#it's paired with THE most obnoxious smug grin - you know the one

[vaguelyaperson]

… ever consider that for any normal person, katsuki isn't a good lay,,, izuku and any other person who can match his freak can just see past the horrid sex manners and think it's hot

[lushaletta]

miss potions expert (two) / theodore nott x reader

pairing: theodore nott x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, mischievous!reader, theo being annoying

summary: the slytherin boys require your potions expertise once again, and they find themselves intrigued. most especially a certain theodore nott.

a/n: part two to thisssss! hope u guys like :p

read part one here!

⋆ ࣪.  ⁺⑅ ⋰˚ *.ﾟ .˳⁺⁎˚ ˚⁎⁺˳ . ༺ ˖࣪ ˖࣪ ∗

You don’t expect to see them again so soon.

But Slytherins are as unpredictable as they are arrogant, and you feel their presence hovering at the back of the library like vultures. You know their eyes are on you before you even look up. You don’t need to. Your sixth sense is never wrong.

Theodore approaches first, because of course he does. The others hang back, gossiping as if this is some event.

“You fucked up the potion,” he says flatly, glancing at Lorenzo, who’s making obnoxious kissing sounds, with that unmistakable glare.

“Did I?” You blink, innocently.

“You know you did.”

You shake off the façade. “Maybe, but I fixed it first. That’s what you call balance,” you click your tongue, grinning. “You’re welcome, by the way. Again.”

Theo opens his mouth like he’s about to argue, but Enzo steps forward, smoothly cutting in first. “Listen, we need help. Real help.”

Now that piques your interest. Theo’s arms are crossed, tapping his feet impatiently like this is the last thing he wants to be doing. “Oh, princes asking help from a peasant, huh? This is a first.”

“If you’re the peasant, then I’m seriously rethinking the monarchy,” Enzo quips, not missing a beat as he sizes you up. It earns him a low whistle from Mattheo behind him and a glare from Theo. You try not to smirk. He’s quick. You like that.

“We need another Confusing Draught. A working one. Snape’s threatening to get us banned from Quidditch if we don’t get it to him,” Enzo continues, his smug grin making way for puppy dog eyes. He’s good at it, you’ll give him that.

“And we’re not about to let that happen,” Theo says, begrudgingly.

You sigh dramatically, shutting your book as you lean against the chair lazily. “Fine, but I have conditions.”

“Of course you do,” Theo mutters lowly.

“One: I’m in charge. Two: I pick the meeting place,” you start, rattling them off. You lean in, lips brushing Theo’s ear. “Three: You owe me.” Your last condition is said with so much mischief it sends chills running down his spine as the boys watch intently.

Your smile is wicked. “Deal!” Lorenzo says easily, before Theo can protest.

“Great! Third floor, second door to the right tomorrow at noon.”

Mattheo frowns. “But that place is forbidden.”

“Exactly,” you wink.

And then you’re gone, leaving everyone bewildered and bested, the only trace of you being the flush on Theo’s cheeks.

Enzo hardly registers you disappear behind the shelves, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m scared of her.”

Theo exhales slowly, eyes still on the space you just occupied. “Good,” he breathes.

Mattheo claps him on the shoulder, chuckling. “You are so screwed, mate.”

You’re already waiting when they arrive, once again leaning against the stone wall like it’s yours, wand spinning lazily between your fingers. You don’t even glance up as they come around the corner.

Theo steps in first, expression taut and unreadable. As always. Lorenzo trails behind, his hands in his pockets, followed by the rest. You grin at their entrance.

“Took you long enough,” you say, flicking your wand to shut the door behind them with a soft click. “Hope no one saw you.”

“We had to bribe Peeves. Kept singing songs about Enzo’s love life. Git cost me ten pounds,” Mattheo says exasperatedly, dusting cobwebs off his sleeve.

You snicker. “What’s he gonna do with ten pounds?”

“Worth it!” Lorenzo says, looking around the dusty classroom. Or what used to be a classroom. “What’s all this?”

He struts across the room, grazing his hands over the lovingly dented cauldron and the worn desk. Blaise follows, narrowing his eyes at what seems to be just another day to you. “Done this before?” he asks.

“Here and there,” you say vaguely, preparing the ingredients.

“Are you gonna teach us something or what?” Theo mumbles impatiently, crossing his arms.

“Touchy,” you say. And then, more quietly, “As if you have places to be.” You know Theo hears that, because he rolls his eyes and steps forward to be closer to the desk.

The potion begins with reluctant cooperation. Mattheo does what he can, being mildly helpful along with Blaise and Draco bar for when he almost sets his sleeve on fire. Enzo proves annoyingly competent, following you around like a lost puppy, awaiting your direction. Theo… watches. A lot. Not just the potion, but you. Your hands, your frown when Mattheo adds too much scurvy grass, the tiny upturn of your lips when Enzo actually stirs at the correct speed.

You notice, of course. And you let him.

“You’re not going to help?” you ask him finally, once you feel he’s stolen enough glances. “You can wash your hands, you know,” you say, acting like you’re mistaking him for being posh.

“I’m observing.”

You hum, a high sound that all but knocks the wind out of his chest. “Right. Observing,” you say with too much emphasis. “That’s what we’re calling it.

Draco and Enzo exchange funny looks and Mattheo ribs Blaise. Theo goes quiet, like he isn’t already. He mutters something about checking the book, but he doesn’t stop staring.

Once the potion is an acceptable shade of emerald green, you hop up, loosening your tie with a smile. “Congratulations! A passable Confusing Draught. I’m shocked. Truly,” you deadpan.

“Are you going to sabotage it again?” Theo says incredulously.

You peer into the cauldron. “Tempting.” You smile.

“You owe us a working one.”

“And you owe me,” you counter, stepping closer. It makes his breath hitch.

“I know,” he whispers, forgetting the room around him. Enzo clears his throat before Theo can respond and tosses something your way— a wrapped box. Small, square, and suspiciously rattling.

“Fret not, Miss Potions Expert. We held up our end of the bargain.”

You raise a brow and unwrap it slowly. Inside was a vial holder, adorned with a small bottle of familiarly orange substance. Felix Felicis, you realise, scoffing at the thought. Then you see the note.

“For your next adventure,” it reads, written in expensive cursive.

Your smile falters for a second. Then you recover.

“Sentimental,” you say, slipping the vial into your pocket. “Dangerous. I like it.”

Theo finally speaks. “You never gave me your name.”

You flash him another grin. “That still depends.”

“On?”

“The same old thing— whether you’re going to thank me or not.”

He inhales. Takes a step forward, almost as if he’s challenging you. “Thank you,” he whispers, like it costs him something.

You freeze. Then you smirk. “Well, damn. Now I actually have to tell you.”

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。the dictionary definition of a rich boy

synopsis. that rich guy who won’t stop asking you out is your partner for this project—send help

contents. pre dating rich boy! gojo, college! au, implications of a zenin being pushy on the first date, satoru being distraught you went on a date lol, pre relationship shenanigans with the cutest loser boy !!

word count. 3.8k (it’s literally all just him being a handful)

notes. thank you niku my most cherished gojo stan for comming this (and giving me the most ridiculous tip) i adore you so much :,) mwah 💋

he’s late—gojo is late. in fact, he’s very late, by forty-five minutes and thirty-two seconds to be exact. you aren’t really the count-by-the-second type of person, but somehow when it comes to that irritating, smug, too-talkative brat that you’re stuck with…well, you can’t help but be petty and use the seconds against him too.

he shows up close to an hour after your agreed time, waltzing in with a grin on his face—and, oh, you should kill him. he has the audacity to send you a wink when he walks over, coming up to your table and pushing his sunglasses down his nose just a bit to look you in the eyes over the lenses. 

what kind of person wears sunglasses indoors? surely only the kind that are nothing but trouble.

“aw, you’re here already,” gojo hums, “that excited to see me?”

“you’re late,” you spit.

“am i? i could have sworn—”

“now it’ll get dark by the time we get through what we planned for today,” you glare. he looks enthused, positively delighted by the statement—it’s almost as if you’ve offered him candy. 

“well, then i’ll just have to walk you to your apartment,” he offers smoothly. 

what a jackass. of course, just as expected, he’s still attempting to worm his way into your personal life (and likely your pants) in the most obnoxious of ways. over your dead body, however, will you ever allow him to know where you live, let alone accompany you on the way. you value your sanity, and having a conversation with gojo satoru longer than you absolutely have to seems like the most efficient way to fry every nerve and brain cell you have left.

“absolutely not,” you grit, “you can call me an uber. you pay.”

“alright,” he nods, “i’ll get an uber for you. but i’ll need your number to make sure you made it home safe. otherwise, what kind of partner would i be?”

typically, any normal pair of partners are meant to exchange numbers for a project—it would be the easiest form of communication, and more importantly, you can spam call if gojo decides not to carry his weight instead of just hoping and praying he checks his socials. but you can’t let him have your number—he’s not trustworthy enough for that. the last thing you need is him bombarding you with texts, or worse: calls, in the middle of work and class. so instead, you strictly inform him that any and all communication will occur via social media.

he pouts at that—it’s a cute pout, you have to admit. it’s slightly dangerous, too, because had you not had the self-control you do, you might have caved. but then he lights up at the prospect of you adding him back on socials. 

i’ll get your number one of these days, he says confidently. his confidence is as aggravating as the way he clicks his pen in the middle of class. he still chooses to sit right beside you despite all the free and very available seats the entirety of the lecture hall has. 

but no, he insists on sitting right next to you—and you? well, you have to hope you don’t get charged with homicide by the end of every class from the constant clicking he makes you endure. despite all that, gojo is surprisingly smart, which means your project might not be so doomed. 

he’s annoyingly smart, actually—he never takes notes, and just when you think the professor has him cornered by asking him a question when he’s seemingly dozing off, he answers immediately with the correct answer. 

you hate him.

“absolutely not happening,” you grumble, opening your laptop, “anyway i think we should start with—”

“well, i hate to inform you,” he sighs sadly as if it genuinely pains him to say this, “but i’ve actually deleted all my socials.”

“what?” your eye twitches.

“yeah,” he nods, “it’s a bit of a cleanse if you will. staring at your screen all day and finding value in fake posts is not good for mental health, you know? i’m trying to be more in tune with myself. it’s been a real self-journey.”

before the end of this project, you might either be a college dropout or an inmate at the county jail. you’re not sure, either is equally as possible.

“gojo satoru, i am sick of your games,” you spit, “we both know—”

“and i would hate not being in touch with my partner since it’s a crucial part of this project for us to work together,” he hums, something of a smug look plastered on his aggravatingly gorgeous face, “that thirty percent deduction for ineffective partner communication would be such a shame to get when we’re working so hard already on this, wouldn’t you agree?”

is he threatening you? for your number? with your grade? he is, you realize—and you clench your fist tightly around the phone in your hands as he eyes it with a knowing look on his face. he has you right where he wants you, whether you like it or not.

“you’re an asshole,” you spit.

“i’m a mental health advocate,” he gasps—he has the nerve to act offended, even as he’s so obviously enjoying working you up like this. you wish he’d drop dead immediately. maybe you could take his card from his wallet as his cold body lays lifeless on the table and order yourself a new laptop if he did—that would be ideal. 

“i saw you post on your story last night—”

“you didn’t watch it,” he pouts, “i posted a shirtless gym selfie just for you—wait a second, you pay attention to my story, huh?” he cuts himself off with a smirk, wiggling his eyebrows at you, “c’mon, you don’t have to force yourself to skip them. you know you wanna watch them.”

“no, i don’t,” you seethe, “it was just the first one at the top. stop being self-important—”

“anyway,” he drawls, eyeing your phone again. you want to splash your coffee in his face. “i’ll need your number,” he sniffs, “the crushing disappointment of you skipping my story made me realize i’m too focused on getting social media validation, so i’m taking a break. it’s the best thing for me to do in my headspace right now. hope you understand.”

“are you kidding me?” you stare at him. he grins before shaking his head.

“i would never joke about mental health,” he says seriously—it’s not as serious as your desire to slap him, however.

“fine,” you take a long, slow sip of your coffee to calm down, “give me your phone.”

“oh, you’re gonna set your own contact?” he brightens, immediately handing you his phone. it’s brand new—the newest model, in fact. it’s barely been a few days since it dropped. truthfully, you’re not even sure why you’re shocked—of course, he, of all people, would upgrade immediately. “how intimate,” he gushes, “it’s almost like we’re going on a date—”

“do not text me outside of project purposes,” you interrupt, thrusting the phone back into his hands, “got it?”

“you got it,” he grins triumphantly.

