said, worrying your bottom lip, warring with the Lorenzo she described and the one you thought you knew.

“Why, did he do something?” she asked.

You laughed humorlessly. “No quite the opposite.”

Her eyebrow cocked.

“Pans, I’ve been laying it on thick and he won’t even give me the time of day. I-I think I’m broken” you said, your words and worries pouring out of you now.

“What if no one ever wants me again? What if I’ve lost my touch? I mean, I feel like all of your friends are completely blind to me. They’re sweet don’t get me wrong, it’s just not how you described them. And Enzo? I swear to the gods he and I are perfect and I don’t even mean that because I want to climb him like a fucking tree, which, of course, I do but... I'm catching feelings” you said, sighing as you blotted at the blossoming tears beneath your eyes to keep your fresh makeup intact.

She groaned and rubbed her forehead.

“Alright, alright, stop, please. Promise you won’t kill me?”

You sniffed and looked at her before your eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I threatened the shit out of them. They know that this” she said waving her hand around you “is strictly off limits.”

“Pansy!!!—” you moaned.

“—I didn’t want you coming here and having your heart shattered all over again!! Do you know how many girls have tried to come up to me to see if I could just talk to Theo or Enzo or Mattheo for them? It’s sickening, it’s a bloodbath, I wasn’t putting you through it!—”

“—So you’re saying I have a chance?!”

Pansy sighed, rolled her eyes, and let her head fall back to stare at the ceiling before speaking, resigned.

“I’m saying that if I gave Berkshire the greenlight... he’d probably propose.”

You let out a noise that was something between a squeal and a scream as you jumped up and down, your mind aflutter with the possibilities.

You looked down at your fitted t-shirt and jeans and then to her, bundled in Draco's team-issued quidditch sweatshirt and smiled.

The cold spring wind nipped at your cheeks, turning them a rosy red as you watched flashes of silver and green dip and dive, though your eyes lingered on Lorenzo.

You pulled the sleeves of his team-issued sweatshirt over your hands and huddled into the warm fabric, noticing more than a few sidelong glances and whispers at the sight of you wearing his name, which you pointedly ignored.

When they won the crowd was raucous in their celebration, humming with anticipation of the party to come and Pansy was no exception as she dragged you by the hand through the crowd.

"C’mon, I want to be the first to the keg—" she'd started.

"—Can I meet up with you, actually?" you asked as your eyes shot tentatively behind you to the locker room.

She shot you a scandalized look before grabbing your face and kissing your cheek.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" she said teasingly as she departed.

"That's a short list!" you shouted after her.

She flipped you off over her head.

You situated yourself just outside the locker room door. You could hear their music, their excited celebrations muffled though still palpable, like a spell. A few players trickled out here and there as you waited, the passing time giving you just enough opportunity to feel uncertain when the door creaked open again.

He was running his hand through his damp hair, his long strides quick and sure but he faltered to a stop when he saw you.

He noticed you were wearing the Slytherin green and silver, and was just thinking how good it looked on you when his stomach dipped and then dropped faster than it had all afternoon on his broom when he realized that it was his sweatshirt, his name you were wearing.

There was no way he could be normal about how that made him feel as his palms became clammy.

"Hey!" you greeted him enthusiastically as he approached you; you always lit up for him in a way he’d never get sick of. "That was awesome! You did great!" you said warmly as you moved toward him.

"Oh! M'sweaty" he protested, albeit weakly, as he felt your arms wrap around him and he pulled you closer.

For all the girls he'd hooked up with, none had ever waited for him after a match like this and certainly none of them had ever worn his name. He held you a little closer as his heart raced in a way that had nothing to do with the energy he'd just exerted.

He felt you press into him further and took that as his sign to let you go, resigned.

But you pulled back slowly pausing right as your noses brushed, your eyes twinkling at him as they sparkled and then drew down to his lips. He could feel himself start to sweat again, felt it drip down his neck, his back, as he rolled his bottom lip into his mouth and bit it, hard.

“I—" his voice croaked and his palms squeezed your hips harder, cementing you in place and all you could think was bless this boy for being such a good listener.

“Pansy told me” you relented.

He pulled back further in an attempt to better read your expression.

“Abouuutttt?”

“What she said about me being firmly off limits?”

He eyed your face for any sort of a joke as he felt his adrenaline pumping.

“Please don’t fuck with me” he said, strong and forceful.

And then his eyes slammed closed and his face scrunched because he couldn’t look at you and think at the same time.

“Look, Panys’s right" he said. "You deserve a good guy, a really good guy and I don’t think I’m—"

You shifted against him and he felt your lips fall electric on his own. And whatever noble thought he’d been having dissipated at the warmth, the wetness, the faint taste of strawberries as he groaned and cupped your face with his hands and kissed you back hungrily moving his lips over yours again and again and again, consuming you as he pushed you into the wall betraying everything he’d held back, everything he’d dreamed about as his tongue rolled over yours and you squeezed him tighter. He kissed you hot and hard and desperate in a way that had you mindless, breathless.

His lips left yours and you panted, gasping, only to feel him trail open-mouthed kisses down your neck, licking you, tasting you, then sucking hard enough to leave a mark in a way that made you shiver. You could feel him smile against you as he pressed another kiss to your lips.

Your eyes fluttered, lidded and glazed over completely.

“What if I don’t want a good guy?” you asked.

He was in love.

E P I L O G U E

Lorenzo's arm was wound tightly around your shoulders as he pushed the common room door open. The party was in full swing and he navigated deftly through the sea of bodies without ever letting you go until he found his friends.

Conversation stopped as they looked from your flushed cheeks to your smudged lip gloss, to the trio of hickies on your neck and finally to Lorenzo’s shit-eating grin and shining lips.

“Panys’s going to kill him. She’s going to fucking bury him” Mattheo muttered as he shook Theo beside him to get his attention.

“Hmm? Oh fuck” he said the second his eyes landed on you.

“This should be good” they whispered to each other as they eyed Pansy to see her reaction with bated breath.

But all she did was sigh and smile at you, and you smiled back.

“Wait, what!? Hang on!” Mattheo shouted as he began to argue with her about equal opportunities and unfair advantages.

Lorenzo reached into his pocket, fingering the coins there.

“Blaise?” he asked as each of the boys turned to him.

“With all due respect, which, of course, is none” he said before he leaned over and slammed the coins in Blaise’s hand.

“Fuck you.”

taglist: @kenjikishimotoswifey @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @darlingshecried  @girllblogging777  @foivetimesacharm  @clar2aa @broadwaybaby123  @slytherinscreamqueen @loverliner @smut-anarchy @locknco @wybieivy @itznotsophia @cipheress-to-k-pop @aur0ral1ghts @revesephemeres @midnights-with-him

[yunhotteoks]

[ OT8.] SKZ AS YOUR SUGAR DADDY.

sugar daddy!skz x sugar baby!reader

[ (stray kids) ] 18+ | sugar dating, au, financial exchange, companionship/other services | warning/s: nsfw, spoiling you rotten

— bang chan.

this man is powerful, influential, and rich. committed relationships are a tad difficult due to his career of choice, however, he would spoil you so bad. he’ll give gifts he knows you’ll appreciate, rather than gifts that are for his own enjoyment.

you can expect sentimental things like custom jewelry with your name engraved on it. he loves to pamper himself and you whenever he can and is willing to reciprocate sexual favors too.

— lee know (minho).

you have no idea what the hell he does but the man is fucking wealthy!! long story short, he has the capacity to change your whole life around; he’s willing to do it too.

he’s a very possessive sugar daddy and made it very clear that he has to be the only man in your life. he expects to see your personal purchases on his bank statements, and expects to fuck you seven days a week.

— changbin.

he’s a world famous producer, owns his own company with famous artists + your sugar daddy turned boyfriend. he’ll only spend money on you once you’re in a serious relationship.

he immediately moves you out of your shitty apartment and buys you a car to ‘get around’ - would be as involved in your life as you would allow. <3 rough and passionate sex with a shopping spree as aftercare.

— hyunjin.

he’s more of a fuck buddy than a sugar daddy and won’t even tell you straight up that the main thing on the negotiating table is his dick. and somehow wealthier than minho. he’ll give you what you want and even extra as long as it’s within reason.

he probably won’t turn the dynamic into something serious. so the day you decide to cut shit off, he’ll probably hit it one last time, then bounce. he’s really just a “call me if ya need me.” type of guy.

— han.

he is a writer, a very successful one at that, and a rather lax sugar daddy. a bit childish, but his dick game (and black card) go crazy. you’d be sprung and in love before you knew what hit you.

if he’s taking you out expect to be dressed in the finest clothing to match his fly. he likes it when you send him photos of yourself, they don’t at all have to be nudes, but those are appreciated too. he wants you to have the sugar, spice, and everything nice.

— felix.

he’s looking for companionship more than anything, someone to come home to possibly? either way, sex would just be an added bonus for him. would fuck you like he had something to prove because he’s a service top, simply put.

dates are always special, and nights-in are even more so. he is very romantic and makes you wonder why he’s still single. he takes you all over the world. paris has seen your face more than your local chipotle. will give you the world as long as you’re loyal to him.

— seungmin.

100% on forbes korea 50 richest list. he’s nice and sweet in public, but as his financially struggling assistant you realized he was anything but. you honestly don’t remember how he became your sugar daddy because you literally cannot stand each other.

granted, it makes for superior hate sex. he ‘hates’ you but he gets jealous when another man is near you. he ‘hates’ you but he smiles like a fool when you text him. he ‘hates’ you but he has no issues making things official with you.

— i.n (jeongin).

he only made you his sugarbaby because he’s bored as hell and has all this money and no one to spend it on. he’ll ice you out, custom designer drip, jewelry, etc. won’t dig into your personal life, probably doesn’t even care, so there has to be a mutual respect of boundaries.

you won’t have to do too much, just when he wants a quickie, you better be ready. it’s really just a playful dynamic honestly, although sometimes you have to initiate skinship most of the time. he truly is a simple man that you found easy to learn.

[that-smallinjured-bowylamb]

He- what the fuck???

So sorry if I have been gone for too long and only responding to creepy!yuu asks since its easy for my lazy ahh, but I really need to write some comfort for me after hearing the most diabolical shit from my classmate, saying some shi about his sis or whatever. I'm still in therapy, and my therapist will hear about this💔💔

Heartslabyul [here], Savannaclaw, Octavinelle, Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde, Diasomnia, other

TW: Classmates, creepy/weird ahh behavior, cussy, literally my classroom cuz what the heck💔, reader says what they've experienced [and those experiences are mine's, some not... maybe.], mentions of the same classmate terrorizing each TWST character because he is actually a freak [yes I will clarify, C/N is NOT the boy every adult thinks he is💔], I hope I dont get lazy for this one too 🫡

A/N: uhmmm, this is a crossover where your school on earth and their school in twisted wonderland somehow combined so don't ask me how cuz I'm still brainstorming dat. If it starts to sound like a highschool otome, yk where I get that from☹️ [Loneliness]

Riddle Rosehearts

Okay so you and Riddle can still visit each other yayyy !!!

Now you can go to your school and visit his!

Timelines suck, so lets pretend its in the same timeline as your world or somehow aligning idk

So every weekend when there's no school you could yap to Riddle or the others and you talk a LOT of things going on in your classroom

And one day you came to him looking like you've witnessed a crime scene [you did]

He is not sure why you look so pale, it could match Lilia's low iron-blooded appearance.

You look traumatized as if you witnessed your favorite character die in your favorite show or book.

And bro was just standing there looking at you cuz what in the Queen of Hearts happened???

Did somebody hurt you?? Traumatized you mentally??? What?

Then you spotted him after your trance and immediately told him the shit you heard

"Bro apparently one of my classmates has a crush on his younger sister?? And dude, one of the guys tried pulling down one of the teacher's pants during class-"

WHAT. WHAT? HUH?

Man's soul acsended. He is not coming back.

Important question, what the fuck is wrong with your world? Another, why is he attracted to his SISTER?

*Throws up while Trey comforts him*

He did not need to hear this in detail. You should've made it more vague but enough for him to understand because he does NOT want that detail 💔

Secondly, why is there a student trying to pull a teacher's pants down??? What.

Hey so, maybe the mages shouldn't have crossed you world over to theirs. You can stay in here if you'd like! Compared to your universe, "shit sounds crazy in there." Cater's words. Not his.

Once you describe what your classmate looks like, he is very sure to avoid him.

Wait. Did you say one of your classmate is gay and probably spotted him? Hey, he knows its not wrong to be gay or anything but... what do you mean by that?

"Oh, back when we were 5th grade he was like- incredibly weird towards girls. A pervert everyone would say. But during 6th and to our current, he likes every living organism to exist by the way. So, no matter who or what you are, he wants that." "WANTS WHAT???" "Wants your as-" "Enough."

He is so done. But also very terrified if his school wholeheartedly decides to collab with your freaky school💔

Please don't. He can't handle Floyd, now he has to deal with freaks that wants to get it on with him💔💔

Trey Clover

Actually, yes.

He likes this scenario better. He doesn't need to face the heartbreak of losing someone he dearly trust so- he is glad that you can come to this place and your world

But in his fourth year...

Oh no worries, he'll try to visit your place as well!

And uh, lets say he did for weekends right.

Riddle gave him a pass, but also a warning [Riddle does NOT like your world at all]

And he took that as a go sign to accompany you because maybe you still have school or smth

One of the considerably normal student, despite his weird side.

Well, in your school? Nah. Not even the slightest of weird.

He cares about good hygiene and clean teeth and always checks if you have brushed your teeth or not, well if not... go to that bathroom. He has a spare.

But for your classmates? They be opening they mouth like they want some. Trey is confused at first. But

"You do know some of them wants to freak with you right?" "What."

"Never have I ever spun my head that quickly." "Yeah, pretty sure C/N wants to give you head too." "WHAT?"

He doesn't find your classmate pleasant.

But, he needs clarifications, he saw your classmate, that boy. Yeah. But he hasn't seen him act weird or off so he goes to approach him.

What did that classmate say? Well, honesty is the best policy!

"Being honest with you rn, but I wanna equip your thighs around my head like earmuffs and eat you out until it feels like waterboarding me, yk?"

...

Honest is not the best policy.

And he ran. Fast.

The classmate is catching up what the fuck-

"AHHHHH??!?? AHHHHHHHH" "C'mere baby boy!"

WHAT THE- HELLLPPPP???

Ran straight to you. And you looked at him with a "I told you so" look.

He is never underestimating your judgment from now on.

Just please get that thing away.

Cater Diamond

He is actually glad you didn't have to actually seperate forever. Haha. [Please he is still coping don't do this to him-] but anyway he is taking pictures of the beautiful view in your world.

Just... don't let him see the corrupted side..

Nvm he'll find out either way so cue to him witnessing a very normal scene between the boys in your classroom

And he left cuz he couldn't find you.

Oh boy. What a... weird fucking school.

Tbh, he doesn't really care about it, oh! There's you!...

You look a bit... irritated? Concerned? Confused? Well, a mix of it.

Anyway, sometime later, he came across a video.

A video of... your classroom?

Well, it looked like a girl was recording, everyone was in their seats, well, he meant some were.

You were there, with a group of friends, some whispering, some were doing their business... until he heard it.

Why were the boys in the other table literally planning a whole genocide??? What.

"Yeah, uhmmm... oh! Yeah, what if, imagine this, they were kidnapped and woke up in an abandoned house, then-" goes to describe the most gorey imagination.

... uhmmm what the fu-

"Can I clap some cheeks in there or do I get my cheeks clapped?" C/N said with too much excitement.

Huh... what an... odd classroom you got there...

Uhm, well now he knows not to interact with those guys in your class.

So anyway, how did you survive in there?

Should've stayed in this world, this place is much safer than whatever they have going on-

But he kinda feels happy you feel comfortable around him, as he does with you.

You don't really seem to care about keeping up with appearances, well, if your school has anything to go by.

And uh, your school really seems to be a lot too comfortable saying stuff like that... haha..

No seriously, your classmates are weird.

What do you mean C/N already terrorized Trey and Riddle-kun??

Wait.. what do you mean "Your next"?

Hey- WHATTHDFUK BESTIE WHY IS HE STANDING THERE? THATS C/N??? WHY IS HE SO SHORT AND MENACING

Okay- different than Riddle's but still menacing- he is never interacting with that guy!

