#i love both of them equally... love them so much...

[vasito-de-leche]

I love, LOVE your characterization of the Saja Boys, and while I know you’ve only written complete dating hcs for Baby and Abs, I was hoping if it was okay if I could request something with the Saja Boys (separately) where it follows the prompt “you're about to argue but you're so pretty that his brain short circuits”? If you don’t want to write for all of them, then maybe you could do Baby and Abs (separately)?

;KPOP DEMON HUNTERS SAJA BOYS - "Too Pretty"

Saja Boys (separate) x Reader 2.5k words silly, fluff Being a demon's soft spot has its benefits. Who would've thought?

i'm so glad you like the way I write them!! this prompt sounded so fun, I just had to try my hand at it, thank you!

this also served as a way for me to slowly figure out how I'd like to characterize the other members o7 I tried to keep the relationship vague enough to be read as whatever people want, so hope that comes across well enough. also also, dont let these dramatic edgy idols fool you, all drabbles end up being silly and cute

JINU

"Are you even listening, Jinu?"

He is, of course. But he'd rather not, especially when you're getting worked up over nothing; so much for escaping an endless cycle of torture in the underworld, he now has to deal with a brand new mess, pacing behind him like a madman. By now, you've probably noticed the monotonous and non-committal answers he's been giving on loop.

"Uh-huh," Jinu's eyes never stray from the notebook in front of him, attempting to come up with a better verse for an upcoming song. And he knows he's fucked up when he hears you groan, stomping towards him.

"Okay, okay. Maybe I stopped listening abooout ... five or ten minutes ago, who's counting, but--"

Your hand comes into view, fast as lighting, and he can only look as you snatch the notebook away from him. Great, awesome.

There goes the perfect verse in his head. He remains frozen for a moment, the hand holding a pen still hovering over the now empty spot on his desk until your voice reaches him once more.

"If you're not going to listen, at least tell me so I don't waste my time talking to you."

Jinu slouches in his seat, raising both hands to cover his face, before sliding them upwards to slick back his hair in a feeble attempt at regaining his composure. You can't even see him from this angle, his back turned to you, but he still rolls his eyes.

You want to argue? Get it out of your system? Fine, he can give you the fight you want.

In one swift motion, his position changes; now he's straddling the chair, a powerplay he's come to master after bickering with his own band for so long, eyes closed as he prepares to deliver a devastating comeback to rile you up. But when he looks up, the golden glow in his eyes wavers--you're standing so close in front of him, looking down at his seated form with your arms crossed, as if daring him to speak.

He doesn't, and you tilt forwards, hair cascading over him so that the only thing he can focus is your face in this one-sided glaring contest.

Jinu has seen you at your best and your worst, but this is the first time he's found himself at the other end of your undivided attention and anger. It is as intimidating as it is alluring. What are you doing to him? Is this allowed? His neck feels hot, his face feels hot. The room feels like it's on fire, but not the same type of hellfire he's grown used to; it's a different sort of warmth, equal parts shame and pleasure as he takes in the sight. His lips part without him noticing, whispering ever so gently.

"Pretty ..."

"What was that?" Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

"Shitty. I said you look. Shitty. As in, you look like shit. Being angry isn't doing you any favors, you know? You should get some rest, okay. Byeee."

Without giving you any time to react, Jinu fumbles over his words, trips over your furniture and he stumbles out of your apartment in a rush, almost breaking into a sprint for the elevator. It's only when the doors close that he allows himself to breathe in and out, finally noticing the extra passenger inside with him. His bird companion chirps smugly, and Jinu groans into his palms.

"I don't want to talk about it."

ROMANCE

"I didn't mean it like that!"

Romance scoffs at your words, still refusing to leave his room. All the heart shaped decorations seem to mock him as he leans his full weight against the door, easily preventing you from entering no matter how hard you try to rattle the doorknob.

Both of you find yourself at the edge of an argument, and the decision to escalate things lies solely on his hands. He knows this because he can practically hear the affection in your words, even as you whine and tell him to get over himself to talk to you, face to face. That alone is enough to make Romance's chest tighten--no matter how many times he does this, this game of push and pull, you still make sure to chase after him time and time again.

Surely you must be reaching your breaking point; nobody is strong enough to withstand this much heartbreak. Maybe if he tries a little harder, you'll realize that there's nothing good in a future with him.

All he has to do is stay silent and wait for you to leave.

"Then what did you mean?" His voice is whiny, it always is. But you always insist that you love that about him, the way he feels so deeply about everything.

"You really want to argue about something like this?" You're right, you usually are--he's making things difficult when he's not even officially yours. "Well, I don't. So you can call me once you've cooled off."

And just like that, it's quiet; there's no more pressure pushing against him from the other side of the door, no more cutesy nicknames and attempts at coercing him out. Romance's heart drops, and he practically claws his way out, torn between cursing you out for proving him right and leaving, or begging you to take him back and sort everything out as if he hadn't been the one to start this. He's taken only a single step out of the threshold of his sanctuary when your smile greets him--you're leaning casually against the door frame, pretending to inspect your nails.

"So, are you done brooding all by yourself, handsome?"

That playful grin renders Romance speechless; the contrast of your casual attitude against his frenzied panic is impossible to ignore, he's gone through all five stages of grief in under a minute while your trust in him never wavered. Absence truly makes the heart grow fonder because there's a glint in your eyes that tugs at his heartstrings, wild strands of hair that he'd love to twirl in his fingers and kiss ever so gently. Romance knows that you'll let him if he asks for permission, and a knot forms in his throat, face flushed bright pink.

"No." It's all he manages to squeak out before closing the door once more.

"Rommie! Are you mad at me or not?!"

"I don't??? Know??? I need a moment! Just stay there!"

ABBY

"That's the last time I take you anywhere. You can't just pick a fight like that, Abby!" Abby sinks even deeper into the plush cushions of the couch as you continue to scold him, as if his sulking and his silence could single-handedly help him win this argument.

He's already found himself a comfortable spot, but you're still fussing about the living room, throwing your shoes to the side, sending your jacket flying onto the backrest of the sofa, pausing to drink and slamming the glass on the counter a little harder than necessary. Abby knows better than to try and stop you, so he stays put, waiting for his opening.

"What if anyone saw? Did you even think about that? The amount of trouble you'd be in?"

Those are all very good questions that he never bothered to consider; in fact, he still refuses to think about the consequences. There's no point in doing so when you managed to pull him away before he could do any damage to anyone, or to his own reputation as an idol.

"Like they'd even care," Abby huffs, trying to blow a strand of hair out of his eyes. "Just catching a glimpse of us outside is enough to make everyone turn a blind eye, it's almost too easy to work the crowd. One flex of these guns and any broken noses will be totally forgotten."

He makes an attempt to flex said guns, but he finds you looming over him from behind the couch, your grasp on his wrists as steady as death. There is a wild look in your expression, one he can't quite understand, but he finds it impossible to tear his eyes away from you. Getting to play the part of guard dog for you comes as easy as breathing, Abby can't get enough of the little tells that give you away, letting him know that you enjoy his antics--but it never crossed his mind that the tables could be reversed like this.

"Fine, let me put it this way! What if you got in trouble or worse, what if you got hurt? Ever thought of that one? Just because you're an all mighty demon doesn't mean you're--"

"You're hot when you're mad." He blurts out.

"I--What?"

A chance to rectify his mistake is presented to him, and he immediately pivots away from it when you blink your pretty eyes at him in confusion. "I said that you're hot when you're--"

"I heard you the first time, Abby. It's just--were you listening to what I was saying?" Okay, this is his chance to steer the conversation back on track. It's very easy, he just has to--

"If I say no, will you scold me some more?"

"Oh my God. Abby. Nevermind."

MYSTERY

Arguing with you is a rare occurrence.

But so is speaking to you, or engaging in any sort of conversation at all with anyone. This is one of the many perks that came with his role as the cool, mysterious and aloof member of the Saja Boys; anything he didn't feel like addressing could be easily swept under the rug and left ignored for centuries. This had been Mystery's modus operandi for years, and he wasn't planning on changing it any time soon.

You, on the other hand, were the opposite, filling the silence he often sought so desperately, until your voice became background noise in his life, a constant, confusing and somewhat comforting presence that simply followed him around.

Mystery still remembers the first time he deigned himself to reply, something off-handed that didn't matter at all, and yet you clung to his every word and went the extra mile to include him in your one-sided talks. It took a long time for the demon to get used to this, and an even longer time to acknowledge the fact that he enjoys the sound of your laughter, way better than the miserable voices crawling in the back of his mind.

Which is why the claustrophobic and oppressive silence lingering in the room irks him to no end. You're supposed to be talking, not playing hard to get or ignoring him over a stupid argument; the way you brush past him, barely acknowledging his existence as you go about your day is getting under his skin in ways he never knew were possible.

And then, for a fleeting second, you meet his gaze--this moment lasts for an eternity in his eyes, and he opens his mouth to speak, to seize the opportunity and break the ice, but before he can get a single word out, you turn around and begin to scroll through your phone. That's the last straw.

Mystery stands up and forces himself into your peripheral, hands firmly planted on the wall, trapping you in.

For the first time in forever, he wants to scream, to bark, to growl and give you a piece of his mind. But when he sees the way you awkwardly avoid his gaze, fiddling with your hands and standing at your tiptoes, Mystery relents and his frustration is replaced with something else; endearment. You're still wearing his merch, one of the very first shirts the Saja Boys released long ago with his name written on it, you're still attempting to hide from him despite knowing there's nowhere in the world you could go without him finding you.

Slowly, Mystery raises a hand towards you, enjoying your half-hearted attempt at shaking him off, pretending to bite the air near him.

And then he pinches your nose. "Cute."

After that, he leaves. You'll come around when you feel like it.

BABY

"You went too far this time, there was no need to get so personal back there."

"That's the entire point of dissing someone, duh. So, was it good? Did you like it?" Baby kicks his feet, hands cupping his cheeks to make himself look as innocent as possible. "I didn't know I could rhyme that many words with 'cunt' but it was soooo fun! Right, right?"

"Baby!"

Tsk. Guess it's the hard way today. That cute expression quickly turns into a scowl and he makes a bee-line for the fridge, if only to find something to drink and distract himself with.

He blows bubbles into the silly straw, sulking in the kitchen. "What? They got what they deserved. What kind of idiot would challenge me to a rap battle if they can't take the heat? Hellooooo, it's Baby Saja we're talking about."

"But it was a friendly thing, you turned it into a massacre for no reason."

"Heh," he knows he shouldn't, but he snickers to himself anyway. "Guess I did, huh? What, do you wanna have a go in their place?"

This is how Baby likes to play, to earn a reaction and entertain himself if only for a little--but you always know better than to play into his shenanigans. And you also know how to get a message through his thick skull, something that continues to astonish him to this day.

Baby continues to sip away on his drink as you busy yourself, fully believing himself to be the victor of this round. But dread starts to make its presence known deep in his chest as he sees you slowly gathering your things--this isn't how things usually go, you always stay the night at his place to keep him company, watching horrible romcoms, eating snacks and falling asleep at 5 a.m.

So why were you leaving?

"Hey, hey. Woaaah! Are you really going to ditch me because I got a little mean to some rando? That's so unfair." The look you give him is enough for his act to crumble, and Baby groans dramatically before hurrying to your side, tugging onto the hem of your sleeves. "Stay here! Pleeeeeeaase? I'll behave next time!"

It doesn't work; you pinch his cheeks and pull, stretching them like mochi. Your voice is stern, even after you let go. "You're old enough to know that what you have to say is 'sorry,' Baby. But if you want to beg for forgiveness, you'll have to try a little harder than that."

Shit. So much for being unfair, the tone of your voice and that look in your eye are more than enough to get all the thoughts in his mind twisted up--Baby hates when you don't indulge him, but even he has to admit that he loves that stubborn streak in you.

"What? Cat got your tongue? I know you well enough by now, there's no way you have nothing to say."

You never waver, meeting his eyes with the same intensity, running a hand through your hair. Baby's mouth turns into a fine line, followed by a pout. If he says anything right now, he'll most likely end up digging his own grave. You look SUPER hot right now, is that good enough to make up and get you to stay? Something like that would most likely earn him the silent treatment for a week.

"Sssssssorry ..."

"See, that wasn't so hard, was it--"

"...for being soooo damn good at my job. Like it's my fault?"

"I'll see you tomorrow Baby."

"Aw, c'mon!"

[what-username-where]

I still have never started a relationship without being asked out BY someone, and then not believing them until they repeatedly tell me that yes they ARE actually serious

and then I spend the entire time thinking oh god oh fuck when is the other shoe gonna drop when are they gonna start laughing at me for being so gullible to believe they actually liked me and reveal this was all an elaborate prank the entire time or that they just found me useful enough to put up with and play along so I'd keep doing things for them

Which unfortunately the only people who ever asked me out were a pedo, an entitled manipulative self centered emotional abuser, and a wildly out of control mentally ill asshole

All of whom I got incredibly attached to and planned on marrying and building my entire life around because at least having someone to indulge my highly romantic sappy touchy self would be better than just yearning from the sidelines my whole life and watching other people get things I'd dreamed about being able to have but never thought would actually be possible for me

because there was something innately wrong with me that other people saw but I didn't and no matter how hard I tried I couldn't fix it or even identify the problem

so I had to give up everything I possibly could give in order to make myself worth putting up with for other people and if I didn't I would spend the rest of my life isolated and alone because no one would want to be around me unless I was of sufficient benefit and service to them

Needless to say none of my exes helped that feeling at all

I still struggle deeply with it and have slowly come to accept that my friends are here because they genuinely enjoy me

but I still have the intense problems around romance and romantic relationships and feeling like the only way I'll ever have something close to what I want is by doing it myself quite literally and relying on my system for it

which while being amazing and wonderful and I love my system so much it still has some things that are physically impossible to do and thus leaves me with a longing just the same, whether that's a longing for another body for them to inhabit or longing for another person to be romantically interested in me both of which feel equally impossible

because no other person could possibly want to be anything romantic with me without either not knowing what they're getting into and later wanting to back out or wanting to take advantage of me because they know I'll stick around serving them a feast if they toss a breadcrumb my way once in a while

Which no amount of logic and comforting and repeating positive phrases and reassuring myself "I don't need a romantic relationship to be fulfilled as a person and that's a really toxic attitude to have" has ever really made go away despite my best efforts and years of therapy both professional and self guided

Man if you did that bullshit as a kid where you fake asked someone out to embarrass them or said your friend liked them I hope that shit haunts you somewhere inside now. I hope you know that never leaves the person you did that too. I've been out of school for 8 blessed fucking years and I still do not believe people when they say they like me or are attracted to me. Doing that shit straight up makes you a bad person. You completely destroy someone's ability to perceive themselves as loveable.

[hellowoolf]

something, somehow, someday

chapter 4: close to you | prev | next | series masterlist

series summary: you know you will love satoru for the rest of your life, but when you wake with his cursed energy in your navel there is no option but to flee. what future is there for a child of a god? at 18 satoru is without you, and you make off with a piece of him you hoped he'd never meet.

pairing: secret baby daddy!gojo x reader

tags: secret child trope, angst (lots), eventual fluff, eventual smut, hurt/comfort, a lot of yearning :P, chapter specific: SMUT, unprotected piv, creampie (sorry), fingering,

a/n: thank you guys for your responses on the poll! this one is more than double the average length of the other chapters (~8k) and i plan to keep that convention from here on out. i hope you enjoy this one >:)