—————

like all things he does, gojo finds a roundabout way to keep his word without actually keeping it. it’s his secret talent, you think—finding loopholes through all the technicalities of things.

hey when ur free can u read over my portion? i just finished

btw r u going to that frat party this wknd? u don’t seem the party type haha but u should come 

i’ll introduce u to suguru! he’s my best friend he’s super nice u’ll like him

oh and when do u wanna meet this week? promise i’ll be on time this time ;)

you make sure to only respond to the questions regarding your project—just because he technically kept his word and started the conversation centered around the project before getting off topic doesn’t mean you have to indulge him. and the way he types is infuriatingly annoying—who shortens every possible word like that? only him, you think.

okay, maybe you’re just nitpicking now, but every time you see his name pop up on your screen, your mood sours tenfold. you decide to answer as dryly as possible.

k i’ll look. we meet same time as last.

the period at the end should add the perfect touch—you grin to yourself in pride at that one. instantly, bubbles pop up and indicate he’s typing again. your smile very quickly drops.

wow ur a rly dry texter aren’t u?

that’s ok i don’t judge

so how bout the party? 

i can be ur escort ;) 

it’ll be fun!

from his side of the screen, gojo watches as your contact shows notifications silenced at the bottom. he pouts to himself—no party, then, he thinks.

—————

gojo satoru, the guy who seemingly has everything he could ever want, likes you. 

frankly, he’s not really sure why—at first, he finds you mildly amusing, and he thinks it’d be fun to have a short fling with you perhaps. somewhere along the line, however, that changes. he watches you dedicatedly take notes in class, no matter how tired you seem from work the night before. he notices the way you chew on your bottom lip when you’re really focused—it’s actually very cute, he thinks. and he’s entertained by the way you always have some smart little retort waiting on your tongue. you’re not boring—and more than anything, you leave him a little humbled. it’s refreshing, and he kind of likes it, if he’s being completely honest.

he’s never liked anyone before—it’s a weird feeling. at best, he’s had a crush where he could appreciate that someone is generally pleasing to the eye and has a personality that might mesh well with his, but he’s never yearned for someone before. 

it just so happens to be his luck that the same person he wants more than anything in the entire world (for the first time ever, too) seems to hate his guts. it also happens to be that the same person he wants more than anything is currently getting asked out by some kid from the zenin family. right in front of him. and you’re saying yes. 

why on earth would you say yes to a zenin of all people? don’t you value yourself? 

gojo can admit that he’s had his fair share of heart robbing and tear inducing moments—he’s not exactly someone with the best track record for commitment, but at least he doesn’t use people for his own benefit. plus, he does, in fact, actually plan on committing to you. that zenin boy most certainly can’t be any good news if he’s anything like naoya, who gojo has met on a multitude of occasions, and knows very well is a scoundrel of a guy. 

“see you at nine?” he hears the zenin (what was his name again?) ask you. you nod, smiling sweetly. 

why don’t you smile sweetly at him like that? he buys you coffee every week. sure, he only gets to buy you the coffee because you have no choice but to meet him for the project, but he even offers to get you a slice of cake—you don’t ever accept, though, so he ends up eating both. but you do like coffee, very strong coffee that’s probably not sweet enough for his liking, but you enjoy the coffee he buys you nonetheless, and that has to count for something.

“sure, see you at nine,” you hum.

gojo watches in absolute shock (and abject horror) as you look down shyly. as soon as the zenin boy walks away, he stomps up to you.

“hey, what gives?” he asks petulantly, making your face paint on that irritated look that it always seems to adopt when he’s in the vicinity—how rude.

“what do you mean?” you ask tiredly, “i don’t speak toddler, so please use your words—”

“why’d you say yes to that zenin boy—”

“he has a name. it’s—”

“who cares what his name is? he’s an asshole! he won’t treat you right even if his mother’s life is on the line—”

“oh, and you would?” you raise an eyebrow, glaring at him. how is it his place to tell you who’d treat you right and who wouldn’t? how is it his place to even care?

“i would,” he gasps at the accusation, “you’d date a zenin but not me? how come?”

“because you’re annoying,” you counter like it’s obvious.

okay, now that is technically fair—gojo has heard his fair share of you’re annoying’s from people in his life. in fact, a good amount of them come from his own mother, but he’s also dashingly handsome, very good in bed, has soft hair, is tall and muscular, can buy you whatever you like, and can be smart and funny too if you really don’t care for those kinds of things. he’s the entire package and more. and more importantly, he’s not from the zenin family, and that automatically means you’ll actually be treated with an ounce of respect.

he looks at you incredulously, feelings a little hurt. “that’s not true! name one annoying thing i’ve done—”

“you laughed in the middle of me speaking in class.”

“that wasn’t at you! suguru showed me something funny on his phone—”

“and you took like twenty minutes in line ordering the most sweetest drink on the menu while i was running late—”

“you can’t use that against me, that’s not fair! i’m a paying customer, i should be able to get whatever i want. plus, it’s technically not my fault you were late.”

“you rubbed in the fact that you had a black card.”

“you mentioned it first!”

“you were late to our first meeting for the project.”

“okay, that was an honest mistake! people are allowed to make those, you know—”

“i don’t want to go out with you,” you say frustratedly, “and it’s really annoying when you act like a spoiled brat that can’t handle the word no and keep on insisting, okay? so leave me alone unless it’s to discuss our project—which weighs fifty-five percent of our grade, by the way, so don’t even think about getting lazy.”

he is not lazy, he wants to argue.

but before he can, you roll your eyes and take a step to walk around him, leaving him there to blink in shock. okay, he thinks with a huff, so you’re playing hard to get. that’s no matter, he’s good at the chase anyway. 

—————

the date doesn’t seem to have gone well. gojo can tell because your eyes are slightly red and puffy, and you’re extra grouchy today in class. your professor seems to have noticed, too, because instead of calling on you today, she calls on gojo extra as a rare show of mercy. 

gojo doesn’t mind—this class is surprisingly easy, and he’s bored half the time anyway. he might as well indulge the uptight professor in an ugly brown pencil skirt and answer her pretentious questions that aren’t as complex as she thinks they are. 

“so,” he finally breaks the silence, “how was your date—”

“if you’re looking for a chance to say i told you so, just get it over with, you jerk,” you grumble. he raises his eyebrows in surprise before both hands go up in surrender.

“i wasn’t,” he says genuinely, “you just…uh…you look upset, is all.”

you hesitate for a short second, gauging his sincerity for a moment before sighing and slumping on the desk, cheek resting on your arm. gojo resists the urge to poke the soft flesh—it’ll probably make you mad, and you’re already in a bad mood. 

“he was…pushy,” you say quietly, “i don’t really believe in taking things far on the first date. he didn’t like that.” instantly, his fists clench tightly, eyeing you from the side carefully, almost in concern. “nothing happened,” you wave off, “but he did make me feel disgusting,” you mutter.

“yeah, well, he is a zenin,” he points out, “they’re…well, my family’s known them for a while. my mom hates them.”

you look over at him in mild interest, raising an eyebrow. “don’t tell me there’s drama in the rich community,” you gasp, “i thought you all just came as one to sip fancy wine and laugh at the poor together.”

he snorts, throwing you a toothy grin that you think for a moment is kind of cute—but that doesn’t mean he’s any different from the rest of the rich folks. someone of gojo satoru’s caliber has no business mixing with someone of yours—it’s common knowledge. gojo has everything he wants, and if he doesn’t, it’s a simple matter of asking before it’s his. there’s simply no way you can mold into his world to be what he needs you to be, and when the time inevitably comes when he realizes you’re not what he wants, well…you’d like to save yourself the wounded pride and crushed soul while you can. 

“sometimes we have fancy appetizers too with the wine,” he jokes, “don’t forget those.”

“oh, my apologies,” you chuckle. gojo likes it when you laugh, he decides. it looks much better than when you’re glum—he thinks seeing your lips quirked in anything other than a smile is a waste of your perfect features, and he can’t have that.

“my mom married my old man in this stupid arranged marriage or something,” he explains casually, like it’s just the norm. you suppose it is—for the rich, at least. you wonder briefly if gojo will have a marriage planned for his future, too, and you wonder if he’s okay with that. surely it’ll be some wealthy and fancy socialite of a girl that fits his family’s standards. someone who’s not you—not that you care anyway, you wouldn’t marry him regardless. “my grandma wanted her to marry the zenin, but she said no. said he treated her like a piece of meat every time they met, so she settled for my dad instead. lucky her, 'cause now i’m her son,” he beams. 

settled—something about the way he says it makes you think his parents must not really care for each other as a husband and wife should. it makes you think briefly about what his childhood might’ve been like, not watching his parents happy and in love the way they should be. but still, the way gojo talks about his mother is fond, with a gentle smile on his face as he recalls the things she’s told him. you can’t help but smile a little too.

“i think that makes you the lucky one,” you snort, “you’d still be her son. just that you’d be a zenin.”

he crinkles his nose at the thought, dramatically shivering and making you giggle. “gross,” he gags.

“well, now you have her to thank,” you hum, “your dad would’ve been…whoever the zenin she was supposed to marry is.”

“yeah, well, trust me,” he mumbles, his smile dropping ever so slightly, “my old man’s not that big of an upgrade from a zenin. even my grandfather’s sick of him. imagine being such a douche, your own dad can’t stand you.”

you’re learning more about gojo in one sitting than you ever imagined (or planned) to learn—part of that is because he seems like he’s the type to overshare on the first meet; the other part…well, you have to be honest with yourself, it’s not exactly a bad pastime hearing him talk about himself. gojo is an odd piece of work, and you can’t say you hate learning about the little pieces that come together to make him so weird. 

okay, perhaps weird is a bit rude, you think—he’s…unique.

“oh, so you’re the dictionary definition of a rich boy, huh?” you hum, resting your cheek on your hand as you sit up and face him—gojo, for a quick moment, feels his heart stutter when you talk to him like that: with your undivided attention like he’s the only one in the room. 

“what makes you say that?”

“daddy issues is like…the first thing in the rich boy starter pack.”

he laughs at that, smooth and almost sweet—it’s a dangerous thing. it’s easy to attract you to him, like a bee to honey, with the way his lips curl like that, showing off his dimples. but the bees can easily turn into maggots—and you don’t want to find yourself as a dead carcass by the end of this.

“i don’t have daddy issues,” he says smoothly, “that old man should sleep with both eyes open. if anything, he has son issues.”

“you’re hands down the oddest person i have ever met,” you mumble.

“what was that? did you say hottest? yeah, i know—”

“shut up, jackass,” you scowl, shoving his shoulder when he leans closer with a bat of his lashes. he laughs, and so do you—and just for one, quick, momentary instance, gojo satoru is not so bad. dangerous and a bad choice maybe, a setup for a big mistake perhaps, something you should stay away from, in fact. 

but not so bad. 

“how about i show you what it’s like to go on a date with a gojo,” he grins, winking easily. he’s persistent—very persistent, you note. “you might like it a lot more than a zenin.”

“no, thank you,” you hold a hand up, “never going to happen.”

“never say never,” he hums, “you might eat your words.”

—————

“hey, satoru?”

“that’s not my name.”

“that actually is your name,” you say tiredly.

“hmph,” satoru rolls over, dramatically tugging the blankets over his body as he shuffles away from you, “not to you, it’s not.” 

you sigh, pursing your lips at his antics. “oh my god. okay—hey, toru?” you correct yourself. and just like that, he turns back around, grinning brightly as he inches closer until his head is resting on your chest.

“yes, baby?” he says sweetly, earning a roll of your eyes as your fingers weave into his hair. it’s soft—you don’t think you ever want to let go.

“it’s way better dating a gojo, by the way,” you murmur, “than a zenin.”

“oh yeah?” he grins smugly, arm draping over your body as he kisses your jaw, “i told you it would be, didn’t i?”

“i haven’t dated other rich families to compare, though,” you tease, “you might get replaced.”

“unlikely,” he chuckles, “no one,” there’s a kiss to your jaw, “will love you,” another kiss to your cheek, “like me.”

finally, there’s a slow, soft kiss to your lips—and when he kisses you like that, you have no choice but to believe him.

satoru sooooo sends multiple texts back to back he just like me for real

[thewickedjazzy]

Special week: Blurred Lines for Kinktober.

♡featuring: jjk & bsd x afab! reader.

ᡣ𐭩PHASE 1: geto & chuuya x reader

♡synopsis: being a movie star in the jjk world has its perks and pitfalls, especially when you find yourself face-to-face with four swoon-worthy men. to make things even more complicated, you end up sandwiched between chuuya and geto in one night.

♡warnings: ņsfw, mdņi 18+, established plot, smųt with plot, characters are aged up or in their 20s, threesome, double penetration, cum mentioned, double cream pie, unprotected sex, fingering, degradation 'slut' ... not proofreaded, ig that's it?

♡word count & a/n: 5.2k, a special thank you & a smooch to @remlionheart for helping my ass write this and feeding my brain with her sweet ideas. it was so amusing and fun to write that i couldn't stop giggling. this fic is dedicated to my bbg @bittysuguro

[check the jjk & bsd special week masterlist]

“what do you mean my card got declined?!” a furious voice echoes across the pristine, high-end louis vuitton boutique.

you pause mid-step, glancing over your shoulder. the boutique is one of the most luxurious on omotesando street and honestly you haven't expected any kind of outburst here of all places. you can’t help but arch an eyebrow, pondering if he's trying to pay with monopoly money or if his bank account has suddenly taken a nosedive.

the subject of the chaos stands by the counter, fuming—he’s a redheaded man in a black designer coat with a flat cap pulled low over his striking blue eyes. he looks like he just walked out of a fashion editorial, except for the part where he is practically roaring at the terrified cashier and waving a gold card like a weapon.

you find yourself blinking once again—what in the world is going on?