Ace Trappola

Straight up no.

He may be a bit racist after learning some jokes from those classmates and he may not know what its referring to, so you explain the about the joke and bla bla bla of its origins.

Oh, so now he regrets it. (Kind of)

I mean, its funny... but it is also kind of... idk. Man, can he at least laugh at them??? He really can't help it.

But uhhh, your classmates are really odd.. strange. Even.

Actually he doesnt like the boy that keeps staring at him can you tell him to go away???

Bro- why are your classmates much more weirder than him?

And C/N approaches.

You pray, Ace can feel cold sweats, Trey in the other dimension of your world can sense the oncoming doom, Riddle's heart ahoge stood up in alarm, Cater wishes he was recording but can't because he has tasks to do, and Deuce is confused.

Oh... oh poor Ace...

"Yo come here let me show you something!"

Said the nefarious C/N. Ace had a bad feeling about this and he doesn't like this. What does he mean by that.

Then he follows anyway because hes a dumbass cuz... hes just magicless what terrible thing could he do?

Cue to him screaming in the boys bathroom and running out of there.

Yeah, I'm not going into detail on what he did to Ace but I am pretty sure he just got a little scare from C/N...

Haha, totally.

"AHHHHHHHH!!!!!" "Looks big right?"

Deuce Spade

Yes!!! Just yes! He can finally visit you and you can visit him! [And his mother!]

He is honestly so, so, so, so very happy!

He can just visit you during weekends and you two can hang out in your world or his!

Anyway, you talk a lot about your school and from what he's heard...

Why does it sound worse than his delinquet phase.

Your classmates didnt need to be a delinquet or a gangster in order to be a terrible person.

Why the hell were they plotting murder on a teacher???

One had a crush on a teacher, another hates the teacher the person has a crush on, and a group trying to make bombs out of junk materials???

Uhm.

Yeah, but there was one particular boy that stood out.

C/N. That forbidden, qeustionable, utterly vile human being...

Until he cross paths with him.

Nah, Deuce saw his fate coming and he had to change its direction.

So he beat the bitch before he could get molested by a 4'11 male that runs like your taxes are due.

He beated the record when he did his incantation so quick it felt like it automatically spilled out of his mind. Literally at the tip of his tongue, bro's body did not want to risk a second of that treacherous being.

But that said being stood up with cracking bones.

...

"NEVER MIND NEVER MIND NBER MIND NEVER MIND NEVER MIND NEVER MIND NEVER MIND NEVER MIND-" "You've been a bad kitten..." "AHHH! AHHH!? WHY IS IT TALKING LIKE THAT?"

Yeah, we never heard from Deuce after that incident.

[multiheadcanons]

THE NASTIEST SHIT THE MERCS DO BUT IT'S NOT SEXUALAT ALL.

scout: scout hawks loogies on the floor. it's just habit, he is already a very moist guy in general, and he's such an athletic guy that he is constantly affected by exercise-induced rhinitis. this is a real thing, and i know, because i am also affected by this. so his nose is always running, and he himself is almost always drenched in sweat, he sweats through his deodorant. even the nasty smelling medical grade deodorant. so he just doesn't wear deodorant. nobody cares about that as much as they care about him hawking loogies on the ground. and surprisingly, it's the younger mercs, and spy who have to restrain from smacking him upside his head. the older mercs don't really care. spit or swallow, it's a man's free choice.

soldier: soldier doesn't wipe very well. someone needs to get this man a bidet. he would actually probably love a bidet. and honestly, okay, let me defend him first. if he feels he has the time to shit, he will wipe his ass and do a good job. it's when he's rushing that his brain tells him there's no time to wipe. and if it was a solid shit.... okay fine, he's gonna hike his pants back up and call it a day. the offense teammates, you know, the ones who have to share a bathroom with him, are the only ones who know about this, because they once tested it, and the results were horrifying. they talk about it behind soldier's back. but they don't want to bring it up to him to his face, because they do acknowledge that he does wipe... sometimes.

pyro: pyro plays in viscera, and nobody finds this enjoyable except the other pyro. it is horrifying to watch someone use your teammates, or even your own small intestine as a jump rope, but pyro will do it. pyro pulls out the heart and the lungs, and the stomach, and will throw them at others. that's their idea of a snowball fight, and nobody wants to join. the team has to be in a very specific mindset to want to join pyro on that, otherwise they find it gross and incredibly annoying at best, and horrifying bordering on unthinkable at worst. and nobody wants to be involved. it is their stark reminder that nobody wanted pyro for a reason. but they still do. they still want pyro. they just wish pyro would cut that shit out, cause that's the weirdest shit they could do. scout talks to pyro about this. it's annoying to pyro that it weirds them out, but that's their team, and they love their team, so they're trying to cut back on it.

demo: tavish picks his nose and tavish does not give a shit. in fact, if you make a statement about tavish picking his nose, he will dig so far he is tickling his frontal cortex, scoop out the fattest, wettest, gooiest booger he will find, and he is aiming for your forehead. this has started free-for-all no-holds-barred knockdown drag-out brawls in the base multiple times. this is the one thing that the team absolutely cannot stand. it literally sickens them. so they hold their tongue, because if they don't say anything about it, tavish feels no need to retaliate in the most gruesome way possible. but that shit makes them want to vomit. they have a bet going on as to whether he eats them, but nobody's ever caught him in the act.

heavy: heavy does try to be as affable and accommodating as he can to his teammates. he is already a man who takes up a lot of space, and uses a lot of resources. but you cannot bitch at the man if he lets one rip. he's a grown ass man, flatulence occurs, grow the fuck up, it's not that gross. scout walks around smelling like chicken grease and crotch sweat, a momentary stench will not kill anyone. the team normally doesn't bother him about this, because the last time scout made a fuss about it, misha farted on him. just walked past him and crop dusted him. and that caused one of the biggest blow ups the team has seen out of scout to date.

engineer: if dell is eating something on the field, like is misha gave him a sandwich, or a chocolate bar, and he drops it on the floor, just know he is picking it back up, saying a quick, halfhearted prayer and eating it. he doesn't care if there's dirt, he doesn't care if there's blood, he doesn't care if it sinks halfway into a mud pit, he will fight a shark for it if he drops it in the water. he doesn't care. that is his food, and it will get eaten. he doesn't like to waste food. the team wonders how he's not sick more often. they feel like with the amount of dirt he eats he should at least have a blockage. his only line is if either sniper hits it with jarate. that's his hard line in the sand.

medic: the doctor doesn't rest often, so this is not something that really occurs, but the moment he is in a state of rest, he is man spreading, hand in pants. damn near fondling himself. and when he falls asleep in common areas, which isn't often, but happens enough that the team has witnessed this occur multiple times, he has a firm grip on his dick and balls. and it grosses the team out. that's their doctor, and he uses his balls like a stress toy. and they don't think they've ever seen him actually wash his hands. which pisses him off. all of these sinks, and they really don't think he washes his hands? come the fuck on.

sniper: okay, if you ignore the fact that mick pisses in jars, mick is actually quite a clean man. and if you ignore the fact that sniper smells like a man who sweats in the sun all day every day and only takes a shower twice to three times a week, sniper is a clean man. and if you don't ask the man to reveal where his shitting locations to you, sniper can remain quite a clean man. the team has learned on his off days from the shower it's best to give him a couple of feet of space. sniper is aware it's because he smells, and normally bumps his bathing schedule up. granted, he doesn't really care about the fact that the team gives him space. prefers it, even. leave him alone for the day.

spy: spy is not a man with "gross habits". spy is a clean cut, well behaved, generally well-mannered man. and he spends a lot of time in his room. which, admittedly, when mann co is running him ragged, can get incredibly gross. but spy gets so particular about the way his personal areas are set up, that if his room is getting dire, and he doesn't have the energy or time to clean it, he will simply move to his smoking room, of which he expects to smell like an ashtray. he'll sleep on the couch in there until he can get a long enough break to crack open a window, move some of that stale air around, and et his suits to the dry cleaners. but it embarrasses himself more than it bothers anyone on the team.

[neosero]

IF I GAVE BACK ALL THE PAIN

seeing you know, he can only wish he’d done things differently

previously | I HOPE IT BREAKS YOU IN TWO

( prequel — a necessary pre read before this i fear )

word count | 2.2k words

noteworthy mentions | agnst ( for him )/comfort; gn!reader; gojo’s perspective ( second person pov ); he want reader but cant have them; depression; shoko x reader x suguru; yes im doing this to him fight me; modern-university!au; the-one-that-got-away troupe [ ? ];

tune | what would you do ♪ Tate McRae

a/n | blame @/orphic-musings for this. they too have such a great mind i love putting this man through literal hell and back. anyways here is another piece for the man i hate.

“Obviously me.”

You’ve changed.

Gojo knows that. He can see it, and every day is another day he regrets the choice he made. Truth be told, he doesn't deserve another chance — and you think the same.

You retract your hands from his hold, and he feels his whole world shatter.

“No, you’re not.”

It hits him like a knife to the throat and drags down his chest as you continue.

“I need someone who likes me for me. Who sees who I am. You only see the version of me that you desire — the part you think you need, but not the part I want you to see.”

“You had your chance. Now it’s gone.”

Satoru takes in everything you said. The adrenaline from before is long gone, and now the frigid air is the only thing holding him close. He stuffs his shaking hands in his pockets.

“Yeah. Okay.” He finally gets out after a beat. “Sorry about that. And for ruining your date.”

You cross your arms, hugging yourself as the cold hits you too, both of you now more aware of the awkward tension.

“It’s fine. It wasn’t really going anywhere anyway. Zenin is kind of a douche.”

You both laugh at that, and then the silence returns. It's quiet for a long, uncomfortable moment before Gojo has to break it.

“Let me at least walk you home.” He starts, but you raise a hand to stop him — and it feels like that day all over again.

“No need — I'm just over there, so I can make it on my own.”

You point to the building behind you and all Gojo can let out is a reluctant oh. You say goodbye quickly and walk off. No fleeting look back. No stutter in your steps. You meant what you said, and as he is left alone in the cold with cars passing by, Gojo can admit he ultimately fucked up.

-

It's December now and Gojo can safely say that the dynamic between you two isn’t terrible anymore. You both started having actual conversations and you don’t leave a room in his presence. You have even started to make your way into the trio he shares with Shoko and Suguru. Maybe, you’re even friends.

He can’t have you close to him, but he could settle for just having you in his life. Maybe later on he could try again and if he’s forgiven there might be a chance. The thought occurs on his way to Shoko’s place. Tonight is a ritual movie night the group normally has on occasion, and you’ll be there. Maybe he’ll even get the chance to plant the seed of his feelings.

The thought clouds his judgment. He enters Shoko’s apartment without knocking. It’s always been a problem of his — his utter disregard for privacy among his friends — but he does it all the time, so there’s no reason to think anything might change.

But it does.

The second he turns from the door and calls out to announce his arrival, the words die in his throat.

Shoko’s couch is occupied — by Shoko herself — and you right on top of her.

It’s obvious you both hadn’t expected him to come so early with how quickly she jumps off of you and pulls her shirt down, but with the way her lipgloss stains your swollen lips and cheeks he can’t really think straight and drops the grocery bags in his hands in the silence.

It takes a while for the awkward tension to die out. You left immediately after being caught, knowing you’d overstayed your welcome. Gojo watches the back of your head as you leave and just stands by the door when it gets slammed in his face. It takes even longer for him to look at Shoko and demand to know what the hell he just walked in on.

She says you’ve been chatting since Sukuna’s Halloween party, and that twitches Gojo’s brows.

“We sorta just clicked.”

Shoko lights a cigarette inside her apartment like she owns the world, and Gojo hates how casual she is about all this. Not that she really knows how Gojo feels — or at least he hopes she doesn’t. That would make things much worse.

Gojo tries to change the subject, but ultimately can’t.

“Are you guys… dating?”

Shoko stares, a look in her eyes that Gojo can feel digging through him.

“Something like that.”

Now he knows something’s wrong. She’s seen something he’s tried to hide. Shoko’s never been the vague type — there’s never been secrets between them. But now, having one of his own, Gojo doesn’t press.

Admitting to having feelings for the person your best friend is now seeing? That seems like hell on Earth.

He had his chance anyway. He blew it. So he brushes it off, like he always does.

He’s okay.

He’s good.

Until he isn’t.

Seeing you and Shoko together constantly brings about a bubbling type of envy he’s never known before. The kind of regret he hasn’t felt since he accidentally walked out of a store with an action figure and the alarm didn’t go off.

Seeing you sprawled on the couch together, sharing a café chair, walking in on kisses — it eats at him. Still, he persists in burying his feelings. He has no right to them anymore.

It’s Christmas before he realizes it. He’s wearing a Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer sweater at Suguru’s Christmas party. You come in with Shoko, of course, and he has to make an effort to be cool.

He knows he’s better than this. So he does what he’s best at.

He puts on a face.

He has fun.

He jokes around, downs a few drinks, and even jokes with you. He smears pie on your face. You throw back jabs he knows are jokes. The white elephant gift exchange is hilarious — Suguru ends up with a lingerie set for being too greedy, and Satoru ends up sipping from a ridiculous swirly straw. The socks Shoko gets are hideous and you cannot stop laughing holding up the boxers with a “snake pocket”.

He’s genuinely enjoying himself. He’s even forgotten his feelings, and that helps him soar.

Until the bathroom incident.

The night goes on and the urge to relieve himself hits him like a truck.

He knows the apartment like his own and he stumbles through the hallways like it's nothing. When he reaches the bathroom it is obvious he should have been more aware. There is a light shining through the crack in the door but he has always been the intruder — never learning his lesson.

Satoru moves slowly to unfasten his belt and close the door behind him after entering.

The gasps behind him make him jump.

He should have apologized. He should have just left out the door right then and there but curiosity wins.

He’ll regret it for the rest of his life.

Gojo turns. He wants to puke.

He sees his best friend — the male one — with his other best friend's partner. You.

You are perched on the counter and Suguru moves from between your legs. It’s clear what just happened. His hair’s a mess, your sweater is riding up, your lips are kissed raw. Gojo says nothing. His throat is a battlefield of words he can’t speak. He wants to scream at the top of his lungs, throw a punch at the glass mirror and see it shatter in his bloody hand, curse the universe.

Instead, he leaves.

He turns on his heels and is out the door, pants still undone. Satoru grabs his things in a rush and hurries to the front door. Shoko tries to catch him and asks what’s wrong but he ignores her. He doesn’t have the heart to say anything right now.

You’ve gotten with Shoko, doing whatever you were with Geto, but the most he’s gotten from you is… this. He can’t believe it saddens him, angers him, confuses him. He takes out his frustration on a trash can just outside his apartment building.

Was this your way of getting back at him? Some fucked up revenge plot for rejecting you.

He knows he’s projecting, knows he’s being irrational. But it doesn’t stop the storm.

Gojo is lost. He is seething.

He is in love, and he cannot hide it anymore.

-

It takes him a few days from the party to relax and collect himself and check his disregarded cellphone. Several missed calls and texts are from Geto. A few texts come from Shoko. Only one comes from you: an apology.

It takes him a week to reply, but not to everyone — just Shoko.

He doesn’t sugar-coat anything because he knows she can read him like an open book.

So, Satoru asks straight up: how long?

Her reply is instant: a few weeks — since Friendsgiving. It just kinda happened.

Gojo gets it. He’s seen both Ieiri and Geto naked before. Shared a bed once or twice during a few dry spells in their dating lives. The intimacy doesn’t bother him.

What bothers him is that he wasn’t told.

Like he’s too fragile to handle it… and maybe he is.

Satoru becomes a hermit for the remainder of December and January. Cup noodles and darkness are his only companions. Shoko sends him class notes. Suguru visits at least twice a week, but he never answers. He can’t face them — not like this.

He thinks he’s strong for it. That he deserves this solitude.

That all falls apart when you text: “I’m outside.”

It’s humbling — how fast he moves. He throws on maybe-clean clothes, brushes his teeth, smooths his hair, kicks trash into corners. He knows you can hear him scrambling, but he has no dignity left to lose.

After ten minutes, he opens the door

His eyes are still red, he couldn’t fix that without leaving you outside longer and he doesn’t even know why he’s let you in of all people. Yes he does but he still tries to fight it.

You’re bundled up, concern written on your face.