18+! minors dni <3

~~~~~~~

it is a funny feeling, YOU find, making your life new with a thing so familiar. to open your door so often and find satoru standing there, letting him bring food and splaying himself on your couch, walking with him in the heavy mist at dusk, it fills your lungs like smoke, the nostalgia thick and cloying. you remember all of it, it comes back to you embalmed.  

but the differences between now and your time together in high school demand your attention in equal measure. your son, for one: though it’s impossible to find the sight of him with his father unnatural given how obvious their relation is. with their backs turned they move the same, too, something between them irrevocably tied. you had forgotten the way satoru wrought blades of grass between his fingers when he laid in it until you had to clean both their palms of chlorophyll.

nonetheless your affection for satoru is much more hulking a thing than it ever was, supplanted by the tangible aftermath of the ways you used to love him. when takara lets him pick him up, grips to his collar as satoru balances him on his hip, you are defenseless. the softest parts of you win out. 

still, neither you nor satoru make any attempt to name the arrangement you’ve come upon. he is resolutely your child’s father and has stepped into that role with grace, and there are artifacts of your intimacy—his hand on your lower back, brushing your hair from your shoulder blades, an almost kiss, once—but mostly you let the joy of your child consume your time. 

and it shouldn’t bother you. you remember feeling so certain in high school that letting him fuck you was enough, that to love him quietly was a privilege. you suppose you still mostly believe that. but there are moments when takara is asleep and satoru lingers in your kitchen, and the want flares bright then. you are at a loss watching him leave with that look on his face, like he’s afraid you’ll ask him to stay and terrified you’ll let him leave. you sometimes wait a moment before locking the door behind him.

jujutsu tech stands like a graveyard around you, so full of memory the buildings almost sag. you haven’t been back here since the night takara came to you.

“oi!” satoru bellows from across the courtyard, hand high and wagging. 

takara holds a grip on your pant leg, one blue eye peeking out. you feel him loosen a little when he sees his dad, and then refasten when megumi and tsumiki emerge behind him. 

when satoru first suggested you both come to meet them you had hesitated. you were honest; there was something final about this last introduction. there would be nothing else left for each of you to keep separate from the other, your lives entirely reconnected. satoru had laughed at you in that way that makes your heart turn, and that sound was all it took for you—weak to him—to agree.

satoru comes rushing to takara, scooping him from behind you and holding him to his side. takara screeches, half afraid and half delighted. tsumiki walks to you without hesitation, little hand held out for you to shake. 

“it’s nice to meet you,” she says. her smile is soft, a little secret, but you can tell she is pleased with herself for her manners. you smile back.

“it’s nice to meet you, too.” 

she looks up at takara in satoru’s arms and waves. takara is frozen, too shy to move, so satoru takes his chubby wrist and waves it a little. tsumiki giggles. “they’re like twins.”

you lean in a little conspiratorially. “i know. i carried him for nine months and have nothing to show for it.”

she giggles behind her hand before turning to her brother. “don’t be rude,” she admonishes.

megumi cannot hear her, it seems. he’s watching takara paw at satoru’s shirt, turning in his hold as gojo points to the various buildings to explain what they are. to himself, or maybe to you, megumi whispers: “it’s so freaky.”

tsumiki scoffs lightly and goes to elbow him but you can only laugh again, louder this time. he may not be related to satoru but he was certainly raised by him. “you are exactly as satoru described,” you admit.

megumi furrows his brows and crosses his arms. yes, so furious, satoru had said once. “how exactly did he describe me?”

“as a little shit,” satoru offers, one palm now cupped over takara’s ear. megumi’s mouth falls open a moment before making a fist with each hand and bringing them in front of him. satoru only rolls his eyes and uses his knee to knock his arms out of place. megumi practically growls something about i’m really gonna do it someday and tsumiki taunts back at him: you’re such a liar!

oh, but that look on satoru’s face, he is so pleased. his eyes squint with it, you can almost see the satisfied breathing of his cursed energy, satoru is happy. it makes you beam at him and his breath catches when he sees it. 

takara wriggles out of his grip and stations himself at your legs again, but doesn’t hide this time. tsumiki is completely enamored, cooing again, “hi, takara!”

takara sucks in a little breath. “hello.”

tsumiki claps her hands together and looks up at you and gojo. “can we show him around? please?”

“what is there to show?” satoru asks.

“the training room, our old bedrooms, the koi fish—”

your eyes widen. satoru’s gaze flits to you, frantic, and you smirk, the tiniest thing. the koi fish? you mouth. satoru’s cheeks flush pink as he shakes his head slightly, but the damage is done, he knows. tsumiki is still listing menial places across campus.

you squeeze takara’s shoulder. “what do you think, bubba?” he looks at you, owlish, and then at tsumiki, before nodding. she takes his hand with a pleased squeal and the three putter off together.

satoru stands boyish before you as you straighten again. he tends to keep his blindfold off around takara—whether to keep from frightening him or for a more profound reason you don’t know—but he is bared to you without it. he knows exactly what you’ll say, lifting a hand as he turns and starts towards his office: “don’t.”

you skip to catch up with him. “oh, no, i think i have to.”

“i’m just a friend to nature.”

you howl. “you’re just as dishonest as you always were.”

he doesn’t dignify that with a response, pushing into his office and letting you inside. the walls are a dark wood, mostly bare save for the few bookshelves bloated with old novels and records and manila folders. a handful of pens scatter across the desk, like he’d needed to finish a sentence urgently before standing. there’s a record player on the windowsill, fuzzy with dust but clean in places around the arm. it looks like he’d used it recently for the first time in years. most of all it smells like him, mint and cedar and sugar, and you almost double over sick with it. 

satoru settles into his chair as you trace a finger along the spines of his books, his eyes igniting your back but you refuse to turn, you want him to watch. “you’ve done a great job with them,” you admit.

“you think so?”

you just barely twist your head over your shoulder to show him the sincerity on your face. “of course i do.”

he runs a hand through his hair. “they seem to like takara.”

you turn fully now to lean your back on the shelf. “everyone likes takara.”

he chuckles, fond. “yeah, i guess so.”

the sounds of this place are so startlingly the same, you think. the serenity is strange and charged, but nonetheless campus was always quiet enough to hear the wind through the leaves. you hear it now as you flip through mission files and reports: special grade, special grade, grade one, special grade, suguru geto. you put them down.

“is it weird to be back?”

you nod, gesturing around the room. “i’ll admit i was hoping for more of a welcome. is nobody else here?”

“yeah, i asked them to give us the afternoon so takara wouldn’t be overwhelmed for his first time.”

you pout, mainly to bare your lip to him but there is truth in it, too. “nobody wanted to see me?”

satoru shakes his head. “i wanted you all to myself,” he admits. and it’s teasing, easy, he says it like it doesn’t cost him anything, but you know he is like you: he almost never says something he doesn’t mean.

“how did they react when you told them?”

“that i have a son? kept a secret by his villainous mother?”

your eyes narrow but you’re grinning as you respond: “yeah.”

he cocks his head and kisses his teeth. “yaga said he was disappointed in you.”

“for leaving?”

“no, for letting me…” he smiles, wolfish for a second before it fades into something friendlier, “for giving me the opportunity.” you laugh, a bark of a sound, halfway humiliated. you nod him on. “and shoko was the one who found you, so, there wasn’t anyone else to tell.”

your hand finds your arm and you squeeze your bicep once, twice, swallowing around the tragedy in his confession: that all the people you used to know here are gone somehow. you hadn’t visited haibara’s grave since you left; nanami helped you lug a stone out by the stream and you grew flowers around the base, yellow pansies and red carnations. you remember kento pointing to them in a flower language book so you could conjure them properly, remember the promise you made not to tell a soul what they meant. 

the memory must show on your face, because satoru says then, “i still water those flowers you made by haibara’s grave.”

you smile at him, watery and real. you add on, “and feed my fish,” and he laughs like a surrender. 

you move to the record player just behind him and he swivels his chair to follow you. something seizes in your belly at the feeling of him scrutinizing you, the weight of his looking a leaden thing against your skin. you thumb through the few vinyls resting in the window before stopping on one. the words stick to your teeth like honey but you spit them as best you can: “this is mine.”

you hear satoru stand and look over your shoulder. frank sinatra’s close to you: the sleeve is long stained and yellowed, waterlogged in one corner, but the record inside is pristine. 

you remember the first time your grandmother taught you how to play her gramophone. her hands guided your smaller ones across the pavilion, down to the plateau; it was old and rusted, even then, something she’d bought second hand as a girl. but she had collected hundreds of records, they made piles throughout her home, and every afternoon you selected one to play. close to you was her gift to you when you entered jujutsu tech.

of course, you never had a record player. all three years it sat unused on your desk, a remembrance, still smelling like the tatami from her living room. she had told you once that sinatra taught her how to speak english, which you mostly believed; her english vowels opened with the syrup of the american east-coast, and she held each word a moment too long, like it took a great deal of effort not to sing them. 

you run your knuckles along the sleeve, feeling the still-familiar places where the gloss has faded and the paper catches. you hardly notice how close to your back satoru has drifted until he reaches around you to remove the record and situate it on the player. you freeze, his looming figure warm around you, his arms brushing your shoulders as he fiddles with the tone arm. you hope he can’t feel your heartbeat through your spine, but it rushes so deafening in your ears you cannot discern either way.

it could happen to you crackles to life from the speaker and you feel like you’ve been swallowed by space, on the cusp of a wrinkle. you wonder whether time has really suspended around you or if it’s only this, this song and this man at your back. your breathing is uneven and satoru does not step back, head craned a little to bring his chin closer to your shoulder. 

slowly, almost self-consciously, he braces each hand on the sides of the windowsill, keeping you surrounded. 

“it’s been so long since i’ve heard this song,” you whisper. the melody chimes and swings around the violin and you cannot help but tilt your head back a little into satoru’s chest, overcome with the ghost of the music as it hangs above you. satoru lets your weight lean slightly into him, unmoving.

“i hope it’s okay that i took it.” his voice rumbles through your bones before you hear it. you nod and it scrapes against his sternum. the friction stirs something in him, you think, because then he’s bringing a hand to your stomach, fingers long and splayed across your entire torso, and he rests his cheek fully on the back of your head. it would almost look like you were dancing if you began to move, but neither of you seem willing to risk it.

“do you ever wonder what it would have been like?”

you don’t need him to clarify. “all the time,” you confess. the sun moves behind the clouds outside, and you catch a moment of the both of you in the reflection. 

his hand tightens around your middle, holding you against him. the song threatens to end but he keeps his arm banded around you. “are we friends now?”

you laugh softly. “i honestly don’t know.”

he nods before bringing his other hand to your chin. he spreads the pads of his fingers, feeling the shape of your jaw, looking for something, for you. “would you let me kiss you, if i asked?”

“yes,” you say, but it comes out more breathless than you intend. your thighs press together and you’re sure he notices with how his hips cage you in, but he only hums, removing the hand around your chin. 

“it’s a bad idea,” he breathes, but still his nose brushes at the juncture of your neck and your shoulder. you shudder and nod. it is. 

and despite how badly you want him, you do not turn and demand it. it’s so precarious now, and with satoru in takara’s orbit you cannot run again, a chain fastened from your rib to his. you know fucking him would be a reckless idea now, but god, he presses one, slow kiss to the bared skin of your shoulder and your body remembers him. his hips press just slightly further into your ass as he sighs onto the same spot, his breath cooling the heat of his lips where they branded you, his cock alive and right there. but the both of you know it: you are cowards. he untangles himself, and you let him sit back in his chair before moving.

~~~~~~~

SATORU is certain now; you are going to kill him. his grave will be beautiful, he thinks, flowery and green and alive with your energy, but his autopsy will have your name all over it, your lipstick.

he supposes, for his part, that much of your proximity is his fault. a stronger man wouldn’t have stayed in your apartment past takara’s waking hours, used his hands to guide you on the sidewalk, held your hips to his cock in his office windowsill earlier today. and satoru has lived a life of self restraint, has been a shackled man to his own whipping post, but he has found himself helpless to the feeling of your body on his skin.

he had been so irreparably hurt when he saw you in the park that day, or at least it had felt that way at the time. something grew in him then, a tumor with teeth, and he was certain it could never feel the same with you as it once had, that he would withhold something precious from you forever in some lasting spiteful act of defiance. and nevermind the fact that even hours later he moved to hold you, could barely restrain the instinct to kiss you again, was never even angry: for about 24 hours, satoru was sure that he would never be in love with you again.

but even the sharp canines of that wound have dulled with weeks of your presence. the smell of you on your couch when he lays on it, the afternoon scenery of you playing with takara in the park curtained by your vines, your laugh in his office, by your door, in his head. you are an apparition haunting him, one he can touch, and it’s killing him. 

and he knows he should not pursue anything with you. he knows you know this, too. your nebulous reconnection is unsteady at best—a strange amalgam of your old intimacy and the people you’ve become—and access to takara is too important to him to risk. and neither of you would say this, but the fact of your leaving in high school remains a reminder that at any moment you are capable of disappearing again. it’s something satoru always loved about you, actually. you make your own life wherever you step. what a beautiful thing you are. 

he feels ridiculous for thinking of you as often as he does. but how could he not? he visits at least daily to spend time with his son and you are always there, a vision. he sees you in takara, too, his little love. when he tries to explain how to use limitless, takara bears down into himself, thinking to the point of exhaustion. he has gotten that from you, satoru knows.

but it wasn’t a conscious thought that satoru has begun falling back into love with you—or, really, that he has plummeted into the well of it—until today, seeing you laugh with megumi . tsumiki had pointed at you from behind your back: she’s so pretty! and he had nodded without thought, proud as if you were his to boast for. and then, your teasing voice nipping at his heels as he brought you to his office, he realized that he was yours. he should have known some time in the thousand minutes he’s spent feeding your koi.

the smell of your cooking wafts into your living room as he reads to takara on his lap. you’re humming that song from earlier, it could happen to you, and the domesticity makes him beam like an idiot. yes, he thinks, that’s about the most succinct way to put it; he is an idiot for you. takara points to the page and reads a sentence himself.

“yes!” satoru encourages.

“don’t yell,” takara says, patting satoru’s leg as though he’d worked himself up.

“yessir.”

“come in to eat!” you call from the kitchen. takara scrambles to the sound of your voice and satoru is no better. the three of you settle to the table, takara’s legs dangling in his chair, and satoru knows he shouldn’t but he presses his foot to yours under the table. you give him a look, fleeting and knowing, but you don’t move. takara eats exactly the way you do, and satoru wonders whether you’ve noticed.

“what time do you go into work tomorrow?”

“i’m opening, actually, so i’ll head to the cafe early,” you grumble. “i’ll take my lunch break at 8 to take takara to preschool.” 

satoru shakes his head. “i don’t have any missions until the afternoon. why don’t i take him?”

“i don’t have an extra key for you.”

“he could sleep over,” takara offers, barely looking up from his food. you look startled by the suggestion, at first, and satoru is sure he looks much the same, but when the shock subsides he cannot help the little grin that tugs his lips up. you cock your head minutely, but he’s known you long enough to know you mean: don’t push it. 

“bubba, there isn’t enough space,” you explain. 

you had told satoru early on that you started in a one bedroom, fixed a nursery in most of it and fit yourself on a twin bed in the corner. when the owner of the cafe retired, though, she had let you have the place. you made enough now to scrape by with two bedrooms; satoru remembers how dignified you were to recount the whole thing, how hard it was not to kiss you when you smiled in your own self-satisfaction. 

“why can’t he sleep in your room?” takara asks. satoru smiles bigger, nudges your foot under the table. 

“because he…can’t.” you’re becoming flustered now and it only thrills him more.

“i really would like to take him,” he offers, though the sincerity is cut with the sound of his smirk.

you run your hands over your face, mumble out a little groan that softens into a hum at the end, but still your foot doesn’t move away from the press of satoru’s under the shadow of the kitchen table. 

“don’t you need to get home to megumi and tsumiki?”

satoru is beaming like he’s already won. he has. “they have a sitter.”

your head tips back as you say, mostly to the ceiling, “fine. but you’re sleeping on the couch.”

and truthfully he doesn’t mind much at all. he is voracious for more time with takara, for more time in your space, for benign moments you might take for granted. he wants to brush his son’s teeth at night and fix his hair in the morning. he taps your foot one more time: thank you. and you nod, almost imperceptibly: you’re welcome. 

~~~~~~~

as much as YOU might have resisted it, there really was about an hour or so when letting satoru sleep on your couch seemed like a good idea. it felt, if you can admit it, easy, the both of you moving around one another as the evening twilight overtook the windows. and it was so plain to see on takara’s face that he was pleased, too, to have you both here. sitting on the edge of his bed together as you tucked him in, watching his first few moments of sleep, made space for a new sort of intimacy. when satoru reached for your hand in the dark you did not pull away.

of course, you regret it now. maybe you’ll regret it forever. by the time you’re brushing your teeth you know you have made an error of cosmic proportions. some time between settling blankets on the couch and joining you in the bathroom satoru had unbuttoned most of his shirt and removed his belt, sidling next to you at the sink with the spare toothbrush you gave him like you weren’t a moment from dropping dead on the counter. you’re too afraid to look at yourself in the mirror; you already know your cheeks are red, that he can feel the rush of your blood in your jugular from inches away. 

“you seem uptight,” he says, though it comes out foamy around the toothpaste in his mouth.

“i’m not used to having people over.” you can’t look anywhere but the porcelain of the sink, too petrified of what you’d say if you looked at him in full. you remember this afternoon in his office and shift on your weight a little.

“you don’t have a lot of sleepovers?” he asks through a grin.

you’re so focused on not making eye contact with him in the mirror that you answer him honestly. “i don’t have any.”

you hear his toothbrush stop. he spits in the sink before leaning on it to face you. “what do you mean you don’t have any?”

you take a deep breath before turning. god he’s so pretty, even more stunning like this, a little unspooled. “what do you want me to say? i’ve never had anyone else to take care of takara. it’s not like i can…” you don’t even know how to end that sentence.

the teasing look leaks from satoru’s face slowly. he asks you with more earnestness than you think you can stand: “have you not had sex since high school?”

it’s not even fully out of his mouth before you’re pushing past him and out of the bathroom but he is relentless behind you—he always was—and you feel him an inch from your back as you walk towards your bedroom door.

“wait a second—”

“satoru, i’m not talking about this with you.”

“no, but i’m being serious.”

“so am i!” you turn at your door and try not to shudder at how close he is. his eyes glow in the low light, a man made of comets.

“i just,” he huffs a little, “i feel bad, i guess.”

“what?”

“well you—you’ve been taking care of takara alone all this time and you haven’t gotten…you haven’t gotten to do—”

“satoru, i don’t need your pity about my sex life, okay?”

“but that’s my point! it’s not just about your sex life, it’s—it’s everything.” he ruffles the back of his head, almost embarrassed, you think. “i feel bad that you’ve been alone all this time.”

you kick your heel against the door behind you to ground yourself. “it’s my fault, isn’t it?” and it comes out a little small, more pathetic than you’ve ever heard yourself. satoru buckles with it.

“baby,” he starts, and you think his hand flexes to reach for you, but you put your palm on his chest to keep him in place. he hasn’t meant to call you that, you know, the endearment from years ago clawing back, finding purchase on his tongue. his heart murmurs like a bird behind his shirt.

“listen, i—i don’t need you to pity me for a decision i made. especially because i don’t regret any of it.”

he breathes out quick, almost angry, but you know not at you. before either of you can stop him, he holds your wrist to keep your hand on him, thumbs your pulse on one side. he does this a lot, you think. you wonder if he knows that you can feel his heartbeat, too, through the pads of his fingers. and there’s a moment, among the sounds of your breathing and the creak of the floorboards under his feet, when you think it is all over, that you’ll let him kiss you against your door. earlier today you felt like a coward for denying him, but that self-flagellation has waned. no, it takes a great deal of courage now to press your hand more firmly into him, to not rise onto your toes and suck at the skin under his jaw.

“goodnight, satoru,” you whisper, and shut yourself into your bedroom before you lose your resolve.

the night is cruel to you. it feels very much like sleeping with a black hole in your living room; you cannot ignore the thought of him draped over your sofa, body too long to fit comfortably. even with your eyes closed you can feel him from a room away. 

you toss under the covers, try to at least become entangled enough in your sheets that you cannot rise from your bed to check on him. you hope he’s fallen asleep by now, that you’re the only one left in this apartment awake.

being alone in the dark gives you more time to think, more time to resolve a decision you cannot yet name. you have been so insistent that to become ensnared again by satoru’s pull would be a mistake, let him leave you at the windowsill, stiff armed him at your door. you wonder whether any of it matters in light of the fact that you are utterly in love with him. of how much consequence could the physical distinction be now? in truth, you can’t tell whether you are freeing yourself from an obsolete stipulation or looking for any reason to abandon it.

in the blue midnight streaking through your curtains you can admit to yourself that a part of you, the fleshy part that wants for things, is simply too afraid that you need satoru more than he needs you, and to reconcile that is a task too treacherous to ask of yourself. what of the moment when, slick with sweat and the smell of sex, you move to kiss him again and he turns away? it’s all hypothetical, of course, but still it plagues you like a memory. and you suppose you have no reason to fear it at all; he has made clear enough that he wants you. 

it almost feels ridiculous to pine so excruciatingly over the father of your child. you’ve already done all of this before, no less as a teenager, and somehow now, a self-actualized adult, you hesitate and turn your knees in. you flip onto your other side with a huff. you’re only in a tanktop and shorts but you feel like you’re suffocating, or worse: something from inside of you is threatening to come loose.

you wonder whether he’s waiting for you in your living room. what a horrific thing to wonder. 

you creak open your door slowly and pad out.

it looks like satoru has given up on sleeping already. he’s sat upright, head tipped over the back of the couch and legs spread, an arm hanging over his eyes. you know he can hear you—you think he might have heard the moment you decided to come out—but he waits for you to address him.

“satoru,” you whisper. at last, he lifts his head, eyes sleepy but undeniably pleased to see you. he pats the spot next to him on the couch as he assesses your mild state of undress and you settle there, facing him. “i can’t sleep.”

he shakes his head. “i can’t either.” though he doesn’t look all that displeased, certainly not as he bends over to collect your legs and drape them over his lap. you let him. you let him drag one enormous hand up your bare leg, too, and he stops just below the knee but still you watch as goosebumps follow his fingers. your body is traitorous but you can’t find it in you to mind.

“when did we get so weird, huh?” he asks you.

“how do you mean?” “sometimes it feels like it used to feel,” he thinks about how you may take that a moment longer, “when we used to be friends.” you nod slowly. “sometimes it feels like i don’t know you at all.” 

honesty looks so pretty on his face. his eyes are slightly narrowed but they’re no less auroral, his lips slightly swollen on the bottom as he bites them between breaths. he points at your nose. “and sometimes, you make that face at me, and i—fuck i mean what am i supposed to do with that?”

you scrunch your nose. “what face am i making?”

“i mean you look—jesus, i don’t know.” he runs a hand through his hair, mussing it further, before continuing, “i just wish you wouldn’t keep thinking in your head.”

you can’t help but laugh softly, bumping your foot into his stomach. “where else am i supposed to think?”

he flails at the sound of your giggle but his lips turn up. “i don’t know! i just spend so much more time now wondering what’s going on in your head. i want to know.” and then, to devastate you further, you imagine, he adds: “you used to tell me.”

you slide a little further into the couch, lay more of your legs’ weight on his lap. he lets his hands drift up to your kneecaps now. “okay, satoru,” you relent. “what do you want to know?”

“you’ll tell me anything?”

“i suppose that’s what i’m offering, yeah.”

he grins. “okay…” he taps his finger on his chin and you snort. “are you still afraid of me being in takara’s life?”

“a little. i’m afraid for both of you. but he…he loves you now, i think. ultimately i’m glad he can know you.”

“what about in your life?”

“what about it?”

“are you glad i’m in your life again?”

you smile, wry. “i think so. even though you torment me and make me spill my secrets.”

he puffs his chest and tugs your legs further into him. you’re almost in his lap, a few inches from it, but whether you notice is a question he decides not to ask. “do you still trust me the way you used to?”

“yes.” you do.

“do you still like me as much?”

“in what way?”

“all of them.”

“you’re greedy,” you whisper.

something punches from satoru’s lungs but you cannot discern what comes out. he says only: “yes, i am. answer me.” 

with a defeated breath you shrug. “yes.” 

his hands have both stalled on your knees, each thumb an omen breaching the threshold of your thigh. your skin twitches, you think, but you can’t look away from his face. he looks like he’s released one foot over the edge of some decision, you can see one teetering moment in the air, and then the resolve sets in.

“do you know how much i still want you?”

your heart kicks. “no,” you confess.

his hands remember themselves again, gripping up your legs higher, higher, now with purpose as they swing around his hips and move you to his lap. straddling him you can feel how hard he is already and you’re certain he can feel your wetness through your shorts, the slick is humiliating and so much. you whine a little and it comes out through your nose. his cock twitches.

“not today in my office?” his right hand cups the back of your neck. “not an hour ago?” your chest rises and falls, stumbling over itself. “you don’t know?”

and you have no faith in your voice now so you only shake your head as much as his hold will allow. he presses his hips into you just once, a fleeting indulgence you’re unsure if he even intended, but you whine again and it looks like it hurts him. 

“let me show you, baby,” he coos, but it’s desperate, too, a prayer into your lips as he brushes his nose against yours. “just one more time.”

you haven’t even finished nodding before you’re kissing him, both of you groaning into the other at the sheer relief of the feeling, his hands grabbing for anything he can reach: around your back, your tit, the globes of your ass to grind you down against him. the fabric of your shorts catches on your clit as it swells and you moan something awful in the back of your throat.

he kisses you like all six years apart demand it, like he can feel how long it’s been in the truest sense, like all at once the wanting has frayed his nerves and your lips cauterize the veins. he bites your lip to make you gasp, taking the opportunity to lick into your mouth as it opens.

you grind your clit onto him again, rubbing little circles on his tip through your clothes and he pants with the pressure. 

“satoru,” you whine, and he ruts up, harder.

“oh, say my name like that again,” he pleads, lips trailing down from your lips to your neck. his tongue streaks hot against your skin, sucking and biting and grinding you onto him like his cock is inside you already.

“satoru,” you repeat, and it comes out clearer without his tongue on yours but just barely. 

“fuck.” he rips your tank top off before attaching to you again, leaving hickies in the hollow of your throat, down over each breast, before taking a nipple into his mouth and laving his tongue there.

your moans almost come out like hums, all strung together, and he preens at the sound of them. you can feel the damp spot on his pants growing as you spread your slick, each wet kiss on your chest demanding a new wave from you. 

“i don’t even need to prep you, do i? you’re already so f–fucking wet,” and he punctuates it with a gyration of his hips that would have made you scream had he not clamped a palm over your mouth. 

you’re almost deaf with the rushing sound of blood in your ears but still you crane to hear him, each filthy utterance a precious thing you covet as he ruts up into you. if you were in your right mind you might find it funny that the experience of dry humping him feels so profound but as it is you can think only of the feeling of his veins through two layers of fabric.

despite how he may have goaded at you he brings one hand down your navel and under your shorts, feeling through your folds and spreading the honey of you further. your mouth is fully dropped open but his hand is large enough to cover it.

“oh, baby—yeah, that’s it, grind on it—you’re dripping for me.” he says it in that pleased way that makes him sound like an animal. you roll your hips onto the pads of his fingers and pleasure shoots up your spine at the rub of them on your clit, around your entrance. he circles his middle finger once before sinking it in and you keen. he holds you still with his other arm, nose pressed to your ear now as he whispers in it.

“f—fuck this pussy is so fucking tight.”

your hole flutters and sucks his digit in and he revels in the grip as he fucks you on it slowly. you try to bounce yourself faster but he squeezes your middle again, bites your pulse as it bumps in your neck. he murmurs there: “let it last,” using his hold to swivel your hips on his hand. your nails grip to his shoulders, surely making marks through his shirt but he lets you, frenetic and buzzing like he gains as much from touching you as you do.

the heel of his palm presses up onto your nub and you bow into him further, and he takes the movement to press another finger alongside the first. something searing and hungry licks up your spine, you’re close already, but there’s no indignity in it. you tug on his hair to bring his face to yours again, pulling back from the hand clamped over your mouth to lick behind his teeth, moaning into his mouth. “cum for me baby, come on,” he encourages.

your eyes squeeze shut as you come undone, heat spasming around his fingers as you soak him to the wrist. “fuck, f–fuck, that’s it,” he curses, mainly to himself, you think. you’re only half-lucid as you come down but you feel him pull his fingers from you and lick them clean, groaning softly around them.

“fuck me, satoru, please.”

his hair doesn’t move as he nods, stuck now to his forehead damp with sweat. neither of you have the patience to remove anything else, simply tugging your shorts to the side and his cock from his pants before you’re dripping right over it. his tip catches on your entrance and you both go half-boneless with the feeling.

when you sink onto him you feel a little like you did in his office earlier in the day. like time has stopped, or maybe like it has all arrived at your fingertips, like you’re everywhere. you remember this feeling, a little bit, but it’s also undeniably new. the stretch burns but you hardly feel it, taking no time before sitting on him to the hilt. your head drops to his shoulder, little pants into his neck, and he lets out a shaky breath.

“fuck you’re so fucking tight, baby, this pussy was made for me,” he chokes into your ear. you each have a handful of the other between your fingers, the lines of your palms tattooing him even through his uniform he still has mostly on. you hope his brand you the same.

all it takes is one, slow pull of your hips before he’s rutting up into you again, not so much ruthless as intense, deep and pregnant with meaning and so precise you wonder whether he’s using his six eyes to assess the inside of you. with one hand he holds your face to his ear to consume your moaning that way. you whine and when he shudders, bucking harder, you whine again.

“o–oh, these sounds are mine, this pussy is mine,” he stutters. the squelch of your cunt sucking him in seems to only encourage him, and you make yourself wetter just hearing it.

“it’s so good, satoru,” you whine.

he laughs softly, manic, “yeah?”

and you only wail quietly again. with each snap of his hips you thrust yourself down, clit throbbing and catching on the little white scratch of his pubic hair, and his other hand, still handled on the plush of your ass, rubs you harder as you move. you vaguely hear your little ah! ah! ah! but mostly you can feel the pleasure building again, can feel the vein down the underside of his cock as you wring him harder.

“hah–i won’t–fuck–i won’t last if you keep squeezing me, baby.”

you only feel encouraged, sliding deeper, revelling more in the slip of your slick as it floods out of you.

“ah–-i’m close, i’m close,” you breathe.

“fuck yeah, i wanna feel you cum on my cock, let go for me.”

and you do. have you ever really denied him? your mouth drops open in a silent scream as your hips buck wildly, the pleasure seizing you from the inside out. satoru moans feeling you ride your high, panting into your ear, “tell me to pull out.”

you shake your head, little smile creeping over your face as he fucks you through your high. “isn’t the damage already done?” you ask breathlessly.

and he can only laugh for a second before his hips stutter and still, pulling you into him like he wants to crawl inside of you and live in your stomach

“fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.”

his cum is so hot as it fills you, and so much, your own orgasm jolting you again, exulting in the feeling. 

he drops his forehead to your shoulder now, sweat of your collarbone meeting the beads on his hairline. the sounds of your breathing mix, too; your cum and your hands and your warmth, all of it intertwined with his, maybe forever. he kisses you one more time, sated now, along a hickey he’d left on your neck before. you return one to the corner of his mouth.

he doesn’t say anything when he sits up straight again, supporting the wings of your shoulders with his hands. there is only that look on his face, a cousin to the one you saw the first day he found you and takara, but so recognizably relieved this time: everything is different now.