“sir, i ran it three times, and each time—” the cashier stammers, flinching as the redhead leans over the counter like he is about to blow the place up.

“i know there’s money on it! RUN IT AGAIN!” he growls, and you swear you can see veins popping in his neck.

before the poor cashier can even protest further, another man saunters into view, tall, lean, and wearing the most obnoxiously casual yet designer outfit. white hair peeks out from under a pair of dark sunglasses, and despite the clear chaos, he is wearing the cockiest grin you’d ever seen.

“tsk..no need to get so worked up,” the white-haired man drawled, arms laden with five louis vuitton bags. “your poor is showing.”

the redhead whirls on him, eyes blazing. “what did you just say, you asshole?”

the taller man stands there unfazed with his shit grin spreading wider. “you heard me, short stack.”

the redhead’s whole body stiffens, and you expect him to launch himself across the store. you are only a few paces away, casually browsing the new bags collection, but now you find yourself watching the scene unfold like a deer caught in headlights.

“oh, please,” the white-haired man replies with a chuckle, waving his hand dismissively. “you sure you wanna do this, kid?”

at that moment, the shorter guy’s feet literally lift off the ground as he floats up toward the white-haired man, arm cocking back for a punch. it's like some weird gravity-defying stunt, and you can't help but stare, unsure whether you are hallucinating or if this is a really elaborate prank. you half-expect someone to jump out and yell, “surprise! you’re on candid camera!” while someone else films your bewildered expression.

the punch swings forward but… stops. midair.

“what the—” the redhead sputters, his fist hovering a mere inch from the smug man’s face, like an invisible barrier is blocking it.

“oh,” the taller man snickers, “you actually tried.”

just as things are about to get out of hand, a third man appears—a taller figure with dark hair tied back wearing a serene expression as if he just came back from a yoga session. he places a hand on the redhead’s shoulder, gently pulling him back to the ground.

“hey man, let’s not destroy the boutique today, alright?” he says, his tone is unbelievably calm, like he is used to this kind of chaos. his gaze shifts to the white-haired man whilst rolling his eyes. “satoruuu, stop antagonising everyone you meet. people are staring.”

the redhead grumbles something under his breath, glaring daggers at the taller man—satoru?—who simply chuckles back at him.

just when you thought things couldn't get any worse, the fiery-haired man still glaring at gojo, like he’d just stolen his lunch money—suddenly turns his gaze toward you as if he can feel your eyes boring into him. “what are you staring at?”

he takes a step toward you, and you feel your body tense up like a live wire. you can't help but blink back at him, because honestly, what are you supposed to say? "oh sorry, just trying to figure out why a five-foot ball of rage is levitating in a louis vuitton boutique?"

before you can formulate any semblance of a response, a smooth voice cuts in, dripping with nonchalance, “now, now, chuuya, no need to take your frustration out on innocent bystanders.”

the ginger-haired man (chuuya, you think you heard) glare flickers with surprise as a tall man with messy brown hair sidles up next to him, his brown trench coat swaying with his lazy steps. you barely register him before he sweeps his hand out, pushing chuuya aside like a piece of furniture. “pardon my associate’s behavior. he’s always a little testy when his card gets declined.”

you blink. “huh…?”

the brown-haired man gives you a dazzling smile, the kind that should come with a warning label. “ahh but you…” he trails off, letting his dark eyes roam over your figure with a look of pure delight. “such a wonderful sight. how can such a radiant beauty even exist in this world?” his voice dips, smooth and syrupy, and you can practically hear the faint sound of violins playing in the background.

chuuya’s eye twitches as he scowls at dazai. “are you seriously doing this right now?”

dazai ignores him entirely, stepping closer to you. “osamu dazai, by the way. and you must be the goddess gracing us with your presence today. It’s an honor to bask in your light.” he flashes you a grin, the kind that looks practiced but somehow genuine, and you’re not sure if you should be flattered or call security.

“i—uh—” you stammer, caught off guard by the sudden shift in the situation.

before you can utter another word out, the white-haired man—saturo, you assume, based on the way the other man addressed him—suddenly whips around, his sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose just enough to reveal his gorgeous icy blue eyes, narrowing his gaze on you.

his entire demeanour shifts in an instant, going from casual smugness to absolute starstruck fanboy in 0.5 seconds. “wait… wait a damn minute—” his eyes widen, and he practically leaps forward, shoving dazai to the side like an afterthought. “you… you’re—no way, it's you! you’re my favourite movie star!”

dazai, now comically stumbling from the shove, frowns, “hey, i was talking first!”

saturo doesn’t even hear him, his attention laser-focused on you as he runs a hand through his white hair, grinning like an excited puppy. “holy shit, i’ve seen all your movies! you’re incredible! i mean, not just pretty—you’re talented too! that last film? chef’s kiss. truly. pure brilliance.”

you stare at him flabbergasted by the sudden barrage of praise. “uh… thanks?”

saturo claps his hands together and then turns to dazai with a smug smirk. “sorry, what were you saying? something about basking in her light?”

dazai, ever the smooth operator, recovers quickly, “wait a minute…” he muses, leaning slightly closer to saturo, “you know, your voice is kind of… nice.” he cocks his head as if discovering a new piece of an intriguing puzzle. “almost like i’ve heard it somewhere before… perhaps in a mirror?”

saturo's eyebrows shoot up, a look of surprise briefly crossing his face before his smug grin returns again. “well, well, aren’t you observant?” he says, hands casually stuffed into his pockets as he looks dazai up and down. “i guess i should compliment your taste then—great minds and great voices think alike.” he chuckles, and you can almost feel the mutual smugness radiating off the two men.

chuuya, who has been silently simmering through the whole exchange, finally explodes. “are ya both fuckin’ serious right now?” he growls, fists clenching at both his sides. “first, i’ve gotta deal with him”—he jabs a finger toward dazai—“and now this jackass too?” his foot taps impatiently on the boutique's polished floor, like he's ready to fight both of them.

“chuuya tsk.. tsk you're just upset because your little card got declined.” he shakes his head chuckling, “i didn’t know the economy would reject you specifically. but you know, you could always start a gofundme or maybe, uh i don’t know, pawn that fancy hat of yours?” he smirks playfully. “i hear they pay well for vintage."

saturo chuckles, clearly enjoying their little banter chaos. “hey, i like this guy! he’s got jokes.” he leans over toward dazai. “you sure we didn’t cross paths before?” then, turning his attention back to you with a teasing glint, he adds, “don’t worry, sweetheart—i’m still your best bet if you’re looking for a hero.” his eyes glimmer with flirtatious arrogance, as if he’s already planned your honeymoon by now.

chuuya throws his hands up in exasperation, shooting dazai an accusatory glare. “this isn’t funny, dazai! how the hell are we even supposed to survive in this weird-ass world when my damn card doesn’t work? not to mention that this is your fault for bringing us to this ridiculous place!”

the bandaged man sighs briefly, slipping into a serious look, “you're right. but I guess it's time to become a street performer. i mean, with your size, you’d make an adorable little tap dancer. might even make some decent pocket change.”

“you son of a—”

“enough!” the hot black-haired guy, who had been silently observing, steps forward, placing a firm hand on chuuya’s shoulder again. “we’re in public. can we try to act like civilized people for five minutes?”

chuuya grumbles, his fists still clenched, but the black-haired guy’s firm grip on his shoulder seems to anchor him enough to stop an all-out brawl. he glares between the two idiots in front of him—dazai still grinning like a smug bastard and saturo, who looks like he’s already planning his next punchline.

saturo straightens, his grin shifting slightly. “ugh suguru..don’t be such a killjoy.” he gestures lazily at dazai, “i was just making a new friend.”

chuuya scoffs. “friends? yeah, right. who the hell are you guys anyway?”

“just… tell them your name already. this isn’t a fight club.” suguru rolls his eyes.

saturo shrugs, turning his attention back to you and flashing that million-watt grin. “well, since suguru insists.” he dramatically puts a hand to his chest as if introducing himself for the first time. “i’m gojo satoru. the strongest sorcerer and uh apparently,”—he glances at dazai with a smirk—“your newest competitor for this sweetheart's attention.”

you sigh, clearly having enough of this shitty situation that feels like the setup for a sitcom episode. the ginger looks more frustrated by the minute, and the sight of him glaring daggers at the so-called companions makes you feel slightly bad for him.

“alright, chuuya,” you say, pulling him toward the cashier, ignoring the stunned look on his face. you feel suguru follow, maintaining a calming presence beside you. the cashier looks just as frazzled as chuuya, but you’re determined to end this nightmare once and for all.

“wait, what are you doing?” chuuya protests, glancing back at you with wide eyes. “you don’t have to—”

“It’s fine, really. it happens all the time,” you insist, shooting him a reassuring smile as you pull out your own card. “this is on me. plus you can pay me back in another way, though.”

dazai, overhearing this, perks up like a dog hearing a treat bag crinkle. he sidles over with that ever-present smirk on his face, leaning closer to you. “oh, you accept other ways? you naughty naughtyyy tsk!”

you roll your eyes, feeling your cheeks warm slightly, and ignore him completely. instead, you focus on the cashier, who looks thoroughly confused but also relieved to see the drama coming to a close. “just run this through, please.”

chuuya crosses his arms, clearly still disgruntled but unable to resist the tide of your determination. suguru shoots him a look that seems to say, “just go with it,” and chuuya huffs, lips pressing into a thin line.

as the cashier processes the transaction, you turn back to huuya. “it's fine, I really get it—everyone has rough days. uh how about you let me help you out a bit? i actually have a project coming up that could use two male leads.”

“it’s a vampire movie,” you explain with a grin spreading across your face as you watch chuuya’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “and honestly, you two fit the aesthetic perfectly. everyone i’ve auditioned so far has been terrible. i could really use your looks and… personalities,” you point toward the redhead and the hot black-haired man.

chuuya raises an eyebrow, skepticism etched across his features. “a vampire movie? seriously?”

“actually, I think you’d be perfect for the role. your features and that hair of yours are perfect for it.” suguro chuckles, nudging chuuya slightly.

you watch as chuuya’s expression softens, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smirk. for the first time, he chuckles, rolling his eyes at suguro. “you wouldn’t believe it, but I’ve had to dress up like one just to save that idiot dazai’s neck.”

suguro chuckles back, shaking his head. “guess it’s time to redeem yourself.”

chuuya huffs but a small smile betrays him. “fine, i’ll consider it. but only if you promise i don’t have to wear any ridiculous costumes.”

“i can’t make any promises,” you say with a teasing grin.

suguro smiles, leaning against the counter. “i’ll accept the offer, too.”

you beam, feeling a wave of relief wash over you finally. “great! i’ll send you both the details later.”

“ugh, why is this so hard?” you can’t help but chuckle at his struggle, it’s not like you're defusing a bomb here—just rehearsing a kiss for a scene.

“chuuya, it’s just a kiss. how hard can it be?” you tease, raising an eyebrow, watching him pace back and forth through the rehearsal room like a caged tiger.

“just a kiss? have you seen your face?” he gestures wildly, and you swear you can see steam rising from his ears. “you make it look way too easy!”

you giggle glancing up as you hear a faint creak from the door only to see geto strolling in and casually leaning against the door frame. you can tell that he just got out of the shower as he holds a towel drying his luxurious black hair. you part your lips trying to take a deep breath as you see his damp hair clinging to his neck in a way that’s... well, distracting, and you're not above admitting that. but as he shakes the water from his hair, your mind drifts back—against your will, mind you—to that moment from a week ago.

technically, it was a regular day. nothing special. just you trying on a costume in one of those annoyingly small fitting rooms. and of course, it had to be the tightest, most ill-fitting costume known to mankind. the zipper might as well have been laughing at your misery as you wrestled with it, stuck halfway like it had a personal problem against you.

after what felt like an hour of struggle, you finally managed to peel the outfit off your body like some weird victory over fabric. and that’s when geto decided to make his grand entrance.