He lets you in, arms crossed tightly to mask his scent. You hang up your coat, sit on the couch. He rushes to turn off the cheesy rom-com he’d been watching and keeps his distance. For a second.

For as soon as he is sat, he is up again

“You must be cold. I’ll um… make you some tea.”

He flees to the kitchen before you can say anything. You give him a few minutes then follow after.

Gojo is hunched over the kitchen counter. The kettle warms to his left on the stove, and he keeps his head tucked into his arms. You move closer and place your hand on his back. The soothing circles you rub along his spine shouldn’t be as helpful as they are and Gojo curses his own body for reacting the way it does — melting into your touch.

The kettle screams. He flinches up, pours two mugs, and leans against the counter.

“Sugar and stuff is in that cabinet.”

“Gojo.”

He flinches again.

“Talk to me. Please?”

Looking into his mug, all he can manage is:

“Are you happy at least?”

You blink. Then:

“Yes, I am.”

“Ieiri hasn’t smoked you out yet, right? And Geto hasn’t bored you with his awful taste in music?”

You laugh and hit him lightly. He grins.

A smile. Something he hasn’t done in a whole month and it kinda aches his jaw.

“I am happy, Gojo. Really. Your friends are wonderful — and they’d be even better knowing you’re okay too.”

Your hand falls to his knee. He looks into your eyes.

He wants to kiss you. But he doesn’t. He just breathes.

He downs his tea in one gulp, then winces.

“God, that was awful. Not the tea. Just how cheesy you’re being right now.”

You smack him again. Laughter fills the apartment.

Suddenly, Gojo feels a lot more himself. He leaves to retrieve his forgotten phone. He texts the group chat he shares with Shoko and Suguru and tells them to come over and the reply is almost instant. With them on their way, you thrust a broom to his arms and ready his place for company.

You help him clean. You chase him with the vacuum. He soaks himself doing dishes and has to shower. It’s chaotic and warm.

Geto and Ieriei arrive soon after with takeout and warm hugs. It's like old times.

Late night comes quickly for the four of you, everyone nearly asleep.

The credits to Gojo’s romcom roll across the screen. Shoko sits on one end of the couch snoozing. Suguru is in the middle both his arms draped in the back of her and Gojo, head resting on his shoulder. Gojo is nearly asleep himself as he fights a losing battle against the urge to rest.

He feels a weight on his chest.

Shoko instinctively cradles your legs in her sleep, Surguru isn’t fazed by the shift in people but by Gojo’s surprised jump. He groans at him to settle which Gojo does after a moment.

You pull a blanket over the four of you, looking up at him.

“I missed you.” Is all you say with a soft peck to his cheek before settling into sleep like the other. Satoru goes red all over and he’s glad no one is awake enough to notice.

You’ve changed. Everyone has.

This time though he can say he has no regrets.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

[wildsaltair]

sometimes I think I can be normal while taking screencaps of my beloved husband. I am always incorrect

BONUS BECAUSE I'M IN THE THROES OF AGONY OVER THIS STATUESQUE MAN

[superbat-lmao]

Bruce Wayne dies, and like a prayer, Jason Todd returns to Gotham. Always too late.

He never followed his plans or became Red Hood, instead finishing his schooling and traveling for a while with Talia to stay in shape. He and Damian on and off text or call, but they both know the other is living the way they need to. They’ll always be there, but sometimes you need your own space to figure out what you really want.

When Dick takes up the mantle and Damian becomes Robin, Jason takes a posting at Gotham University and rents an apartment in the alley. Damian comes to visit and Jason tells him stories, as many as he can remember. The kid wanted to know his Dad, after all.

They don’t tell the others. Instead, grieving the loss of their Father together. When Jason came back to Gotham he expected anger. Now he just feels lost.

It’s completely on accident that Dick learns his identity. He gets a call one night from Damian, not panicked but alert. He’s calling for backup because Batman was shot.

Jason has the two of them in the back of a stolen car and makes it all the way past the security of the Batcave before he really comes to his senses. It’s a bit of a clusterfuck after that, between Alfred and Leslie trying to prioritize Dick while interrogating the imposter until they’re satisfied he’s just Jason. Their Jason.

And maybe it gets a little better. Jason has to go out as Batman until Dick’s back on his feet, so he and Damian patrol together and come home to Alfred and Dick. He goes to see Babs at the Clocktower and she introduces him to his sister, Cass, one of the few people Damian speaks highly of.

It’s different, and weird, and he and Dick have a couple of fights. But it could be worse. Slowly but surely, they figure things out. Try to move on.

And then Tim comes home and like a prayer, Bruce Wayne is alive again. Always too late.

[ilovetv99]

thinking about ch0mpkin's evil evbo post (evilbo, if you will) and going "How can I align this with My Interests (the axes)" and the answer is Very easily actually

[hauntingblue]

Justice for jolyne wdym emporio defeated pucci

[brionysea]

so apparently i can write the logical consequences of mike not going to california instead of not staying in hawkins even when that means characters i like implicitly getting hurt but i still can't bring myself to write st*ncy

[fanfictiongreenirises]

.

[madamechrissy]

Brooklyn Baby

art in the banner is by @e0308r on X

pairings - dad's best friend! Satoru x F! reader

summary - you've got the opportunity of a lifetime for an audition for Julliard, your dream, but there's just one problem, the hotel in New York has booked your room and has nothing available. Good news, your dad's best friend Satoru Gojo shows up and offers you to stay in his suite since he's in town on business. But there's two big problems - one, you've wanted him since you can remember, and two, he can't stand how fucking pretty you are. He can't want you - and nothing can come from it - imagine what your dad Suguru would do if anything ever happened between you!? So nothing will happen - right?

warnings- MDNI- taboo tropes, age gap (Satoru is 41, reader is 22) reader is Suguru's daughter, forbidden relationships, obsessive Satoru, mutual pining, sexual tension, explicit smut and light angst- this chap - masturbation (Satoru) a fuck ton of tension, reader having a lifelong crush on him, mentions of past relationships, self loathing as they both want each other, drinking and kissing -WC- 8.3k

This will be Four parts! comments/rbs appreciated if you enjoy!

part two>>>

part one

Satoru Gojo has never had his cock twitch from just looking at someone's back, not even your ass - though fuck that was nice - but something about the bare back in the slinky little dress was fucking him mentally. The gentle curve of your spine, a little birth mark along your shoulder blades has him - a man who's in his early forties and very experienced - leaking precum.

The fuck was that?

He clears his mind, blinking a bit then, he's checking into his favorite suite as he does every couple of months for various business events that he has to attend. Running the Gojo corporation is a never ending list of bullshit he's got to do, and events and speeches were just one of the many.

He sighs as he takes in the immaculate bustling lobby, trying to divert his attention from this girl's back and look like some creep when he's literally Satoru Gojo. He brushes his silken white locks back, walking up to the tall counter then with an easy smile, as the three receptionists rush to him, and leave the girl with the pretty spine behind.

"I can wait my turn, no worries ladies." He winks and they all swoon, and when you hear that voice, you know it's him.

"Gojo?" Satoru blinks at the familiar voice, turning to his side to look down at -

Suguru Geto's only daughter.

Fuck.

He swallows just a bit nervous, how does he explain he just leaked pre looking at his best friend's daughter's spine exactly!? About the ways he would have to explain how your instagram photos haunt him at night, and how he can't help but have glimpses of you in your bikini when he cums.

There's a big reason he's avoided Suguru as of late, and that's because he can't handle how beautiful you are - it's like you fucking just do something, and he refuses to accept it or acknowledge it consciously. Now you're smiling up at him, before you come over and hug him tightly around the waist, your breasts pressed against him.

It takes everything not to either shove you off or give in and pick you up and prop you right on this fucking counter. It's some miracle he just pats your back instead - your bare pretty back that he shouldn't touch because it makes it worse.

"Hey sweetheart, what're you doing in town?" He manages to act normal, putting on an easy smile as he sees now your eyes glimmering with tears. "What's wrong?"

"They gave my room away, and I have the audition for Julliard this week! Everything is booked except shit way out of my price range. I don't wanna bug dad about it." He sighs then, remembering Suguru telling him about your opportunity, he'd been so proud every time he watched you play piano.

It's originally why he followed your IG, but whatever happened your junior year of college made you start posting those damn pictures in your bikini or slutty little outfits. He shoves that all back, focusing on your worry, and then eyes one of the receptionists, backing away from you just a bit.

Not like your scent hasn't already filled his senses.

You're important to him, just like Suguru is, and he'll not let his dumb fucking thoughts ruin your opportunities. "Surely there's a room available, I'll pay."

"You can't do that! It's too much." You're a flustered mess, as he flashes that pretty smile of his that makes your tummy clench.

"It's nothing," he pats your head and smiles down at you, and you try to ignore just how fucking good Satoru Gojo looks then. Try to ignore his cologne in your senses, ignore how the man just gets more attractive every fucking year, a little crinkle on the sides of each eye the only lines on his face.

You have been trying to ignore your crush on your dad's best friend for as long as you can remember - fuck they're so close too, and you hoped it was some childhood idolization. But as a twenty two year old woman, it's as bad as fucking day one - worse maybe, when you study the way his hands move as he speaks, long fingers that give you the worst thoughts you wish would go away.

"Nothing at all open but the presidential suite you said?" He asks softly, you're still too close to him, fucking up his senses, as the receptionist frowns, clacking away at her keyboard.

"They just booked the last one online, Mr. Gojo."

"Shit, then..." He eyes you, blue eyes glinting as he takes in your distraught, pretty little face.

He can compose himself, can't he, hasn't he always?

"She'll stay with me, give her a key card," you hug him once more, he's chuckling and pecking a kiss on your head. "You're clingy still, remember you always were."

"Maybe, oh Gojo, thank you! I didn't wanna have to ask dad for money..." You're independent, Satoru loves that about you, Suguru is well to do - not rich like Satoru, but well off. But he's mentioned you never ask for a thing.

"No worries, the room is huge, we won't even be near each other much." He's pressing the button to the elevator soon once you all get checked in, and the silver automatic doors close, leaving you two alone, nothing but the soft sounds of your breaths and stupid elevator music.

And there's just one problem.

Satoru Gojo can't help but picture pressing you against those elevator walls, sinking to his knees and slipping up your slutty black dress, the one where he can so clearly see your breasts rise and fall, a nipple daring to slip out. Can't help but picture fucking you better than surely any of your dumb little college boys could.

He can't think that way.

He hastily tugs off his jacket, laying it over your shoulders as the elevator dings on each floor.

"Thanks, it's a little chilly." You say softly, tugging his jacket close on you, he exhales in a mix of relief and hot desire at how good you look in his armani suit jacket. "You're a life saver, really."

"It's nothing, kid."

"Kid! I'm not a kid." Your pout earns his chuckle, the two of you walk through the halls, decked with cream colored walls and fancy paintings, it's fancier than even you were used to. He presses the card against the hotel door and it opens, and that's when you both realize just how alone you were.

Satoru had been a part of your life for all you can remember, him and your dad would go off on the silliest adventures, and your dad’s other best friend Shoko would watch you at times. You don’t remember your mom that much anymore, she has been gone since you were young, and Satoru and Suguru had always been inseparable, especially since she left.

Satoru had taught you how to swim, Suguru had taught you how to shoot a gun, Satoru taught you how to throw a ball into a hoop, and Suguru taught you how to hit one with a bat. Every time he came to visit during the summers, you’d be so excited, he always had some new gift and an easy smile.

Until you got older.

You remember the first time he brought over one of his girlfriends, she was beautiful, and you’d still been young, hopelessly staring in the mirror at yourself after, wondering if you’d ever be pretty like that. And when he came for your high school graduation with another girl on his arm, when he told you that you looked beautiful and bought you the necklace you still wear today?

You’d been insanely jealous.

You try to explain it away as being eighteen, you were still a baby then, and the crush had been raging. So badly you found yourself comparing every boy you dated to the man Satoru was, and every single one fell hopelessly short. You both get settled, taking in the opulent surroundings, it’s surely big enough he’s right, there’s an entire other room, a kitchen, spacious furniture and beds.

Satoru sets down the luggage, as he eyes you in his suit, and you start taking some of your things out. It’s quiet, the sense of unease filling the two of you as you both busy yourselves, little friendly smiles are the only passages between you as you two live in your own minds.

“You can take a shower first,” he offers softly a bit later, slipping that tie down just a bit to loosen it, and then rolling up his sleeves, revealing those muscled forearms, light blue veins wrapping up them from his wrists. Your mouth goes dry as you look at them, while he slips off his silver rolex, smiling at you a bit. “Do you want me to hog all the hot water instead?”

“Huh? Oh…” you blink a bit, it’s not like you’ve never been with anyone, never seen a man naked, but Satoru’s forearms were taking you the fuck out.

He is effortless with his little movements, he must do this almost every day, freeing himself from the confines of his perfect facade, the buttoned up business man who you’ve never seen in the same suit twice. You’re sure he wears them again, it’s just you haven’t seen him enough to have ever caught it, the only thing you’ve noticed is he wears the same cufflinks.

The ones you saved to buy him when you were in high school, storing up all your extra funds where you worked as a waitress to purchase them for his birthday. You eye them now as you still hold the jacket close, fingers brushing along the bright blue sapphire of one of them. You’d walked by a jeweler in the mall with your friends and thought they matched just one shade of his eyes.

“You still wear these?” You ask softly, his attention goes to your little fingers brushing over the gem carefully, and he nods a bit. “Why? Aren’t they kind of not up to your… standard?”

“They’re my favorite, and they weren’t cheap either,” he walks up then, touching the other one, his nearness fucking your senses. “I remember you buying them, I think it was my thirty-sixth birthday. I was having some existential crisis and they really cheered me up.”

“You, a crisis? No way,” he hums a bit, gently tugging the cuff links out now, one by one, setting them next to his Rolex on a little black glass tray he’d brought along with him, the lights catch them and make them glimmer prismatically. “You were young though, still are.”

“Yeah no, I’ll be forty one in December, yuck.” You laugh with him, shaking your head then.

“That is not ‘yuck’ or old, you and dad are super young. Dad was always like the youngest at any parent event, shit usually the only dad altogether. I remember him going to Moms and Muffins.”

“Yes, you put bows in his hair, he showed me.” You both laugh then, Satoru stands against the dresser, his mind racing then.

He can’t want you like this, and it has to stop, the way he keeps thinking of having you naked and his jacket splayed under you, if you could stop looking at him like that!? Your lips parted, your pretty eyes lidded, making him tortured by the thoughts of fucking you so good they roll back, so good you drool. He’s clenching his hands into fists at the thought, almost twenty years between you.

Maybe if he keeps saying the number, it’ll fucking matter, the fact that he’s never even been with a girl ten years younger, Satoru just wasn’t a man to do that. He enjoyed intellect, experience, someone who got his references and shitty jokes - but the problem was you did check all those boxes. You’ve been kicking his ass at chess since he could remember, you laughed at all his dumb jokes.

You were a brilliant girl with your life ahead of you, you’re right, he’s not ‘old’ but he just is ‘older’ than you. Having already had a divorce and two broken engagements, he also was tired of trying, he’d settled on some regular girls for sex and focused on business fully now. Something a young Satoru who hated his parents and the Gojo name altogether would gasp at.

“You’re not old, you look my age you know.” You break his thoughts up, he chuckles a bit at that, before sucking in a breath, when you walk closer, slipping his jacket off to hand it to him.

“Yeah, genetics and Korean skincare products.” You giggle, as he keeps his eyes affixed on your face, not the strap that’s fallen down the gentle slope of your shoulder, he takes the jacket instead, your fingers brushing against each other for the briefest moment.

“Well, they work, I don’t think you’ve ever changed. I hope I look super hot when I’m your age.”

“You will, you already are beautiful…” He trails off, your eyes meet then, as he realizes what he said, and the tone he said it. He smiles to break the tension. “Thank god you don’t look like your dad.”

“Oh whatever! He’s pretty, you know.”

“Psh, okay.” He rolls his blue eyes, and you both laugh then.

“Thank you, that’s nice of you Satoru.” When you say his first name it’s like testing it, you’ve always called him Gojo, aside from when you made him birthday cards, and you’d write Satoru on them.

“Not being nice, you know you’re a gorgeous girl.” He’s clearing his throat now, looking away as he hangs his jacket up, next to the other suits he’d brought, smoothing it out.