~~~~~~~

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[venusbyline]

Out of Love (1/4)

— summary: Everyone talks about how Aegon the Conqueror married one sister out of duty and the other one out of desire. Unlike his ancestor, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon wants to marry both his aunt and his cousin out of love.

— pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Targtower!reader x Baela Targaryen

— type: smut

— chapter's warnings: female!reader, Targcest (nephew/aunt & cousin/cousin), threesome FFM (female/female/male), throuple, corruption kink, vaginal sex, doggy style position, oral sex (female receiving), cunnilingus, fingering, scissoring/tribadism, creampie, overstimulation, secret relationship, cuddling & snuggling, aftercare, dom!Jacaerys, sub!reader, dom!Baela, reader is Alicent's second daughter, mild hurt/comfort, kinda fluff too, canon divergence (No The Dance of the Dragons), porn with plot. no use of y/n, english is not my first language.

— author's notes¹: I'm not a Jacela shipper, but I had the idea for this shortfic yesterday. So... I'm writing for them hahaah btw, don't worry cuz this story wouldn't be a love triangle, the characters are a throuple, the three of them love each other equally, they just have different dynamics between them.

— author's notes²: Out of Love is a mini series involving Targcest, throuple and forbidden love.

— author's notes³: Each chapter will contain its own trigger warnings.

— author's notes⁴: If you want to be tagged for the next chapters, tell me!!! <3 <3

❥ Jacaerys masterlist • HOTD masterlist

❥ about me • main masterlist

You were on Jacaerys' bed for the third time that week, enjoying the carnal pleasures that he and his betrothed were willing to teach you.

Ever since Rhaenyra succeeded to the Iron Throne and the entire family was forced to get closer, you had become almost inseparable from your nephews and cousins — which had deeply irritated your mother and your brother Aemond, although you did not mind so much, because at least you could have some true friends.

Surprisingly, both the crown prince and Baela showed an intense interest in you, something that was wrong — at least in the eyes of the Seven —. You tried to resist at first, denying their advances and saying that you were saving yourself for a future marriage.

All that resistance fell apart when you caught them having sex during a random afternoon. The sight of Baela riding on Jacaerys' cock, her breasts bouncing right in front of his face as he grabbed her hips to help her move even faster... It was too much for you, and you did not even try to hide your accidental presence there.

After that day, the couple dedicated themselves to showing you a lot of sexual things that could be pleasurable for you and would not take your maidenhead — since you were afraid that you would not get a propitious betrothal if you were not a virgin anymore.

On that night in question, Baela was eating you out and Jacaerys was fucking her from behind at the same time.

"Mmm, that feels so good..." Baela moaned when Jacaerys fucked hard inside her, hitting that most sensitive spot.

"So fucking good..." Jacaerys grabbed her hips for more intense thrusts, growling when she shook her ass to tease him. His attention turned to you as he saw you squeezing your own breasts and enjoying Baela's full lips sucking on your clit. "Is Baela making you feel good, sweetheart?"

You opened the eyes and stared at Jacaerys behind his betrothed, who was between your spread legs. "Yeah, baby... It feels so good." The sweet, trembling praise made Baela chuckle, sending a tingle through your bundle of nerves.

Speeding up his movements, Jacaerys slapped Baela's ass once, tilting his body down so he could grab her curly, white hair and push her a little further against your cunt.

Baela gasped in pleasure, because of the rough thrusts and the sweet taste of your juices soaking her face. Sensing that Jacaerys was close to the high, she wiggled her ass again against his groin and increased the stimulation on his cock.

"B-Baela... Shit, love, I am going to cum," Jacaerys' moan sounded like a whimper and he almost felt ashamed of himself. However, despite his desire to cum on your breasts or your face, he remembered about the same fetish shared by the three of you. Then he grabbed both of Baela's buttocks one last time before spilling his seed inside her tight cunt.

The princess hummed at the delightful feeling of Jacaerys' cock throbbing and filling her insides with dense, warm spurts.

The poor boy barely had time to recover, pulling himself out and lying on the other side of the bed, his head aching a little bit from the pleasure. He looked at his seed dripping from Baela's entrance, giving a weak smile and taking a deep breath at the sight of her purplish inner lips.

Lying there, Jacaerys rested while Baela sat up, only to fit her legs over yours right away. A whine escaped your lips at the sticky sensation of Baela's cunt on you, Jacaerys' cum making everything slippery.

She held one of your legs to keep them wide open, lips parted and brow furrowed, a clear demonstration of how aroused you were making her feel. One of your hands went up to her breast, the soft weight in your palm sending shivers down both of yours.

"Baela..."

"I am close too, darling..." She whispered, biting the lower lip as she heard your needy whimper. Rolling her hips back and forth, Baela arched her head back, moaning loudly when your two clits rubbed against each other.

The chambers filled with the wet sounds of your cunts and the ones of pleasure as you both reached the climax. The pace of Baela's hips stuttered, but she kept moving them so she could prolong her high, stopping only when she heard your whimper and realized that you were already too overstimulated.

"She will have to go back to her private chambers in a few hours..." Baela whispered, stroking your silver hair while you slept snuggled against Jacaerys' sweaty chest.

The crown prince clenched his jaw, looking at your sleepy form. You seemed so serene like that, together with them, resting after experiencing one more hint of the pleasure they were capable of giving you. It was not fair that you had to sneak out of there and leave them so soon.

It was not fair that you had to leave them.

Noticing the silence of her cousin, Baela gossiped with a tense tone: "Rumors are running through King's Landing. You know... They are about the fact Alicent is probably considering a betrothal between her and Daeron."

There was no surprise on Jacaerys's face, but rather anger. He knew about the rumors and he also knew that you had plenty of suitors from other Houses, all of them interested in a political alliance. You were beautiful, young, fertile and with your maidenhead intact, besides being a Targaryen princess. Any single lord in his right mind would try to have a chance.

That did not make the situation any easier to overcome. "I do not want this to happen. And I know very well that you do not want that either."

Baela remained quiet for a few moments, her heart warming seeing you and Jacaerys cuddling in his bed, the after-sex smell making her aroused for the second time in that night — though she was not going to say anything about it, considering everyone was exhausted and Jacaerys were quite tense, just like herself.

The last thing Baela and Jacaerys wanted was to have to end whatever was going on between the three of you someday. The idea of you marrying someone, really falling in love with your future husband, or at least being forced to be faithful to him panicked them...

They wanted you. They needed you. They loved you too much to let you move on any time soon.

“I could try to convince my mother and then marry both of you,” Baela raised an eyebrow at Jacaerys’ words, clearly not shocked by the prince’s impulsive decision. He seemed to realize that too, because he immediately frowned, all frustrated. "Do not give me that look, love. I would not be the first Targaryen man to do something like that. Aegon the Conqueror married both of his sisters. Maegor the Cruel had six wives."

"Well, that is the problem. One of them was a conqueror and the other one was a tyrant. It's not like the people of Westeros would accept something like that these days," She did not add the fact that he being considered a bastard by the Realm was already enough of an obstacle that his legitimacy as heir might be challenged at some point. He understood what she thought without her even having to say it, though he did not want to admit that she was right. "Being the next king and queen does not give us the freedom to have our every wish granted, Jace."

Jacaerys sighed, too tense for his own good, closing his eyes and trying hard to keep the mind free of melancholy or angry thoughts. Just as he was about to fall asleep, Baela drew his attention back. "However, we can at least try."

[sacrificiallane]

﹙𝒯he cut that always bleeds 𓂃 PERCY JACKSON

about can be read on it's own or as a part two of the other woman | cw angst. hurt and comfort. mention of blood and injuries ! a little crying, mean!Percy. messy. not proofread

A simple game of capture the flag was … equally dangerous as it was exciting, to put mildly. And you loved it, didn't you ? Like many of the other campers, you chased the adrenaline. Given to you by your godly parent and manifested in the way you couldn’t sit still ― restless, like your body craved the danger, and your fingers itched to curl around a sword.

And, with Athenas wit on your side / your team ― in the form of one Annabeth Chase ― you could almost feel the win.

Despite not really liking the girl ( in spite of your own jealousy ) you could admit that the young daughter of Athena was simply a force to be reckoned with.

It also granted you a first time of being on the opposite team of your ( now ) boyfriend ― Percy Jackson ! The thought of being 'enemies' made you giddy. You were thrilled ( practically buzzing ) to finally see him from a different perspective. The boy was simply a menace in this game ! As smart as he was dense sometimes, there was no denying that Percy was a sharp thinker on the 'battlefield' and relentless with riptide, his sword.

Oh, your stomach bubbled with excitement at the thought of what would possibly come after you win. How Percy would be proud of you, no doubt. I mean, he was the one to train with you, to better your agility. Well, 'training' as in stealing kisses and giggling whenever either of you ( mostly you ) would fall right on their butt. Yeah, 'training' as in him trying to make you feel better after you confided about your anxiety regarding his awfully close friendship with Annabeth ( also his ex ... ).

Nevertheless ( and however silly it was ) it had still been ... training. And it certainly wasn't for nothing !

Your fingers were tightly clenched around the secured blue colored flag of your enemies team, and you were almost at the river ! Children of Hermes were gradually inching closer, hot on your tail and eagerly slashing around with swords meant to impale you. Not that it was allowed or anything... but that's honestly what it felt like ! You wouldn't even be surprised if one of them were to throw their sword at you like a battle axe, all in the simple favor of winning.

The trail through the woods was rocky and uneven, and twigs and bushes kept unkindly smacking you in the face. Your breath was shaky, instincts screaming at you like this wasn't just a simple camp's game anymore ! This felt like it was life or death. Not that anybody would die, of course, but your mind could no longer decipher your anxiety to disappoint, from a very intense fight or flight response ! But, it also made you quicker, seeing as you were swiftly dodging pokes and swishes aimed at your arms and legs...

And as your win was just so close .... you should've known that it wouldn't be that easy.

The adrenaline was pumping, and you could hardly feel the burn in your legs anymore. Sounds were mostly drowned by the blood rushing through your ears, the wind, the screams ― literal battle cries of fellow demigods. It only made you more determined to win ! The rush was addictive and in your mind you kept repeating ; Over the river, just over the river.

Then ...

A body collided with yours ― and the forest floor ( more like a water park by how slippery the mud was ) did barely anything to stop you from practically rolling down a little hill and further from the lake. Much like a ragdoll, your body slammed into a tree, hardly feathered by both of your palms bracing against the bark. It had the skin of your palms crack open and bleed as you only came to a halt between twigs and such ... but all was good as long as your head didn't smack against the wood !

The person that had so confidently breached through the woods had not been so lucky, and came tumbling down beside you on hard stone. Groans were heard from both you and the other camper, and you hastily wiped your eyes free of some dirt.

You immediately caught sight of Annabeth Chase, her blonde hair now a mess of mud and blood … the sticky substance caking her forehead and making it hard to see just how badly she was actually hurt. "Shit ! You okay !?" You then noticed that the flag was no longer in your posession, and ― even worse ― Annabeth wasn't answering you. Her eyes were wide and open, fingers reaching for the open wound. She seemed dazed ... shocked even.

Apparently she didn't even think of possibly running right into you. Not like that, anyway. Like, … falling down a hill type of running right into you.

You tried reaching for her arm ...

" Annabe ― " " Annabeth !? "

The sheer volume of your boyfriend's voice had you automatically flinch away from the young daughter of Athena, her own head turning around at the sound of Percy Jackson bounding through thick trees and brushes ― parting the greenery with his sword while mindlessly shoving other people out of the way. You heard her wince.

The sight of him made you feel like you could finally breathe again ! "Percy... " But his expression wasn't soft or caring. No, the son of Poseidon looked about ready to impale someone.

It wasn’t the first time someone had gotten hurt during a capture the flag game, nor would it be the last. Neither of you were made of glass ― and especially Annabeth Chase, couldn’t care less about her injury. But Percy cared. Very much so that he was seething... and his glare was openly directed at you ! Impatient, as though you'd done something he was already familiar with.

His sea green eyes looked like rain ... and somehow, the small speck of blue wasn't comforting anymore. Then came the storm...

"Are you Insane ?" the sharp tone had you physically reel back. Never... Never has he spoken to you like that. Especially in front of other people..., you felt like digging a hole right the moment a chorus of 'oh' went through the other campers. Insane ? Ouch.

Adrenaline was making it hard to talk, and so your explanation came in a hassle of stutteriung and stumbling over words. You swallowed thickly, took a deep breath and tried again, but Percy just wouldn't listen to you. No, Percy turned to Annabeth instead. With a gentle hand, he brushed some hair out of her face to try and see better. Watching him tend to her, you just wanted to explain.

"I'm not Insane i just ― " "No ? Do you always jump downhill with someones ex-girlfriend ?" A wince went through the crowd and you felt ... shame, hurt. He's never reffered to Anni as anything but his best friend. Even so, you didn't understand why he was being so harsh to you when ... Percy clearly didn't even know what had happened. It was like the sheer prospect of Annabeth Chase being hurt, was reason enough to be angry, even at you.

It just got worse when Annabeth gave you a sympathetic look, hand clasped over his wrist to soothe him "Percy ..." You felt like screaming, because it worked. Because of course he could never be angry at Annabeth. You watched with a lump in your throat when his gaze softened for her ― only ever for her.

He didn’t even look at you again ― not like they normally would, in a room, on a battlefield, or even a crowd. His focus was solely on Annabeth ― his best friend ― her fingers clenched and bloody and her eyes narrowed because she hated losing ! But far worse than that ... she was currently a middle piece of a relationship that seemed to be falling apart over her.

Apparently the game had already been over, cleared by no other than him.

"Blue won, wise girl," you heard him mutter, his hand tighteing around her arm when she wouldn't meet his gaze. Her Athena pride made it hard to admit defeat. "Let me get you to the infirmary."

So, when Percy tugged on her arm again, she ― reluctantly ― relented. Her head was throbbing and maybe ... she also hoped that getting herself treated would calm him down a little. Enough to think clearly again and realize what a shitty boyfriend he was being, throwing things out of proportion like this.

When you saw them both move, you tried to scramble to your legs as well, eager to go with them... to explain to your boyfriend how this was all just a big misunderstanding ! Not that having him belief such nonsense in the firts place ( you hauling yourself down a hill with his best friend just for the sake of ... hurting her ) hurt any less. Your anxiety was skyrocketing, feeling many eyes on you when Percy disregarded you like ... a stranger.

"I didn't mean ..." You muttered, on the verge of a teary apologie.

"Yeah, bet you didn't mean to be so excessively jealous ."

Okay, ouch again. It was harsh to hear because it was true, but still didn't give him any right to use your flaws against you ! Flaws you'd reluctantly confided to him after being coaxed to open up, under the wrong impression that it was safe with him. That you were safe with him. Your gaze turned to the mud as all words were said and Percy left with Annabeth. Only then did you get a moment to really breathe... your whole body ached ( Heart included ) as you were completely caked in dirt. Pebbles were sticking to your open palms and knees.

One son of Apollo ― a sweet boy by the name of Will Solace ― had the heart to help you up and accompany you to the infirmary. The both of you didn't speak much as he got to treating your wounds... and you were glad to be in quiet company. But, your eyes kept glancing to the far back of the hut... of where your boyfriend was sticking close to Annabeth, making inside jokes about past injuries that you quite didn't understand. That you would never understand. It was honestly just disheartening to see, and so Will Solace did feel the need to say at least something.