“oh, uh... wrong room,” he said and in that split second, you swore your heart had leaped out of your chest, seeing his eyes go wide, flicking down clearly taking in the delicate lace set you had on and oh, the way he stares makes your cheeks flush hotter than the sun on a july afternoon.

you are friends. just friends. well, maybe more than friends. the three of you are getting along—maybe a little too perfectly, if you are being honest. it is in the small things like how geto always have a lighter handy for you and chuuya, even though he doesn't smoke. you have no idea why, but somehow he’d always flick it open when you reach for a cigarette. that, combined with the lingering glances and casual touches that seems far too intimate to be strictly platonic, says something about where things are heading.

chuuya, on the other hand, is... well, he is oblivious. not that you mind it. he is just so focused on the roles you are rehearsing together that he hasn't picked up on the fact that you’ve been flirting with him for a while now. hell, geto had caught on, but chuuya? the poor guy needs it spelled out. you are going to have to make your moves more obvious—or, in chuuya’s case, maybe drastic.

and if you think back to certain moments—like that night when chuuya got himself absolutely plastered. that redhead brat went from zero to blackout drunk in record time, and of course, it fell on you to drag his sorry ass home. you just couldn't see him stumbling out of a bar, half-laughing, half-cursing, completely out of it and do nothing. to be fair, this all came after his impulsive bank robbery—yeah, you heard that right. a bank robbery. apparently, after the whole boutique incident, chuuya decided he was tired of being broke.

so there you were, guiding this drunken menace through the streets, and contemplating how you could spring him from the charges he was facing. he was barely coherent, mumbling something about the "best wine ever" and how the stars were "calling his name." romantic, right? wrong.

by the time you finally got him inside, chuuya, in all his sottish wisdom, decided clothes were optional. without a word—no hesitation, no second thoughts—he started stripping. pants off, dress shirt shirt flung across the room, and he was about to lose the rest when you jumped in.

“whoa, okay, let’s maybe not do that right now?” you managed to say, trying your best to avert your gaze but also wondering why the hell the universe had put you in this situation. because, let’s be honest, as much as you didn't want to stop him... you really, really should.

and you did stop him, somehow managing to wrestle him back into some kind of decency before he could make things even more harder for you. needless to say, he was so out of it, that he passed out immediately after—half clothed, thank god.

and you thank heavens that he doesn't remember a damn thing the next morning about his one-man strip show.

you blink as the sound of geto’s teasing voice yanking you from your thoughts.

“what’s going on in here? i could hear chuuya’s desperation from down the hall.”

chuuya glares at him. “shut it, geto. we’re just—”

“rehearsing a kiss,” you finish, unable to resist the urge to jump in.

“exactly,” chuuya huffs, crossing his arms defensively and pouting—god he's so adorable. “just a stupid kiss.”

geto smiles softly and steps further into the rehearsal room, “well, it can’t be that bad. show me what you’ve got.”

chuuya rolls his eyes, obviously being tested by geto’s teasing and you can see him mentally gearing up, “alright, but don’t laugh if I mess it up.”

you try to flash him an encouraging smile to ease him a little bit. “just breathe. it’s literally just a kiss.”

he nods stepping closer, you notice his cheeks tinged with a hint of pink. he gets within a breath’s distance and suddenly seems frozen, his confidence evaporating as he stumbles over his own thoughts. “uh... so...”

you can't help but chuckle softly, leaning in a little closer to coax him. “come on, chuuya. just focus on my lips. you can do this.”

geto—who had been watching from the side with a knowing smile—decided to step in. “you know, it might help to ease the tension. let me give you a few pointers.

chuuya blinked, caught off guard but quickly nodded. “yeah, sure. anything to make it look… believable.”

without uttering a response, he strides over and gently cupping your sweet pink cheeks, leaning in to press his soft lips against yours, and oh god, it’s perfect. the world fades away, and for a moment, it’s just you and the warmth of his lips. you let out a soft gasp as he slips his tongue between your puffy lips, tilting his head for better acess making your heart race as your mind wonders if you’ve just been seduced in a rehearsal. honestly you’re taken aback by how natural it feels, how perfectly his lips fit against yours.

geto loses himself completely in the kiss, his fingers brushing through your hair as if he’s trying to pull you closer, as the kiss deepens a low hum escapes his wet lips. you feel a rush of pleasure floods through your entire body, and just when you think it can’t get better, he pulls away, slightly breathless and blinking as he locks gaze with your lips for a bit before averting his gaze to chuuya.

well as for chuuya, the ginger stands there, wide-eyed, his lips slightly parted as if he hasn’t fully processed what just happened. “uh… was the tongue really necessary?” he stammers, cheeks flushed an adorable shade of crimson.

geto chuckles, brushing it off with a wave of his hand. “now you try.”

chuuya blinks again, still looking all flustered but still wants to get it right. he turns to you, hand sliding to your waist in a way that is awkward but endearing.

“fine… i got this.” his voice is hushed as his take your lower lip between his pink ones, trying to mimic what geto had done. it was just a kiss—chaste, careful, like he was still holding back. but then something clicked within you, the ginger's eyes snaps open before growling into your mouth as you slip your tongue into into his before twirling the two pink muscles together. you glide your delicate fingers through his messy strands, pulling him closer for a few seconds before he pulls back, breathing heavily.

“okay, that was… not acting right?” he says, his brows furrowing as he tries to catch his breath. “is that how it’s supposed to feel?”

geto sighs loudly, shaking his head in exasperation. “chuuya, how didn’t you notice? it’s been going on for a few months already. didn’t you realise it? because if you really want us to… you know...”

“ugh, thank you!!! finally someone who can read my hints,” you exclaim, shooting geto a grateful look.

chuuya blinks a few times, his brows knitting together as he processes what’s just been said. “wait, hold on,” he splutter, looking back and forth between you and geto. “are you both... serious?”

“god, i’m such an idiot. i thought we were just—” he pauses

“just friends?” you finish for him, giving him a playful nudge. “come on, chuuya. i thought i was dropping some pretty big hints.”

the redhead runs a hand through his messy hair, looking both at you and geto. “ so..uh..you really want us to fuck you?” he mutters, lips forming into a slow grin.. “like...both of us?”

“uh, yeah?” you say, biting your lip to suppress a smile watching chuuya and geto exchange glances more like a silent understanding seems to pass between them, and before you know it, geto strides over and lifts you off the ground effortlessly.

“wait, wait, wait!” you squeal, laughter bubbling up as you squirm in his grip. “what are you doing?”

“just a little detour to somewhere more private.” he says, glancing back at chuuya, who raises his eyebrows with a sick lustful grin plastered on his face.

“seriously, you guys, i can walk!” you protest, but the thrill of being swept off your feet makes it hard to sound convincing.

“good, ‘cause we'll make sure you won’t be walking straight for days.” chuuya says as he opens the trailer door, stepping inside with geto following suit.

the sound of a zipper being pulled down is the last thing you hear before you’re instantly pressed between the two men, their eager hands working quickly to strip you bare. the fabric falls away easily revealing more of your skin to their hungry eyes.

“damn,” chuuya breathes seeing your skin pebble once they hit the cold air. “you’re even prettier than i imagined.”

your eyes flutter shut as your head falls back on geto's shoulder and you relax for just a second before you feel chuuya's mouth encircled your nipple, his jot tongue swirling around your areola tasting your sweet skin as he groans softly against it.

“hngh—chuuya…” you whimper fingers tightening in his messy hair.

he releases your nipple with a slick pop, then brings his large palms to knead your pillowy breasts. as geto lifts you slightly, guiding your hips down to press against his hard cock. you open your eyes to glance down, breath hitching at the sight of him resting between your slick folds. you can't help but let out a soft gasp seeing how massive he is, tip coated with pre-cum and veins popping and soaked by your essence. you let out a soft moan as he peppers your neck with hot, wet kisses, goosebumps rise across the plains of your skin.

chuuya leans down easing you into geto's embrace and spreading your plushy thighs wider.

“look at her pussy—fuck s’pretty..” chuuya drawls as he spits on your swollen clit drawing lazy cut shapes on it, the warm fluid drooling between your puffy folds.

he then plunges his spit-slicked fingers past the swell of your plump lips, coaxing you to get even wetter for them as geto's large, gritty hands grip your ass, pulling you back and forth on his throbbing, leaky, fat cock.

“such a good slut, sucking my fingers so well,” your cunt clenches eagerly sucking on chuuya's long fingers, once he's truly satisfied, he pulls out of your cunt before smearing your juices all across your folds.

geto grips his cock in his palm, the leaky tip smearing your juices as he positions himself between your chubby cheeks. you never tried anal before and you never expected yourself to gasp that loud feeling the rush of spit pools against the pad of your tongue from him stretching your hole so perfectly. you cry out in surprise before chuuya swiftly plunges his tongue into your mouth swallowing your lewd noises.

“ffuck, i’ve been waiting for this, babe.” you hear geto's soft moans against the shell of your ear from behind, “... thinking of you in those lacy little things... mngh, you have no idea how many nights i couldn’t sleep, wanting to feel you... s’warm and tight around me.” he grips your juicy ass cheeks tighter, thrusting you down against him, as if he can’t wait any longer.

“ready for me doll?” chuuya breathes against your lips.

“yes ahh please chuu—mngh” you try to respond, but your words dissolve into a moan as you feel him slowly push inside your heated core. you had expected him to be gentle—just not this gentle. he languidly slides deeper and deeper, his head dropping forward to rest against your soft breasts, growling as he buries himself inside you.

you dig your nails into chuuya’s shoulders, forming delicate marks on his pale skin as you use him for leverage to push yourself back onto geto's cock. each thrust sends shockwaves through your body, making you shudder as chuuya fills you completely.

“god, you feel s’ fuckin’ good, doll,”

your moans get higher and higher mingling with their grunts and growling, chuuya finds himself thrusting faster than usual, his cock is pulsing from watching you nastily taking him and his friend's cock so perfectly.

“y-you okay doll?” chuuya breathes, his voice laced with awe as he watches your eyes roll back into your skull.

“ffuhmk—yes please more,” you cry feeling geto's pace starting to match chuuya's fast and hard ones, your body tenses up, pleasured from all angles, both with their girthy huge cocks filling you up to the brim, your vision blurs seeing through haze chuuya's eyes roll back, his fiery strands sticking to his face and neck, red hue blossoming under his skin and rapidly spreading to his chest.

“jesus f-fucking christ, you're so hot.” geto breathes against your skin tilting your head so that he can bite down your bottom lip gently before drawing circles with your tongues making the pair of you an even greater mess, both his hands reach up to cup your pillowy breasts squeezing them as they jiggle between the palm of his hands, “mmngh—sugu~ahh” the two of you moaning in unison.

before you can catch your breath, chuuya grabs your cheeks with two fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze. his lips crash against yours with a bruising intensity in a sloppy kiss, forcing his tongue deep into your mouth as his fingers roughly toy with your clit, drawing sharp, almost painful pleasure from the sensitive nub. “you gonna cum for us, mngh? gonna be a good slut and cum?” he growls, cupid's bows wet from your searing kisses as his fingers cut circles into your clit, pushing you closer to the edge.

the world around you blurs as you're finally pushed over the edge with the repeated brush of their cocks against your spongy spots—a blinding white light floods your vision, static crackling in your ears. chuuya watches in awe, like he's witnessing a miracle, as you cum, your body convulsing with pleasure. at the same time, geto spills inside you, his warm release filling your womb to the brim. the intensity makes you feel like you might pass out, a scream ripping from your throat as the knot in your lower belly unravels with chuuya's twitching cock inside you as he too rocks inside you multiple times riding out his sweet release with force that makes your body shake as he paints your walls with his hot shooting cum filling you up perfectly. you three reach your peak together, perfectly in sync.

the world gradually comes back into focus, as you three try to calm down from your release. geto is the first to pull out, and as he does, you feel his cum slowly drip from your body. chuuya follows, watching in awe your ruined holes leaking with their seeds as your legs tremble from the overwhelming pleasure.

chuuya chuckles breathlessly, wiping the sweat from his brow, and gently rubs a hand over your thigh. “i’ll get the bath ready for ya doll,” he murmurs, voice still rough from the intensity of his orgasm, before standing up and heading towards the bathroom.

you nod, watching his bare form head to the bathroom as geto leans in close, pressing gentle, reassuring kisses to your lips while his strong hands tenderly massage your trembling legs. “relax, baby” he whispers between kisses, his lips still deliciously sloppy, “you did so well. let me take care of you.” he strokes your skin soothingly, bringing you down from the high as you try to catch your breath.

you give geto a tired but grateful smile, your chest still heaving, “t-thank you, sugu,” you murmur softly, watching his lips curl into a satisfied grin, and he continues to massage your legs, his fingers easing away the lingering tension.

TAGS: @a-smol-bean @violetbutterflix @amanoava @falloutjuli @embersweapons @warriordemigosworld @cathias @v15aexe @vasarii @pe4rl-diver @sukidenks @dazaifavbandage @chuuminn @fyodorsprettynun @ace-0fspades69 @irasamu @trippyserval @alyszuha @bittysuguro @writingandmusing @corruptedwrathkitsune @thedamselzelda @fyodorssimp1 @vikkinakahara @laylabuurr @whiteelovex @dottedhalfnotes @victoria1676 @ghostedwriting @a-trashbag @bakedpotato12 @ambervanth @sakui1 @iams0up @osamucide @lighthoonie @chuuyascumsock

[serapharua]

୨୧ 一 BOYNEXTDOOR REACTION TO YOU BIASING ANOTHER MEMBER . . . !

bnd ot6 — GENRE : imagines headcanon fluff — PAIRING : gn.reader — WARNING : they're so dramatic — REQUESTED : by ❄️🌟 anon — BND MASTERLIST!

note : none of the guys are actually upset btw <3

SUNGHO :

You were just scrolling through your gallery, minding your own business, when Sungho caught a glimpse of your phone screen. You didn’t even notice at first, until he stopped mid-chew, one eyebrow slowly raising as he turned to you with the flattest expression imaginable.