“It’s kinda nice to hear from the Satoru Gojo.”

“Uh huh, flattery will get you everywhere.” He pats your head then, ruffling up your hair, you blow a thick strand off your brow. “You go take a shower.”

“Yeah, thank you again.” You smile and head into the bathroom, finally leaving Satoru to exhale in relief after he glimpses your back again, like pure torture, he’s curious just how the fuck he’ll handle a week alone with you.

Hopefully a room would open up or something by then.

The sounds of hot water pounding on the tiles below fills the room now, mixed with some light singing echoing from the bathroom, he can’t help but smile a bit at how pretty your voice is. If anyone should get into Julliard, it’s surely you, talented and just a natural at everything, the sound fills the room and ignites something in him he’d rather not think of.

Comfy, homey, it’s how you make him feel, and maybe that’s worse than wanting to bend you over the bed, worse than wanting to lift you and slip you against that shower wall. Much, much scarier than the thoughts of filling you up with so much cum your tummy is full of him, watching his fucking cock bulge that tummy as he’d make sure your cunt was ruined for anyone.

No, homey and comfy were worse by far, they were things he absolutely never thought before, even during his marriage - and what a disaster that was. Women all wanted him for his looks, his money, what he could do for them, but no one really knew him deep down, just the facade he’s tired of putting on.

Picturing you naked in the shower is his fucking downfall, picturing your pretty body with water dripping down it, his cock is hard by the mental images, he scowls down at it. He’s just in his slacks now, putting up his dress shirt, luckily this suite always had good hot water and pressure, it’s why it was one of his favorites, and he could surely use a shower.

Jerk off in there to act normal.

He’s like some pathetic teenager around you rather than a grown man, and it irritates him to no end. He hears your singing stop after a bit, as he is typing some notes for tomorrow’s presentation on his laptop, slipping on his glasses to see the screen just a little better, when he sees you from the corner of his eye, wrapped in a soft terry cloth towel.

He almost whimpers at the sight, clenching his teeth together to focus on the screen as you walk out. “Okay I feel a million times better.”

He looks up then, and it’s his downfall, as he has to see the way the towel is tied right at your breasts, pushed up and glistening, skin dewy and flushed from the shower, making him want to kiss every inch. “I bet, the plane ride was a long one.”

“It was, for sure, and then to get a ride to the hotel was hard, I’m not used to a city this big,” you’re adorable with your little pout, your own gaze taking in his bare chest then, like a caress. “I failed my drivers test again by the way.”

“Again? Shit,” he’s snorting in laughter, even as you cross your arms and glare just a bit, you play along with the motions, but your gaze can’t rip itself away from his chiseled body. “Do I gotta teach you?”

“Do you drive anywhere, Gojo?”

“Hush.” You giggle at his own glare, he looks too fucking hot in those glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, his body shifting a bit to face you now.

It’s not like you haven’t seen him shirtless constantly, Satoru had helped you swim after all, and Gojo and your dad were always taking you to the beach. You’d always known how perfect he was, sculpted within an inch of his life, lean defined muscles that begged for your fingertips to brush across them, lines and shadows cast as the bathroom light filters into the now dim room.

You wish you felt bad about how badly you want him, but you only feel bad it can never happen, feel bad he couldn’t have been your first, like you’d dreamed over and over, until you knew it couldn’t happen. It wasn’t like Gojo ever saw you that way, the times you think he looked at you as more than a ‘kid’ you feel it was just your imagination.

You feel this man could fuck, you just feel it.

But no, stuck with losers who couldn’t care less if you cum - in fact, the last guy you fucked asked if you did after not touching you more than a minute and cumming pathetically quick in a condom. You’d smiled and said ‘of course’, making him grin and kiss you all happy, and that’s about the time you just gave up on ever liking sex either, too far in your fucking delusions.

It wasn’t a healthy desire, or okay, but usually with Gojo not seeing you much, and you having moved out of your dad’s, it was better. It was just elusive memories and fantasies that you could lose sight of, you could focus on school and your music, focus on your dream — but part of you wanted him in the front row.

“You’re gonna catch a cold if you don’t dry your hair,” he teases, standing then, you watch how his muscles flex as he moves, with ease, his long legs making strides so close to you now, when he touches your damp strands with a sigh. “Wasn’t there a blow dryer in there?”

“There is, but I needed to grab some clothes first- ah!” Your towel threatens to fall then, you gasp, but Satoru’s got it bunched together in a fist quicker than you can blink, bringing you right against him.

The only sounds in that moment are your breaths, and your heart pounding in your ears, when your eyes lock together, and you see the way they dilate, almost black in that moment. Your own hand comes over his balled fist, when he leans down, and for some insane fucking moment you picture it - a kiss from him, from Satoru Gojo, his glossy lips and how they’d feel.

Something you wrote about in endless diaries, it can never happen, it would never happen, he’s making sure you’re not naked if anything, you have to remember it, have to hold back. You smile nervously then, hoping the shower will explain away the flush of your cheeks in front of him, as you take the towel from his hold, holding it together now.

“Thanks, I’m so sorry…”

“No, it’s fine,” his voice is darker, huskier than you’ve ever heard it, making your thighs press together, still slick from the water, in need. “I’ll go take one now.”

“Yes,” he stomps away quickly, leaving you to catch your breath, looking in the mirror over the dresser at how badly his nearness affected you. Your own eyes are so dilated you can’t see your iris anymore.

Soon, Satoru’s leaning against the tile wall, stroking his cock in the hot shower, his eyes fluttering shut in a mix of self loathing and need. He has had you pop up in his mind the past couple years, when he’s hitting a girl from the back with your hair color, when he’s fucking one in a spoon position, and her tits are about your size, he’s shoved them all away though.

He’s never jerked off to you specifically, but there’s no denying it, he’s jerking his thick, veiny cock to his best friend’s daughter in the other room. He feels filthy, as filthy as the sick thoughts he has, of making sure he fucked you so good you’d never even look at one of your stupid college boys again. Showing you what cumming really is, because he’s sure no one has done it right.

You’d be so pretty full of him, leaking his cum for him to shove it back inside your cunt, fuck he’d stock up on plan bs if he could do it every night, if he could watch it pour from your perfect pussy. He hasn’t even seen it, but he just knows it’s as beautiful as the rest of you is, god even your thighs in that towel had him leaking more pre, so hard it hurts.

His tip, usually a blushing pink, is now a mean red with how badly it’s been stuck in this fucking state, he hisses a bit as he runs his fingers along it. He’s picturing it all, that towel falling at your feet, and him slipping his hands across that dewy skin, sucking on that delicate neck he’d like his hand around. It’s pathetic, really, he is better than this surely, but he can’t not touch it.

He’s jerking it faster, fisting his long, curved cock, when the fucking door opens, and he tenses, glaring into the shower curtain that thankfully covered him. “I forgot my phone in here, sorry Gojo.”

“Ah, no, it’s f-fine…” he’s sick, he’s sure of it, jerking it even while you’re in there, in fact knowing you’re there has him feeling closer to cumming, hoping you don’t notice the sounds of his fist on his cock.

“Is there still hot water?” You tease, swiping a little bit of the condensation left on your phone with a towel, already wearing your little shorts and a crop top.

“Yeah, plenty, you didn’t hog too much.”

“See!”

“You left strands of your hair on the wall though.”

“Shit, it fell out!” He laughs softly, as if he’s not still stroking it, and you sigh a little bit then. “All right, I’ll leave you to it.”

Why do you fucking think of offering to jump right back in there? Why do you hesitate, wondering just how perfect he looks under that spray? You shut the door gently with a click that echoes, resting your back against it and shutting your eyes, sighing.

You’re already so stressed about the Julliard audition, the last thing you need is this pounding in your head, an impossible fantasy.

When you’re snuggled up in the main bed out in the entryway, Satoru comes out with a towel slung on his hips to grab his clothes, you can’t help but eye the white happy trail, the little v cuts on either side of his hips begging for your tongue on them. You tug your blanket up a little bit, avoiding the sight of the tenting in his towel, and how badly you’re curious about it.

“Feel better?” You tease, he smiles and nods a bit, grabbing his boxers then, hesitating as he realizes he didn’t bring shit else to sleep in.

“Much better.” He’s gone back to the bathroom, you’re exhaling and leaned back, head on the plush leather headboard, fingers tapping in the rhythm you’ll practice tomorrow, focusing.

He finds you like that when he’s back out, sitting down on one of the chairs to tap back at his keyboard once more, and your lips are pursed, fingers tapping along the red silk comforters. You’re beautiful like that, lost in your own world, surely composing some masterpiece only you can hear, a beauty that tugs at his chest.

It’d be one thing if you were just hot, but to be truly beautiful seemed one of life's meanest jokes to him.

Your phone rings, your eyes open and you catch sight of him. “Shit, you saw me like that?”

“Don’t worry, it’s fine, ya gonna get that?” You look at your phone on the nightstand, tugging off the covers just to make him hard again.

Do you wear clothes!? Or just scraps?

“It’s dad!” You’re giggling, picking up the phone, legs dangling high off the floor as he tries not to imagine slipping his fingers across them. “Hey dad!”

“Hey sweetie, you didn’t check in with me, how’s my girl?” Your dads voice instantly makes you miss him, you two are as close as you can be, and you wish he could be here, but he’s out of the country stuck right now because of some stupid customs issue with a pet he and his new girlfriend bought.

She was actually cool as fuck, but you don’t know if your dad really will ever get over mom, though you’d love to see him happy.

“Wishing you were here,” you say, hearing him sigh over the phone.

“I know, shit, I think we should be able to fly out in the next couple days but I’ll miss the audition for sure.”

“Ugh! I’m okay though, actually… Satoru is here.”

“Satoru? Shit, put me on speaker,” you bounce up then, making your tits jiggle as you hop down, Satoru almost chokes when you run up and stand right next to him, popping on the speaker. “He’s here!”

“Satoru, what’re you doing there?” Suguru’s voice is friendly, relieved even. Thank god he can’t sense the dumb fucking thoughts in his head.

“I was actually staying here for business, when the hotel booked her room, so I offered her to just stay in the suite with me.”

“He saved me!”

“Psh.” He’s chuckling as you smile, leaning across his table a bit, tank top slipping off your fucking shoulder, as if the straps were mocking him.

He sure couldn’t stare at your tits while he talks to your dad!?

“Thank you, Satoru, I feel so much better that you’re there with her,” he almost laughs at that, because he sure the fuck wouldn’t want himself around, with what’s brewing in his mind. “I worried about her alone in the city.”

“Dad, I'm a big girl now, you know.” You’re pouting too fucking cute, Satoru can’t drag his mind off your plush lips for a moment as Suguru speaks.

“You’re still my little girl, anyway I am glad it worked out. By the time I even get back you’ll be in Julliard!”

“You have too much faith in me,” your voice is quiet now, and Satoru puts his hand over yours, smiling at you, earning your little smile back.

“She’ll kill it.”

“Exactly, see we both believe in you.” You tear up a bit, sniffling now, it’s been months since you saw either of them.

“I miss you so much.”

“Aw, me too baby, I’ll be home soon okay?” You sniffle as Satoru caresses the back of your hand. “Take good care of her for me, Satoru.”

“I will.” You hang up the phone then, the exhaustion of the flight and your self doubt creeping in, Satoru tugs you close then, hugging you gently as you’re between his thighs, and your arms wrap his neck.

“Hey, hey, you’ll do great. He’ll be back soon,” you’re taking several breaths, burying your face against his neck as the tears fall, and his big hand splays the small of your back, so warm and soothing. “It’s okay.”

“I missed you too.” You say it softly, like a secret, making Satoru pause, his hand still gently running up and down your back.

“Missed me, why?” You just shake your head, hugging him tighter, as his blood rushes to places he wishes it fucking wouldn’t. “Miss me teasing you?”

“Maybe I do,” you pull back, and Satoru swipes your tears, streaking down your pretty cheeks. “You haven’t visited in a long time.”

“Yeah, I know…” He can’t admit why, he eyes your tears still falling, your glassy eyes, it’s too intimate then, too close, your lips a breath away. “I guess work got the best of me, and my nasty break up.”

“She was a bitch.” He snorts in laughter then, swiping more tears as you stand there between his long legs, like you belong there. “I didn’t like her.”

“You didn’t, huh? She was pretty bitchy, it took a lot for me to get her out of the house. I think I considered an exterminator.” You both laugh then, before he realizes he’s still cupping your face. “Why didn’t you like her? She played nice pretty well to others.”

“She wasn’t in love with you enough,” he pauses at your observation, tilting his head, the lights catch the lavender hue on his hair that falls over his brow, still a little damp, the scent of shampoo filling your nostrils. “She didn’t look at you enough, notice you enough. So I decided I didn’t like her.”

“I see, you’re pretty observant huh?” You shrug a shoulder, hand on his wrist now, your thumb brushing over the veins that dance along it. “She wasn’t in love with me, more the idea of being a Gojo I suppose.”

“Well I’m glad she’s gone. I haven’t liked any of your girlfriends.” He laughs now, but you’re dead serious.

“None of them? Now that’s silly, some of them weren’t that bad.”

“Hmm, nope they all sucked.” He’s laughing harder, his hands finally falling, but one of them remains in yours, he looks down at it then, at how small your hand is compared to his. “You deserve someone that really loves you.”

“Yeah, well, I think I give up.”

“What now?”

“Yeah, I’m ancient.”

“Shut up!” You shove at him, he’s chuckling more but you’re very serious. “Stop saying that. I won’t be old at forty.”

“No, you won’t be able to drive then either.”

“Excuse me!?” He’s grinning as you smack playfully, until you smile and sniffle a bit. “You’re such a jerk!”

“Thought I deserve all this love, what now?” His hands found their way to your hips, as he leans forward, before he can think about it, and you suck in your breath, your heart hammering as he pulls back, realizing how natural it felt.

“You do, but you also deserve a few smacks.” You stop his hands before they leave your waist, and he stares right at them, before the gaze drifts to your nipples, glaringly apparent in your top. “Satoru…”

“You should get some sleep,” he barely manages to speak, standing then, towering over you. Your head falls back when he brushes a strand back behind your ear, leaning over to press a friendly kiss on your head, the one that you’d die if it slipped lower. “I’ll have a car ready to bring you in the morning, okay?”

“You’re the best, Satoru, thank you.”

You keep saying it - Satoru - like you’re testing it on your tongue, and it’s never ending hell to hear it, but he plasters on a smile, patting your head like he always does and walking into the room off to the side. Thankful for the privacy and distance, he shuts the heavy cream door and rests his head against it.

He can barely handle looking at you, inhaling your scent, feeling your skin against him, but you saying he deserved love fucked him up completely. He swallows that down, grabbing a water out of the little fridge in there, swallowing it in needy gulps, before finally laying in the bed, forcing himself to fall asleep.

*****

“Good morning, sweets,” Satoru’s bright and cheery as he comes inside the room with two bags full of donuts, muffins and treats, along with two cups of coffee in a carrier. He’s already fully dressed in his suit, looking like a million bucks, so pretty with his smile as bright light filters in the floor to ceiling windows. “You need to eat.”

“Oh, thank you so much.” You yawn and stand, stretching just a bit, when he sees your tit is precariously close to falling out. He flushes and averts his eyes, when you bounce over to him. “You’re so sweet!”

“It’s nothing, all included. You need something in your system so you don’t get shaky,” his thoughtfulness chokes you up for a moment, you just stare at him with a muffin hovering in your hand. “Want a different flavor? I can go grab more.”

“No, no it’s… you remember me getting shaky?”

“Yeah, you were shaking insane at that pool party last year because you were silly and didn’t eat, knowing we were out in the sun all day.” He taps your nose, as you giggle and peel the wrapper. “Bad girl.”

Jesus fuck, does he not know what that does!?

You stare at him, he’s smirking just a bit like maybe he does fucking know, but then he gets to sipping on his sweet coffee, sighing as it hits his tastebuds. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“I remember a lot of shit I guess,” he shrugs a broad shoulder, taking a donut and starting to devour the sweets, you can’t help but smile as you nibble on your muffin, and he’s sucking on his thumb to lap up icing. “What is it, brat?”

“Brat!? Hey now,” he’s licking his other finger, your body responds almost violently at the sight, picturing the most obscene fucking things. Like him licking you off him instead. You hastily look away, blushing, god is that all you do around this man now? “No, just how you keep that body perfect and eat more than Goku.”