"You know, the two of them have been through a lot together. Far worse things than any other demigod could ever understand," now that got your attention, alright, and still... it didn't really boost your spirit. You felt the need to scoff, and only held it in because you knew he didn't tell you this to hurt your feelings, but to make you understand their bond a little better. Still, it didn't hurt any less, and you briefly wondered why Annabeth and Percy broke up. Right here, they seemed almost perfect for each other.

You quietley appreciated Will's insight, but didn't comment any further. When the sweet boy was done with dressing your bruised knees and open palms, you thanked him, and left with one square of Ambrosia. Through all of that Percy didn't even look at you, didnt even realize that you were there in the infirmary with them...

You were almost sure that at dinner, you'd hear whispers of your name, feel plenty of eyes on your back..., surely the whole situation was already being eagerly discussed, and you seriously didn't want to sit at any table and very possibly be reffered to as 'the jealous girlfriend'. Even so, your team was obviously annoyed about their loss at capture the flag. Even if it really wasn't that deep, teenagers just liked to complain a lot. Especially demigods, it seemed. And so, you simply just didn't make it to dinner and instead found yourself at cabin three. The Poseidon cabin.

And you felt so utterly dumb for seeking comfort in your boyfriends bed, but being surrounded by his scent was awfully comforting. Maybe it was sheer desperation and a pinch of hope ...., but how disppointing it really was, when the one thing that had hurt you was also the only thing mending it...

His bed was also the place Percy found you after having Annabeth shoo him out of the Infirmary. In fact, she was also the one talking ( smacking ) some sense into the demigod ! Of course he was aware that he had done something terrible by ... initially not caring about your feelings, or that you were physically hurt too. The latter he only knew because Will told him ( with an expression so dark, Percy briefly wondered if children of Apollo could evaporate someone ... like a supernova or something ) It wasn't hard to admit that he'd been ... unfair, harsh, just a terrible boyfriend to you basically.

And so when Percy Jackson made it to his cabin and saw you in his bed, seemingly seeking comfort from the person ( him ) that had treated you terribly, he knew that he didn't deserve you. His heart ached and suddenly he didn't feel so strong anymore. Right now he was just a boy, trying to navigate human life, as though he'd forgotten that side of him existed too...

A very defeated "Hey..." fell over his lips, and the young boy couldn't help but cringe at his greeting. 'Hey' ? 'Hey' as in 'Hey i just broke your heart but we're cool, right ?' or maybe 'Hey, i just made the whole camp think you're a jealous beast, let's cuddle' Oh Gods, he was an asshole, wasn't he ? The very type of person he despised. But, Percy wasn't good at apologies. It was really the first time in forever that he felt weak. And he was so unsure if it was okay to move any closer... if it would even be okay to ever move closer again. You must hate him, he was sure…

You were a heap of fabric, completely cocooned in his bedsheets like you were trying to shield yourself from the world. His fault, really. And if Percy felt weak, he wondered how you must be feeling. Shitty, probably. Like everyone was against you when it was really just him. The one person that ... really shouldn’t be against you. You were the person he loved ! How had he even mustered the will to hurt you like this. He felt sick. Utterly and terribly sick.

"Will said you were here ..." No immediate reaction, and the son of Poseidon immediately panicked. Because what if you would never speak to him again ! What if you were going to break up with him now ! Oh Gods ...

But then ... the heap of fabric moved a alittle bit, nothing more than the top of your head peaking out and ... "Is Anni okay ?" Oh, you... Percy wanted to cry when you asked about her. He nodded slightly, not that you could see, "I ... Yeah, yeah she's fine ..."

The clam conversation between you both felt like an invitation to move closer, and so Percy settled next to you ... even if you still wouldn't face him. He felt like an intruder inside his own cabin... , his gaze flickering over your bundled form ... noticing the bruised knees ... the bandaged hands. He wasn't even there with you when you went to the infirmary. He felt like he'd failed you.

"Do... do you need anything for the uhm... the pain ? I..."

"They gave me Ambrosia..."

"Oh." Of course. What an Idiot for thinking otherwise.

He sighed when the conversation died down again, "Are... are you okay?" Oh, and Percy just couldn't take this distance anymore. With a gentle hand, he turned your face towards him. His expression immediately fell at the sight of your tear streaked face. "Oh sweetheart ..." Even now, you were crying... despite him being here and talking to you and... it was even worse that he hadn't even noticed it.

"I am really sorry ..." His voice cracked slightly at the end, and it was clear that he was on the very verge of tears as well. He didn't know how to fix this ! He had to briefly look away from your sad gaze, as he had to gather his thoughts. He wiped a hand under his eyes, sniffled slightly and just tried again. What else could he do now.

"You know i didn't mean what i said." That was hardly a question, was it? And when you didn't answer, Percy realized how harsh that just sounded. How pretentious. It didn't sound like an apology at all. It sounded like an excuse. And so the only option was to tr again.

The son of Poseidon took another deep breath, his hands cupping your jaw with a honest gaze, "I didn't mean what i said earlier. I was shocked at seeing Annabeth hurt again, i guess," he swallowed thickly. "I love you so , so much ... and I'm trying to be good to you, I'm really trying. And i know that you are too, sweet girl. It was unfair to say that you're not..."

Emotions welled up inside of you and your wall of blankets began to shake in harsh little motions... you were crying again, only harder. Percy couldn't just do nothing anymore. He moved in quick strides , practically crawling under his blanket so that he could properly wrap his arms around you. "Please don't cry again..." his face found solace in your neck, inhaling the familiar scent and calming his own racing heart. "I'm really sorry, i'll do better..."

"I don't hate you..." You said, and your boyfriend heard you very clearly. He only held you closer, "I know..." He prayed to the gods that this wasn't it ... this couldn't be it. "I should hate you. But i... i can't..." You sounded so terribly vulnerable. His lips gently grazed your forehead, and he exhaled at your defeated admission. Percy momentarily closed his eyes.

"I know," he rasped "and it makes the luckiest boy that you can't manage to."

And if holding you was all you wanted right now, then Percy could do that. It wasn't his first time being in love, but his first time loving you. He wasn't quite good at it yet, but that was okay, right ? You could both still learn how to properly love eachother, because there was still a whole lifetime before you.

im not made to write long fics you guys. neither am i made to write angst ... ( lemme know did anyone cry ?) does this ending even count as happy ending idk ?? it‘s late over here and i‘m honestly just happy it‘s out and about. not proofread, though, of course. i hope it does the first one justice 🥲 pls be nice, i‘m sensible

[pamelaiscrying]

KENAN YILDIZ FANFIC

Summary: kenan had agreed to score a goal but you would have to give him one night to spend alone.

Warning: phone sex, cursing, actual sex scenes, plot with porn.

——

With kenan nothing was ever certain.

Not what you were. Not what you were becoming.

The whole thing felt like a twisted little game—equal parts desire and defiance—and both of you were absolutely complicit.

“So…” his voice dropped, lazy and laced with heat. “If I score… you’ll let me fuck you, right?”

Your eyes rolled, but a smirk tugged at your lips. Thank god the camera was off—he didn’t need to see how much you were enjoying this.

It had been a while since you two last sexted, and this teasing rhythm, this obscene distance flirting, was your shared addiction.

You’d only met once, barely brushed lips against lips, it was a type of kiss that 10 year olds give to each other, yet somehow spent countless nights detailing everything you’d do to each other.

“Yes, baby…”

The word made you cringe as it slid off your tongue—not because you weren’t capable of being soft, but because with Kenan?

Romance didn’t belong here. You weren’t sweet. You were sharp.

With him, it was raw, charged, territorial. Every exchange a power play.

Your cousin’s voice echoed in your head: “Men, no matter how cold or cocky, love being coddled. Call them baby or love, and watch them melt—watch them beg.”

She wasn’t wrong. You’d seen Kenan crack under less.

“But only if you score,” you purred, then twisted the knife. “Because lately… you’ve been disappointing me. Slacking. And I hope it’s not because you’re busy fucking some random bitch in Milan.”

That shift in tone—saccharine to venomous—hit him right in the groin.

He could feel his cock stiffen under the sheets. God, you knew exactly how to work him.

It was that unpredictability, the thrill of not knowing whether you’d call him your prince or curse him out like he was nothing.

His breath hitched on the line.

“You jealous?” he asked, voice low.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you said, tone ice and honey. “But I like my toys loyal.”

There was a beat of silence, then the sound of his sheets rustling. You could picture it: Kenan lying in bed, one hand already wrapped around his cock, the other clutching the phone like it might shatter from the tension.

“You wanna hear what you do to me?” he asked, breath warm with a threat.

“I’m listening.”

“Right now?” he growled. “I’m so fucking hard. I’ve had this tension since the last time we called… thinking about how you’d sound when I fuck your throat. I’ve been replaying it in my head. Over and over. You gagging around my cock like a good girl, tears on your cheeks, nails on my thighs.”

Your breath caught. Your hand slipped down, lazy at first.

“You miss my voice that bad?” you asked, voice thicker now, throat dry.

“You’ve got no fucking idea. I can’t even jerk off properly anymore. I tried the other night, I swear—palm tight, eyes closed—and it didn’t work. I needed you to say it. Tell me how you’d take me.”

Your fingers slid under your waistband, heat blooming as you teased your own skin. “What do you want me to say, Kenan?”

“Tell me what you’re wearing.”

You smirked, breath catching.

“Nothing.”

A low, guttural sound escaped him. “Fuck.”

“Go on then,” you said, sweet and smug. “Stroke it. I wanna hear how wet I make you.”

You heard it clearly: the slick movement of his fist working his cock. Slow. Steady. Then faster.

“You’d be on your knees if you were here. Mouth open, tongue out. You’d let me fuck your throat until you couldn’t speak.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t let you come,” you teased, fingers now moving in tight circles. “Maybe I’d edge you until you cried for it. Like a good little boy.”

He moaned. Raw. Helpless.

“I’d grab your hair,” he groaned. “Force my cock so deep in your mouth you’d feel it in your stomach. You’d drool all over me, choking on it, and I wouldn’t stop. Not until you came. Not until I see that look in your eyes—fucked-out and ruined.”

You let out a broken sigh, back arching. Your fingers slick now, hips moving without thought.

“Fuck, Kenan—talk dirtier.”

“I wanna bend you over a hotel sink. Rip your panties. No teasing. Just slide my cock into you and pound you hard enough that you can’t walk straight the next day.”

“You’d break me.”

“Good.”

There was panting now. The line blurred between his ragged breathing and yours. Two animals. Obsessed. Distant. Desperate.

“I’m gonna come,” you whispered.

“Do it,” he growled. “Come for me. Fucking moan for me. Let me hear how ruined you are.”

Your body snapped. Heat flooded you. Your hand froze and pressed hard against the wave crashing through your stomach.

“Kenan—fuck—”

He moaned at the sound of your orgasm, the broken whimpers, the way you gasped his name like it was a prayer and a curse. And then you heard it—his own sharp groan, followed by the messy silence of satisfaction.

For a moment, nothing but breath and static.

Then his voice again. Soft. Dangerous.

“You're coming to the game.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve already booked it,” he said. “Ticket. Hotel. You’ll be front row. After I score, I’ll fuck you just like I promised. No more games.”

Your heart thudded.

He chuckled, dark and victorious.

“I’m done imagining. I want you under me for real this time. Milan’s waiting, baby.”

//

“I am never promising anything again.” you murmured as low as you could to your best friend Leah who barely could make any of what you were saying.

“I jokingly said it once- just messing with him-teasing while he was outside- that i would fuck him if he scored as Juventus has been shit lately and he actually made it true, not only that but my fucking dad has to attend the fucking game because Tudor fucking invites him too”

“Awww that’s so sweet father-daughter duo attending the game of the guy she talks often to get her horny off”

You gritt your teeth together with your friend who was joking with your pain, humor was her way of coping with anything.

“Fuck you.” you sighed running your hand through your hair “What am i gonna do?”

“Well, if he wins—you fuck him at night. You’ve got that separate room booked, and your dad won’t be anywhere near. If he doesn’t… don’t fucking him—wait, no, actually do it again. He’ll be heartbroken, and men fuck like animals when they’re pissed. Plus, he’s hot as hell.”

Before you could even answer, your dad knocked on the door, asking if you were ready to leave for the front-row VIP seats that they couldn’t wait. You felt your heart beat and sighed/

“Fuck me i have to leave- gonna keep u updated.”

“hope you get laid!”.

“Shut up- YES DAD IM COMING!”.

//

The match had barely started when Kenan broke through the defense like a predator, driving the ball hard and fast into the net. Goal.

As the stadium exploded in cheers, the camera caught him—eyes locking onto you in the VIP section, unwavering, intense. His hand rose slowly, fingers curling into that unmistakable flick of the wrist—his private signal meant only for you.

His gaze didn’t waver; he was staring straight at you, daring you to meet it.

Your breath hitched, heat flooding your cheeks, your heart pounding like a drum.

Behind you, your dad’s brow furrowed. He followed Kenan’s eyes on the screen, then glanced sharply at you.

“Why’s he looking at you like that?” His voice was low but sharp, suspicion creeping in.

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling exposed under his gaze, words stuck in your throat. You couldn’t lie, and you couldn’t explain. The room tightened with tension, the roar of the stadium a distant echo to the fire between you and Kenan.

“Nothing,” you say quickly, trying to keep your voice steady as you force a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Your fingers fidget nervously with the edge of your sleeve, but you don’t dare look away from the screen. “Guess all men like a pretty girl, don’t they?”

Your dad lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he leans back in his chair, eyes never leaving the pitch. “Not my baby, though,” he says with a knowing tone. “You know my rules about footballers—I was one. I’ve seen the way they think, how they move. You don’t just let any of them get close.”

You nod, but inside, the knot in your stomach tightens. He’s right—you shouldn’t be tangled up in this game with Kenan. You shouldn’t be caught between the thrill and the risk. But the way Kenan looked at you—the intensity burning in his eyes, the secret message in his gesture—had already pulled you deeper.

Your dad claps his hands once, ready to focus back on the game. “Now let’s see if this one can keep his head.”

The stadium explodes again with cheers and whistles. The game surges forward with raw energy—fast passes, slick footwork, the tension of every play like a live wire under your skin. You glance back to Kenan on the screen, his expression still sharp, still fierce. Your heartbeat picks up.

You sink deeper into your seat, trying to steady your breathing, but your chest feels tight—like it’s too small for all the nerves swirling inside. The roar of the crowd barely reaches you anymore; all you can hear is the relentless pounding of your own heart.

This can’t be real. I’m actually going to do this.

The thought loops in your mind, disbelief washing over you like a cold wave. You’ve talked about it for months—half-joking, half-daring—but now, with every second ticking by, it’s becoming realer, heavier, impossible to ignore.

Your fingers twitch against your jeans, restless. You glance at your phone, tempted to text Leah, needing to hear a voice or get a lifeline to sanity—but you swallow the urge. This was your mess to own, your choice, no matter how much your mind screamed otherwise.

Every time the camera cuts back to Kenan, locking eyes with you, that silent challenge—the promise—makes your stomach flip in a way that’s part fear, part something far darker.

What am I really getting myself into?

The VIP section feels suddenly too small, too exposed. Not that you didn’t like Kenan, you weren’t a virgin either but you had only said so much over phone, texts and late night facetime calls never something face to face.

//

You slipped into your hotel room, the buzz from the game still thrumming in your veins. Closing the door behind you, you leaned back against it for a moment, trying to calm the whirlwind of thoughts in your head. You’d promised yourself one thing tonight: if you were going to do this, you were going to own it. No hesitation.

With deliberate slow movements, you started freshening up—running cool water over your wrists, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat from the excitement and nerves. Then you opened your suitcase and pulled out the outfit you’d been saving for a moment like this.

Something tight, something that indicated you weren’t a naive little girl- that you would do everything you exact said. A black slip dress, soft silk hugging every curve, cut high to tease just enough of your legs. You slid into it, feeling the fabric cling and caress your skin like a promise.

You caught your reflection in the mirror, biting your lip. If you were going to do this, you’d do it right—bold, unapologetic, and dripping with confidence.

Your phone buzzed.

Kenan.

Room 712. Waiting.

Your breath caught. The deal was on, and there was no turning back.

You stepped into your heels, grabbed your clutch, and headed out, the sound of your heels clicking on the marble floor echoing in the quiet hallway.

When you reached the door and pushed it open, Kenan was already there, waiting. The pool lights framed him, tall and solid, every inch the predator. Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and for the first time you really noticed how much taller he was—how easily he could take you in one step.

He smirked, voice low and rough. “Been waiting for this for a while.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, heat flaring in your belly.

He stepped closer, his eyes dark and daring. “Are you scared?” he asked, voice low and teasing.

Without a word, you closed the distance, your lips crashing against his in a hungry kiss. The heat between you exploded as your hands slid to the waistband of his pants, fingers working swiftly to undo the button and zipper.

His shirt was already off, muscles flexing under the soft hotel light, skin warm beneath your touch. You pressed your body against his, feeling the hard line of his hips as you pushed his pants down just enough to free him.

He groaned against your mouth, hands tangling in your hair as the tension finally snapped.

He pulled you even closer, the heat from his bare chest against your skin sending shivers down your spine. His hands roamed possessively over your curves as your lips moved together, desperate and demanding. You tugged at the hem of his pants, pushing them down just enough to free the hardness straining beneath.

Without breaking the kiss, you slid to your knees, your fingers tracing the length of him, feeling the smooth, slick heat as you wrapped your hand around him. He hissed softly, his breath catching in his throat, eyes darkening with hunger and need.

You took him into your mouth, slow and deliberate at first, savoring the taste of him, the slick warmth filling you. His hands gripped your hair gently but firmly, guiding your movements as you deepened the rhythm, your tongue swirling around the sensitive head.

He groaned low and rough, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. “Fuck, you’re going to drive me insane,” he murmured, voice thick with desire.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your eyes locking, flames of want burning between you. “I’ve been waiting for this too,” you whispered, crawling back up to press your body against his, your hands exploring his taut muscles.

He lifted you effortlessly, setting you down on the edge of the bed. Your dress slipped up your thighs as he pressed against you, his length teasing your entrance. Slowly, deliberately, he pushed inside, the warmth and fullness overwhelming in the best way.

You gasped, arching into him as he began a steady, powerful rhythm. The room filled with the sounds of your breathing, soft moans, and the slick, wet intimacy of skin against skin.

His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer with each thrust, his voice a low growl. “You’re mine tonight.”

You wrapped your legs around him, matching his pace, the tension building until your bodies moved as one, the pleasure cresting in a shared, shuddering release.

His movements slowed, but the hunger in his eyes only deepened. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your lips — not soft, not sweet, but claiming, filled with the weight of something promised long ago.

“You remember what we said,” he murmured, his breath hot against your mouth. “That when the time came… I’d have you like this. Completely. No holding back.”

You nodded, dazed with pleasure, your heart thudding against his chest. He kissed you again, then shifted — hands beneath your knees as he pushed them up, folding you beneath him, opening you wide. His body pressed down, chest brushing yours, his hips angled to drive even deeper. The change in position made your breath catch — there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. You were his, just as you’d promised.

His thrusts began again, deeper now, more deliberate — every stroke drawing gasps from your lips as he filled you to the hilt, grinding his hips against yours with primal intent. His hands held your thighs tightly, spreading you open so he could watch everything — your expression, the way your body clung to him, the slick heat between you.

“Look at me,” he growled, voice rough with need. “You said I could have all of you. So I’m taking it.”

Your hands gripped his arms, nails digging into skin, the pressure and pleasure coiling tight in your belly. His pace never faltered, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge, each one a silent vow, a reminder of the bond between you — physical, emotional, unbreakable.

And when you shattered again beneath him, his name on your lips like a prayer, he followed with a deep groan, burying himself to the base as he spilled inside you.

You sighed, a soft, breathless sound of gratitude escaping your lips as the aftershocks rippled through you. Your body felt boneless, limp beneath him, a sheen of sweat cooling on your skin. Thank god you were on the pill — you weren’t sure you’d have had the strength to stop him, not when he moved like that, not when he looked at you like you were everything.

Your eyes fluttered closed, heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your ears. Every breath felt thick, weighted with the intensity of what you’d just shared. It was overwhelming — in the best, most devastating way. For a moment, you thought you might pass out from the sheer force of it.

Then, gently, his weight shifted just enough to keep from crushing you, and you felt his lips press softly to your damp forehead. The contrast between how hard he’d taken you and how tender he was now made your chest ache.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and hoarse, filled with concern.

You opened your eyes, meeting his. They weren’t lust-filled now — not entirely. There was something else there too: softness, guilt, maybe even love.

You gave a tired smile, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I’m okay.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, then he leaned down to kiss you again — slower this time, more gentle.

“I am waiting for round two later..” he whispers to your ear and your eyes widened.

Boy was he about to drain the promise out of you.

[destinysbounty]

On the topic of mergeswap AUs, most of the ninja could be shuffled around to different Merge scenarios with equally compelling results, but I maintain that by far the most *interesting* swap would be Lloyd-Zane. That is to say, Lloyd gets put in the coma pod while Zane is left alone in the monastery.