“Wait. Go back,” he said, pointing at your phone with a half-eaten chip.

You blinked. “What?”

“That photo. The lockscreen. Was that Taesan?”

You froze. Then shrugged. “Yeah.. I mean, just a cute fansite pic. I forgot it was even there.”

Sungho blinked once. Twice.

“Oh. Okay.”

He leaned back on the couch, crossed his arms, and stared at the ceiling like he was reevaluating his entire existence.

You nudged him. “What? You’re acting weird.”

“Nothing,” he replied. “It’s just funny. Hilarious, even. The betrayal.” He looked at you again, all wide eyes and mock hurt. “Out of all people Taesan?”

“He’s cool!”

“I’m cooler,” Sungho shot back instantly. “I actually text you back.”

You laughed. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being real. I hope your little Taesan lockscreen pays attention to you when you’re sad and need a late-night ramen run.”

You grinned. “Are you jealous?”

He scoffed. “I don’t get jealous. I get revenge.”

Before you could react, he leaned over and yoinked your phone straight out of your hands. A few dramatic swipes and taps later, he turned the screen toward you.

Your new lockscreen? A close-up selfie of Sungho, smirking, peace sign up, filtered with the most obnoxious sparkle effect he could find.

“There. Fixed. You’re welcome,” he said, tossing your phone back with a smug little shrug. “No more betrayals on my watch.”

And just like that, the crisis was over, except for the fake sighs, the exaggerated side eyes, and his ongoing bit titled “The Tragedy of Being Second to Taesan,” which he performed at least twice a day until he got extra snacks.

RIWOO :

It slipped out without much thought, just a passing comment while the two of you were scrolling through YouTube.

“Oh, that’s one of my favorite fancams,” you said. “Jaehyun just looks so cool there.”

Riwoo paused the video.

“..He’s your bias?” he asked, in the softest voice imaginable.

You looked over. “What?”

He turned to face you, blinking slowly like a cat who just got his nap interrupted. “You bias Jaehyun?”

His tone was calm, but his expression was pure betrayal, like you’d just told him you preferred sparkling water over still. You blinked, caught off guard.

“I mean, yeah? He was my first bias. Before I met you, obviously.”

“Oh.”

A short pause. Then Riwoo nodded slowly, turned back to the screen, and hit play again.

That should’ve been the end of it. But no, minutes later, he started humming one of his parts under his breath. Loudly. Then replayed a video of himself doing a dance challenge. Twice.

You caught him subtly glancing at you each time, like, “Are you impressed yet? Reconsidering, maybe?”

Eventually, you nudged him with a laugh. “Are you trying to become my bias?”

He blinked innocently. “What? No. I’m just watching good content. That happens to have me in it. A lot.”

You grinned. “You’re jealous.”

He blushed instantly, ears turning pink as he looked away. “I’m not.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You can still keep Jaehyun as your bias, I guess,” he mumbled. “As long as you know I’m the one who gets to be your boyfriend.”

JAEHYUN :

You were curled up next to him, scrolling through your camera roll, when a photo caught his eye.

“Wait.. hold up.”

He leaned in, squinting. “Is that Leehan?”

You hesitated. “..Yeah?”

Jaehyun blinked. “You have a whole album named ‘My Lion King?’”

You tried to move your phone away, but he was already laughing, head tossed back, hand over his chest like you’d just told the funniest joke in the world.

“Oh wow. No, it’s fine. I’m not even upset,” he said, clearly a little upset. “Just here being your boyfriend.. while you collect majestic Leehan photos like Pokémon cards.”

You rolled your eyes, already grinning. “It’s not that serious. He was my bias before I met you.”

“Ah, the classic excuse,” Jaehyun replied with a mock gasp. “I’ve been betrayed. By my own partner. by my own group.”

He flopped dramatically onto the couch, draping himself across the cushions like a prince in exile. “I’ll be fine. I always knew you were into the mysterious type. Tall. Strong. Quiet.”

“Jaehyun—”

“Meanwhile, I’m just here,” he continued, sitting up suddenly. “Giving you forehead kisses, making you laugh, letting you steal my hoodies.. and for what? To be second place?”

You burst out laughing, and he grinned.

Then, just to make a point, he grabbed your phone, opened the camera, and held it up between you two. Snap.

“New album,” he said. “Title: ‘My Loyal Era.’ And it’s going to be better than any Leehan picture.”

TAESAN :

It came up when you were showing him your old phone background, just a harmless little scroll down memory lane. But the moment the image flashed on screen, Taesan paused.

“Wait.” He tilted his head slightly. “Was that Riwoo?”

You froze. “…Yeah. It’s just an old lockscreen. From, like, debut days.”

“Hmm.” He nodded once, as if that told him everything he needed to know.

Then silence. Painful, heavy silence.

You glanced over at him. “You okay?”

“Totally,” he replied coolly, but his tone was just a little too smooth, too even. “You just.. used to stare at Riwoo’s face every time you opened your phone. That’s cute.”

You sighed, laughing. “Don’t be like that. It’s not that deep.”

He turned his head to look at you, expression calm, but his eyes were saying a thousand things. Judging. Calculating. Filing this away for later.

“I’m just thinking,” he said lightly. “Riwoo has a soft image. Quiet. Gentle.” He gave you a look. “Interesting choice for a bias.”

“Taesan—”

“No, no, it’s cool,” he said, already reaching for his headphones. “We all have preferences. Mine just happen to include loyalty. But whatever.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed.

Then he smirked, barely, and put on a song that just so happened to start with one of his solo lines.

Later, when he sent you a message with a new photo of himself with the caption “lockscreen material,” you knew he wasn’t over it yet.

LEEHAN :

It happened when you were watching old fancams together, just casually pulling up a few performances. You clicked on a thumbnail without thinking, and Leehan tilted his head.

“Wait you bookmarked Woonhak’s solo stage?”

You paused. “Yeah.. I mean, it’s a good one.”

“Huh.” That was all he said. Huh.

He didn’t frown. Didn’t raise his voice. He just leaned back against the headboard, arms crossed lightly, face still pleasant, but his whole energy shifted by like two degrees.

You tried to explain. “I’ve followed the group since before we even met. Woonhak was my bias back then. It’s not a big deal.”

He nodded, gaze flicking toward the screen. “I didn’t realize I was living with a Woonhak enthusiast.”

You blinked. “Leehan.”

“I’m fine,” he replied, too quickly. “You have the right to appreciate other people’s talents. That’s what art is. Appreciation.”

But his tone was a little too polite. A little too neutral.

Later, while you were brushing your teeth, he walked past you holding a hoodie and casually said, “I was going to let you wear this, but maybe you’d prefer something from Woonhak’s wardrobe instead.”

Petty. Calmly, eloquently petty.

He still held your hand that night. Still kissed your forehead. But he also made you watch his fancam next, without commentary, just so you could “re-experience the stage presence you’re clearly missing.”

And when you changed your wallpaper to a blurry photo of him sleeping with your stuffed lion tucked under his arm? He didn’t say anything.

But he smiled a little harder the next morning.

WOONHAK :

You were just scrolling through TikTok together, giggling at dance covers and random edits, when a video of Sungho popped up on your For You Page.

You smiled a little too hard.

Woonhak noticed immediately.

“Why are you smiling like that?”

“Huh?” you blinked, trying to scroll past.

“No, no, go back. Go back.” He reached over and practically snatched your phone. When he saw the account name, complete with a sparkly edit of Sungho mid-performance, he gasped. Loudly. Dramatically.

“YOU'RE A SUNGHO BIAS?”

You opened your mouth to explain, but it was too late. He stood up, pointing at you with the betrayal of a thousand K-dramas in his eyes.

“I let you steal my hoodie. I shared my snacks. I danced WITH YOU and you.. you chose Sungho?”

He flopped onto the couch like he’d just been shot. “I’ve been living a lie.”

You laughed so hard you couldn’t breathe. “Woonhak, seriously, it’s not like that.”

But he wasn’t listening. He was already muttering to himself.

“No, it’s okay. I’m just the funny one. The cute one. The youngest. That’s all I’ll ever be to you.”

He buried his face in a pillow, then peeked out a second later. “..Unless I get pretty and learn how to stare blankly into cameras.”

“Woonhak.”

“I can be mysterious too,” he added, then made direct eye contact and immediately burst out laughing.

Eventually, when you pulled him into a hug and promised he was your actual favorite, he softened, but not without saying: “You owe me three cuddles and at least one bag of chips. Maybe two.”

Word count : 1615 | serapharua, 2025.

[satoruxx]

SAUDADE.

✧ PAIRING: gojo satoru x f!reader, geto suguru x f!reader | 3.7k words

✧ SUMMARY: canon au, set after geto leaves so lots of unresolved feelings, alternate between past and present, megumi and tsumiki cameo, satoru has a raging crush on you but you're blind, suguru also had a raging crush on you but you were still blind, slight angst bc canon jjk events, lots of longing on suguru's end, you're confused af, satoru PINES for you and shoko is so tired of him, but overall very fluffy

✧ RHEYA'S NOTE: will i ever publish the actual canon au? who knows. this fic is written in that same au but it's just a snippet of their lives. if you've read angel on my shoulder, just know that's an alternate ending of this au where reader dies lol. but this is very sweet bc you don't die !! you and satoru love each other lots but suck at showing it. happy valentine's day everyone <33

you glance at satoru's giddy smile, wariness creeping up your shoulders before turning to shoko. "what's wrong with him?" you ask, shifting slightly from where you're leaning against one of balconies of jujutsu high.

"who knows?" she sighs, eyes flickering up to glance at the snowy haired sorcerer just barely before they turn back to you. "ignore him."

"hey!" satoru huffs, walking closer to sling an arm around your shoulder—casual, like it's something he doesn't have to think about. you grumble under the extra weight, shooting him a glare, but he's too busy smiling like he's up to something.

"so…" he grins down at you, eyes shining and full of mischief. "know what day it is today?"

you blink at him, trying to scour your brain. "what's the date again?"

satoru gives you a blank stare, before sighing heavily. "god you're slow. it's february 14th, stupid."

"oh," you reply blankly, relaxing because it's nothing inherently important. "so valentine's day?"

satoru's smile comes back full force—cheeky and blinding. "exactly! and when i went shopping today guess what happened?"

"what happened?" shoko asks boredly, shaking her head when she makes eye contact with you.

"well," he drags out the word, crossing his arms like he's pleased with himself. "i was walking along after picking up some sweets because—"

"because you have an addiction," you supplement, and satoru pauses to glare down at you, reaching out to flick a long finger against your forehead.

"it's not an addiction! and don't interrupt me! anyways—"

you smother a smile that shoko mirrors.

"—i was walking and then these two girls came up to me all smiley. like they were giggling and shit, right?"

"uh huh."

"and they started going on and on about how i was the most handsome guy they've ever seen. and then they asked how come i was walking around by myself on valentine's day."

you blink, suddenly feeling a strange mix of interest and irritation.

"so i told them that it's not really my thing and that i didn't have anyone to celebrate with anyway. and then they said it was actually a crime that someone like me was single on valentine's day."

you have to suppress a roll of your eyes, though you're not sure why.

"so basically the moral of the story is that i'm extremely charming and super good-looking too! and that girls love me!"

he looks at you, eyes scrutinizing your expression as you glance at shoko, unimpressed.

"that's it? that's your crazy story?"

"well you guys always say i'm full of it when i call myself hot! now i have proof that it's a universal truth!"

"well we're not stupid—" shoko rolls her eyes, hugging her arms to push away the cold as she leans against the railing. "—we know you're freakishly hot. you're just obnoxious and we like teasing you."

"ugh." satoru rolls his eyes, huffing as he stretches his joints. "you guys are ridiculous. and—"

he pauses, an odd expression crossing his face as he blinks in thought. then he's turning to you with the most smug smirk you've ever seen on him. "wait. you think i'm hot?"

you frown, lips parting in mild confusion. "huh?"

"that's what shoko just said. that you think i'm freakishly hot."

your brows shoot up, an unfamiliar rush of heat crawling up your skin. "but she said both of us! like it's just something that's obvious. i mean as long as you have eyes anyone can see—"

"oh so it's obvious, is it?" satoru's expression is oddly giddy, a pink flush settling high on his cheekbones.

you gape at him, suddenly speechless. you don't remember satoru ever having the ability to make you speechless before.

you can't comprehend the stirring in your chest—uncomfortable and unfamiliar.

"you—" you scoff, reaching up to shove him away. "you're full of shit. doesn't change no matter how hot you are."

shoko has gone quiet, eyes darting between you and satoru with an uncharacteristic glint of curiosity. but satoru's gaze does not stray away from you, pearly whites on full display as he licks his lips. he doesn't say anything else, running his fingers through his hair.