“No one eats more than Goku,” you giggle again at that, as he laughs softly, now tearing into a chocolate chip muffin. “Genetics and working out I guess.”

“You have won the gene pool, this will go to my hips.”

“Nice hips,” he trails off then, clearing his throat, and your tummy clenches as his eyes dart across your body. “I mean to say… you can eat a muffin, you look great, okay?”

“Thank you, Satoru.” You smile and do just that, taking another bite, as the tension in the suite grows with every fucking breath, until you can’t breathe, not with how he looked at you just now.

It has to be your fantasy brain again, he was probably being nice, he’s always been supportive and sweet, someone you could come to. It’s you who is the problem, who can’t stop thinking of fucking your dad’s best friend, something he would never forgive either of you for. Something that will never happen.

You have a huge opportunity, you have to focus.

“Tell me you brought something like… not as… revealing for this? Or do I need to buy you an outfit?” You laugh a bit then, and his thin brows lower. “I’m serious.”

“Are you saying I dress slutty!?”

“What!? No… just very revealing.”

“Maybe you are old.”

“What now!?” You’re biting your lip to stop laughing as he stands up, and you find your back pressed against the table, his arms on either side of you. “Do I look old to you?”

“No, you’re the one that says it silly! You’re old fashioned.” You shove at his chest and he smirks a bit.

“I am not old fashioned, but you do have something professional, yes? I don’t mind taking you shopping.”

The visions flash then, shopping with Satoru, on his fucking arm, god it’s too much, you look down a bit nervously, at his neck, the tie just a bit askew. You fix it carefully, watching his adam’s apple bob up and down. “I have something professional, I’ll put it on and show you.”

He eases back and you come out a few minutes later, a pretty white dress shirt and a cute little bow tie, along with a black little skirt and suspenders, you look fucking adorable. He can’t help but melt a bit as he sees you do a little twirl, black tights and pretty black heels finishing it off.

“Now that’s perfect, you look…” Beautiful, fucking beautiful. “You look like you’re going to nail this.”

“Yay! Thank you!” You kiss his cheek and smile against it, on your tiptoes, a hand over his jacket, burning his skin. “I’m so nervous.”

“Don’t be, you’re going to do amazing. Are you ready to get going? I have to leave a little early for this meeting and the traffic is terrible here.”

“I’m ready!”

Satoru’s in the back with you on his phone, talking to this person and then that person, negotiating a multi million dollar deal while you’re tapping your fingers, an ear bud in with the three songs on rotation that you’ll be performing. You keep tapping them, shutting your eyes, lips murmuring the notes silently. You don’t realize your thigh is shaking until his huge hand covers it.

“You’re a nervous wreck,” his fingers press gently right above your knee, you’re taking several breaths, eyes locking with his as the car stalls through the heavy traffic, slowing to a crawl. “How much are you gonna jiggle it?”

“A lot,” he’s rolling his eyes now, hand falling off, and you instantly miss its warmth, its presence. “I’m gonna fail it.”

“Don’t go in with that attitude, stop that.” He frowns at you, eyes hiding behind those dark shades, just a hint of blue shimmering as they slip down his straight nose a bit. “You’ll do great.”

“Right…”

You wish Satoru was right.

You’re so nervous, so stuck on your insane desires and thoughts, that you keep missing keys you would never. You’re such a fucking mess, every time you hit a sharp key the sickness sinks in deeper, until you’re fucking it all up. You try to save face, the judges are shocked considering all the references on your lists, all the videos that have gone viral of you.

You can’t perform for shit today, and you’re shaking and sobbing by the end of it, heart sinking as you realize what has happened. Instead of waiting for Satoru, you’re walking blocks until you find the nearest bar, and drinking until you’re a mess, all while you picture the disappointment.

All your life living for this dream, for what. What was any of it for?

A few guys are hitting on you as you sit alone at the bar, you let them buy you drinks, but you don’t speak to them, hardly notice as one of them whispers something in your ear and hands you his info, as another touches your back. You barely remember texting Satoru where you are later on, when he was heading to get you from his meeting.

He’s furious when he does walk into the bar, it’s filled with college people probably partying for the summer, he walks through hoards of them when he sees you, two men on either side of you as you down a shot. You’re not smiling or enjoying yourself, he feels the upset from across the bar, your shoulders slumped when one of them dares to touch your back.

He loses any control he’s had, losing it all for the frustration you’ve just put him through, an enigmatic - ‘i’m getting drunk’ and nothing the fuck else at five pm. He’s stomping right over, clearing his throat and getting the two men’s attention, both trying to shoot their shot at a girl who shouldn’t give them the time of fucking day.

He says your name, and you turn to him, skin flushed and eyes glassy, clearly drunk as fuck. He just hopes you had the good sense to only take drinks from the bartender rather than these creeps, as he snatches you right off the barstool, and you almost lose your balance.

“Who’s this, baby?” One asks, Satoru narrows his eyes at the fuck boy.

“It’s Satoru,” you’re hiccuping then, swaying even though you’re not even moving, about to fall if he doesn’t catch you. “Satoru Gojo.”

“Come have another, we can hit a party,” the other says, and you just bury your face against Satoru’s chest, as he carefully holds you.

“She’s going home.” Satoru’s words ring through your drunk ass brain, he lays a tip for you on the table, snatching up your bag and wrapping an arm around your waist, leading you out into the cool night air.

You’re sobbing when he gets to the sidewalk, concerning him to no fucking end, the sun is setting as he guides you gently into the back of the sleek black car, isntantly grabbing a bottle of water from the cooler installed. He twists it open and tilts your chin up gently.

“Drink some water, yeah?” You shake your head, and he scowls. “I said drink some fucking water.”

“Okay, dad.”

“I’m not your fucking dad,” his voice is clipped and harsh then, your eyes try to focus on his angry, handsome face, he swirls just a bit as you let him put the water to your lips. “Drink.”

You do as he says, swallowing greedily then, body craving anything other than the endless shots you’ve just fed it - nothing but a muffin this morning in your body to soak it up. He sighs as he eyes you, unreadable in his gaze, slipping a thumb over your chin as a little bit falls along your chin, before snapping the cap back on.

“Celebrating like this is dangerous, you could have been taken advantage of by those douche bags.”

“Celebrating!” You’re laughing then, until you’re crying, a whole fucking mess as he watches you, swallowing the tightness in his throat. Celebrating, what a joke that was, he looks at you in concern, brows lowering now, the sky is dimming outside, darkening the seat as you try to breathe, try to focus.

“Will you just tell me what’s wrong, what’s going on?” He asks quietly, you sigh then, looking at him, as he gently cups your face.

“I fucking failed, Satoru.”

“What now!?”

“I fucked up, I ruined it.” You’re sobbing again, he holds you against him, as your hands ball his jacket into your fists, tears soaking the expensive material, he exhales and shakes his head. “I did, I did all of this to just fuck it up, dad’s gonna be so d-dissapointed… and you are…”

“Fuck this, I’ll go demand a redo.”

“You can’t!” You pull back and look up at him, the alcohol warming your body, spreading as he’s right near you. “Satoru they will never.”

“The fuck they won’t, you’ve never seen me negotiate shit, have you?” He raises a brow, you swipe at your tears, lip trembling.

“You can’t just fix it for me.”

“I can give you another chance, okay? I’ll meet with them tomorrow, you’ll find I can be very convincing, yeah?” You sigh then, nodding as he brushes back some of your hair. “You’re a mess, ya know?”

“I know.” He frowns contemplatively, as you lean closer, he can taste the liquor on your breath, as your eyes dart to his lips, and the tension coils in your tummy. “You think you can really talk to them?”

“Of course I can, but you better be ready this time. I’ll come watch you, would that help?” You nod then, so quickly it makes you just a little dizzy. “All right then, just let me work my magic.”

You love him.

Fuck you almost say it, the alcohol threatening to loosen your tongue, but you swallow instead, a hand on his chest, and his own eyes lower, snowy lashes casting shadows over those baby blues, the proximity making you both heat up in that moment. He pulls back just a bit, realizing how precarious the moment is, he needs to comfort you, not fucking kiss you, or worse.

Especially drunk off your ass.

“You need more water-” You’ve pressed your lips on his before he can finish his sentence, too far gone to hold back, to stop the motion, pulling back just a bit to look up at him.

He says nothing, eyes wide, and you would apologize if you cared enough to, if you felt bad enough about it, but in that moment it’s all you want, to kiss him, even if it’s only once. You lean back a bit, you want to form the apology you don’t mean on your lips, form it into words, as it’s so silent in the back of that car, all you can hear is your blood rushing in your ears.

“Sorry,” he scoffs then, eyes narrowing, hand slipping into the nape of your neck, tugging your hair just enough to make your head fall back.

“You’re not sorry, are you?” You smile, you can’t help it, you’re too drunk to lie to him.

“Kind of sorry,” he tightens his hand, tugging at the delicate strands of hair, you’re whining out, the sound fucking him completely. “Satoru…”

“You’re forgetting this, okay?” You nod then, understanding him, when he slams his lips on yours, the release so fucking good he can’t stand it, drinking in your cries as your arms wrap his neck.

He’s lost then, letting himself have one moment, where he devours your mouth with his practiced tongue, where his other hand slips up your thigh, up your hip, to your ribcage, brushing right under your breasts. You’re clinging to him, closer and closer, until you’re straddling him, even as he shoves at your hips, you roll them, whining out when you feel him.

“Fuck, you’re a brat…” he’s huffing, biting back a moan as he feels your heat, soaking wet even against your tights, pressing you down for just a moment to torture himself, kissing you deeper, hungrier. It’s messy and desperate, you’re kissing him sloppy, saliva dripping, as you roll your hips against him.

“Please…” He wants to give you it, fuck he wants you to have all of him, but he yanks you off him, holding you up by your hips, kissing you one more time.

“No more, you’re drunk and… this is a terrible fucking idea.” He sits you right next to him, you’re dizzy and breathless. “Forget that happened.”

“Right, sure Satoru.” You glare at him, he glares right back, leaning over and hating himself, he wanted to rip your fucking tights at the crotch, slip his fingers inside your wet cunt, stretch you out on him.

Shit that can never, ever happen.

“You’re upset and drunk, and I’m fucking stupid.”

“You’re not-”

“Drink.” He orders, and you do just that, he’s back to being caring and distant, as you ache for him, more and more as the water sobers you up just a bit.

He’s helping you up into bed later, he puts your hair up off your neck carefully in a pony tail, he makes you eat food that he orders. The alcohol has lost its effects mostly as you lay in bed, and he’s typing over on his laptop, the glasses looking unfairly handsome on his face as you study him.

“Will you really help me get another chance?” You ask softly, his eyes catch you across the room.

“Of course I will, but it’ll be up to you to show them what you can do, show them how good you are. Okay?” You nod then, snuggling against the pillow, eyes drifting shut, neither of you mention the kiss, neither of you breathe a word even close to insinuating it happened.

“Thank you, Satoru. Good night.” You murmur, he sighs, nodding then.

“Good night.” His clicking of the keys drifts you off to sleep, the vivid images behind your eyes of him overtaking your mind, wondering if it was all some fucking drunk fever dream.

But it wasn’t.

When later he closes the laptop and brushes your hair back, studying you for a moment, he tries to make a promise to himself - that it will never happen again, he’ll never let his control slip like that. Even if all he can think of now is slipping into bed next to you and holding you against him, he shoves it all down, going back to his room, and staring at the ceiling.

What had he been thinking?

He can’t feel this way.

He shuts his eyes, failing to sleep as he knows you’re in the next room, while you dream the filthiest things about your dad’s best friend.

Kofi link if you wanna buy me a glass of wine 🍷

tags- @valentinegab3 @vinnababy @sakisworld @satorupied @lolliibunny @coralbae @lnette04 @delightfulstay @zephyairies @flowerymenendez @yomama2089 @chocoyanchan @hargun-s @ic-slxt @lovelytwixx @lily-bisque @sirencholia @etosh0e @yesdere @luciferlikesducks @frankoceanfan9911 @sukunaslilsocks @dientesdefresa @maah-sama @amesenseii @lem-hhn @keiiate @ttrinity @monster-effer @coffinboy666 @neliislost @thequeenofcurses @inzanekillian @gojoswaterbottle @melotter @buckturd @artbligh @msniks @shibataimu @macchianikato @neohoestechnology @levislug @trsh-kitty @satsattoru @erisfayred @gh0stgirl333 @silverfangmarks @smashlyn89 @hwngez

[iamactuallysocute]

SAJA BOYS x HUNTR/X’S ASSISTANT!READER

PLOT: So here you are, the sweet little assistant to HUNTR/X. Not anything like Bobby, no. You’re the only human they let in on their secret of being hunters, and your job is to help them out the best you can. Fetching the weapons, patching up wounds, memorizing demon looking ppl, preferably without fighting because you’re ass at that. You’re smart, sweet, know what will the girls do next.

Which is exactly why the Saja Boys decided to kidnap your ass.

Oh, they still look like a wet dream, don’t get that twisted. But they deadass snatched you up because you know too much. You know how the girls work. You know where they’re going, what they’re planning, how to hurt them.

Except, you won’t talk. Not even when they tried. And oh, they tried. Little threats. Little games. Little moments that left bruises.

Now? You’re a guest in their fancy-fancy high-rise apartment in the human world that they have so they don’t have to go back and forth between worlds. More like their prisoner, but the fridge is stocked and you’re not chained anymore.

cw: implied female reader, kidnapping situation, a shit ton of cursing, Romance being a flirt, a boner, mentions of sex, Mystery being curious about your body, boys being boys and fucking with you. Part 2 here

You stand at the sleek marble counter, a knife in your hand, slicing through a peach.

Behind you, Romance’s laugh fills the room, deep, as Mystery literally tackles him over the back of the couch. They hit the floor with a heavy thud, limbs tangled, and Mystery growls.

Romance? He’s grinning. Loving every second.

“Damn, if you wanted to get me on my back you could’ve just asked.” he purrs, voice smooth.

Mystery’s response is to sink his teeth—actually sink his teeth—into Romance’s shoulder.

“Fuck—ah, yes, harder!” Romance groans dramatically, shoving at Mystery’s face but clearly not trying to get him off.

You just keep cutting your peach, the juice sticky on your fingers.

Abby’s sprawled in an armchair, bouncing a stress ball off the wall hard enough you’re certain he’ll crack the plaster. He’s wearing a tank top that shows off his arms and his attention span is shot to shit. He’s been drumming his fingers, cracking his neck, muttering to himself about needing to do something.

Baby’s on the floor, cross-legged, looking at his phone what he grew to love so so so much since they figured it out. He actually looks like he has no idea what’s going on but doesn’t care anyway.

Jinu is in the kitchen, not far from you, sipping tea like none of this is happening. His hair’s still a little damp from a shower, and he looks… normal. Calm. Like he could be your neighbor, the guy who helps carry your groceries.

He notices you’re out of reach of the fruit bowl and slides it closer without a word.

“Thanks.” you mutter, not looking up.

Not forgetting that you fucking HATE his guts!!

“You’re welcome.”

And that’s the thing with Jinu. He’s nice. Too nice.

You slice another piece of peach. Try to pretend you don’t hear Romance moaning as Mystery bites him again.

Baby snorts quietly, still scrolling.

You just keep slicing fruit, silent, petty, waiting for the moment they let their guard down. Not happening.

Romance walks over eventually, leaning against the counter next to you. His scent hits you—fuck you in the ass it’s good. Why does it have to be good?

“Need help with that, angel?” he murmurs, voice like velvet, fingers brushing a piece of peach off your plate and popping it into his mouth.

You don’t look at him. “Fuck off.”

“Alrighty.”

He doesn’t move though.

Mystery, now perched on the arm of the couch, watches the two of you , you’d guess. You can’t see those fuckass eyes.

You remember the first meet.

God. The girls just finished, you gave them all the luxury they could ever need then went back to your apartment. Exhausted. Filthy. You got home, peeled off your clothes, stepped into that shower, and thought—finally. Finally, you could breathe.

Then, a bold whistle from behind you.

You turned your head, soap stinging your eyes, and there was….

Drumroll…

🥁🥁🥁

Romance.

Yes indeed, the fucker whistled.