Out of all the post-Merge scenarios, I think Lloyd would most severely be fucked up by completely sleeping through it - he wakes up to find that not only is the world different, but his friends have spent *years* struggling to survive without his help. He's supposed to be their leader, their guide, the chosen savior of prophecy. It's his job to look out for them, isn't it? But he wasn't there. The world fell apart, his team is in shambles, and everyone has suffered innumerable traumas as a result...and he wasn't there for any of it. Knowing Lloyd, the self-imposed guilt would absolutely eat him alive. Also, once again he is chronologically displaced - before it was the age of his mind and body being mismatched, and now he is once again missing several years of his life.

(Also I think it's funny if we put Lloyd in Zane's pod specifically, especially if he's still the Conduit. Because that means he woke up, immediately jumped into the fight against Imperium, and then like 10 minutes later volunteered to take on life-changing god powers from some random talking dragon. All without any context for anything that is going on whatsoever.)

As for Zane...god, where do I even start.

So, putting Zane in the monastery is fascinating for a number of reasons.

Out of everyone on the team, the ones who consistently cope with isolation the worst are Cole and Zane. That's not to say the others enjoy it, per se, but they're all at least able to lock in and get shit done as needed, trauma be damned. But Cole is very community-oriented and comes a bit unglued in the absence of a community to rely on (DotD, s10), and Zane...oh boy.

Zane is usually the one to die, so he is rarely put in a position of grieving the others. His only instances of mourning the absenceof a loved one are:

His father, which happened off-screen so we don't know how he handled that initially (he seems to be okay in s3, but knowing Zane he probably just repressed the feeling and moved on)

Nya in Seabound, which he was so ill-equipped to deal with that he turned off his emotions entirely

Pixal in DR, where he was so unable to handle her absence that he straight up stapled a photo of her to a broom and started talking to it. Also with Kai getting lost in superhell, which we don't really see him grieving over but also we don't see much of that from anyone so uhhh I'm choosing to ignore that for now.

Picture it. Zane, alone in the monastery, with none of his friends around and no way of knowing what happened to them. All he can do is sit and hold vigil in the hopes that they will eventually come back (something something Echo Zane lighthouse parallels). I'm not saying Zane would start taping his friends' photos to random appliances by the end of week 1 and cry over his tenth ice sculpture of Pix by week 2, but uhhhh....actually no that's exactly what I'm saying. Provided he doesn't miraculously find a way to get himself killed while chilling in the monastery, I give him like 6 months before his sanity completely unravels.

Another reason for swapping Zane into Lloyd's spot is that whoever is in the monastery at the start of DR also gets to be the mentor to the new ninja. And that puts Zane in a *very* interesting position.

Zane is, on both a meta and narrative level, a support character. He's your medic, your backup, your HQ, and he can even be your damsel in distress. He's not really a leader by nature, and it is rare for him to take charge or assume a position of authority unless the situation demands it of him. He's generally content to sit back and let everyone else take charge - he let Cole take the lead during the prison break in s4, he's one of the only ones not to express pushback when Lloyd officially becomes the leader, etc.

It's actually a bit odd how rare it is for him to lead, bc it feels like everyone else has way more instances of flexing their leadership skills. Off the top of my head, i can think of exactly three occasions where Zane assumes a position of authority:

For about 10 mins in s5, which ends in him glitching out and talking backwards

In s14 when he became Captain Zane, but that was mostly for comedic effect, and authority goes back to Lloyd and Nya once the situation actually gets serious

In s11 when he became Ice Emperor, but he had to be magically corrupted, mind-wiped, AND gaslit in order for that to even happen.

(You could argue he took charge during the Snake Jaguar incident, but he didn’t take charge of the whole team and also it didn't end well.)

All this to say, Zane doesn't have a positive track record with being in charge. Probably even worse, now that he has all that Ice Emperor baggage to deal with.

So what do you do with a character like that? Naturally, you give him a gaggle of wide-eyed children to look after and tell him to teach them how to be ninja. Lloyd was already hesitant to be their master in canon, but Zane would be even worse.

Furthermore, Zane, uh...doesn't really have many friends outside of the ninja (aside from his falcon, who hasnt existed in the show for years). Cole has the Upply and the Finders, Nya is close to Ronin and became good friends with Bentho, Kai has Skylor and Wyldfyre, Lloyd had the resistance and Akita and now the next-gen kids, Jay started an entire cult in Prime Empire and also seems to be on good terms with Unagami, and even Wu is close to Faith...but who does Zane have outside of the team? Vex, maybe? Possibly Borg, even though that relationship isn't explored onscreen? Sally, who gets one whole episode spotlighting her and Zane before vanishing into obscurity?

This even continues in DR, too. Theres a new cast of characters to befriend and connect with, many of whom share a lot in common with Zane, but he doesn't really interact at length with anyone but his old friends and Frohickey.

True, a lot of that can be blamed on Zane's gradual narrative dehumanization depriving him of meaningful personal connections, but in-universe you could also attribute that to his self worth. Zane is so wrapped up in his belief that he exists to serve and protect, and he is so strongly devoted to the ninja that he can be a bit one-track-minded about it. He loves his family so much that he doesn't have time to care for anyone else in the same way. They are his world, his everything, his life's purpose...without them, he is nothing. Can you say "codependent"?

But now, he's alone in the monastery. He doesn't know if his friends are alive. All he can do is sit and pray and hope they come back to him. And after years of waiting, he crosses paths not with his family, but with two new kids. They want him to teach them to be ninja. But Zane is too afraid - afraid of leaving his post, afraid that being in charge will bring out his inner Ice Emperor...afraid of betraying his family by finding a new one.

He does agree to help them in the end, if only because he exists to protect and they need protection. But the whole time, he is afraid, and anxious, and painfully unsure of himself. But just as he teaches them how to be strong, how to fight, how to be brave and kind and selfless...they teach him how to believe in himself. How to reclaim his sense of identity. How to stand on his own without his friends, and how to make new ones. How to live for his loved ones, rather than dying for them.

(And yeah, okay, a small part of it this is definitely spite for the way he's been unilaterally snubbed by DR canon. I won't deny that)

Personally, if I were to write a mergeswap AU that's probably the direction I'd take. But then again, I might just be on some next-level copium and desperately trying to make Zane actually relevant to DR in some meager way

[comicnerd557]

The one where Jake tells the squad how he met his wife

Jake Seresin x reader

A/N: Sooooo, this was supposed to be a blurb and it's almost 6k words. It's fine. Enjoy! There may be a part two if there's interest, just let me know!

Warnings: Jake is accidentally an asshole, plus sized!reader, reader is a female, cursing, sexual innuendos and dirty thoughts but no smut, even then, MDNI!!!

as always, a thanks to my bestie @dalamjisung who introduced me to Top Gun Maverick in the first place. Love you boo!!

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Okay but like, imagine Hangman, cocky, badass, can’t-wipe-the-smirk-off-his-face, Hangman, married

Most would probably picture a woman equally as badass as he is, tough as nails, spits literal fire and can’t go an hour without jumping her hubby’s bones

That’s  certainly what the rest of the Dagger Squad thought when Hangman let it slip he was married

“Someone married you, Seresin?” Payback was both shocked and horrified. Shocked someone accepted his proposal, horrified they hadn’t changed their fucking mind yet

It was no secret Hangman was a lot to be around, and while, yes, he had relaxed a bit with age, he was still a goddamn handful. He had stopped flirting with every skirt he saw about three years back, but….the squad just assumed he got tired of the playboy life and decided to go bachelor

“You don’t wear a ring.” Phoenix was skeptical, as usual, sipping her beer with narrowed, observant eyes. Without wasting a beat, Jake reached under the collar of his shirt, grabbed his dog tags, and held them up

Sure enough, in between the tags sat a simple silver band. “I wanted gold, but, the Mrs said she would sooner rip her finger off than wear gold. Clashes with her skin tone apparently.” He snorted

More shocked silence. It was all true. Jake Seresin was married. “How long?” Bob questioned. He hid his shock much better than the others, something Jake was thankful for

Hangman paused to think. “It’ll be 11 months in two weeks.” Jaws dropped. Jake’s ego took a hit. He laughed, a bit awkward. “I’m a bit offended, y'all are so surprised. I took a month off for the honeymoon…You guys didn’t think anything of it?”

“Honestly, thought you were on a mission, I swear to go-Wait, hang on, why the hell didn’t we get invites?!” Coyote’s protest was met with rallied cries of confusion. The entire squad was upset. “It was just me, her, and our folks. Private, small, quiet.”

Hangman? Quiet? Private? The man was like a walking disco ball. He fucking loved attention. Whenever the thought of Jake getting married crossed through heads, it was always assumed it would be a huge spectacle with fireworks and maybe a dance crew

The squad was silent for a full minute, processing the information they had just learned. It was a quiet night at the Hard Deck too, meaning there wasn’t even the chatter of strangers to fill the void. “Oh my god, someone say something! It’s not that big of a deal! I’m fucking 34, none of you expected me to be married? Really?!” Jake threw his hands up, laughing

Finally, shockingly, Rooster spoke. “We’re happy for you, really bro, just…What’s she like? How’d you guys meet? Name, age, job, we wanna know.”

How did they meet? A smile spread across Jake’s face before he could stop it. It wasn’t Jake Seresin’s usual cocky, condescending smirk. It was a genuine smile, sappy, sweet…and weirdly soft. None of them had ever seen anything like it

“Alright little ones,” Jake teased, sitting down across from the squad. Part of him worshiped the attention. “Gather around and Papa Jake will spill the beans.” Dramatically clearing his throat, Hangman started his story. “It all started three years ago…”

Jake had been absolutely fucking beat. The San Francisco sun was nothing to laugh about, and Maverick had, once again, kicked their ass in training. Hangman only added fuel to the fire, running his mouth, and as a consequence, he had to do double the amount of pushups the others did

“Fuckin’ ridiculous.” He grumbled, slamming the door of his truck shut with a huff, head falling forward onto the steering wheel dramatically. He had spent the entire day working his ass off, didn’t even have time to eat. Jake was fucking starving

Too lazy to cook, the pilot grabbed his phone, googled ‘food near me’, and clicked on the very first one, allowing the directions to guide him without even check where the hell he was going

Imagine his delight, then, when GPS led him to a quaint, soft looking bakery. The parking lot was empty, causing Jake to mumble a quiet thanks to the Big Guy upstairs before hopping out of his truck, making his way inside

The bell on the door jingled as he pushed it open, and the rush of ice cold air conditioning felt like the sweetest relief hitting him square in the face. He groaned aloud, content, tense muscles slowly relaxing the more the scent of baked goods invaded his nose

It wasn’t overly sweet, thank god, but just sweet enough to lure even the pickiest eater through those doors. Why this place wasn’t crowded, Jake didn’t know. Were the workers rude? Ugly? Maybe the food was unsafe to eat, leaving people glued to their toilets for hours on end

“Hi there!” A voice chirped from behind the counter, causing Jake to finally reopen his eyes after closing them in bliss. Like Cupid’s arrow had struck him, Hangman froze in place. Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck fuck.

Never before had Jake Seresin, Hangman himself, been rendered speechless by a woman. Until now. “....Are you okay sir?” The heat had been especially brutal today…Maybe this guy had heat stroke and was just wandering, confused?

Jake managed to put one foot in front of the other and make his way up to the register. Thank fucking god he didn’t trip. Now, it was time to flirt. “....Doughnut.” His brain had been left at the base, clearly, cause that was the only fucking word Jake managed to squeeze out

You smiled, barely biting back a giggle. “Did you want a doughnut or…?” Jake blinked, forcing himself to fucking think. “Your dress. It has doughnuts. It’s cute, very fitting. Are you the owner or just a really dedicated employee?” Yes. Yes! The AC had finally cooled his head enough to think straight

“The owner.” You answered, smile turning a bit shy, hands soothing down the front of your dress. “It’s actually one of many pastry themed dresses I own. Today we have a special on doughnuts, so I figured my doughnut dress would be a good way to advertise that.”

“I’ll take 'em all.” Excuse you? Huh? Jake’s brain was screaming at his mouth for moving too quick. It seemed you were just as shocked, eyes going wide like dinner plates, and fuck, Jake’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of your visible excitement. “Really?! You haven’t even tried them yet!” You had fussed over him in a way that had Jake making up his mind. He would buy every single fucking doughnut if it kept that smile on your face

He just nodded. “Yes ma’am. I’m actually a Navy Pilot, and my squad just got back from a highly classified, super dangerous mission, so, we’re celebrating.” He explained, taking the chance to brag about how super cool awesome brave he was. “Feeding soldiers is like feeding a damn zoo. It’ll take all these doughnuts and more to fill ‘em.” Again, your smile grew, now fully beaming

“Take a seat! Here, you can have this one on the house while you wait. I’ll get everything packed up and I can help you carry them out to your ca-Oh i’m gonna need to build more boxes.” Now a busy bee, Jake watched as you hurried around behind the counter, packing up every single doughnut you had in the store, including some fresh from the oven. By the time you finished the pile of boxes was almost as tall as you

His wallet would hate him for a while, but the crew would be eternally grateful, especially if the rest of the doughnuts were as good as the one you had given him to munch on while he waited. “I knew this area was filled with pilots, but I hadn’t had any visit yet. Thank you for your service!” You giggled, grinning ear to ear. “I added a military discount, and combined with our sale, you saved a lot of money! Your total is…” The number was in the triple digits. Jake still didn’t hesitate as he tapped his card. After the beep, he reached into his wallet, pulled out a stack of cash, and dumped it into the tip jar

“Oh, oh no!” You immediately protested. “I can’t accept that! You’re really saving me, if the doughnuts don’t sell, they get tossed and it’s a really big waste. Honestly, I can’t take th-” You reached into the jar to take the cash out. Jake reached out, grabbing your wrist, and fuck, the instant zap was felt by the both of you

He smiled, sweet, calm. “Keep it. These are the best damn doughnuts I’ve had in my life. I owe it to ya.” Hangman managed to wink before grabbing half the pile of boxes, promising to come back for the second half after he loaded them up

The next day, when he showed up to work, he made the new trainees carry the doughnuts into the break room. Why the hell should he do the work? He bought the damn things after all

“Is it someone’s birthday or something? Someone die?” Rooster asked, pink sprinkles falling from his frosting covered mustache. “Whatever it is, I hope it happens again. These fucking rock.” Fanboy groaned, mouth full. Jake just smirked. “You’re welcome. I was feeling generous, figured I would remind all of you why you love me so much.” He mused. Everyone stopped chewing

“...They’re poisoned. Everyone go throw up.” Phoenix, despite her words, finished the doughnut she had in hand

Jake just rolled his eyes. “I think you mean “Thank you Jake, you’re so handsome and kind and funny and smart, oh my god any girl would be lucky to have you!” Right?” Maverick saved her from having to respond, calling for the team to gather up for a meeting

That afternoon, Jake returned to the little bake shop on the corner, prepared to ask for Doughnut Girl’s number…Except she wasn’t there. Someone else was behind the counter. Jake ended up just buying a single cookie before leaving, head hung low

The routine continued for a week straight. It got to the point where Jake asked about the owner. The teenage employee behind the counter just grinned. “Oh she works morning shift most of the time! Usually gets off by three.” Fuck. Jake almost never got off before six. Another cookie bought, another disappointed look as he walked out

For a few days, Hangman tried to move on. He really did. After picking up three skirts in three days, he still had you on his mind. The girls moaning obnoxiously under him looked nothing like you. They were tiny, practically toothpicks. You filled out your dress, body soft and curved. They had a thigh gap. Yours jiggled with every step in a way that hypnotized Jake. He gave up after the third night

He woke up extra early the next morning and set out, determined to complete his mission. He was gonna get your number, take you out, and fuck, maybe even marry you one day, who knew? He was feeling a little crazy

So, at 5:45 the next morning, Jake pulled into the parking lot of your bakery, turned off the engine of his truck, fixed his hair, and walked inside. “Welcome to The Cozy Oven!” Your voice was like music to his ears. No more bored teens or sweet but confused old ladies. Finally, he was reunited with his baker

“Oh it’s you! Mira said you came looking for me.” Was he delusional or were you teasing him? There was a glint in your eyes Jake couldn’t quite place, and the way you leaned over the counter seemed to prove his theory. You were so teasing him. Oh it was on. “You got me hooked on your sweets then disappeared on me.” He mused, smirking, palms flat against the counter. “The sweets have still been here.” You point out, giggling

Again. Fucking music his ears. “Tastes a bit sweeter when I’m looking at you.” Jake’s voice dipped low, leaning in a little closer. In an instant, your cheeks went hot, the tips of your ears darker in color from all the blood rushing to your face at once. “O-oh, you think so?” No longer could you meet Jake’s eyes, though, the smile didn’t leave your face. “Don’t tell me you’re a shy thing. Guys must come in every hour to beg for your number.”

At first, you laughed, like Jake had just told a super funny joke. When you noticed he wasn’t laughing, you stopped. “Oh, you were serious?” You weren’t being sarcastic or rude. Just genuinely confused. “I can count the times I’ve been hit on by strangers on one hand. I mean, my best friend calls me her wife, but, that’s just her thing. She’s married.”

Now, it was Jake’s turn to be confused. How the hell were you not married with three kids and another on the way? He wouldn’t say it aloud (yet) but fuck, you were like, ideal wife material. He had only recently started thinking about settling down and getting married and you checked off his checklist fucking perfectly

And god those hips were down right sinful, and fucking meant for holding and having babies. Not that Jake’s head was filled with thoughts of bending you over the counter and stuffing you full of cream instead of you stuffing the doughnuts. Definitely not

If his standard issue pants were a little tighter than usual, that’s not his fault

“Are they blind, or am I the first single man to walk into this bakery?” This man was single? Fucking. How. He had made your entire month buying every doughnut in the bakery and had done so with a grin and a sweet, somehow not creepy, wink. The bakery was doing…okay. You had just opened your doors a few months ago, and while your head was still above water, you were getting tired of treading really quickly

The pilot had the biggest order you had received so far, and holy hell that tip was enough to even buy that new super fancy cat food for your cat. Sniffles had been almost as grateful as you had. Almost. She never said as much, obviously

“Well, single men walk into this bakery often, so…You must be blind.” You giggled again. Jake laughed, tossing his head back. “I assure you, sweets, my eyes are just fine. They wouldn’t let me fly if they weren’t. I’d be stuck on the ground, or worse, the backseat.” He shuttered with over exaggerated disgust, playing it up to hear you laugh again

It worked. He beamed. “At the risk of making myself look like a complete jackass…” Jake leaned in, dramatically serious. “Can I have your number? I’d like to prove to you exactly why those men are blind as bats.” Jake let his eyes wander, slow, drinking in your frame like he was sipping the finest whiskey in the world. Just as slow, your smile dropped

As sweet as he seemed, the way he stared…Men usually wanted one thing. “I don’t even know your name.” You responded, voice quieter than he had heard it before. Jake, being Jake, chalked it up to your close proximity, so distracted by those pretty lips moving he failed to hear the cautious, almost anxious tone in your voice. “Lieutenant Jake Seresin. At your service.” There it was. His secret weapon. Every woman he ever met (Phoenix didn’t count she’s weird) had practically tossed their panties at him whenever he dropped that line

Women went nuts for men in uniform. One mention of his rank and they would fall to their knees. “I fly for Top Gun. Have you heard of it?” Everyone had. Jake was really pulling out the big guns now, but if he went to work without your number, he may just fly into the mountains for fun. Much to his shock, and dismay, you shook your head. Gone was that cute, sunny smile from before. Now, you just seemed…withdrawn

“I thank you again for your service, Lieutenant, but I’m afraid I don’t give out my personal number to customers.” A fatal shot. You went for the kill by reaching for the business card on the counter. “But if you ever need catering, please don’t hesitate to call the shop and put in your order. Would you like to buy something? I’m afraid I don’t have time to chat.”

A lie. You had all the time in the world. Mornings were always a bit slow. But with Jake’s intentions clear, you weren’t interested in entertaining his chubby chaser fantasies anymore. What other reason would he have for asking you out? Most girls around this area were tiny gym babes the size of twigs. While many preferred that, there were always men out there who thought you’d be a nice easy lay due to your size. They didn’t have to put in effort, clearly you would be desperate enough

Though you didn’t get hit on often, a blind person could see the hunger in Jake’s eyes as he stared at your body. In his eyes, he was admiring fine art. In yours, he was thinking of how easy it would be to hit and quit. Besides, he had another thing working against him. Military men never really wanted a relationship. They wanted a fuck, a stress reliever

Admittedly, it was a little upsetting. Jake had seemed so kind, but, the more you thought about it, the more you realized how his pretty face and sweet words had tricked you into assuming his entire personality after one fucking meeting. Pathetic. Maybe you did need to get laid. How long had it been since you pulled that little box out from under your bed again?