"sure sure," satoru hums—pleased. "whatever you say."

you throw shoko an exasperated glare, and she shakes her head, though there is a shine of amusement in her eyes—like she knows something that you don't.

"i mean, they were right you know?" satoru ponders, leaning back against the railing. "why aren't we doing something fun today? we used to go out and buy a shit ton of chocolate back when—"

he stops, expression going sour, before disappearing all together. there is a clear absence, one that the three of you notice but try not to linger on.

("valentine's day?" suguru had asked years ago, glancing down at you with a smile. "you like it?"

"definitely not," you reply, cheeks warming as you fiddle with the sugared churros in your hand, unable to look at him. "what's so great about a day where couples spend a shit ton of money on each other to make the rest of us singles feel miserable?"

a muted chuckle, and when you look up suguru's eyes are shining with mirth. "i'm sure you wouldn't think that if you weren't single."

"i guess," you huff, glancing at the sidewalk. your face feels like it's on fire—but suguru has always had that effect on you. "not very likely to happen though."

the expression suguru throws you will linger in your mind until the day you die. "what do you mean?" he asks—incredulous, like you were speaking nonsense. he stops in his tracks, the busy streets bustling around him as you continue to walk.

you take a bite of your churro, glancing back at him with clear confusion. "huh? oh i just meant me dating someone is unlikely," you shrug, though suguru looks speechless, lips parted and eyes wide behind dark bangs.

"why on earth do you say that?" he asks, shoving his hands into his pockets. he seems to visibly shake off his initial shock to continue walking, and you patiently wait for him to rejoin your side—he does.

"i don't know," you say, somewhat bashfully because you don't usually talk about these things with him. "do you really think there's room for things like that in our lives?"

"do you?" he counters, and you're too busy formulating your answer to notice that he's oddly interested, eyes continuously darting over your face.

"i mean, it'd be great if there was," you ponder, taking another quick bite. "it'd be nice to be able to settle down with someone even after all the crap we've gone through."

"right…" suguru seems to nod along with you, matching your steps even with his longer stride.

"but—" you stress. "considering that most of us are too traumatized or dead by that time, i don't have much faith."

you laugh at your own statement, but there isn't much amusement in it at all. putting it into words makes you truly realize how shitty your lives are even at such a young age.

your mind drifts to the cerulean eyed sorcerer who's currently off in a different city, being made to fight because he is god on earth in a seventeen year old body. it drifts to a brown haired girl who sits, secluded in a room as bodies are sent to her on a conveyor belt, her hands outstretched to feel blood and gore and horror day in and day out. then it drifts to the boy who is most like you, the one with the dark bangs who rationalizes this pain, this service you have devoted yourselves to with the need to do good for others—because there is no other explanation for why you have to go through this.

the same boy who takes your answer in critically, eyes heavy with an oddly somber sheen. he doesn't say anything, thinking hard, and you focus on eating your churro because you've never once found silence with suguru to be uncomfortable.

you are halfway finished when he breaks it.

"well…" suguru's voice is oddly high, a tick of nerves that doesn't usually infiltrate his calm tone. "if there was room for it, what would a good valentine's day look like for you?"

you laugh, loud and unfiltered, and suguru's skin flushes at the sound.

"i don't know!" your laughter dies down into hushed giggles. "i can't think of anything. besides this is stupid as hell!"

"indulge me," he says quietly, and when you turn to look up at him he's staring at you deeply—eyes hooded and smile gone. you suddenly feel oddly parched as heat crawls up your neck.

"um—" you swallow, the churro in your hand forgotten as you glance at the sidewalk again. "i-i'm not sure. i've really never thought that much about it."

"would you want flowers?" he asks. you suddenly become acutely aware that his voice has gone lower, throaty and deep in a way that sends chills up your spine.

you shake your head quietly, somehow nervous to look at him. "it makes me sad that they die off in a few days. better to keep them planted than cut them for a bouquet."

a quiet huff of laughter—fond and nostalgic. "that's on par for you. very in-character."

you lick your lips, tasting the sugar from the treat in your hand. "i guess…maybe i'd like chocolates?"

"chocolates?" suguru repeats, like he's surprised. you don't know why his reaction has you stumbling, but you shake your head quickly, appalled that you're even telling him this in the first place.

"i mean—it's not a big deal or anything! even just a small box of them would do! i don't really care anyway—"

"i would've guessed you'd like a plushie or something along those lines." he hums, a small smile stretching across his face. there's a dust of color blooming across his cheekbones, and you think he looks unfairly charming.

"that's good too!" you reply, too quickly, before catching yourself and ducking your head. "i mean…i don't know. plushies are really cute. i think they'd be a cute gift."

there's a beat of silence, and when you look up suguru is smiling at you like you've just put the stars in the sky for him. he hums to himself, eyes darting around the streets and looking much more at ease than he did a few minutes prior. you find yourself unable to look away.

"what would you want?" the words escape before you can stop them.

"me?" he asks, tilting his head in mild surprise.

"yeah. what would you want for valentine's day?"

suguru blanches, gaze darting over your facial features with shocking speed. it lingers on your eyes, before flickering downward, then shooting back up. you're trying to trace them but they're too fast, and he shuts them before you can process anything. he keeps his eyes closed as you curiously await his answer.

to this day you don't quite understand what he meant.

"anything i can get," he answers with a rueful smile, shaking his head at you fondly. his eyes bore into yours with an intensity you've never seen before. "anything at all.")

a familiar voice tickles your ear amongst the silence even now, and you rub your palms together. you can feel satoru's gaze on you, trailing over your expression—searching, analyzing.

you let him—used to it.

"that's enough of that for now. plus don't the two of you have to go check on the kids today?" shoko asks, eyeing the two of you pointedly. her voice has a strain to it, one that you can only pick up because you've known her so long. but you're grateful for the change in subject as you glance at satoru, who checks his phone.

"ah shit. they should be back from school by now but we were supposed to pick up some groceries beforehand," he mutters under his breath before looking down at you. "you wanna head over there first and i'll go get some stuff?"

"sure," you reply, patting shoko's shoulder in farewell. satoru steps closer, digging into his pockets before dropping the apartment keys into your palm. he pushes his shades up the bridge of his nose, eyes trailing over your face like he's searching for something, and yet you can't make out what.

a beat of silence.

"d-don't forget to get some of those cookies tsumiki said she liked last time." you drop the keys into your bag and shrug off the odd feeling of this conversation—something strange that you don't feel like looking into because you're scared of what you'll find out about yourself.

satoru's eyes go soft, a mixture of somber and affectionate, and he smiles easily. "you got it." he reaches out to ruffle your hair, licking his lips as he heads for the door. "see you later."

you watch him go, and think that you'd rather have him by your side. but you keep that to yourself—so used to sewing your mouth shut.

("which do you want?" you ask satoru, who peers at the shelves over your shoulder. his close proximity does nothing to you, but he seems oddly giddy when he glances at your side profile.

"hmm, the white chocolate," he answers, low and hushed, like it's meant only for you to hear. you can feel the energy radiating off of him—can feel it shake your very soul.

"okay," you reply, reaching up for the box, but satoru beats you to it. he stretches up, towering over you and you shoot him an playful glare. he had gotten a growth spurt over the holidays and wouldn't let you forget it.

"aw this is so sweet of you," he teases, excited and all too pleased. you roll your eyes, hiding a smile.

"you're the one who's been bugging us for valentine's day chocolate."

"like it wasn't a good idea," he counters with a grin. "even if we're all single we should still get chocolate."

you snort in amusement, before turning to call out across the aisle. "suguru which one should i get you?"

the dark haired male meets your gaze, and the warmth of it sends a tickle through your stomach. he shakes his head with a gentle smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. "don't worry about it. you know i'm not big on sweets anyway."

you deflate—he smiles at you like he's happy you asked.

"you can give me his share," satoru interjects with a playful smirk, pressing his palm into your shoulder. you shake your head in exasperation.

"no way. i'm still going to get him something." your eyes dart across the shelves, before you reach up and pull down a box of unsweetened chocolates, tied with a red ribbon. "this should be good."

satoru eyes the box, and you glance at him. "suguru would like these right?"

"yeah," he shrugs, before crossing his arms. "as long as they aren't crazy sweet. he hates sweet stuff."

"okay good. then i'll get him these!" your smile stretches wide, and it doesn't go unnoticed.

"you're being awfully thoughtful today," satoru comments. you look at him quickly, quirking a brow.

"well i can't just get you one. you're not my only friend." you shoot back.

satoru grins. "guess that's true."

his arm takes its position around your shoulder as you head towards the counter.

"you were really particular about getting suguru something though. any special reason?" he pipes up, and you immediately go still, looking at him as you try to bite back an uncharacteristic surge of panic.

"of course not! i got something for everyone. i even got shoko the rum and raisin chocolates." you say quickly, fighting the urge to crumble under satoru's implications. "besides this was all your idea anyway!"

you dig into your wallet, pulling out exact change and smiling at the cashier, who puts all of your chocolates into a bag. you decide you'll gift them later, when you're in the comfort of the dorm.

"okay let's leave—" you pause when you turn around, breath catching.

because satoru is staring at you, an odd expression on his face. there's something behind his eyes—realization mixed with another emotion you can't quite place.

you're not sure if the expression excites you or scares you.)

you don't expect tsumiki to be so excited when you push open the door. she bounds out of her small bedroom, practically tripping over herself as she chants your name over excited giggles.

"hey kiddo, how was school?" you smile as she throws her arms around your waist. you pat her hair, making a mental note to take her for a haircut sometime soon.

"good! my friends gave me some chocolates today!" she's giddy as she says this, and you smile playfully.

"oh yeah? any boys?"

she immediately flusters at your quirked brow and teasing grin. "of course not!"

you laugh, patting her head again as you take a seat on the couch. "okay okay! where's your brother?"

you don't see the dark haired nine-year-old anywhere. normally he'd be doing his homework at the kitchen table—so much more diligent than you ever were at that age.

"he's in his room," tsumiki answers, and your eyes catch the sneaky bit of amusement in her face.

"doing what?" you ask curiously. she smothers a smile, shrugging.

"i'm not sure." she raises her voice to call out. "megumi! she's here!"

you can hear him grumbling down the hall, hear his little footsteps padding across the floor—affection swells within you.

you think back to the day satoru dragged you to meet him, and you internally remind yourself to thank him.

"hey gumi." you offer the kid a smile, though it falters when you notice the way his hands are hiding behind his back even as he mumbles a quiet greeting in return. "what's wrong?"

"i…" his voice catches, and you notice the heavy pink flush crawling up his neck and into his cheeks. "i just wanted to…"

he trails off again, and tsumiki nudges him discreetly. "just do it!" she whispers, not all that quietly. your eyes dart between them in confusion, and megumi tries to sink into his sweater's collar.

"megumi what's wrong? are you okay?" there's a note of concern you can't keep from your voice, and tsumiki gently pushes him closer to you. "did something happen?"

"no…" he mumbles, attempting to hide his face even more. "i just wanted to…give…"

you blink owlishly. "give…?"

megumi lets out an exasperated huff, brows pinching helplessly before thrusting his arms into your line of sight. "here!"

your lips part. in his little hands are a box of chocolates and a small stuffed bear.

"this is…" you trail off, taking them from his hands.

"he wanted to give you something for valentine's day! to show you how much he appreciates you!" tsumiki interjects, practically bouncing on her feet.

"no i didn't! it's just chocolates stop making it sound like such a big deal!" megumi immediately snaps, glaring at his sister. you can practically see his cheeks burn with embarrassment, and you think you will never stop caring for this kid. there's a tickle of a distant memory—small fists clenched around a backpack and deep green eyes that stare up at you in childish apprehension.

those same green eyes now sneak glances at you, assessing your reaction, and you decide to put him out of his misery.

"this is so sweet megumi. thank you!" you smile at him gratefully, touched beyond recognition. your heart swells with affection once more.

megumi shoves his hands into his pockets, a stubborn pout on his face that makes the fat of his cheeks look that much more endearing. "whatever, it's not a big deal."

tsumiki shoots him a glare, before turning to you with a wide smile. "he says that but he was really excited to get you something!"

megumi gapes at her, eyes going wide in betrayal before they narrow. "shut up! besides it was gojo-san who gave me the idea!"

you blink, before smiling somewhat gingerly. though there is a strange sort of satisfaction in you when you hear those words—the mention of satoru's name. as detached as he tries to remain, you know all too well how much more there is to his character.

"i thought gojo-san would suggest flowers," tsumiki ponders, reaching out to squish the little bear before looking at you curiously. "aren't flowers a typical gift to get someone for valentine's day?"

you shrug, smiling carelessly. "i guess so. but i'm glad he didn't because i don't really like flowe—"

it hits you. echoes of a conversation that occurred many many winters ago. it washes over you, a refreshing tide that cools your skin and tickles your face.

of course, it made sense now that you thought about it. there were no secrets between satoru and suguru after all.

a chime cuts through the silence. you glance down at your phone to see a casual text from the snowy haired wonderboy who has been by your side since the beginning, and you can't help but smile.

i'll be home in a minute :P

a promise that has remained constant all these years.

so you type back.

hurry back. waiting for you.

you smile to yourself, heart thudding heavily against your ribcage. "hm."

tsumiki quirks a brow. "what?"