You froze. Completely naked, completely vulnerable. He moved fast—too fast—hand over your mouth, body pressed up to the shower glass.

“Don’t scream. We’re just gonna have a little chat.”

You wanted to kick him. You really did. But he had you pinned, all casual, like this was just another Tuesday for him.

“Options.” he murmured, thumb stroking your cheek like he was trying to soothe you. “You tell me what I wanna know. Or—and I like this one better—I take you with me.”

You glared at him. You hated him.

(Since your girls did too and know he’s a demon but anyway)

But what could you do? Naked, trapped, outmatched. So you nodded. Let him hand you a towel. Let him grin when you dressed in whatever you could grab. Let him walk you out of your own damn apartment like he was your date for the night.

You snap back to now, slicing that peach a little too hard. The knife hits the cutting board with a sharp thunk.

Romance notices. Of course he notices. He always notices.

“Careful, baby. Gonna hurt yourself.” he teases, snagging another piece of fruit from your plate like he has every right.

You don’t answer. Just cut another slice, the peach juice sticky on your fingers.

Then there was the time you tried to run.

You’d waited until late. Until they were sprawled out, arguing over anything, distracted by their own bullshit. You’d crept to the door, so quiet. Almost made it.

Baby caught you. Not with strength. With a simple:

“Hm?”

And then Jinu was there. Calm. Closing the door gently. Taking your arm, leading you back.

“Don’t do that, okay?” he’d said, as if you’d just made a small mistake. Like it wasn’t a big fucking deal.

Romance had clapped you on the back when you were forced to sit back down. “A+ for effort, though.”

Slice. Slice. Another piece of peach.

Mystery’s watching you now. Not saying anything, just watching. His head tilted, into your direction.

You finish slicing the peach. Set the knife down.

Romance steals another piece, grinning at you over it.

Mystery growls under his breath at the whole thing.

Abby’s already forgotten about you, too busy flicking Baby’s ear to annoy him.

Jinu’s watching you quietly, you’d guess. Don’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him.

You remember that time you bit Romance.

God, the nerve of him. You were done—so done—with him always getting too close.

D-O-N-E.

That time, when he cornered you to get things out of you. “C’mon, angel, just tell me a little secret. Just one. I’ll owe you.” He’d said. “You’re so tense. I can help with that…”

And you just snapped. Lunged in and bit his arm as hard as you could.

And the fucker?

The fuck?

He winked at you.

Didn’t pull away. Didn’t cuss you out. Just grinned like you’d given him a gift. “Easy, girl.” he said, voice low, leaning in so close you could feel the heat of him. “Didn’t know you liked it rough.”

You wanted to scream. Instead, you glared and tried to yank free, and he let you—only because he felt like it. Not because you could have escaped him.

You organize the little peaches on your plate. They looked quite cute.

You tried to stand your ground once.

Told Abby to back off, to leave you alone. And what did he do?

He laughed. That easy, bright, warm laugh like you’d just told him a joke. Then he slung his arm around your shoulders and practically dragged you down the hall like you were his best bud.

“You’re funny as hell.” he said, ruffling your hair like you weren’t glaring daggers at him. “C’mon.”

Asshole.

“Where you think you’re going, superstar?” he’d teased last time, when you made it to the elevator and thought, for one sweet second, you were free.

You’d fought. Kicked. Swore.

And he’d just laughed, hoisting you up like you weighed nothing. Carried you back down the hall like you were some drunk friend at a party, not a prisoner.

“C’mon now. You know you’re not going anywhere. Let’s not make it weird.”

Baby shifts where he’s sitting, lazy as ever, glancing up from his phone just long enough to take a sassy look at you.

Then there was time they played good cop/bad cop on you.

Mystery had you cornered in the kitchen. Not even saying anything—just standing there, too close. You’d tried to sidestep him. He’d mirrored the move, blocking you without touching.

And then Romance walked in. All relaxed, all casual. Slid in between you and Mystery, arm around your waist like it was his right.

“Ease up.” he said to Mystery, but his hand tightened on your side. “She’s not gonna run. Are you, angel?”

You bite into a piece of peach now.

Or there’s the night you tried to lock yourself in a room.

Abby broke the door down. Just… busted it open like it was made of cardboard.

“Don’t do that, babe.” he said, happy af, picking you up like you weighed nothing and carrying you back to the main room. “You’re gonna make us feel bad, hiding like that.”

You’d pounded at his chest. Tried to fight.

And he’d just laughed again, so warm, so easy, like you were play-wrestling.

You put the cutting board back, close the cabinet a little too hard.

There are also mind games. Oh, the fucking mind games.

Like how Jinu always helps. Always so polite, so considerate. Slips a glass of water into your hand when you’re too angry to ask. Pulls out a chair for you. Puts a blanket over you when you fall asleep

(and yeah, you pretended to be asleep that time. sue you, you were cold).

And it gets in your head. Makes you second-guess your hate. Makes you wonder if maybe he’d let you go if you just asked nicely enough. Makes you forget, for a second, that he’s the one who seals the doors behind you.

Or how Baby never speaks to you unless it’s to cut you down.

That time you begged, just once, just quietly, just to Baby because the others were too busy fucking around, you asked him to help you slip out.

And he’d looked at you. Just looked. And smiled that tiny, mean smile of his.

“Cute that you think anyone here gives a fuck what you want.”

Yeah, when he doesn’t currently not give a fuck about what’s happening around him, this is what you’ll get of him. Allat pretty face is a waste, fr.

You wipe down the counter, scrubbing too hard, like you can erase their fingerprints from your space.

And Mystery.

Mystery, who’s so feral you almost thought you could use that. That maybe he was the weak link. That maybe his violence meant he didn’t care about the plan, that he’d let you go just to spite the others.

But no.

Like the time you tried to sneak a phone off the coffee table, thinking no one was looking.

Mystery had crossed the room in a blink, snatched it out of your hand, and grabbed your jaw so fast your ears rang.

His nails had pricked your skin. His breath had been hot, his growl low.

“Don’t.”

One word. That’s all. And then he let go like you were nothing. Like you didn’t even matter enough to punish.

You open the fridge, shove the plate in, close it again like the slam of the door can drown out the noise in your head.

You turn, walk closer to them in the living room so you look more genuine, sweet like sugar because you can’t help it. That’s just how you sound.

“Can I use the sauna?” you ask.

No one says anything for half a beat.

Jinu the asshole the FUCKING asshole hums. “In exchange for some information, you know. Tell us a thing or two.”

You groan. Actually groan. And before you can stop yourself, you do the tiniest, most frustrated little kick at the air. Just a flick of your foot, like you’re trying to shake off the annoyance. Just a little kick. Adorable, really. A stupid, tiny burst of frustration because this is so fucking unfair and they know it.

And that’s when Abby, quick, grabs your leg mid-kick.

“Gotcha.” he says, voice bright. And the worst part? He doesn’t even look at you. He’s already turned back to whatever dumb shit they’re talking about, your ankle resting in his grip.

And now you’re there, balancing on one foot, arms out a little to steady yourself.

“Abby—let go—!”

But he’s not paying you any mind. His fingers loose but firm around your ankle, like he could crush it if he felt like it, but he’s just holding it.

As if you’re some toy he forgot he was playing with. Fucking asshole.

Romance sees the opportunity immediately. He slides closer, slow, a finger tapping at your knee, then your thigh, all innocent and infuriating. “Look at you. One foot. So talented.”

You swat at him, trying to push him away, but that just makes him laugh.

Mystery, meanwhile, is staring at your leg. Head tilted, curious. Like he can’t decide if he wants to pounce on it or just… study it. It’s been a while since he’s seen a human girl this close. That’s obvious in the way his gaze lingers too long on the shape of your calf, the flex of your foot as you wobble.

Baby is absolutely checking out your ass.

Not even trying to hide it.

One glance over his phone, those eyes sliding down, a little smirk ghosting at the corner of his mouth before he looks back at his screen like he’s the innocent one here.

You hop a little, trying to tug your leg free, still balancing awkwardly. “Abby—seriously!”

But Abby just laughs, chatting with Jinu, your leg still in his grip.

Romance pokes at you again. This time at your side, grinning when you squirm. “Careful, sweetheart. You’ll fall and hurt yourself.”

You try to stomp your other foot, frustrated beyond words, but you’re already jumping on one leg, and that just makes all of them snicker.

“Abby!”

“Hmm?” His voice is unbothered, eyes still not on you. “Oh. Right. Forgot I was holding you.”

Liar.

“Nah, c’mon—tell us a secret.” Abby says.

You tug.

He doesn’t budge.

“Abby.” you hiss.

But it’s useless.

Romance pokes you in the side, fascinated by the way your curves move.

“Stop it—” you try to swat at him, but you’re too busy trying not to fall flat on your ass.

Romance laughs, brushing your hand aside easily. His fingers brush your free ankle lightly, just to mess with you, and you nearly lose your balance again.

“Seriously, let go.” you snap, hopping on your one foot, trying to twist free.

But Abby’s grip is firm, not tight enough to hurt, just impossible to break.

He still isn’t looking at you. Instead, he’s grinning at Romance. “Hey, look at this—” he lifts your foot slightly, turning it in his hand like he’s inspecting it “—her foot’s like half the size of yours.”

Romance, of course, is lining his foot up next to yours while you’re still caught there, balancing. His grin is all teeth. “Tiny.” he says, delighted.

You’re burning up with embarrassment now, face hot, heart pounding for all the wrong reasons. You’re jumping a little, trying to shake your foot loose, but all it does is make Romance poke at you more, fingers brushing your calf, your ankle, your side.

“Stop it!” you snap, swatting at him, but you can’t even aim right on one foot.

Baby doesn’t even hide it anymore. He leans back, arms crossed, eyes flicking between your legs, your ass, your face, enjoying every second of this humiliation.

“Alright, c’mon now.” Abby says, finally glancing at you. “Give us a little intel, and you can go steam yourself all you want.”

You’re about to lose your balance for real—arms flailing slightly, heel of your standing foot sliding on the polished floor—when finally, finally, Jinu’s voice cuts through the mess.

“You can use the sauna.” he says simply, with a small nod, like it should’ve been obvious all along.

“There you go, superstar.” Abby lets go, laughing under his breath as if this was all in good fun. You stumble, catch yourself on the couch, heart pounding, face flushed.

Romance grins, hands up like he’s innocent. “See? All you had to do was ask.”

Baby smirks, looking back down at his phone as if he wasn’t just ogling you.

Mystery sinks back onto the couch arm, still watching, but at least he isn’t about to lunge anymore.

You straighten, brushing your hands down your sides, trying to regain a scrap of dignity.

“Thanks.” you mutter, shooting a glare at the rest of them before turning on your heel and heading toward the sauna.

Romance leans back, hands up like he’s innocent. “Enjoy yourself, angel.”

Baby gives you one last look, and Mystery’s head follows you until you’re out of reach.

You huff, fixing your clothes, dignity in shambles as you stomp toward the sauna.

God, you hate them.

God, they’re fucking hilarious.

God, you hate that you almost laughed too.

Alright, so there you are. Finally. Finally in the sauna.

You thought maybe—maybe—you could steal this one small victory. After all the shit they put you through, the teasing, the games, the constant pushing and pulling, you’d gotten away.

The heat envelops you, thick, fogging up the glass as you sit there, knees tucked up, towel clutched tight to your chest.

Your heartbeat’s just starting to slow. Your breathing evens out. The sweat begins to bead at your temples, trickle down your neck, and for a blissful minute, you think:

peace.

And then.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You freeze. Eyes snap to the glass door.

Abby and Romance.

Side by side, standing just outside the sauna with the most shit-eating grins you’ve ever seen.

And god help you,

they’re in nothing but towels.

Romance has his slung low on his hips, arms crossed behind his head. Like he knew what this would do to you. His eyes meet yours through the steam, and his grin somehow widens.

Abby’s hitched up carelessly at his waist, and he’s leaning against the glass with both hands, forehead pressed against it, breathing patterns making little clouds on the surface.

And because he’s Abby and he’s got no shame, he leans in further until his abs are smushed up against the glass too, leaving perfect imprints of his ridiculous physique.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Romance’s knuckle on the door this time, slow and rhythmic, like they’ve got all the time in the world.

These bastards have nothing but time. And you? You’re the best entertainment they’ve had in centuries. Three hundred years of whatever suffering Gwi-ma put them through, until you.

And you can tell. You can see it in their faces, the way they’re lit up like kids on Christmas morning. The way they’re making a game out of this. The way they’re not just keeping you prisoner, they’re enjoying every second of it, like you’re their favorite new toy.

“Baby girl.” Romance calls, voice muffled through the glass, drawing the words out like a slow melody. He knocks again, forehead resting against the glass, leaning down a little so his eyes are level with yours. “Come on. Don’t be like that.”

(Guys I don’t mean baby girl in a weird way I promiseeeee)

Abby starts whining. Full-on whining, dragging out the vowels like he’s the one being tortured here.

“Pleeeaaaseee. Let us in. Don’t hog all the steam. You know it’s rude.”

Your grip on your towel tightens. You shake your head, glaring, but that just seems to make them more determined.

Romance is flattening his palms against the glass, leaning his weight forward, so casual.

“C’mon, sweetheart.” he purrs. “It’s not safe to sauna alone. What if you pass out? What if you get too hot?” His voice drops lower, dripping with mock concern. “We’d hate for something bad to happen to you.”

You point at them through the foggy glass. “Stay out.”

They’re having the time of their lives.

Abby’s face is smushed against the door now, nose flattened, grinning so hard you can see the crinkle of his eyes even through the fog. He slides down slightly so his chest presses up too, leaving an actual print on the glass that you’re sure you’ll see in your nightmares.

“Come oooonnnn.” he drags out, hands sliding down the glass with exaggerated despair. “It’s lonely out here. It’s cold.”

“Yeah.” Romance chimes in, knocking his knuckles lightly again, rhythm playful. “So cold. We’re shivering.”

Neither of them looks the least bit cold. They look like gods, golden and gleaming in the low light, all muscle.

Abby presses his forehead right next to Romance’s, their faces squished together, two idiots united in their mission to annoy the living shit out of you. His abs are still plastered to the glass, leaving sweaty smudges in their shape.

Romance starts dragging out words like he’s dying of heartbreak. “Weeeee just waaaant to reeeelaaax.”

And then, before you can stop it, the door creaks open.

Romance’s hand is already on the handle. Abby’s pushing through behind him, grinning.

“You—” you start, clutching your towel tighter, scooting back like that’s going to help.

Romance plops down way too close, towel barely clinging on, stretching his long legs out. He leans back, hands braced behind him, turning his head to look at you with that maddening, lazy smile.

Abby flops down on your other side, sighing like he’s just found heaven, spreading out. He stretches his arms up, rolls his shoulders, all muscle.

“This is much better.” Abby says cheerfully.

“Yeah.” Romance agrees, eyes glinting with as he studies you, watching the way you clutch your towel like it’s the only thing saving your dignity. “See? Cozy.”

You glare at them both, heart hammering so loud you’re sure they can hear it over the hiss of the steam.

“You could’ve waited.” you mutter, trying to inch away without actually standing and risking… well, anything.

Romance leans in slightly, close enough that you can see the bead of sweat trailing down his temple, the curve of his smirk.

Then, these assholes giggle.

Giggle.

Big, strong, terrifying demons who could rip a man apart in seconds, sitting on either side of you, legs sprawled, water dripping down their ridiculously perfect bodies—and giggling like schoolgirls who just found a crush’s diary.

Romance leans forward, glancing at Abby, his grin wide and boyish and so fucking irritating. His hair’s still damp, little droplets sliding down the sharp line of his jaw, catching in the hollow of his throat before disappearing below that towel hanging far too low on his hips.

Abby snorts, eyes crinkling, that same big, bright grin that makes it impossible to stay mad at him for long—no matter how much you want to. He’s got one arm thrown over the back of the bench.

“I feel relaxed already.” Abby teases, voice low and warm.

And the giggling starts again. Little bursts of it, like they can’t believe their luck.

You press your back against the wall, eyes narrowed, clutching your towel so hard you might leave permanent wrinkles in the fabric. You feel the heat rising higher in your cheeks now, but it’s not from the sauna.

Because they’re close. So close you can feel the heat coming off them, not just the sauna’s heat but theirs. Like being caught between two furnaces.

Fuck them.