Jake’s grin dropped. He hadn’t been turned down in….well, ever. Honestly. Maybe when he was freshly twenty and still learning how to flirt? What had he done wrong? “Oh yeah, of course.” He stood up straight, smile now much less flirty and much more polite. “Uh, I’ll just…Take one of those.” He pointed to a random pastry in the case, tapping his card before, once again, leaving a hefty tip in the jar

“Have a good one, miss.” Jake walked out of the bakery in a daze, a frown tugging at his lips. He knew you were different, he knew that the minute your hand grazed his and pure electricity filled the air, but not even a number? Really? He wasn’t upset with you, of course, just confused and disappointed in himself

Maybe it was delusional, maybe the lack of oxygen to his brain had gotten to him, but Jake had already been imagining the second, third, and fourth date before the first one had even taken place. He made it to work ten minutes early with an uneaten cookie in hand. He passed it to Coyote the moment he asked about it, claiming he wasn’t that hungry anymore

Everyone noticed Jake was a little quieter that day. He wasn’t as cocky or boisterous, keeping his comments to a minimum, not even complaining when Maverick had him with a tone within the first half hour of their dog fight, didn’t push back when Phoenix made fun of him

“Alright what the hell is wrong with you?” Bradley had been trying to rile Jake up all day. Jake hadn’t indulged the man once. They were in the shower room now, Maverick having ordered them all to hose off after they had spent nearly an hour running through a mud soaked obstacle course, part of a new training program meant to help agility just in case they were out of their planes and behind enemy lines

Payback shut his locker, towel wrapped around his waist. “You didn’t even take the bait when Bob tripped over his own feet. Bob. You love teasing Bob!” Jake just sighed, head leaned back against his locker, annoyance clear on his face. “What’d you strike out or something? Get shot down?” Rooster had, unknowingly, hit the nail on the head. He realized as much as soon as the look in Hangman’s eyes turned murderous

“Oh my god he did. Our Hangman is heartbroken. He’s grown up so much.” Bradley sniffled dramatically. “Remember when a rejection just meant he moved on to the next girl?”

“I don’t get rejected.” Jake huffed, slamming open his locker, grabbing his comb to fix his hair, not because it needed fixing, but because he couldn’t look at that stupid smug look on Rooster’s face anymore. “Bradley,” Javy, his best friend of over ten years, finally spoke up. “Leave him be. Clearly this girl isn’t just a girl. Wanna tell us about it bro?”

Not really, if he were being honest. Jake kept his mouth closed, weighing the pros and cons of telling the truth versus denying everything. On one hand, the guys on his squad lived for teasing each other, digging under the others skin with glee. On the other, there was no one on earth Jake trusted more than the men in the locker room with him. They had saved his ass time and time again, and he had done the same for them. Maybe, just maybe, they could offer some solid advice

“There’s this woman, she ain’t no girl, this is a full bodied, grown woman, and she’s nothing like the skirts I usually chase. But she’s in my fuckin’ head and I asked for her number this morning. She turned me down. Turned me down cold.” He huffed, tossing his comb back into his locker with a frown. “And I ain’t mad at her. It’s my own fault, I think I came across a bit…”

“Pervy?”

“Sex addicted?”

“Menacing?”

“Okay everyone but Bob can go fuck themselves.” Jake scowled. “But, yeah. I guess. I don’t know. I gave her the line that usually makes panties fly off and she just shut down.” Bradley snorted, rolling his eyes. “The Lieutenant line? Really? Look man, we all use our uniforms to get into beds, but if you want something more you’re gonna have to actually work for it. Flowers, chocolates, sweet talk about something other than her ass. That sort of shit.”

Jake had never felt so fucking old. He had to learn how to pitch woo now? Really? “She worth the effort?” Bob asked quietly. Jake paused before shrugging. “My heart gets funny around her. Yeah, she makes me hard in my fuckin’ cargo pants,” Payback groaned in disgust. “But it’s more than that.” Silence took over the room. Once again, Jake was left with his thoughts

“We’ll help.” Reuben nodded, determined. Jake let out a loud groan. “Oh my god, I cannot get help picking up a woman from you guys, you’re supposed to come to me for that.” His ego would never recover from this. Ever. “We come to you for help getting laid, you come to us for help getting a date. Seems fair to me.”

And so, Operation Get-Hangman-His-Date started. They looped Phoenix in almost immediately, rightly deciding her female perspective might just be useful. They spent the night at the Hard Deck coaching Hangman on how to be a true gentleman. Bob got the honor of spraying him with a spray bottle every time he so much as glanced away from a woman’s face after winning a game of pool

The next morning, Jake was ready. He had the day off from training, his only commitment was a beach day with the squad around two, but until then, he was free to charm his way into your heart. He was dressed in his civilian clothes, his hair styled to look like he had just rolled out of bed despite having worked on it for nearly half an hour

In his hand, there was a bouquet of flowers, small, just five or so. Natasha suggested they start simple. “She’s gonna think you’re a stalker otherwise.” She explained. “Or some majorly obsessed creep, which, you are, but, at least you’re not the murder and dump the body type.”

The bell jingled as he stepped inside. Today’s dress was pie themed, and in the display counter were a handful of different flavored pies. The flavor of the day was apple, apparently. You were in the middle of bringing out new product, making everything neat and perfect. When you locked eyes with Lieutenant Jake Seresin, your sweet, cheery smile turned awkward. Great. He was back

“Ma’am,” He greeted, the southern drawl more obvious in his words. “Women love a southern accent.” Javy had explained. “Use it.” So he did. Jake didn’t work to hide the Texas drawl. “I think I maybe came off a bit strong yesterday.” You snorted quietly, amused. A bit? The guy was practically making eye contact with your nipples

Still, you let him continue…Mainly because he was a good customer who could bring a whole lot of business if he ever decided to order catering. “I wanted to apologize.” Jake paused, trying to remember what he had been instructed to say last night. “You’re very, very attractive, and god knows I would love to take you back to my place and-”

He was losing you again. Jake stopped himself, clearing his throat with a bashful smile. “Anyway, that’s not why I asked for your number.” You looked at him skeptically, cautious. “You wouldn’t look at my eyes, just my body.” Though your words cut deep, mainly because of the truth behind them, your voice was soft like a cloud

No matter how nervous or upset you were, you spoke to Jake like he would cry if you yelled. He had never been approached so….softly before. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. I just, I ain’t ever been interested in a woman like you before and-” Immediately, your face dropped into a sharp scowl. No more soft. No more gentle. “A woman like me?”

Jake knew that tone. That was the tone of an angry woman. Alarm bells went off in his head. “T-that’s not how I meant to say it. I just meant you’re not my usual type.”

Fuck

Fuck

Oh my god

Did he just say that?

You looked…irate. To say the very least

“Okay mr, I can tolerate you staring at my tits, I can tolerate you coming back in here sniffling with flowers in hand trying to make up for staring, but I won’t tolerate this. I get it, you’ve never been with a fat chick before, not used to putting in all this effort for a lay. You will not come into my bakery, my business, and tell me you’re acting like this because you don’t know how to handle a woman my size. I’m gonna respectfully ask you to leave.”

Somehow, in the span of just mere moments, Jake had fucked everything up. Now, as he sat on the beach, beer in hand, he did everything he could to ignore the scolding from Phoenix. He had told Javy what happened in private, but, of course, Payback had overheard everything, and within minutes, news had spread to the whole goddamn squad

“I cannot believe you, Hangman! You basically just admitted you’d never usually go for her! I mean, I knew you could say some dumb shit but you’re not a dumb guy, so why the hell did you act like a fucking Florida frat boy?”

Why did he? Jake didn’t know. The look of hurt that had flashed over your face before the anger set in had been haunting him since this morning

Jake stood, mumbled something about grabbing another beer, before taking a walk down the beach. He needed some time by himself, some time to think, to breathe without the squad shaming him for his fuck up. It was the third drink in that an idea hit him square in the face…Right as he walked into a sign advertising the 50th anniversary of the Hard Deck

Vaguely, he remembered Penny mentioning that she needed to find a good bakery to make a cake and enough cupcakes to feed an army. He stood, shaking the sand off, and ran top speed into the Hard Deck. “Penny! My favorite bartender!” He beamed, tossing an arm over her shoulders. “Hangman, my favorite headache. Why are you here? We aren’t technically open, you know.”

That never mattered. The Dagger Squad was always welcome, they knew that. Penny had an open door policy when it came to her team. “You still looking for a caterer?” He asked, smile wide and confident. Penny nodded. “Yeah, I’m having a hell of a time finding someone willing and able to make so much on my budget. I can’t afford to break the bank.” Hangman’s grin grew wider

“What if I told you, I know a place?”

It was almost 6 pm when you got the call. Eight dozen cupcakes, and a two tiered cake celebrating the anniversary of the most popular Navy bar in Cali. Their budget was low, but the woman on the phone was just too sweet to turn down, and this was the perfect chance to get the Cozy Oven’s name out there and known

A deal was made, the money was sent over, and two days later, you and your entire team were baking like mad men, scrambling around to get everything ready and fresh for the hungry customers at the Hard Deck. At the same time, the Dagger Squad was running around getting the bar ready. Maverick had asked them to help, and none of them even considered refusing

An hour before opening, the Cozy Oven delivery van pulled up in front of the hard deck. Jake, Javy and Bradley had all gone on a run for the last bit of party supplies they needed, leaving Bob, Reuben, Natasha and Mickey to finish setting up what they could. Penny had told you not to worry about bringing a team to carry all the sweets in. She had her own.

Within minutes, everything was carried in, and while you knew there were dozens of Navy bars around, part of you was still nervous Jake would show up. “I can’t thank you enough.” Penny had trapped you in a conversation, seemingly unaware of how eager you were to leave

“Honestly, when Jake recommended you, I wasn’t sure but then he went on ranting and raving about your food and-” You stopped her, confused. “Jake…Recommended my bakery?” You had honestly figured he wouldn’t ever bring up the bakery again after how harsh you had turned him down. Penny nodded. “Oh yeah, he loves your doughnuts, says he’s put on ten pounds since finding you. Does him some good, I think.”

You left a few minutes later, confused, and very, very conflicted. Had you misjudged the whole situation? Had you misjudged Jake entirely? Why the hell would he recommend you for catering after everything?

The rest of your night was spent cleaning the bakery top to bottom. You couldn’t sleep when your head was so full of thoughts and when you couldn’t sleep, you needed to do something productive, or you would loose your fucking mind

By opening the next morning, you still hadn’t slept. Your hands were raw from scrubbing, back sore from mopping, but you still opened the bakery with a smile on your face, no matter how painted on that smile was

For a fourth time, Jake Seresin walked into the Cozy Oven. This time, he had no flowers, no styled hair and no practiced words. He approached the counter calmly. “Can I have a dozen doughnuts please?” He requested, perfectly polite

This could have been a perfectly normal customer interaction, an average experience…But there was one question burning the tip of your tongue. “Why did you tell Penny to cater from my bakery?” Half way through loading the doughnuts, you blurted it out

Jake paused, blinking rapidly before furrowing his brows. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re an amazing baker. I was the idiot. My friend needed a good baker and I knew one. Just cause I got rejected don’t mean I’m gonna go around bad mouthing the best bakery in California.”

The look on your face softened. Fuck. Stupid Jake and his stupid effect on your stupid heart. “And I am really, really sorry for what I said the other day. I uh…My friends tried to coach me on how to romance a woman instead of seduce. Guess I’m not a very good student.”

“You wanted to romance me?” The thought seemed shocking to you. Jake nodded. “I wasn’t lying when I told you, you’re damn beautiful. I’m just an idiot who never even thought about how to ask a lady on a date. I didn’t mean it in a bad way, when I told you I’d never gone after a woman like you before. I haven’t, and yet, you’re the only damn woman that’s been stuck in my mind this long.”

Jake hadn’t come here to bear his soul, but here he was, unable to stop talking, rambling like some nervous teenager all over again. He was stopped by a soft hand over his mouth. “Jake,” Slowly, your smile grew. “Ask me for my number again.”

His eyes went wide. Your hand moved away, allowing him to speak again. Heart racing like a horse in the Kentucky Derby, Jake did as asked. “Can I have your number, sweets?”

You reached behind the counter, grabbed that same business card that had shut him down so harshly before, and scribbled something on the back. “Ask me on a date.” You instructed him again. Hangman smirked. “You’re certainly a bossy thing, aren’t you?” He teased lightly

“Would you like to go on a real, romantic date with me, Sweetheart?” Your heart melted. Fuck. That accent really did something. Combined with those soft green eyes and there was no way you could deny him again. “Give me an hour notice before you pick me up, and I’ll be there.”

Jake leaned back in his chair, smiling. He had finished his story, and now, the Dagger’s knew exactly how he had met his wife. Three beats of silence passed before chaos exploded.

“THE GIRL YOU NEEDED ADVICE ON IS YOUR WIFE?!”

“I DIDN’T THINK ANYTHING CAME FROM THAT MAN YOU NEVER SAID ANYTHING.”

“How the fuck did he get married before Bob? Bob is prime husband material.”

Jake just smirked, finishing his drink. “Sorry boys, Phoenix, but I gotta get home. The Mrs gets real grumpy if she falls asleep alone, and I’m too good of a husband to make my wife unhappy.”

[noctiva]

Who would regret breaking up, would they want to get the relationship back? I need some male suffering and HUMILIATION! Especially from CODY!!!! <3

Toby: IMMEDIATELY regrets it. like the moment all that anger cools into grief he is a goddamn fucking wreck. tries to convince himself it was for the best but doesn’t believe that at all. might go out looking for some random girl to hook up with in attempts to get over you, only for him to close his eyes and imagine it’s you the entire time. like. it’s rough.

He cycles between anger and sadness on a constant loop. Cries himself dry. Trashes his room in an attempt to get all of these horrible feelings out, and it doesn’t work.

he is either a) stalking you and trying to win you back over like i detailed in a prior post, or b) straight up showing up at your doorstep begging for you to take him back. he’s pathetic.

-

Jack: Regrets it after a week or two. He thought he’d get used to it - he’d been icing you out for the last few months of your relationship anyway, so what’s the difference in just not having you there at all? Turns out, it’s a big one. His body aches for you. Any flesh he sinks his teeth into tastes rotten compared to how sweet he knows your blood is.

Your absence weighs on him heavy. Like he had accidentally given you a piece of himself when he sent you away. Despite this, he’s not seeking you back out. He did what he did for a reason - and he’ll suffer if it means you don’t have to.

He truly, wholeheartedly believes that you are better off without him. And though sometimes he debates being selfish and crawling back to you, he can never bring himself to actually do it.

-

Brian: Sort of kind of regrets it? But more so missing the familiarity than the actual… relationship itself. He had just grown used to having someone to come home to, some to talk to, someone who was always happy to see him. He thought he could go back to being alone since he’d done it before, but for some reason this one sticks.

He stays up late watching back old tapes he took of you over and over again, trying to work up the courage to delete them. He never does.

There’s a 50/50 chance on whether or not he asks for you back. If he does, it’s him calling you from a pay phone late at night, not even giving an introduction because he knows you know his voice. To the point, just like how he had been when he broke up with you. ‘darlin’, i fucked up.’

-

Tim: Misses you the moment he steps out of the door, but doesn’t regret it. Even if it hurts, he knows it would’ve just ended up being more painful if he stuck around. The two of you weren’t made to last, despite how much both of you wanted that to be wrong. He was just the only one with the courage to actually end things before they got messy.

He doesn’t forget about you, not ever. Doesn’t find a new partner - partially because everyone else just falls short in comparison to you, and partially because he knows that any other romantic endeavour would just end up the exact same way.

He prays that you’ve moved on. Checks up on you sometimes in hopes that you have. Maybe one day he’ll watch you from the other side of the street, happily walking along with a new boyfriend. It’s equal parts soothing as it is gut wrenching.

-

Cody: Tells himself that he doesn’t regret it, but he most definitely does. You were the only one who really, truly got him. The only one who was patient enough to break down his walls. The only one who didn’t scoff, didn’t berate him for the way he acted - you encouraged him. Loved him. He doesn’t realize how much he really needed that until it’s gone.

Finds himself forgetting you’re not there. Turns to the spot you’d always sit next to him at his lab bench, a half-formed question on his lips that dies the moment his eyes fall on the empty space.

But, despite all that, he doesn’t ask for you back. This was his choice. He could’ve kept you, and yet he chose to let you go. It’s a fact he’ll force himself to live with.

-

Habit: Doesn’t regret it. Well, maybe a tiny bit deep down. But not because he misses you, or feels remorse for his actions. It’s just because you had just been such a treat while it lasted.

You just took everything he gave you. We’re so blinded by your love that you were so easy to just push and push. To take you to your brink and then push past it. It was a treat every time, watching how much you could take before you broke.

Of course he picks up new victims, fresh meat - but they’re just not as fun. He finds himself getting irritated when they can’t take as much as you could.

[kisakis-boyfriend]

Please, please, please, please can I get a Ga Ming Alphabet I just love him so mucccchhhhhhhhh

Author's Note: Gaming is 20+ here

For our 3000 follower celebration! (CLOSED NOW)

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Gaming practically attacks your face with kisses!! He still has so much energy, he's like an excited puppy kissing you and tangling your bodies together. While he's still riding the high from his orgasm, it's impossible for him to keep his hands off of your body. Always touching whatever he can reach.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He's quite proud of his legs/leg strength, and his bubble butt 🧡

Of yours, I'd say Gaming would adore your cheeks. Which cheeks, you ask? Yes~ 😊

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)

Gaming's orgasms are quite powerful, and rightfully so, since it takes some work to help him cum. But the reward is soooo worth it ❤️

He likes to cum on you, if possible. Seeing his cum dripping down your skin is a huge turn-on!

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Wishes you would bite him more often ;'(

Not enough to break the skin, of course, but please bite down on his shoulder while you're pounding him? Gaming craves that extra stimulation!

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Not very experienced, but he's enthusiastic about everything. It's easy to try out new things and get him interested in different positions or ideas.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. May include a visual)

Cowgirl, mating press, and 69.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

I think the answer is pretty self-explanatory lol. He's a goofy goober for sure. His dirty talk can be a bit silly too, but it's still very hot.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

THICK BUSH! EXTREMELY THICK BUSH, IN FACT!!!

Gaming's hair looks so nice engulfing the base of his cock… sometimes he jokes that he should shave it, but seeing the disappointed look on your face drives any thought of doing so away 😅

I also think Gaming would have thick chest and arm hair! And just, thick body hair all over fgkskfhskf

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect)

He's very romantic, inside and outside of the bedroom. No matter how intense the moment becomes, Gaming will wrap his arms around your neck and hold you as if you're about to vanish. Sometimes he even leaves bruises from how tight his grip was on your body, but all is forgiven pretty quickly. He just naturally clings to you for comfort.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Loves, loves, loves mutual masturbation! Seeing you jack off right next to him while he's pumping his own cock, both of you creating a wet mess in your lap, maybe even reaching over to touch your cock too? Yeah, that's the life 🤤

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Overstimulation, electro play, sounding, puppy play, and I could totally picture Gaming getting into fisting, if that's considered a kink? A fetish? Also, plushie humping is totally his thing~

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Gaming has become quite fond of kitchen sex. Gettin' spicy while you cook up a spicy dish? Count him in!

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Kissing almost always leads to something more… just the feeling of your lips on his, the taste of you enticing him to forget everything else and wrap his legs around your waist, a hand on the small of his back… subtle touches, or innocent touches, do so much to rile Gaming up.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

While he is a bit of a masochist, I don't think he would enjoy impact play. He's not into you hitting his face/slapping, CBT, that kind of stuff.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Loves both equally. That's why 69 is one of his favorite positions, Gaming can thrust into your mouth while you do the same to him~

He's pretty damn good at it too. When Gaming wants to suck you off, you're guaranteed to get milked for every last drop 😅

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Somewhat fast and rough, then gradually likes for you to pick up the pace until you're destroying his hole/he's bouncing on you so fast it makes him dizzy!

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Eh, they're alright. It's usually not enough to satisfy him though, and he will pout until you can do more :(

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Yeah, I think he would be interested in trying all sorts of new things. Hell, he even suggests a lot of the things y'all try out 😅

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last)

Archons above, this man has stamina for DAYS–

You kind of need stamina to be a wushu dancer, and it comes in handy in the bedroom. You end up fucking for hours, taking water breaks in between, but overall fucking desperately for a long time.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Honestly, Gaming prefers your cock over a toy. It's your cock, mouth, fingers, tongue, hands, or bust (and not in the fun way).

The only exception is a vibrator pressed against the underside of his cock while you're fucking him. That's the only way Gaming will let it slide.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

I'd say he's a little bit of a tease, but it's the fun kind of teasing that makes sex even better for both of you.