"nothing," you shake your head, wetting your lips as you reach down to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. she smiles at you, stars in her eyes, and you think you'll remember that smile forever. "i was just thinking."

"about what?" megumi can't stop the curiosity from seeping into his voice as he peers at you. you grin, gently patting his head with the bear plushie and laughing when he swats you away.

"valentine's day," you answer, smiling at them as you stand up to head to the door. you already know who's about to knock. "i was just thinking that it's not too bad of a holiday."

[ghostfacesvalentine]

HALLOWEEN DAY 26: It’s a Halloween party right? - Multi!Muse x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Multimuse x Fem!Reader

Warning: Mentions of basically bullying, cursing, killing, a little graphic but nothing crazy.

Type: Blurb

Request: N/A

Word count: N/A

Prompt: Tiny blurbs of what I think the muses would act when you’re at a Halloween party with them and someone makes fun of your costume!

Notes: Why did anyone stop wearing costumes I hate this new era were in. Grow up. Wear a costume.

Jason Voorhees: Immediately killing. No doubts about that, I take Jason to be a somewhat naive character but he absolutely knows what it’s like to have someone laugh at you. Whether it’s a crude joke or a twisted sense of humor, he can put two and two together, so the party definitely goes from zero to a hundred. I don’t think he would give the other a second to correct themselves or analyze the situation, instead it’s immediate kill, ask questions later. If you ran away crying, it’s overkill and Jason would never give parties a second chance, sorry.

Michael Myers: I think if he understood it, it may take him a while, they have to be obnoxious about it. If they’re laughing and throwing stuff at you, immediately Michael springs into action. There’s so many people who dress like him anyway, there are doubts that he’s even the real thing but some the smarter of the bunch know better than to join in and make a run for it before they get caught in the crosshairs. When everyone is pinned to the walls with kitchen knives and whatever he can find, then the place gets set ablaze, it’s not like he wanted to be there in the first place.

Tiffany Valentine: Picks up on it before you do and when she does she’s coming up with the most embarrassing way to be found dead. She’s trying to be a better person, she really is but why are they laughing at you? Maybe she can give everyone else who gets their hands on the crime scene photos something to laugh about. I don’t think she would give them a second to apologize or make up for it, she’s already had their death made up in her mind. They really fucked with the wrong person.

Billy Loomis: Laughs louder but with empty eyes, these group of kids just signed their death sentence. If you’re sobbing, the more tears you shed, the more blood they will. If you’re only uncomfortable, they’re still dying, maybe not as gory but he’s still taking his time. He gets away with it too, with the help of Stu. “Come on, Stu’s parties are way better than this” he’d kiss your forehead, not caring if there’s glitter sprinkled all over him.

Stu Macher: Kind of grinning, looking at both you and whoever the hell is trying to insult your costume. “Well I think it’s really cool.” He’d say, acting nothing but stupid with a big grin. I think he would have less restraint than Billy though, he’d start getting the strays one by one, coming around acting completely clueless as to what was happening. He’s a little smug with how well he covers up what’s real blood and what’s part of the decorations. Be careful pissing off Stu, you would’ve thought people would know that by now.

Leatherface: Poor baby he would be so confused at first, the groups of people would have to literally be laughing and you’d have to have a visceral reaction to their mean words. As soon as he puts two and two together, its head empty only wants to see their guts across the room. He’s especially violent because he knows what it’s like to be made fun of by his family and by the victims. It’s not a good feeling and he would do anything to make it go away when it came to you.

Patrick Bateman: There would be light chuckles, all the way up until he notices that they’re talking about you. A pressed smile would make itself present across his face, sniffing his drink before setting it down. Swiping his tongue across his perfect front teeth, mouth closed and sticking a fist in his pocket. You insisted to dress up for the silly Halloween party, he was hesitant about allowing you, but you did look stunning in designer clothes as a tacky costume. Patrick would absolutely pull a Stu and lead the others away from the pack, one by one around the building before unleashing the most amount of rage. Spitting and yelling, blood of his victims splattered across his delightful face. “Not the fucking face you fucking fuck.” He’d groan out wiping as much as he could off with his sleeve and trying to slick back his hair as much as possible before moving to the next person.

Harley Quinn: “Whatddaya mean by that?” There would be no hesitation for Harley to have the group try to correct themselves, depending on their reactions would directly affect if and how’d they die. If they would show no remorse, Harleys face would turn into a wide smile, staring blankly at them before shrugging her shoulders then shooting them point blank in the face, one by one. If there was some kind of remorse, Harley would be judge, jury and executioner about it. “Sorry about the blood on yer costume cupcake, maybe Ivy has somethin’ for that! If not her, then maybe kitty Kat.” Nobody makes fun of her baby, if they did, then she’d make sure they wouldn’t laugh about anything ever again.

Poison Ivy: With a raised eyebrow, Pamela would know exactly whether or not how they meant it and if she didn’t, they’re wrong, it’s exactly how Pamela viewed it. You were so excited to wear a costume, Ivy even helped you get it together, you were absolutely over the moon and now, some people who thought they were too good to dress up for Halloween were laughing in front of you both. Similar to Harley, she is judge, jury and executioner. While her methods would be a little more sophisticated, they still inflict the most amount of pain. She always carried something for moments like this, where one’s blood would turn against them, making them feel like there’s venom slowly invading their veins. Maybe a prick, maybe some powder, maybe a kiss, who really would see it coming. Either way, nobody laughs at her baby.

Billy Hargrove: Would stop what he’s doing immediately to look at whoever or whatever group was laughing at you, there would be a moment of silence offered to them to get themselves together. Not many chose to laugh or keep up the act and those who did would get a real beating full of pent up rage. So what if you wanted to wear a costume, so what if you were the only one. That was the point of it no? A halloween party? These people were going to be damn near unconscious by the time he’s done with them.

Steve Harrington: All fun and games until you’re crying. “You guys take it too far!” If you ran out of the room, Steve is chasing after you immediately to console you. You’re drunk, he’s drunk, you’re both a mess but you’re crying and as a great boyfriend, he’s trying to console you. “This party’s lame anyway, let’s get out of here” he’d kiss your forehead, if you’re still pouting he’s more than happy to sit down with you. “I think you’re the prettiest fairy in the whole world. And other worlds too.” He’d wipe the tears off your face, getting a warm towel to help. “Come on. You’re so beautiful, you look amazing, everyone’s costume is a jackass I guess. But I thought we were supposed to be something different for Halloween” he’d roll his eyes, still drunkenly trying to clean you up. He’s such a catch.

Steve Rogers: Concerned eyebrows active. “Hey what did you just say” suddenly no one wants to repeat themselves and if you know anything about captain America is that he absolutely hates bullies. “It’s a Halloween party no?” Suddenly he’s heated, facing the group completely while you make yourself small behind him. Everyone’s on edge enough to try to break it up. He wasn’t surprised they’d be backtracking, but he still doesn’t accept that behavior. “Apologize” “Steve- no it’s okay.” “No. It’s not okay. Apologize” even if they did, god forbid he caught them alone while you weren’t there. “He must’ve felt left out and added some fake blood to his face to fit in.”

Bucky Barnes: Similar to Steve, he’s going to stand up for you, especially when he can tell if it really got to you. All he thinks about was about how excited you were pulling your costume together and now you were crying or about to start crying and hugging yourself wanting more than anything to go home. Bucky has a way shorter temper than Steve though and he doesn’t care if it’s in front of anyone, they’re going to apologize to you without him having to ask. After sorting that out, he’s babying you after all of this.

Loki Laufeyson: Immediately killing them, even if he’s trying to reform his ways, he still can’t stand the thought of someone else’s words humiliating you. If he doesn’t have the patience to outwit them, he’s absolutely going to kill them. You’re his baby and he will always stand up for you, he’s just a little rusty around his methods. “If you ask me, you’re the most beautiful most elegant vampiress in the universes and I’ve been to many” Loki has such a way to always make you feel like the most beautiful and important creature, if it wasn’t his words, you had a hard time believing anyone else. He worships you more than anyone on this list so it’s hard to let anyone make you feel inferior.

Cloud Strife: He doesn’t get it for a moment, not until you’re upset. When he realizes you’re upset, he follows you out. He’s not the best at comforting but when he sees you upset, he’s all over you. “You look beautiful.” He admires you, after all it’s only Clouds picky opinion that you care about. He rather spend the holiday with you instead, he’s not really much of a party guy. Cloud would absolutely wipe your tears, sit in the grass with you, walk around the town all while complimenting your costume every chance he got.

Sebastian Michaelis: Maybe not immediately killing them, but absolutely torturing them, all with a smile. If there are appearances to be made, he waits until he can find them alone. He understood every crude remark, every joke, even when they thought they could get away with it with sly comments. “You appear to be the most stunning character here Lady Y/N.” That’s enough to make you blush, after all he only has eyes for you. He encouraged you to dress up, he wasn’t lying when he said you looked gorgeous. For anyone to have the nerve to make fun of you, it would be a death wish.

Spencer Reid: He would absolutely outwit them, nobody can really keep up with his charm. He didn’t really acknowledge the joke at first, until it hit him. Both of you would be dressed up and he’s more than ready to stand up for you especially. Spencer vents to you all the time about people who think they’re too good to dress up in a costume for a Halloween party. He doesn’t need to get physical with them, but let’s say if they really crossed a line then he’ll pull some strings at the BAU.

Bruce Wayne: So what if you were the only one wearing a costume, similar to Spencer, he can absolutely outwit them. Everyone wants to please Bruce and it only takes him staring at the ones who are laughing with a straight face. The elites around him would want his validation so bad that they would also stop laughing immediately. “I don’t get it. Who are you again? New money?” Hit them where it hurts. “The dress is Hermes, fortunately they had it expedited last minute. We had a few options to sort through. Looks like a dream nevertheless.” But it was never the dress that made you look godly, it was Bruce’s love.

Jason Todd: Immediately getting violent “what the fuck did you just say” and you better hope he misheard them. It’s scary to see Jason get this worked up, but it was for you. Before you know it he’s got another guy hung up against the wall or dragged across the table by the collar of their shirt. He would comfort you afterwards, treating you to whatever you want. “You know you’re the prettiest baby at the party.” If anything they’re better off making fun of you instead of making crude comments about wanting to see what you look like under the costume, I think Jason would have to be locked up in Arkham after that if that were to happen. He’s still pulling strings with the batfam to teach them a lesson.

[homelanderbutbig]

How You See Me (G/T Homelander x Reader)

1189 words. Pure fluff. Homelander is 8 feet tall. Reader is non-descriptive. Established relationship.

You doodle something stupid, but it has a lot more meaning than you anticipated. Inspired by a post from @themeraldee.

It's a tranquil afternoon in Homelander's penthouse. You have the day off work, allowing you a rare opportunity to get lost in your own world. Curled up on his couch with your sketchbook on your knees and a box of crayons by your side, you're amusing yourself as you silently fill the pages with your doodles.

Suddenly, your quiet time is interrupted by a pair of oversized boots walking towards you, belonging to your giant boyfriend in the blue supersuit. To be honest you're surprised it took him this long to come up and bother you, considering how he would shackle you both together if you'd let him.  

"There's my little angel", he smirks, showing off those pearly white fangs. He sits down beside you on the couch, his weight so heavy that you can't stop yourself from sliding into his thigh. "What are you doing?"

"It's nothing," you answer almost immediately, pressing your sketchbook up to your chest to hide it from his prying eyes. Your cheeks turn a slight shade of red as you feel shy over him seeing your amateurish squiggles.

"Ah, I see. The paper and crayons really add to the air of mystery, huh," he laughs, ruffling your hair with his big hand. His fingers are so long that they reach over your eyes, but even without seeing him you know he's giving you the most obnoxiously smug look.

"Fine… I'm just drawing," you sigh loudly through your nose, swatting at his fingers so he'll remove his hand. "You don't have to tease me about it."

"Hey, I'm not trying to be mean… it's just that I thought adults gave up the crayons when they stopped being children," he taunts you, chuckling when you shoot him daggers despite your embarrassment.

"Sooooo… are you going to show me what you're drawing?" he ponders, leaning closer to you so you don't have to crane your neck up to see his devious eyes.

"It's just something stupid… nothing you'd wanna see," you mumble, a futile attempt to keep your art to yourself. You're amazed that his laundry list of superpowers doesn't include being able to see through paper just so you can end this charade already.

"Nahhhh, come one! I want to see what you're capable of," he reassures you, now more intrigued than anything, especially with how hard you're trying to keep this a secret. You glance up at him as he raises his hand palm-up to you, wiggling his eyebrows still with that cocky grin.