And they’re not just sitting there politely, minding their business. Oh no. Their gazes slide over you, undressing you with their eyes without a single ounce of shame.

Romance lets his gaze drop, lazily, from your flushed face to the slope of your shoulders, down the curve of your towel-clad body, he’s imagining exactly what’s under there. He doesn’t even try to hide it.

His mouth quirks up at the corner like he’s thoroughly enjoying the view.

Abby’s no better. His eyes trace you all the same. Like he’s taking mental snapshots, adding to whatever collection of moments he’s tucking away for the next time he’s bored at 3 a.m.

And it’s not subtle.

They’d hit that. No question. In a heartbeat.

Hell, Romance would have you against the sauna wall the second you blinked yes—if you blinked yes. The man has no shame. His lust, so open, so easy, it’s like breathing to him.

But that’s the thing about Romance—he knows the difference. Knows the difference between wanting to get you under him and wanting something real.

And somehow, that second thing? That’s creeping in now, too.

It’s not just the game anymore. Not just the fun of teasing you, seeing how red they can make you go, seeing how long they can keep you flustered before you snap.

It’s that you feel different.

You’re not like the other fleeting amusements they’ve found across centuries of boredom and bloodshed. You’re not just a pretty face they can toy with until it breaks.

You’re the most fun they’ve had in so long they’ve almost forgotten what fun is.

It’s growing. Quietly, steadily, in between all the teasing.

Romance, for all his shameless flirting, knows it too. His desire’s loud, sure, but this other feeling? This is different. It’s not about the chase, or the win, or the thrill of the moment. It’s about the way his heart kicks up when you roll your eyes at him, when you snap back, when you don’t fold.

And Abby? He’s the same. He laughs and plays and pokes, but somewhere in the cracks, something real’s settling in.

Something that isn’t just about keeping entertained.

You’re fun. You’re alive.

And in their endless stretch of centuries, that’s fun.

Because now, it’s not just about keeping you around for what you know.

Now, it’s about keeping you around because they want you around.

All those feelings for them, while just now, you had enough. Enough.

So you stand.

You push yourself up off the bench, clutching your towel, heart pounding, cheeks blazing, ready to make your exit.

But the second you straighten, the second you think you’ve reclaimed a scrap of dignity, Abby decides otherwise.

Big, warm hands catch your wrist and waist at once, and before you can so much as yelp, he drags you right back down into his lap.

“Ah-ah. Where you goin’, babe?” he says, voice all smooth, like you’re a kitten trying to escape bath time. His grin’s wide, eyes sparkling with that boyish light that makes you want to slap him and maybe kiss him just to wipe it off his face.

And there you are—your much smaller frame hauled back against him, towel still clutched to your chest, your legs draped awkwardly over his, skin burning where it meets his.

You squirm.

You kick and wiggle and slap at his arms, trying to peel yourself free, but it’s like fighting a brick wall that laughs at you.

“Let me go!” you snap, voice high with frustration, but you might as well be shouting at the wind.

Because Abby’s laughing now. Genuinely laughing, head tipped back a little, like this is the funniest shit he’s seen in decades.

Romance is no better. He’s doubled over, palm slapping the bench, laughing so hard he can barely breathe. That rich, boyish sound fills the sauna, echoing off the wood, making your cheeks burn hotter.

You kick again, trying to shove at Abby’s chest, trying to slide off his lap, but he’s holding you tight, like it’s nothing.

Abby leans in a little, his grin crooked now, voice low and warm, the kind of tone that makes you want to hide.

“You’re makin’ this real hard for me, sweetheart.” he says, and there’s no mistaking the double meaning.

Your heart lurches.

And, oh—you feel it. You definitely feel it.

Right there, under you.

A huge fucking boner.

And instead of stopping—instead of being sensible—you kick more. You squirm harder. Your face is on fire, but you’re determined to break free, determined to make him pay for putting you in this position, even if it’s making everything so much worse.

Abby groans low in his throat, but it’s laced with laughter, like he knows exactly what you’re doing and loves it. Loves that you’re trying. Loves that you’re flustered and mad and completely powerless.

Romance is laughing so hard he can’t sit upright, folding over himself, practically wheezing, tears streaming down his cheeks, pointing at you both like he can’t believe how lucky he is to witness this.

You give one more valiant wiggle, slap at Abby’s arm, and finally—finally—he lets go. Though maybe because he’s too worked up to keep playing

“Alright, alright.” he says, laughing, lifting his hands in surrender. “You win, babe. Go on.”

You shoot up like your life depends on it, clutching your towel so tight your fingers ache, hair sticking to your sweaty forehead, chest heaving. You glare down at both of them, cheeks blazing, trying to regain a shred of dignity.

Abby is the picture of innocence now. One leg up to hide his hard on, arms draped across the back of the bench, looking for all the world like he’s just a guy enjoying a sauna and not someone who just very nearly got dry-humped into oblivion by a squirming, furious human girl.

But of course, the second you’re upright, Romance leans forward, grinning wickedly, fingers grabbing for the edge of your towel.

“Just one little peek.” he says, and his hand shoots out, fingers hooking the edge of your towel.

You shriek, twisting away just in time, slapping his hands, stumbling toward the door. The towel stays on—thank god—but barely.

Romance collapses back onto the bench, grinning, breathless from laughing.

“Worth a shot.” he teases, voice low and sinful. “Next time, angel.”

You don’t look back. You can��t. You’re too busy marching toward the door, heart hammering, body burning, swearing to yourself you’ll never trust a sauna again.

And behind you, the sound of their laughter chases you all the way out.

You storm out of that sauna, towel clutched so tight it’s a wonder you haven’t shredded it by sheer force of will. Your heart’s hammering in your chest, skin blazing from more than just the steam, and you’re done. Done with Abby’s lap. Done with Romance’s bullshit. Done with them probably high fiving each other as you’re walking. Done with all of it.

You stomp barefoot across the marble floors, steam still rising from your skin, water droplets trailing behind you.

And then you hit the living room.

Jinu’s perched on the edge of the couch, looking every bit the composed, gentlemanly demon he always pretends to be—except for the fact that his eyes widen ever so slightly at the sight of you. His lips twitch at the corners, like he’s trying not to smile.

“You went in there with clothes on.” he says, voice mild. “I’m pretty sure of it.”

You don’t even slow down. You wave a hand at him, dismissive, furious, embarrassed beyond belief but way too stubborn to show it.

“Not now, Jinu.”

“Just pointing it out.” he says, and you can hear that gentle, teasing lilt in his voice now that somehow makes it worse. Like he’s the only one in this house capable of being nice to you, but he still can’t help poking at you when you’re like this.

You glance down just in time to see Mystery crouched slightly, head tilted, attention fixed on the hem of your towel.

His hand twitches, like he’s fighting the urge to just lift it and satisfy his curiosity.

“Mystery—”

You swat at him, fast, instinctive. Like shooing off a cat who’s about to knock over a glass.

He tries again.

“Mystery or whatever your fucking name is!”

Your voice pitches higher. You swat at him again, and this time he dodges.

Baby’s watching the whole thing from the arm of the couch, shoulders shaking as he laughs quietly.

You and Mystery keep up this ridiculous dance—him darting, trying to sneak a look, you batting him off.

Every time you think you’ve shaken him, he circles back around, silent, predatory.

“Mystery, stop it!” you hiss, stomping your foot, cheeks burning so hot you’re sure they must be glowing.

He actually listens. Pulls back just a bit, but not before giving you this tilt of his head—this weird, almost innocent curiosity, like he really, genuinely wants to know what’s up there. Not because he’s trying to be a creep. Just because he’s Mystery.

He leans back, hands up, like he was just wondering, like you can’t blame a guy for being curious.

You tug your towel tighter, shooting him a glare that promises violence if he tries it again.

Baby just tips his head back and laughs, soft and delighted.

You storm the rest of the way across the living room, muttering curses under your breath, knowing full well this won’t be the last time they pull this shit.

Because why would it be?

You’re the best fun they’ve had in centuries.

You slam the door to your room shut with more force than necessary, your heart still thundering in your chest.

The room’s quiet now. Blessedly quiet.

You take a deep breath, forcing your legs to move, crossing to the dresser where they’d dumped your things they got from there and there. You let the towel drop, pulling on fresh clothes.

But as you tug your shirt down and run a hand through your damp hair, the questions start creeping in.

Will you ever get out of here?

…Maybe.

You want to believe it. That there’s a crack in their plan, a way to slip past their too-quick hands. That somehow, the girls will come for you. That you’ll find your moment and take it. But looking at how they watch you, how they enjoy keeping you close? It’s hard to be sure.

Do the girls miss you?

Yes.

They have to. You’re not just some assistant with a clipboard and a coffee order. You’re the one who kept them safe, who watched their backs when they were too busy saving the world to watch their own. They have to notice you’re gone. Right?

Do the boys actually like you as a person?

Yes.

And that’s the most confusing part. Because it’s not just the teasing, the poking, they see you. Under all the sweet voice, the petty little kicks, the glares and the stubbornness, they see you. And somehow, they like what they see.

Is Romance always trying to get in your pants?

Yes.

But he also respects the game. And maybe, just maybe, he likes more than just what’s under your clothes.

Does Abby really think you’re cute when you fight him off?

Yes.

You see it in his smile, in the way his eyes soften when you kick and squirm and glare up at him.

Is Baby secretly rooting for you?

Absolutely so fucking yes.

He won’t say it. Won’t even crack more than that smirk. But you catch it, sometimes—in the tilt of his head, in the glint of his eye. He enjoys you. Enjoys watching you give them hell.

Is Mystery curious about you in ways he doesn’t understand?

Indeed.

It’s in every glance, every tilt of his head, every quiet lean-in. You’re new, he likes it.

Does Jinu really care?

Yeah.

The only one who treats you normally. The one who talks to you like you’re a person. The one who always seems to step in right before the others push you too far.

Are you actually safe here?

No.

Not really. Not from their games, their teasing, their endless curiosity about what makes you break. Not from the way they make your heart race, in anger or fear or something more dangerous you don’t want to name.

Are you in danger of falling for them, even a little?

…Maybe.

You flop onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, clothes rumpled and hair still damp, wondering how the hell you’re going to survive this. Wondering how you’re going to keep yourself from softening toward them when they look at you like that, when they laugh like that, when they treat you like this.

Will you ever stop hoping for a chance to escape?

No.

Not ever. Not even if they keep making you laugh when you shouldn’t. Not even if they’re the most fun you’ve ever had.

You’re getting out.

Somedays

But god—if they don’t make it hard to want to leave.

You lay there on that stupid, too-nice bed, staring up at the ceiling, the city lights leaking in through the blinds, casting stripes across your skin. And you think—fuck.

Because damn your empathy.

You should hate them. Every single one of them. For snatching you away from your life. For laughing at you when you fight back. For treating you like a kid. You should be plotting their downfall, hating the sound of their voices, the way they look at you, the way they keep you here.

But you don’t. Not really. Not deep down where it matters.

Because it hits you, lying there with your heart still racing and your body still warm from the sauna

They probably don’t know any better anymore.

It’s probably been hundreds of years since they had anything like this. Since they saw their mothers. Since they were boys, real boys, not demons, playing at being human on a stage with bright lights and screaming fans.

When was the last time they got tucked in at night, you wonder. When was the last time somebody made them soup when they were sick?

When was the last time they did human shit?

Jumped on a trampoline, if they ever had done that.

Had a snowball fight.

Built a fort and camped out in it.

Splashed each other in a pool until they were breathless with laughter, not because they were trying to drown each other but just because it was fun.

Ran barefoot through wet grass on a summer night, chasing bugs.

Sat on a rooftop with their best friend, eating about the future like it was some big, beautiful thing waiting for them.

The last time someone baked them a birthday cake and sang to them, even off-key?

God, when was the last time they had that?

You think about Romance, all charm and heat, with that constant flirt in his voice—when was the last time someone kissed him because they loved him, not because they were enchanted by his face?

You think about Abby, always teasing, strong enough to crush you but never does—when was the last time someone hugged him just because?

Baby, with not giving a fuck at anything—when was the last time someone gave him something with no strings attached?

Mystery. Ferocious, curious—when was the last time he felt safe enough to just exist?

Jinu. The only one who looks at you like you’re still a person, like maybe he remembers what it felt like to be one, too—when was the last time someone sat with him in silence, not because they wanted something but just because they liked him?

And you feel that damn softness bloom in your chest, that aching empathy that’s going to get you killed or worse.

Because you don’t blame them. Not really.

They’re lonely.

Lonely in a way you can’t even imagine, in a way that sinks into your bones and makes you hungry for anything real.

You’re not just a hostage, not really—not to them. You’re a spark of humanity in their endless dark, and they don’t want to let go.

And yeah, it’s selfish. It’s cruel, in its way. But can you really hate them for it?

Can you hate them for wanting to keep you close when the world left them behind centuries ago?

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face, trying to shove the thoughts away, trying to remind yourself—they kidnapped you. They’re using you. They’re playing with you because it entertains them.

But still.

You see the way they look at you when they think you’re not paying attention.

You see the way they light up when you kick back, when you glare, when you curse them out, when you fight—because maybe you’re the first thing in forever that’s real to them.

And goddamn it, you understand.

You don’t forgive. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But you understand.

Boys who laugh too hard when you fight them off because they don’t know how else to show they like you.

So yeah.

Fuck your empathy.

Because you see them. And you can’t unsee it.

[littleapplle]

Dearest writer, I would like to submit an order into your respected bakery! 🍞🥯🥖🥐

May I kindly get a NSFW A to Z Headcannon for Rafayel or Caleb? (or both if you don’t mind :3) I’m a huge fan of your writing and given that you are open for orders I figured I could try my luck in ordering something special 🙂‍↕️🥹

But ofc if this is too much of a hassle you may kindly ignore my order and move on 🤭🥹🥺 I shall kindly await for your response and I look forward to your masterpiece (even if it’s not my request) 💖

nsfw alphabet ⊹ ࣪ ˖ rafayel and caleb

cw.: nsfw. real porn links!! must be logged in twt to watch.

note: oh anon you'll make my heart melt:( thank you for your sweet words, my luv. i'm so sorry for the wait, i wish i had finished this much sooner >< hope this is good enough tho bc i lwk feel like i did a terrible job <//3

rafayel

a = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex): Really good! Rafayel can’t stand being dirty after sex and won’t really rest until you and him are cleaned up so you two always end up snuggling in his bathtub while he massages your scalp and scrubs your body lovingly. If you're not too tired, talk to him. He wants to hear your voice. How was it? Did you enjoy it? Tell him everything, he'll listen. Rafayel holds you so close you think he’s actually trying to get under your skin, literally.

b = body part (their favorite of theirs and their partner): If you asked, he’d say he loves every part of you and he absolutely cannot choose. If he really had to answer… your boobs. They’re the perfect size, feel good on his palms, your nipples don’t have a single moment of peace. You have to physically pull him away before they’re sore and puffy. ❤︎...¹ ❤︎...² ❤︎...³

on his body though… his hands, of course! It is with them that he creates his beautiful pieces and makes you come undone as his slender fingers press down on that spongy spot inside you.

c = cum (anything to do with cum): Will come anywhere you want if you ask him to but he really likes to see his cum dripping on your skin. Be it your stomach, your tits, doesn’t matter, he’ll go feral. As for the taste, it barely tastes like anything. It’s a bit salty and very watery but that’s it. ❤︎...

d = dirty secret (a dirty secret of theirs): Really wants to photograph you. Be it during sex, just you touching yourself, anything. Definitely has a secret journal about you and wants to decorate it with your beautiful body and face. 100% has a polaroid of your tits on his wallet and has no shame at all.

e = experience (how experienced are they): Barely any. Listen, he has read erotica, studied human anatomy a thousand times and knows the human body like no one else but he never had sex with anyone but you so please guide him the first few times. Be vocal, he’s a quick learner, he’ll learn his way around your body in a second.

f = favorite position: Rafayel likes a position based on how easy he can 1. kiss you and 2. look at your face. Missionary lover, basic but nothing with Rafayel is boring. Sex with Rafayel tends to be SO romantic, he’s THE lover boy. He kisses you so sweetly, sucking hickies on your neck while his cock drags inside you slowly. Also looooves when you ride him! it’s a combo of everything he likes, you frowning in pleasure, your boobs bouncing AND you on top of him!! ❤︎...¹ ❤︎...² ❤︎...³

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc): Oh sex with Rafayel is never serious! He’s always trying to get a reaction out of you, be it trying to make you laugh by pressing a kiss to that ticklish spot on your neck or by making the stupidest joke ever. Your laughter gets him going more than he’d like to admit.

h = hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.): First of all,  yes, it is purple and second, he shaves very frequently. As a lemurian, he never had any issues with body hair since he didn’t have any. Nowadays, he’s grown used to shaving since his pubes sensory bother him.