Rolling his hips/grinding his hips down while he's riding you, making you feel how tightly his body's grip on you is. Touching your chest while you're kissing, and possibly unbuttoning your shirt while you're distracted 👉👈 Wearing shirts that ride up whenever he stretches or reaches for something, or, similarly, wearing pants that hang low on his hips while you're chilling at home.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He's pretty dang loud lol. Gaming laughs a lot during sex, and he repeats words a lot (ex. Repeating "yes" over and over right when he's about to cum)

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Bro does not wear underwear often… definitely not if he has a day off and is lounging at home. The dick is hanging free, baby!

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

5 and a half inches, uncut. The prettiest happy trail ever that leads into his bush is also hidden within his pants~

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

It's a bit high, but I don't think he's exactly insatiable? Although it may seem like it sometimes 😭

Z = ZZZ (How quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Gaming, falling asleep after sex? Not in a million years! He either mellows out a bit, or he has a lot of energy left to cuddle and kiss!

[ugly-bug-starscream]

Hi! You're are my favorite Skystar artist! :D I hope you don't mind me saying this, but I adore whole wholesome and sweet you portray them. I'm so used to seeing them in a more toxic light, and your art/aus are a real breath of fresh air! I just love it! And the art style? It's just *Mwah!* Chef's kiss!⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

OH THANK YOU??!?! 😭😭 you are way too kind!! that means the world to me!!

Honestly I feel often bad for the way I’ve portrayed them in SltS au because of how they are usually portrayed. Because I love any version of them because I adore them both, but I suppose for this au ans the couple of aus made along with it the circumstances has been different, so it’s fully understandable how that wouldn’t be most people’s cup of tea. I try to have Skyfire’s side be more important because I love him so much.. and want him to be more in focus as that been one of the complaints about the ship. And ultimately I want them to feel more equal (skyfire deserves to be pampered!!).

[batsandbirdbrains]

I see your Jason-is-older-than-Dick and raise you Cass actually being the oldest in this fake age AU! So Dick goes from being the oldest, to being 3rd oldest.

Jason at first holds it over Dick’s head until he realizes the responsibility the eldest holds and says “fuck that” and pretends to be ignorant about Dick being younger than him (I love love love the Irish twins idea that they both will say). He'll threaten to shoot whichever sibling brings up that fact to tease him, much to Bruce's consternation.

Meanwhile Cass is indifferent towards Dick now being younger because she had an inkling he was lying over his age (she read his body language). To her it doesn't matter who is older and younger, she'll equally protect her siblings (plus Steph) with her life. But she does like to tease Dick by calling him "little brother" sometimes lol.

I’ll be totally honest, I know next to nothing about Cass. I don’t know all that much abt Stephanie either, which is why I don’t tend to include them much in my headcanons/fics/etc. I’m fine with others adding their own spin on the stuff I post, but I personally don’t think I’d really be able to do Cass and Steph justice.

I barely know much abt the other batboys tbh (Damian being sort of an exception bc I loved the run where Dick was Damian’s Batman). Most of what I know abt them is surface level or from fics I’ve read that they’ve been in.

As for Cass having an inkling all along that Dick had been lying about his age? Hilarious, love it. Her teasing him by calling him little brother but overall not really caring about who’s oldest and who isn’t? Also great.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

can I request a platonic Yandere Nagito Komaeda x twin sister reader, with Nagito being older by his twin by a minute?

Twin of Yandere Nagito Komaeda

Nagito is an enigma

Through and through

Devoted to the idea of hope and those who represent it

Often neglecting the innermost parts of himself that would make any other normal person falter

Now add on a twin 

Someone to share in the misery his ultimate skill brings

So it’s very early that misfortune and fortune plague your life

It would be fine if you both had an ultimate ability and were equally obsessed with hope

But you're not

And when you are finally seen by those who know Nagito, you instantly break the stereotype of the matching twins

On the surface Nagito doesn’t seem to like you

A conclusion many of his current or former classmates come to after watching your dynamic

“Ah~You’re hope is exhilarating, I can only hope to be a stepping stone to your greatness!”

“...Nagito maybe don’t hold her hands she looks real uncomfort—”

“Oh! I’ve forgotten Hajime there was something I was sure would ignite your search for hope as well!”

He blatantly ignores you 

Passing the salt to the person on the other side of you if you ask

When counting people in the room he leaves you out

When going on trips that you’ve tagged along, he doesn’t even raise an alarm when the others notice a missing member in their travel group

“Nagito!? Where’s your twin?!”

“I appreciate the attention but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Playing dumb is not going to help your case!”

Naturally, you incur the favor of everyone else

Recognizing your quiet introverted behavior likely stems from your brother’s neglect 

It’s no twin but having attentive friends helps

But it’s not nearly as simple as that

Not with Nagito 

Never with Nagito Komaeda

“(Y/n) I think I’ll hate you forever!”

“W-what?!”

“Nagito!? How could you say that!? Apologize right this minute!”

In a silent bout that even as a twin you can only catch an inkling of Nagito has ordained that he must be distant

While the extent of his ultimate ability played an odd and unmeasurable balance of luck and unluck

he seems to have a better idea than any on how to avoid his bad luck from affecting the ones he loves ie. You

Nagito comes off as very flippant when speaking about his parent’s deaths and many don’t bother questioning further he’s weird anyway

But if they did it’d be interesting to know what Nagito’s last interaction with your parents was before they so unluckily died at the hands of hijackers

It plagues your dreams and nightmares

“Nagito! We pick Nagito!”

“Over the poor runt, sheesh that’s cold. How does it feel kid to be the lucky one.”

“I…love you all so much.”

You don’t like to talk about that day and neither does Nagito 

But through very roundabout forms of communication, he’s conveyed that depending on how much he loves dictates the unluck that’s meant to strike them

And thus you’ve settled to continue to deny the memories you have of your brother staring blankly with those swamp-green eyes

It’s hard but as a twin you’re certain he cares

After all, why would he have fought so hard to have you stay in the dorms with him

Why would he make his schedule visible so you could visit

Why would he make your favorite breakfast—even if an appliance  was likely to explode again

On your end as his twin it’s a lovely mystery you will never want to solve

On Nagito’s end there is a mystery and he’s finally on the cusp of discovering it 

“Uh Nagito who’s hair is this?”

“Haha only the most hope-filled kind!”

“Uh okay…i think I’m just going to toss this–”

“Don’t touch my stuff, please. I won’t be liable if your hand breaks within the next 24 hours!”

He’s made the stark realization that who he claims to adore is heavily linked with who experiences the most bad luck

This applies to all but the ultimates he so adores

So naturally all hope to one day dote on his twin rely on the hopeful future Ultimates can bring

So unless you are able to be deemed an Ultimate he refuses to endanger you

And if that means pretending you don’t exist to your face making you question everything then so be it

Besides his little talent allows him some freedoms 

A few locks of hair a month

A lost photo of you from an album ending up in his pocket

The burning corpse of an admirer of yours from some random meteorite making a precise landfall

If he’s ever asked about this he’d never share

The simple thought of doing so could back fire terribly on him

“They’re my twin. They can handle whatever I throw at them.”

You’re going to have to 

Until he can guarantee you won’t end up suffering because of him

When he’s sure he can protect you properly he might actually admit it

Admit that on the day you both lost your parents he’d made a point to love them the most that day

[veryace-ficrecs]

The Passenger (2023) Fic Recs Part 2

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

Find part 1 here!

Take The Back Seat by twoseas - Rated M

On Benson and Randy Bradley’s longest day, everyone gets to live. Eventually.

Matchmade by Coileddragon - Rated M

Benson Boudreaux is a veteran Jaeger pilot with a 100% kill rate in the Jaeger 'Savage Horizon'. The problem is he never keeps a Drift partner for long.

Man of the world by greendragon19 - Rated T

“You don't call, you don't write.” He crossed his arms over his chest feigning calm. Drawing Benson's attention to him. “And then I have to find out from my brother in law that you're getting released.” A myriad of emotion passed over Bensons features, recognition, annoyance, confusion, acceptance, a few others that Randy wouldn't dare to guess at. “Randy? The fuck are you doing here?” Randy smiled, dipping his head and looking up at Benson through his eyelashes. Something in the pit of his stomach warming at Benson’s voice and Randy’s name being the first thing he said as a free man. Twenty years after the shooting at the diner, Benson is getting out of prison. Randy goes to pick him up. Deals with somewhat more mellow versions of Benson and Randy after so much time has passed but both still equally co-dependent.

images of all that could be desired by pgndaze - Rated T

A week after Benson's death, a package arrives on Randy's doorstep.

Loves me like a dog by Syntheticpalindromes - Rated E

The woman at the school’s reception desk flat out refused to give them anything about Miss Beard, her hands laid on the countertop as she shook her head sadly. Big, plump bottom lip jutting out in what Benson might have known to be real sympathy if he had ever been presented with the emotion in a sincere way. Which he hadn’t. At least, that’s what he imagined, anyway. When she had removed her palms from the counter, the ledger beneath them had become stuck to one, slick with a nervous sweat that she hid all too well in the calm, collected way she had informed the boy she simply couldn’t give that sort of information away. The page was left greasy and she pointedly did not look at it. “And Mr. Bradley, I really think you’re doing the right thing. Good for you.” She had said, like she was his fucking grandmother. They don't make it to Miss Beard's place. Mr Sheppard lies in a pool of his own blood and Benson & Randy drive on, and on, and on, and on, and on.

Razor Sharp, White Teeth by mimomallow - Rated E

“I never watched that Twilight bullshit, Randy. Do you sparkle now or what?” or Randy has been starving since he was a child. Benson looks delicious.

did you get enough love, my little dove? by intheskywithamethysts - Rated E

The mop slapped wetly on the ground and slid across the grimy floor. Benson dug the head into the ground as hard as he could as he mopped. A sound like nails on a chalkboard ricocheted off the walls. It was agonizing to listen to. Benson didn’t care. It was the only thing louder than his thoughts. She’s not sleeping. She’s not sleeping. The sound of a door being pushed open. Two chimes. Footsteps. Benson looked up. “Hey, Benson.” Benson grunted and gave Bradley a nod as he entered. Well, at least he was working with Bradley today. (canon-divergence: Benson's Ma passes away the night before the beginning of the movie)

Side Effects May Include... by thenewgothicromance -Rated E

Listen, normally Benson’s not one to make somebody do drugs they don’t want. But they’re only three hours into the afternoon shift with another five to go, and if Bradley doesn’t chill the fuck out Chris will never stop bothering him. And if Benson has to listen to that all day, again, he is finally going to do something stupid they’ll all regret. It’s easier just to make Bradley take the pills.

Don't Forget the Joker by devovitsuasartes - Rated M

Randy had been driving home for about five minutes when he looked up into his rear view mirror and saw Benson staring back at him coldly from the back seat.

Can’t Help to Smile with those Eyes that Shine on Me (You’re Making Me Act Funny) by hellcat_shalalala - Rated T

"Thank you, Mr. Mustache Man.” She retrieves her blue crayon and scrapes it over the scribble of green she just made. “I’m sorry I dropped them. It was on accident.” A little smile twitches at the corner of his lips. Threatens to spread. He runs his tongue over his teeth to make his lips stop moving like that. “Them things got little legs," Benson continues dragging the mop. "Runnin’ off like that.” She’s delighted by that thought. “Little legs?” She repeats. She grabs one and twists it around trying to look for them. “Where?” He doesn’t respond. Just a laugh through his nose and a mindful push and pull of the mop, sweeping it under the seats. Yea. This is Bradley’s kid all right. or Randy has no babysitter for his four year old daughter, Seraphina, and has to bring her into work for his Saturday shift. His coworkers proceed to lose their minds over this new information. /pos Title is paraphrased lyrics from the song Picture Me Better by Weyes Blood

Doomsday is Close At Hand by riddlerapologist7 - Rated M

Randy’s eyes shoot open, he gasps for breath. He rips the comforter off of his body as he registers where he is: his bedroom. What? He was just at the diner. He could almost smell the greasy stench of the flat top grill mixing with the coppery scent of blood permeating the air. Could he have really dreamed everything that had happened? He reached up to feel his shoulder where he had been shot, where Benson had desperately been clutching to try and keep the blood from spilling out of him. He felt nothing, no wound, no pain, just the smooth skin of his shoulder and the cotton shirt he was wearing. He ran his hand over his chest, feeling his heart beat rapidly beneath his skin.

Ranson time loop au!! I'm not the first to come up with this idea, but this is my take on it :)

Erasure Poem (or, The Narrator Writes the First Draft of the Rest of His Life) by thenewgothicromance - Rated E

Randy almost doesn’t understand how it happened, even though he’s the one who started it. Three weeks ago he’d never had sex with anyone, had never thought about doing it with a guy, didn’t think much about doing it at all. And maybe that means there’s something wrong with him, but he’s not stupid—Benson is into him. And if Randy can use that to keep him calm, keep them on track for a little while, maybe Benson will come back to himself. Will shake off the shock, and tell Randy what the plan is.

Like Splinters Under Your Skin by pissedoffeskimo - Rated M

Maybe Benson doesn’t know exactly where he’s going or how long it’ll be before this whole thing reaches its inevitable, bloody conclusion, but he knows he’s taking Randy with him. (Canon divergent from Miss Beard's house)

cold blue summer by visceravalentines - Rated E

Elliot Sheppard, a third-grade teacher at Central Elementary, abused children for many years before being exposed and taking his own life. Now, twenty years later, the school is being demolished, and something has awakened.... Strap in for the cruelest summer on record. An homage to classic slasher movies with a summer romance flair.

the driver by visceravalentines - Rated T

They’re about 50 miles over the Missouri border when Benson asks him. “You think you could drive, man?”

Or, Benson trusts Randy to take the wheel so he can get some sleep, and Randy spends the night thinking about Benson.

[housemdork]

house md rewatch: 2x09, "deception"

it makes sense that house would be so averse to a munchausen's diagnosis.

the (first) foreman era has made landfall, and it's already spelling out chaos. it's been AGES since we've had a foreman-forward episode, too, and i think this one slots nicely in with 2x01. back when foreman was so troubled by the patient on death row, we learned about his crucial trait that sets him apart from house: his ability and willingness to reflect. 2x09 features that trait of his pushed to its limit (among what we've seen thus far).

my experience with foreman has been that, so far, he respects what house does but does not like him, but even this respect is floundering a bit in light of recent events, like the chase and house debacle of 2x08. foreman enters the Boss Man Role with a naive idea of cooperation - if he can find a way to control house (his words) without being so blatant, he can introduce proper hospital ethics and morals and guidelines while also keeping house at ease. it's a silly endeavor from the outset and predicated on foreman's refusal/inability to see any part of house in himself.

it's not just audiences who pinpoint this as a doomed endeavor - wilson calls bullshit immediately. :"can i talk to you about something in confidence?" "of course." "it's about house." "oh, then. no."

i mention this mostly because the conversation reads not like words of wisdom or chastisement from wilson to foreman, but more so wilson saing "only i can fuck with house like that." little protective moment that doesn't do too much to advance the plot, but it does confirm that foreman does not have an ally in wilson. and ofc wilson has to be all theater kid/greek tragedy about it, comparing the idea of "controlling" house to "usurping" caesar.

what 2x09 also highlights are the leadership qualities, or lack thereof, between the fellows. foreman tries his hand at diplomacy here, but at the cost of his usual brilliance. house (rightly) accuses him of taking the safe route when he folds to a combination of both his and cameron's diagnoses; the resulting ridicule, while most inspired by how angry house is that he's not in charge atm, also comes from disappointment. he knows foreman is more than this, and he, at some level, wants foreman to see what he's sacrificing by playing cuddy's game.

chase, meanwhile, isn't granted any opportunity to showcase his leadership skills - instead, he gets back to scheming. this is so fucking funny given that in 2x08 both house and chase's entire careers were threatened because of their combined devilry. but what i also like about this little alliance between them is so prophetic it is - chase, despite claiming otherwise, still thinks that house considered loyalty to be transactional. he still thinks that, by sticking at his side, he'll be rewarded in the end. and while this is technically true come season 8, house firing chase in season 3 is one of the most insane moments of the show for me.

chase does make the important realization that, "no matter what i do, you're still going to treat me like crap," to which house makes a threat: "crap is a relative term." so chase's decision to conspire house against foreman here is equal parts an internal and externally motivated choice. but it's not like we haven't seen chase relish in this sort of thing before.

cameron, meanwhile, looks for ways to improve her leadership skills by appealing to leadership. i love and relate to her lol. i think house being needlessly harsh to her is a symptom of his unwillingness to acknowledge the moral effect she has on him and the team at large; that's leadership, but at a deeply subconscious level. yet his invitation for her to take a ride on his motorcycle with him is a powerful statement of equality - house shares the embodiment of his freedom with someone who's nearly survived the gauntlet of Having A Thing For House lmfao.

she deserves this moment of favoritism lol. also it's crazy that we've had no mention of cameron and HIV yet.

amidst all of that, however, i think the root of this episode's tensions comes from a rock (foreman) and a hard place (house) trying to communicate. foreman, saddled with new authority that he instantly takes very seriously, makes futile attempts at getting house to budge without understanding why house is being particularly petulant about this case. the patient, anica, has munchausen's disease, but beneath that, she harbors a real and dangerous condition.

house, just like in 2x07, can relate to her, and this idea of nonexistent pain haunts house and the viewer from 1x21. house refuses to write off anica because a real problem may be lingering beneath her mental illness, and that mental illness doesn't negate the resulting pain. house's vicodin addiction does not negate his leg pain and disability.

i think this shot/scene is very effective in drawing this parallel. it definitely looks like he's helping someone shoot up. but he's right, to a point, and to the chagrin of the team. he doesn't undo their diagnosis of munchausen's (he can't deny his addiction), but he can see to the heart of the issue (they can't deny his leg pain).

that's why i found cameron and house's exchange at anica's house so captivating. she says, about munchausen's patients, that "attention is attention," and house gets immediately defensive. he understands that need for attention and the chaotic ways he's tempted to get it, without exposing himself as lonely. and admitting to cameron, of all people, that he's lonely would be worse than death for him lol.

later, foreman reiterates this house/patient parallel to anika after they confirm the aplastic anemia: "you jumped through a lot of hoops to be here." anika returns with: "i just want to be healthy." in house's shoes, people are loath to believe that house wants any help because he refuses to ask; he complicates his life and his health with his vicodin addiction, but he just wants that pain to go away. i'm pretty confident in this comparison since we have 2x13 waiting for us in the wings.

moving forward, i'm interested in keeping tabs on all the moments where house is especially sensitive to medical negligence...despute having nearly been charged with it in 2x08. i also consider this to me ground zero for the never-ending tension between foreman and house that carries us alllll the way to about 8x02.

[pohtaytoh]

𝗡𝗼𝘁 𝗧𝗼𝗱𝗮𝘆, 𝗡𝗼𝘁 𝗘𝘃𝗲𝗿

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Lara Raj x g!n 7th Member!Reader

Three years ago, Lara Raj and Y/N Y/L/N from KATSEYE broke the internet when they first announced their relationship live. Now, they're back on screen, but with a different kind of news. A heavy silence hangs as they brace themselves to drop a bombshell: they're calling it quits. Just as they begin to share their heartbreaking announcement, the other KATSEYE members crash the live stream, on a mission to mend not only Lara and Y/N's hearts but also the hearts of their devoted fans. Will this be the end of their famous love story, or will their friends manage to turn the tide and keep them together?

The camera clicked on, and a wave of blinding white light hit Lara Raj and Y/N Y/L/N. They blinked, adjusting to the sudden glare but the real discomfort wasn't from the lights.

It was the heavy, suffocating silence that filled the room, a silence that felt louder than any stadium full of screaming fans. Their usual playful banter was gone, replaced by a shared tension that vibrated between them.

Three years ago, almost to the day, they had sat in a very similar setup. Back then, their faces were flushed with excitement, their eyes sparkling with a secret they were desperate to share. The internet had practically exploded when they, Lara Raj and Y/N Y/L/N, two members of the global sensation KATSEYE, had announced they were officially a couple.

It was a fairytale come true for millions of fans who had shipped them since their trainee days. Their love story became a symbol of hope and happiness in the often-harsh world of fame. Every shared glance, every subtle touch, every whispered word caught on camera became fuel for their devoted shippers.

Their "L/N-Raj" fan accounts thrived, filled with edits and theories and pure, unadulterated joy. Now, the air was thick with something entirely different.

Their smiles were forced, fragile things that threatened to crack. Lara’s usually vibrant eyes held a shadow, and Y/N, typically so warm and expressive, looked guarded, almost distant. They were holding hands, but it wasn't the comforting, intertwined grip of lovers. It was a desperate, almost formal clasp, as if they were clinging to each other for support through a difficult ordeal.

"Hi, everyone," Lara began, her voice a little shaky, a stark contrast to her usual confident tone. She squeezed Y/N's hand, and Y/N offered a weak, tight-lipped smile to the camera.

"Thanks for joining us today," Y/N added, their voice equally strained. "We know this is... a bit unexpected."