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect…): Puh-lease, we are talking about Rafayel. The artist, the lemurian that lives and breathes for love, your one and only soulmate. Rafayel is obsessed with you, always has been, always will be. To have skin to skin contact with you, letting him see you bare and vulnerable and yet still trust him, it’s everything he’d ever wish for. Rafayel lives for romance, love and pure intimacy and he will show it to you in every touch, kiss and praise.

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon): Before getting together with you, if he was ever really pent up and stressed, maybe once or twice a week. After you two got together officially, he doesn’t see the point in masturbating when he’s always glued to your side. If you’re away for whatever reason though? I believe he can get pretty needy and maybe, just maybe, rub one off.

k = kink (one or more of their kinks): Does body worship even count as a kink? Well, doesn’t matter. How many times do I have to say that Rafayel is OBSESSED with you??? There’s nothing that makes him hornier than being allowed to kiss your body. Praising you in every single language he knows is not enough, he needs your soul to be tied with his so you can read his mind and deepest thoughts about how lovely you are. Also, voyeurism, Rafayel is a closeted perv. He likes to watch, to take his time eyeing his food before actually diving in. Seeing you touch yourself without his intervention makes the knot in his lower stomach grow tighter and his skin hotter.

l = location (favorite places to do the do): Rafayel is too possessive to have actual sex in public so that’s a no. Anywhere in his studio is fine if you’re comfortable! Buuut if you trust him enough, please let him drag you to the ocean. There are no interruptions, no important phone calls, no Thomas to accidentally walk in, it’s just you and him where he’s most comfortable. It doesn’t tire him to be in his human form but giving his body a break and finally being in his real, lemurian form, feels like a relief from time to time. 

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going): When you’re more petty than him and talk back. FUCK he could bust a nut right there. Or the fact that as a hunter, you can manhandle him just as easy as he can manhandle you. OR the fact that you’re not scared of him in the slightest. He would never hurt you, but if he wanted, a single song would be enough to make you go crazy and drown in the ocean. You’re aware of that, you just don’t care. That’s what makes him go insane.

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs): Share you with someone. Although he doesn’t show it, Rafayel is extremely protective and can be very possessive depending on the situation. Letting someone else touch you turns him off completely.

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc): #01 pussy eater. Rafayel loves your pussy ok, leave him alone… Can totally cum untouched from just eating you out and is not embarrassed in the slightest. Actually really good at it too, like, 100% a muncher. Def tries to make you squirt on his tongue. As for receiving? Sure! It’s never unwelcomed. Just know that he will return the favor 10x better. ❤︎...¹ ❤︎...² ❤︎...³

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.): Rafayel can be both. There is no red and blue with him, there’s purple. Rafayel can’t stick to a single thing forever. During his heat, he’s rougher, manhandling you around and bending you in whatever position he judges comfortable in the moment. When he’s feeling needy and clingy, he’s gentle. Rolls his hips against yours slowly, kissing your neck sensually while praising you in lemurian.

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.): Not a big fan but he isn’t totally opposed to them. For Rafayel, sex is something intimate and he wants to take his time with you. He wants both of you to enjoy the moment with no rush. 

r = risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.): That depends on how far you two are going. Fingering you under the table at a banquet? Sure, why not. Getting a bit handsy and making out? Lovely. Actual sex? No. Not happening at all. Rafayel, even if he hides it, is a possessive creature. Your sounds and body are for his ears and eyes only. You’re his and he’s not up for sharing.

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…): Normally, he can go for two rounds before falling on top of you tiredly. In heat though? He is not stopping. His mind breaks but his body still wants and needs more. Doesn’t matter how many times he’s come already, his hips do not stop against yours until he thinks you’re full of his eggs.

t = toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?): Doesn’t own any but is not opposed to them. If you’re interested in trying it out and using them during sex, sure! He can work with that. Extra stimulation on your clit while his fingers are shoved on your cunt isn’t unwanted.

u = unfair (how much they like to tease): Now, is it really Rafayel if there’s no teasing? He is insufferable. He likes to see you work for it even though he knows damn well it’s him that will fold first in the end.

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make): Sorry, he’s not holding back. He needs you to know how good you make him feel. His range is insane, he’d be grunting in your ear and suddenly his moans turn high pitched and beautiful. Rafayel can get whiny, he complains, he’s petty, he mewls and in the next second he groans and curses in his mother language in pleasure.

w = wild card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice): I need to spread the virgin Rafayel agenda… He is a lemurian, he’s bound to you in a level that no human would ever understand. There are no “friends with benefits”, “situationship”, “hookup”, Rafayel has been waiting for you and only you. He doesn’t need it to be magical or perfect, he just needs it to be you.

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words): The prettiest cock you’ll see in your short human life. It’s genuinely nice to look at. Rafayel’s cock is pale, with the prettiest pink tip and cutest mole on the length that if you kiss, his knees buckle weakly and his head spins. It isn’t thick but it’s curved up and it drags deliciously inside you. I’d say #c7b2ab for the length and #d9a3a3 for the tip. In his human form, solid 6,7 inches (17 cm).

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?): Lemurians are creatures with many cycles. Rafayel has a high libido naturally, but during ebb day and his heat? He is trying to crawl under your skin. Ebb day makes him needy, sensitive and whiny, he just wants an effective way of cooling off. His heat quite literally makes him feral, he wants you and if you consent, you’re not leaving the water at all. At least not until it is over.

z = zzz (… how quickly they fall asleep afterward): Pretty quick. After he’s sure you two are clean, comfortable and satisfied, he’s hugging you close and burying his face in your neck sleepily. If you feel like it, you two can chat. Rafayel loves pillow talk. If you’re tired and wish to be quiet, then it’s time to nap.

caleb

a = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex): THE BEST. King of aftercare. Knows everything you want and attends to every one of your needs. You want water? There’s already a glass on your bedside table. You’re hungry? You want him to cook or do you want to order takeout? He’ll do it. You feel dirty? Let him run a bath for you- you get the idea.

b = body part (their favorite of theirs and their partner): In your body, definitely your ass. Always has been. Doesn’t matter what you are wearing, be it those old pj’s from your childhood, a new pair of undies, nothing at all, it all makes him feel like he’s gonna bust a nut on his pants.

He really likes his arms. Caleb has always worked out a lot since highschool and he’s really proud of how far he’s come. He likes how big they’re compared to yours, how he can manhandle you during sex and roughhousing, and how comfortable you look in his arms when you two hug.

c = cum (anything to do with cum): If you allow him to cum inside you, that’s all he’ll ever want to do. Caleb has a huge breeding kink, and the fact that you trust him enough to let him fill you up drives him mad. If you go down on him, he never lets you swallow it, he feels too bad to do so. Makes you spit on his hand and honestly thank god. It’s thick and slightly bitter but he cums so much you WILL choke. ❤︎...

d = dirty secret (a dirty secret of theirs): Sigh, is it really a dirty secret if you already caught him at least twice? Caleb’s interest in your underwear is pathetic. At this point he’s not even trying to hide it anymore, he’s just shamelessly going through your drawers to find that old and stained pair you forgot to throw away. Bonus point if you catch him sniffing them and complain about it. Secretly likes when you scream at him and say “Gross, Caleb!”. Also wishes you let him keep your undies on during sex, it really turns him on.

e = experience (how experienced are they): None. Caleb has never felt any attraction to anyone but you his whole life. For years he has been waiting for the right moment for both of you so, you’re his first and last.

f = favorite position: Backshots. He loves your ass. There’s nothing better than taking you from behind, a hand wrapped around your waist while the other smooths the skin of your back. Also really enjoys being inhumanely close to you, doesn’t matter the position. As long as you two are close, you, safely in his arms, he’s happy. ❤︎...¹  ❤︎...² ❤︎...³ ❤︎...⁴

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc): Caleb wishes that you only see his outgoing and playful persona, created just for you and the sexual aspect is not different. He likes to make you laugh at any and every moment. If you whine in pain because his cock is too big, he’ll blow a raspberry on your neck to distract you and make you giggle. He’ll tickle your waist if you talk back. Anything to make you smile.

h = hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.): It’s trimmed. Not all shaved and smooth but it isn’t unruly. Has the sliiiiightest happy trail peeking up his boxers. If it bothers you though, he’ll shave it in a minute.

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect…): Very romantic. At least he tries. Caleb wanted to be your prince charming, your knight in shining armor his whole life. Sex is one of the many ways he wants to prove he’s the best for you, that around him, you’re safe and can be yourself with no fear. He kisses you gently, whispering the sweetest words ever in your ear, massaging every sore spot in your body while wishing he’s worthy of your praise too.

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon): Yeah… During his teenage years, he jerked off a lot. Caleb had a high libido but could not have the only person he wanted so all he had was his fist. Nowadays, before and after you two got together, i still believe he jerks off alot since you two are still very far apart, you living in Linkon and him in Skyhaven, though he prefers coming to you rather than fucking his fist by himself.

k = kink (one or more of their kinks): As I mentioned previously, Caleb has a huge breeding kink. Part of it is because he genuinely wishes to start a family with you in the future but also because he feels so close to you this way. Loves to keep his cock plugged inside you for a while before actually pulling out. ❤︎...¹ ❤︎...²

His praise kink goes both ways. He’s always praising you for all of your achievements, not only sexually. Please praise him back, he’s trying his best for you, always. Tell him he is making you feel good, tell him you love him, that what he’s doing feels right. He might come on the spot.

Do I even have to mention his size kink… He is bigger than you. Caleb goes weak at the thought of being able to manhandle you into whatever position he wants you to be. And if he can press down on your tummy and feel his cock abusing your cunt? Ohhh yeah, yes he came. Don’t judge him. ❤︎...

l = location (favorite places to do the do): Caleb can only actually relax when he’s alone with you at your apartment or his. Preferably yours back in Linkon. He feels tense in Skyhaven and is always on alert. In Linkon though, he can let himself relax better knowing that you’re safer. Not a fan of kitchen sex specifically. That aside, anywhere is fine.

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going): You’re horny? So is he! Caleb has been waiting for you for years, saying he’s pent up is an understatement. Just say the words and he’s already looking at you with puppy dog eyes, waiting for an order.

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs): Anything related to impact play. No. He hates the thought of hurting you and finds no pleasure in such things.

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc): Zero skill, no experience, but he has a dream. Show him how you like it, ride his face, pull his hair, order him around, hell, sit on his face. He’s a quick learner once he sets his mind onto something. 100% a giver and doesn’t want you to go down on him because it’s too “degrading” and he feels bad. Please go down on him. He’ll complain and try to pull away but he comes SO quickly, cock twitching, grunting, knees buckling and all. ❤︎...

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.): … Rough. Listen, he doesn’t mean to be rough but he can’t help it. Your cunt makes Caleb malfunction, overheat and shut down. He’s dumbed down at the slightest clench around his cock and his hips have a mind of their own, snapping against yours harshly as he drools and kisses your shoulder in apology. 

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.): Actually likes them! You two are always very busy with your jobs and being distant from each other most of the time isn’t easy. To him, quickies are more about you than him. He wants to get you off so you feel at peace. He can rub one off later and you don’t have to concern your pretty head over it.

r = risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.): No. Caleb hates, hates, hates the thought of taking risks with you. He’d rather die than having you be seen in such an intimate way. As for experimenting, yes of course! Be open with him, tell him what you’re into, what you want to try… Your wish is his command.

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…): From the lack of experience, Caleb can last two rounds max before you tire him out. That does not mean he’ll leave you unsatisfied though. He still has his mouth and fingers ready to satiate you. ❤︎...¹ ❤︎...²

t = toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?): Absolutely not. Are you trying to get him killed? Caleb is jealous of anything that breathes the same air as you and you want him to accept the idea of having something else making you cum? Just shoot him already.

u = unfair (how much they like to tease): If anyone is being teased, it’s him. Although you two play fight a lot, Caleb isn’t one to be a tease during sex. He has been waiting, planning for this moment for years. Everything needs to be perfect. He can wait to get under your skin later.

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make): He tries so hard to be quiet… he wants to focus on your moans, your moans are the pretty ones, not his. Caleb holds back, bites his lip, hides his face on your nape but nothing can make him shut up. The moment he enters you, he’s moaning, huffing and grunting like an animal.

w = wild card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice): Caleb really enjoys all the attention you give him when he’s looking all scary and dominant in his colonel uniform. He knows you eye him hungrily when gets home, he won’t take the uniform off on purpose, he just waits to see how long it’ll take for you to fold and come sit on his lap, grinding your cunt on his clothed thigh. Won’t admit it but likes when you call him colonel, sir, mr. xia, etc.

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words): Alright mr. fat cock pack it up. It’s thick alright. I can totally picture him saying “biiiig stretch, pips” while shushing your whines. Thick base, thick and veiny length, fat tip. That’s what he's hiding in his boxers. 6,6 inches (~16,5cm) that stretch you out SO good, the veins drag inside you soooo nicely it feels like heaven. #a88479 for the length and #a66d5b for the tip.

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?): Oh boy, do I even need to say this? We are talking about THE yearner. Caleb’s super pent up and dare I say he has a pretty high libido. He is always stressed because of work and he has been waiting for you for years. The moment you consent, he’s fumbling with both his and your clothes. 

z = zzz (… how quickly they fall asleep afterward): He usually doesn't sleep after you two have sex. He’s too busy watching you sleep to do so. Caleb is only at peace if he is sure you’re safe and comfortable. Poor boy barely has time to catch his breath as he’s running around the apartment getting everything you might need and want so you don’t have to leave the bed. Tell him to relax, ask him to lie down with you, bury your face on his beefy chest and make sure he doesn’t leave the bed, he needs it.

⊹ ࣪reblogs are very much appreciated. thank you for reading!(*´▽`*)

[lordofdestructionm]

Did anyone else feel like Jax was trying to reach out more to the others in this episode?

Before Gangle freaks him out a little with the threat of a punishment he is his usual jerk self

Then he tries to have a very casual and relaxed conversation with Zooble about the situation. No sarcasm and no mean comments.

He tries to downplay the earlier threat, and seems to want them to agree with him that Caine wouldn't actually do anything that bad

Of course Zooble out of everyone in the group has the least patience for Jax so he doesn't get any reassurance from them

Then just before Gangle send him off for his employee training/Clockwork orange torture session, he responds to Gangle's manic behaviour with the comment "I like you better when your sad"

That could just be him being mean and saying that he likes it better when she's like that because its easier to pick on her and stops her standing up to him

But considering he always goes out of his way to break the Comedy Mask at every opportunity, it could be that he simply prefers when she is her authentic self, and not putting on some fake act (a lesson gangle herself seems to learn at the end when she rips off the new mask and smiles despite wearing the Tragedy mask)

Plus look at his face when he's saying it. He isn't grinning or making any other mocking expression, he just looks tired

Then when has encounters drunk Ragatha he asks her if she can move, despite the fact that he could easily walk over her with those long legs, and he does exactly that a moment later. Was he being polite? Or was he asking her literally if she could still move her body in the state she was in?

Either way he get another little blow when the nicest person in the group says outright she hates him

Then he tries to do with Pomni what he attempted with Zooble earlier, have a relaxed casual conversation about things without any signs of sarcasm of mean teasing.

Pomni herself is even taken aback and doesn't know what to make of it, suspecting probably that he is trying to trick her in some way. Again Jax's previous mean behaviour is now a barrier stopping him from connecting with the others even when he actually wants to

He makes one last effort to pretend everything is normal and get back to his usual persona, but the second he is out the door and out of sight of everyone, the frustration and despair are clear

When Gooseworx said that people who want to see Jax "get worse" will "enjoy what they have planned", maybe they didn't mean he would get more evil, maybe they meant his mental health would start sinking as the bully/prankster persona he hides behind starts to break down

Maybe he is starting to realize how isolated he is making himself