The comments section, which usually flooded with hearts and excited greetings, was already a mix of confusion and growing worry. "Why do they look so sad?" "Is everything okay?" "What's happening?"

Lara took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling visibly. "As you all know, three years ago, we shared some incredibly happy news with you. We announced that we were together." A small, sad smile touched her lips as she looked at Y/N, who nodded slowly.

"And your support, your love for us as a couple, has meant the world." Y/N picked up, their gaze drifting from the camera to Lara, then back. "It's been an amazing journey. We've shared so much, grown so much, both as individuals and as a group, and as... partners." They paused, and the silence stretched, growing heavier by the second.

The comments were now frantic. "No! Don't say it!" "Please tell me this isn't what I think it is!" Lara’s eyes welled up, but she blinked rapidly, fighting back the tears.

"But sometimes," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "even the strongest bonds face challenges that are... too big to overcome." Y/N’s grip tightened on Lara's hand.

"We've been doing a lot of thinking, a lot of talking, over the past few months," they confessed, their voice cracking slightly. "and we've come to a very difficult decision."

A collective gasp seemed to ripple through the comments section, even though they were thousands of miles away. The fans knew. They felt it.

"We've decided," Lara said, her voice now a mere whisper, "to... to go our separate ways." The words hung in the air, heavy and final. Y/N squeezed their eyes shut for a moment, a single tear escaping and tracing a path down their cheek.

Lara’s own tears finally broke free, silently streaming down her face. The comments exploded: "NOOOOOOO!" "This can't be happening!" "My heart is broken!"

The decision hadn't been sudden. It had been a slow, painful unraveling, like a gorgeous fabric fraying thread by thread until it was barely recognizable.

Their love hadn't died, it had simply been suffocated by the relentless demands of their lives. It started subtly. After the initial euphoria of going public, their schedules as global idols only intensified.

Album promotions, world tours, variety show appearances, photo shoots, endless dance practices, vocal lessons – every waking moment was meticulously planned. Time together became a luxury, not a given.

"Babe, are you free for dinner tonight?" Lara would text, exhausted after a twelve-hour practice. Y/N would reply almost instantly, "Ah, I wish, L. Got that late-night recording session. Maybe tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow I have that magazine shoot, remember?" Lara would type back, a pang of disappointment in her chest. "And then the flight to Tokyo."

"Right. Tokyo. I'll be there a day later for the concert prep."

Their conversations became less about their day and more about coordinating their next fleeting moment together. Dates were planned weeks in advance, only to be cancelled last minute due to an unexpected schedule change.

A romantic dinner would turn into a quick takeout meal eaten in silence in a hotel room, both of them too tired to talk. "I just feel like we're roommates sometimes, Lara," Y/N confessed one night, lying beside her in bed, staring at the ceiling.

"We share a bed, but we don't really share anything else anymore." Lara had sighed, turning to face them in the dim light. "I know, Y/N. It's just... so much. We're always working. When do we even have time to be us?"

They tried. They really did. They'd sneak in moments – a stolen kiss backstage, a quick coffee run disguised as a solo outing, a few minutes of quiet conversation in the back of a van. However, these moments were crumbs, not enough to sustain the vibrant, passionate love they once had.

The pressure from their company and the public didn't help. Every interaction was scrutinized. A moment of public affection was celebrated, but a moment of perceived distance sparked rumors. They felt like they were constantly performing their relationship, even when they were just trying to be themselves.

"Did you see that article?" Y/N asked one morning, scrolling through their phone with a frown. "Someone said we looked 'strained' at the airport yesterday. Said we weren't holding hands enough." Lara groaned. "Seriously? We were just tired, Y/N. We'd been on a 16-hour flight!"

"I know, but it's like we can't just be. We always have to be 'L/N-Raj,' the perfect couple." The resentment started to simmer. Small arguments, born out of exhaustion and frustration, began to surface.

"You promised we'd watch that movie tonight, Lara," Y/N said, their voice tight, after Lara had come back late from an impromptu meeting."I know, Y/N, but the company called. What was I supposed to do? Say no?" Lara retorted, feeling defensive. "It's our job!"

"And what about our time? Is that not important?" These weren't huge fights, but they chipped away at the foundation. They started to feel distant, even when they were physically close. The easy laughter and inside jokes became rarer. The comfort they once found in each other's presence slowly faded into a quiet awkwardness.

One particularly painful moment came during their anniversary. They had planned a rare, free evening. Lara had been so excited to bake a small cake but then, an emergency dance rehearsal was called. It was mandatory.

"I'm so, so sorry, Y/N," Lara had said, tears in her eyes as she talked to them in the practice room after hours of rehearsing. "I can't make it. They need us here all night."

Y/N had been silent for a long moment. "It's fine, Lara," they finally said, their voice flat. "It's always fine. Don't worry about it." But it wasn't fine. Lara could hear the hurt in their voice, the resignation.

She knew Y/N had been looking forward to it too. After that, a wall seemed to slowly build between them. They started to communicate less, not out of malice, but out of a weary acceptance that their lives simply didn't allow for the kind of relationship they both craved. They were both hurting, but neither knew how to fix it.

The thought of adding more stress to their already overflowing plates by trying to "work on things" felt impossible.

"Maybe... maybe this is for the best, Y/N," Lara had finally said one quiet evening, weeks before the live stream. They were sitting on opposite ends of their shared couch, the silence between them heavy with unspoken sadness.

"We're just hurting each other, aren't we? By trying to force something that our lives just... don't allow." Y/N had looked at her, their eyes filled with profound sadness.

"I don't want to lose you, Lara," they whispered, their voice thick with emotion.

"You won't lose me," Lara had promised, though her own heart was shattering.

"We'll still be in KATSEYE. We'll still be friends but maybe... maybe we need to step back from this." She gestured vaguely between them. "Before we completely ruin what we have."

It was a mutual decision, born out of exhaustion and a misguided belief that breaking up would somehow alleviate the pain, that it would free them from the constant pressure and disappointment. They thought it was the most loving thing they could do for each other. They were wrong.

Back in the present, on the live stream, the tears were flowing freely now for both Lara and Y/N. The comments were a torrent of grief, disbelief, and pleas.

"We just wanted to be honest with you all," Y/N choked out, wiping their eyes with the back of their hand. "It's been incredibly hard, and we hope you can understand."

Suddenly, the door to the room burst open. "What in actual K-pop is going on here?!" a voice boomed, followed by the sight of four familiar faces storming in.

It was the rest of KATSEYE.

First in was Daniela, her usually composed demeanor replaced by wide, alarmed eyes and a look of fierce determination. She had clearly just sprinted, her hair a little disheveled.

Right behind her, Manon walked in with a more measured, but equally urgent pace, her expression a mix of concern and a hint of her usual calm problem-solving focus.

Megan followed, looking utterly bewildered and heartbroken, her hand flying to her mouth as she saw Lara and Y/N's tear-streaked faces.

Finally, Sophia and Yoonchae, their gentle eyes already glistening with tears, their face a mask of pure empathy. The five of them stopped dead, taking in the scene: Lara and Y/N, red-eyed and distraught, holding hands like they were bracing for impact, and the screen behind them showing the live stream, its comments section a blur of despair.

"You two are breaking up?!" Daniela exclaimed, her voice incredulous, almost accusatory.

"Are you serious right now?!" Lara and Y/N flinched, startled by the sudden invasion. They hadn't expected this. They thought they had timed this when the others were out.

"Daniela, wait," Manon said softly, stepping forward. She looked at Lara and Y/N, her gaze gentle but firm. "What happened? We just saw the notification. We came as fast as we could."

Megan rushed forward, kneeling beside Y/N. "Y/N, Lara, what is this? Why are you doing this? You can't!" Her voice was thick with emotion, already on the verge of tears herself.

Sophia walked over to Lara, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Lara, honey, talk to us. What's going on?"

Lara sniffled, trying to compose herself. "We... We just told everyone. We're breaking up."

"But why?" Yoonchae and Daniela asked at the same time, the youngest asking in a soft tone while Daniela's was the opposite. She demanded for the answer. "You're Lara and Y/N! You're the couple! You're supposed to be forever!"

"It's not that simple guys," Y/N said, their voice hoarse. "It's been hard. Really hard."

Manon stepped into the frame, facing the camera directly for a moment, then turning back to Lara and Y/N.

"Everyone watching, please give them a moment. We just found out too." She then turned her full attention to the couple.

"Okay, let's breathe. Both of you. Tell us, what led to this? We're a team. We're family. You should have talked to us."

"We didn't want to burden you," Lara explained, her voice barely above a whisper. "You all have enough to deal with."

"Burden us?!" Megan cried, standing up. "Lara, Y/N, your happiness is our happiness! Your pain is our pain! We're KATSEYE! We go through everything together!"

"Exactly," Sophia added, her voice soft but clear. "We've seen you two through everything. From the moment you first met, through all the training, the debut, the tours... We've seen your love grow. We've seen how happy you make each other."

Daniela, still looking exasperated, pointed at the screen. "Look at the comments! Everyone is devastated! Do you know how much your love meant to people? It wasn't just your love story, it was our story too, in a way. It was part of KATSEYE's identity!"

"We know," Y/N said, looking down at their intertwined hands. "That's part of why this is so hard. We feel like we're letting everyone down."

"You're letting yourselves down!" Daniela countered, her voice rising. "And each other! Did you even try to fix it?"

Sophia put a calming hand on Daniela's arm. "Dani, let's calm down. Lara, Y/N, tell us. What were the problems? What made you think this was the only way?"

Lara took a shaky breath. "It's just... the schedules. The pressure. We barely see each other. When we do, we're exhausted. We started arguing over small things. We felt like we were drifting apart."

"We thought," Y/N continued, looking up at their bandmates, "that maybe if we weren't together, the pressure would ease. That we could still be friends, still be bandmates, without the added stress of trying to maintain a relationship that our lives just don't allow."

Megan shook her head. "That's a cop-out! You're saying you're giving up because it's hard? Since when does KATSEYE give up because something is hard?"

"Megan's right," Sophia said, her voice gaining strength. "Think about everything we've overcome. The endless practices, the strict diets, the homesickness, the competition... We did all of that together. You two did it together, supporting each other every step of the way."

Manon nodded. "Remember when Lara sprained her ankle right before the first world tour? Y/N, you stayed up with her every night, helping her with her exercises, making sure she ate, cheering her up. And Lara, when Y/N had that vocal strain scare, you were there, researching remedies, making them tea, making sure they rested."

Lara and Y/N looked at each other, their eyes softening as those memories resurfaced. They remembered the late nights, the shared anxieties, the unwavering support they had always found in each other.

"And the fans," Daniela added, pointing to the screen again. "They love you two! They've seen you through everything. They've celebrated your anniversaries, made fan art, written stories. You think they want to see you give up?"

"This isn't about the fans, Dani," Lara said, a hint of her old fire returning. "This is about us."

"It is about you!" Daniela shot back. "It's about the two people who clearly still love each other but are too stubborn or too tired to fight for it!" Y/N flinched at Daniela's bluntness, but there was a painful truth in her words. They did still love Lara. The thought of not having her in their life as more than a bandmate, of not being able to reach for her hand or share a quiet moment, twisted their gut.

"Look," Manon said, stepping between Daniela and the couple, her voice calm but firm. "We understand it's hard. Being in a relationship, especially one as public as yours, while being an idol, is incredibly challenging. But 'hard' doesn't mean 'impossible.' It means you need to find new ways to make it work."

"What new ways?" Lara asked, her voice tinged with despair. "We've tried everything. We're just so tired, Manon."

"Tired of what?" Yoonchae pressed gently. "Tired of loving each other or tired of letting the industry dictate your happiness?"

Sophia knelt down again, taking both Lara and Y/N's free hands. "Think about why you fell in love in the first place. Was it because you had perfect schedules? No. It was because of who you are, how you make each other feel. That hasn't changed, has it?"

Lara looked at Y/N, and Y/N looked back at her. In their eyes, they saw a reflection of their shared history: the laughter, the quiet comforts, the moments of profound understanding that no one else could provide. The love was still there, buried under layers of stress and exhaustion.

"We just... we don't have time," Y/N whispered, the old excuse feeling weak now, hollow.

"Then make time!" Daniela exclaimed. "You're idols! You're creative! You find solutions for everything! You write songs in hotel rooms, you practice dances in airport lounges! You can't find five minutes for each other?"

"She's right," Manon agreed. "It's not about finding more time. It's about making the time you do have count. It's about quality, not just quantity and it's about communicating, truly communicating, about what you need."

"Have you actually sat down and talked about this, really talked, without just saying 'it's too hard'?" Megan asked, her gaze piercing. "or did you just decide it was easier to give up?" The question hung in the air, sharp and uncomfortable.

Lara and Y/N looked away from each other, a flicker of guilt in their eyes. They hadn't. Not really. They had talked around the problem, about the symptoms, but not about the core issue of their fading connection and how to rekindle it. They had both assumed the other felt the same way, that the love was gone.

"We thought... we thought it was mutual," Lara admitted, her voice barely audible. "That we both felt it was just... over.”

"And you, Y/N?" Sophia asked gently. "Did you feel it was over?"

Y/N hesitated, then shook their head slowly, a fresh wave of tears forming. "No. I just... I thought Lara was unhappy. I thought I was making her unhappy. And I didn't know how to fix it."

Lara's head snapped up. "I thought you were unhappy, Y/N! I thought I was holding you back, being a burden with all the extra attention on our relationship!"

A stunned silence fell over the room. The other members exchanged glances. This was it. This was the misunderstanding that had festered.

"So you both thought the other was unhappy, and instead of talking about it, you decided to break up?" Daniela summarized, her voice less accusatory now, more incredulous. "You decided to break up because you assumed things?"

"It sounds ridiculous when you say it like that," Lara mumbled, wiping her eyes.

"It is ridiculous!" Yoonchae said, a small, hopeful smile starting to form on her face. Megan then added "You two are literally soulmates! Everyone knows it!"

"You're both so busy, so focused on KATSEYE, that you forgot to focus on each other," Manon observed, her voice thoughtful.

"It's easy to lose sight of what's important when you're constantly running but that's why you have us. We're here to remind you."

"Remember that time during the 'Debut’ comeback?" Sophia chimed in, a soft smile on her face. "Lara, you were so stressed about the choreography, and Y/N, you stayed up with her every night, practicing until she got every move perfect, even though you were exhausted too. You two always had each other's backs."

"And the time Y/N got food poisoning in Japan?" Megan added, laughing softly. "Lara, you practically became their personal nurse, even sneaking them bland crackers when the manager wasn't looking."

These memories, shared by their friends, weren't just anecdotes. They were powerful reminders of the deep connection, the unwavering support, and the profound love that had always existed between Lara and Y/N. They weren't just bandmates; they were each other's anchors in a chaotic world.

Lara looked at Y/N again, really looked at them, past the tears and the sadness. She saw the person she had fallen in love with, the person who understood her without words, who made her laugh even on the toughest days, who was her safe harbor and Y/N, looking at Lara, saw the vibrant, passionate woman who had stolen their heart, the one who challenged them, supported them, and made their life infinitely brighter.

The love was still there. It had never left. It had just been buried under a mountain of stress, miscommunication, and fear.

"We were so stupid," Lara whispered, her voice thick with regret. She pulled her hand from Y/N's, only to wrap her arms tightly around their waist, pulling them into a fierce hug.

Y/N gasped, surprised by the sudden embrace, but immediately reciprocated, burying their face in Lara's shoulder.

"I missed you so much," they mumbled, their voice muffled. "Even when we were together, I missed you."

The other KATSEYE members watched, tears in their own eyes, a wave of relief washing over them.

"This is what we wanted to see!" Daniela exclaimed, a wide, tearful smile breaking across her face.

"This is Lara and Y/N!" yelled Yoonchae, excited that her two eonnies are reconciling.

"It's not too late," Sophia said softly, her voice full of encouragement. "It's never too late for love like yours."

Manon stepped forward, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Okay, so now that we've established you're both idiots who love each other, what are you going to do about it?" She gestured to the live stream.

"The world is watching, and they're waiting."

Lara pulled back from the hug, still holding Y/N close. Their faces were still tear-streaked, but a new light had entered their eyes, a glimmer of hope, a spark of renewed determination.

"We need to talk," Lara said, looking at Y/N. "Really talk. About everything."

"Yes," Y/N agreed, their voice stronger now. "About the schedules, the pressure, how we can make this work without losing ourselves or each other."

Megan clapped her hands together softly. "And we'll help! We'll be your support system. We'll make sure you both take time for yourselves, and for each other. We'll be your secret keepers, your alibis for date nights, whatever you need!"

"We're a team, remember?" Daniela said, her earlier anger completely gone, replaced by genuine warmth.

"We'll figure this out together. KATSEYE is stronger when we're all strong, and that includes your relationship.”

Lara and Y/N turned back to the camera, their hands still clasped, but this time with a renewed tenderness.

The comments section was now a mix of confusion, hope, and rapidly growing excitement. "Are they... are they getting back together?!" "What's happening?!" "My heart can't take this!"

Lara took a deep breath, a genuine smile finally gracing her lips. "Everyone," she began, her voice clear and steady now, "we owe you all an apology. We came here today with very different news."

She glanced at Y/N, who squeezed her hand. "We were going to tell you we were breaking up." Y/N nodded.

"We were. We let the pressures of our lives, and some serious misunderstandings, convince us that it was the only way. We thought we were doing what was best for each other."

"But thanks to these four amazing people," Lara continued, gesturing to Manon, Daniela, Megan, Yoonchae and Sophia, who were now standing proudly behind them, smiling, "we've had a very important realization."

"We realized," Y/N said, their eyes fixed on Lara, "that we're not ready to give up. Not on us. Not on our love."

"We still love each other very much," Lara confessed, her voice filled with raw emotion. "And we're going to fight for it. We're going to work through the challenges, and we're going to find a way to make this relationship thrive, even with our crazy lives."

The comments section exploded. This time, it was with pure joy. "THEY'RE STAYING TOGETHER!" "MY SHIP IS SAILING AGAIN!" "KATSEYE SAVED THE DAY!"

Daniela stepped forward, beaming. "That's right! No breaking up today! Not ever!"

Megan waved to the camera. "We're here to make sure of it! We're the official L/N-Raj relationship guardians!"

Sophia and Yoonchae giggled, a sound of pure happiness. "We just want them to be happy. And they're happiest together." added the youngest.

Manon gave a reassuring smile. "It won't be easy, but nothing truly worthwhile ever is. What matters is that they're committed to each other, and we're committed to supporting them."

Lara and Y/N looked at their bandmates, then back at the camera, their faces glowing with a newfound hope. The heavy silence was gone, replaced by a feeling of lightness, of possibility.

"Thank you," Lara said, her voice thick with gratitude, not just to the fans, but to her bandmates. "Thank you for reminding us what's truly important."

"We promise to be more open, more honest with each other, and with you all," Y/N added. "And we're going to work hard to make this work."

The live stream ended with a flurry of happy comments and a collective sigh of relief from millions of fans worldwide but for Lara and Y/N, the real work was just beginning.

That evening, after the cameras were off and the initial euphoria had settled, the seven members of KATSEYE gathered in the living room of their dorm. The atmosphere was different now – still emotional, but filled with a sense of purpose.

"Okay, so, first things first," Manon began, ever the organizer. "You two need to set aside dedicated time. Even if it's just thirty minutes a day for a video call, or an hour on your one day off. Make it non-negotiable."

"And no more assuming what the other person is thinking," Daniela added, looking pointedly at Lara and Y/N.

"You talk. About everything. The good, the bad, the ugly. If you're feeling neglected, say it. If you're feeling overwhelmed, say it. Don't let things fester."

"We can help with distractions," Megan offered. "If you need a quiet space, we'll run interference. If you need a moment alone, we'll make sure no one bothers you."

Sophia nodded. "And remember to celebrate the small victories. The quick coffee dates, the shared meals, the moments of peace. Those are just as important as the big anniversaries."

Lara and Y/N listened, holding hands, a comfortable silence now settling between them. They knew it wouldn't be a magic fix. The pressures of their careers wouldn't disappear overnight but they had something they hadn't had before: clarity, renewed commitment, and the unwavering support of their family – their KATSEYE sisters.

"We'll do it," Lara said, looking at Y/N, a genuine, hopeful smile on her face. "We'll really do it this time."

Y/N squeezed her hand. "Together."

Their love story wasn't over. It was just entering a new chapter, one where they learned to navigate the complexities of their lives with open hearts, honest communication, and the powerful bond of friendship that had, quite literally, saved their love. Not today, not ever, would they give up on each other.

a/n: HERE IT IS! I've been proofreading this for a little while. I might proofread it again later just to make sure. To anon who requested this! I hope this lives up to your expectations, I tried my best really, although I tried to approach this in a funny way but felt like you shouldn't joke about a situation like this (bohoo, I would lol). I hope you guys love this! Send your thoughts and requests! Just tap that ask button ;)