Groaning and rolling your eyes and Homelander's never-ending bravado, you relent to his fiendish demands and lift up the sketchbook for him to take, open to your most recent drawing.

However, his playful smile finally fades away as he realizes what you've been trying to hide from him. At first you're a tad concerned of what he's thinking, with the abrupt silence and the change in his body language. And after what feels like an eternity of dead air, he eventually says something.

"Y-you… you drew… me?" he asks, not turning his gaze away from the paper for even a second.

"Well, I'm with you all the time, so I wanted to see how well I could draw you from memory," you explain, fiddling with your fingers while you ramble like you're trying to justify something horrible. "I know it's not the best, I-"

"Is… Is this how you see me?" he asks faintly, cutting you off. His eyes are becoming glassy as he blinks away the wetness overtaking his vision. A couple of tears fall onto the paper, staining it with an appreciation he could never put into words.

"Yes. It is," you reply in a hushed tone, vulnerable but now with an unwavering resolution. You're still a little insecure about him seeing your doodle, especially when paired up against all of his other immaculate art pieces, but you're beginning to comprehend this personal gift affects him more deeply than you ever imagined.

It's not the most spectacular drawing of him he's been gifted in his life, considering Vought has spent hundreds of thousands of dollars to commission the most revered artists in the country to paint his portraits and model his sculptures that adorn the halls of the Tower. Yet this is the first time he's ever received one that meant more to him than just its monetary value. The way your drawing captures the aspects of him nobody else cares to see, his compassion and desire for love that the world is too afraid to accept and also wishes to deny him of ever having. How out of every single person on this entire damned planet, regardless of everything he's ever heard growing up in the lab… that he's nothing more than a monster and can only ever destroy those he gets close to… there is in fact someone out there that proves them all wrong. There is someone out there that loves him.

A smile slowly spreads across his face, one filled with more genuine warmth than he's experienced in a long time. There are occasions when he's alone with his thoughts where he's wondered if you feel the same way about him as he does with you. If as a human, you can trust a supe as gigantic and dangerous as him. And now at last he knows for sure… despite it all you were always meant for him.

While holding the paper in one hand, he uses his free hand to pull you up onto his lap for a proper hug. His one arm is big enough to envelop your entire body as he leans in for a kiss, his lips overtaking yours by a large margin. But he's so gentle with you, so careful and purposeful with his movements in a way that's indescribable for a man his size. You're his entire reason for being.

"Thank you," he whispers softly when he finally pulls away, moving to cradle his massive head into the crook of your neck. You can feel the remnants of his tears on your shirt as he lightly nuzzles himself into your shoulder, sinking into you like you hold all the power in the world. When you return his embrace with your arms around his shoulders, he melts even further into your tiny stature, whimpering as you brush your fingers through his hair in a way nobody else understands. In a way that permanently fills that hole carved out of his chest, letting him be whole.

The following day, you decide to take the elevator up to the penthouse to visit Homelander before your shift starts. Disappointingly you discover that he's already left the Tower, presumably for another one of his early morning television interviews.

However, before walking out you notice one of the paintings in his bedroom has been left on the floor. And in its place, perfectly framed amongst the several historical paintings of such important figures like George Washington and Abraham Lincoln, is your simple and imperfect crayon doodle.

A monument for him to wake up to every morning from then on.

How you truly see him.

[ikso69]

"Loved That Twat"

Summary: A random hookup at a dodgy diner with some ginger tosser leads to... well, a proper turn of events, innit?

A/N: Keeping my promises, yeah? I'm absolutely obsessed with Cook 'cause he's... such a fucking idiot you wanna throttle, but at the same time, he's just so fit and hilarious-I'm sick in the head for this wanker.

WC: ~1115

Предупреждения: непристойности, незащищенный секс, публичное дурачество, Джеймс Кук есть Джеймс Кук.

Pairing: James Cook x f!Reader

You ended up getting fucked in the bathroom of a 24-hour diner by some cocky redhead after wandering in high as balls and starving. In your defense, it wasn't a bad shag-ignoring the fact he came way too fast and left you a sticky mess with his cum soaking through your knickers. Probably a habit of his, but whatever. Normally, you don't just drop your pants for randos who can flirt, but there was something different about this one, y'know?

After the sloppy quickie with Cook (yeah, he introduced himself after blowing his load, which made you cackle at the absurdity), you're slumped on a grimy diner booth, chewing cold potato wedges and trying not to think about how your underwear is still damp. You should have tossed them, but your stoned brain decided walking home with some fabric between you and the world was better than none. James swaggers back to the table with two sodas, slamming one down in front of you with a shit-eating grin.

-Tastes like cat piss watered down, he grimaces, plopping across from you. -Shoulda just taken 'em off. Squirming around with my jizz in your knickers ain't helping, love.

James Cook lounges like he didn't just fuck you in a filthy diner toilet but pulled off some heroic feat. His ginger mop sticks out in every direction, that smug smirk plastered on his face, eyes screaming "Yeah, I'm like this-what're you gonna do?"

You glare at the half-empty soda.

-Did you seriously drink mine?

-Had to check for poison, yeah? He shrugs like it's the most logical thing.

-Plus, after blowing my load, a man's gotta rehydrate. Basic science, babe. You roll your eyes but can't help the smirk. Christ, he's obnoxious, but there's something magnetic about it. You've known him less than an hour, and already, his brand of chaos is weirdly charming. Not a gentleman, not a complete animal-just a bloke who loves sex, pretty girls, and makes zero effort to hide it.

The way he sprawls in the cheap booth, arm slung over the back, makes your cunt clench like he wasn't just pounding into you minutes ago, groaning in your ear like a desperate pup as he spilled into your panties. Fuck, those sounds were heaven-left you shivering, cheeks burning like he'd paid you the filthiest compliment.

Absurd, but true.

-You even realize how you look right now? He leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. -Sitting here, all disheveled, my cum still in your knickers, munching chips like it's nothing.

Fuckin'... hot. You scoff, but heat floods your stomach, making you slick all over again.

-You came in, like, ten minutes, Cook.

-You counting? His hand slides up your thigh under the table, fingers teasing bare skin. -Means you liked it. I know how to fuck, just had an off day. Usually, I make girls squeal like hamsters.

You take a sip of the shitty soda (which does taste like diluted cat piss, but after smoke and his fingers in your mouth, it's almost tolerable). A laugh bubbles up, and you clap a hand over your mouth to keep from spitting it out. So your suspicions were right-he was that guy. The one girls whispered about, maybe even older women. Not that you cared. Just... observations. Classic lad move, really. -Alright, you slam the cup down, -if you're so legendary, why not take me somewhere better than a diner loo?

James grins, eyes glinting, and in a flash, he's beside you. His fingers dive under your skirt without shame, rubbing your soaked knickers like he's smearing your mixed fluids back into you. Your thighs fall open with a shaky exhale.

-Fuck, you're drenched, he murmurs against your neck, breath hot. Keep this up, you'll have to hide my hard-on with your hand. Wanna embarrass yourself? Make us look like rabbits who can't stop shagging on every surface?

You just lean back, gripping his shoulder. Couldn't give a fuck if the cashier sees him finger you right here. If he asked, you'd probably come screaming his name loud enough for the whole diner to hear. -James... Your whisper trembles. Fuck me properly. Not just your fingers.

He laughs-low, rough-like you've said something hilarious instead of begging.

-That quick? His fingers don't stop; if anything, one slips under the waistband, soaked with his own spend. You clench around him, hot and wet. Thought I came too fast earlier. Now this?

You glance at the cashier-some old bloke pretending not to notice your hips twitching under James' touch.

-Changed my mind. You yank his hair, pulling him close until your lips brush his. -Fuck me right, Cook. Or can't you?

His eyes darken, like you've just challenged him to the best game of his life. -Christ, the mouth on you. He grins.

-Hope you suck cock as good as you talk, or I'll paint your face 'til you choke on the smell.

Then two fingers sink into you, stretching, curling-your back arches, legs jerking, but he pins your knee to the booth, keeping you open.

-See? He watches your face twist.

You're already clamping down. If I shoved my cock in now, you'd come in a minute. Then bitch that I finished too fast again.

You open your mouth to retort, but he yanks his fingers free and smacks your inner thigh-sharp, stinging.

-Up.

-Wha-? -I said up. He hauls you to your feet, nearly sending you stumbling. -We're going to yours. 'Cause if I fuck you here, that fossil'll call the cops, and I'd rather not get nicked for public indecency.

You protest, but he's already dragging you out, not even letting you ditch your ruined knickers.

-What if I don't want to?

He turns, and the look he gives you steals your breath.

-Say no, and I walk. Done.

Вы этого не сделаете.

- Я так и думал.

Он засунул руки в карманы, идя рядом с тобой, его глаза метались по сторонам, словно он искал свидетелей. Сначала ты не поняла, какого черта это имеет значение — неужели рядом какой-то случайный придурок — пока он внезапно не остановился, не присел рядом с тобой и не засунул руку тебе под юбку. «Какого хрена ты творишь?!» Ты шлепнула его по руке, заправив выбившуюся прядь волос за ухо. Не говори мне, что он собирается выкинуть какой-то безумный трюк прямо здесь, посреди кровавой улицы.

"Relax, doll," he smirked, batting your hands aside like they were nothing and diving right back under your skirt. "Just helpin' you lose some excess baggage." In one smooth motion, he hooked his fingers into your knickers and yanked them down. The black fabric pooled at your feet, and you stepped out, the night air hitting bare skin, making your thighs instinctively press together as you crossed your arms over your chest, suddenly hyper-aware of the breeze where there shouldn't be one.He scooped up your discarded underwear, chucking them onto the pavement like trash."There. Now you're officially ready for round two," James stood, dusting his hands off on his jeans, his gaze dragging down your body-lingering where the wind now teased bare skin.

You bit your lip, cheeks burning. This was the first bloke you'd ever met who had zero filter-dirty thoughts, dirtier actions, no shame. And somehow, instead of putting you off, it was infectious. "You actually just binned my knickers?""What?" He shrugged, but his grin said everything. "They were fucked anyway. Besides-" His eyes darkened. "-this way's more convenient."

Ваш дом — это типичная двухэтажная коробка в районе, где все занимаются своими делами (по крайней мере, вслух). Родители спят внизу, ваша комната наверху — с окном, которое не закрывалось как следует годами. Идеально для пьяных побегов.

And, apparently, ginger idiots.

-You seriously expect me to climb a drainpipe? James eyes it like you've asked him to wrestle a shark.

-Either that, or knock and explain to my dad why you brought his daughter home at 3 AM with no knickers.

Он думает, потом усмехается. - "Ладно. Но если я сломаю себе шею, ты будешь чистить мою могилу своим языком. Don't forget to carve on the stone: 'Died with a stiffy in his jeans, fell like a bloody legend.' "

Ты фыркаешь, когда он вскакивает, как обкуренная обезьяна. Минуту спустя он влезает в твое окно, втаскивая тебя за собой. - Еле-еле. Он отряхивается. - А теперь скажи мне, что у тебя есть резинки, или я умру по-настоящему.

"Shut the fuck up," you hiss as he kicks your laptop. Your heart's hammering-less from lust, more from sheer terror that your dad's about to burst in.

James doesn't care. He's already got you against the wall, fingers digging into your thighs as he hikes up your skirt.

"You're shaking," he murmurs against your neck, teeth grazing skin. "Scared we'll get caught? Or just desperate for my cock?"

You don't answer-his hand clamps over your mouth, the other sliding between your legs, finding you soaked. "Christ, you're dripping," he growls, fingers smearing your own slick back into you. "And you dared say I came too fast?"

You bite his palm, but he just pins you harder, his erection grinding against you through his jeans.

"No rubbers," you pant when he finally moves his hand.

"Fuck it." He unbuckles his belt one-handed. "Already pulled out last time. Only difference is now you'll feel how hot I am."

"Тсс..." - ты хватаешь его за плечи, но он просто ухмыляется и одним плавным движением скользит в тебя, впитывая каждую вспышку эмоций на твоем лице, как топливо для своих ебаных фантазий. Без сомнения, он будет дрочить на это завтра или трахаться с какой-нибудь другой птицей, представляя твое милое маленькое "собирающееся-заплачь" личико - просто потому, что он, блядь, вошел в тебя. Ты запрокидываешь голову, сдерживая стон. Он горячий, как следует горит, и без резинки ты чувствуешь, как каждая его жилка, каждый дюйм заполняет тебя.

"Так лучше, не так ли?" - бормочет он тебе на ухо, начиная двигаться. Медленно. Слишком медленно. "Чувствуешь это? Какой я скользкий внутри тебя? Чувствуешь, какая ты узкая?" Ты не отвечаешь, просто впиваешься ногтями в его спину, стараясь не издать ни звука. Но он ускоряется, и твое тело выдает тебя — бедра покачиваются в такт его толчкам, словно у них есть собственный разум.

"Ну же," - он хватает тебя за подбородок, заставляя посмотреть на него. "Хочу услышать, как ты кончаешь. Хочу услышать, как ты скул, как та шлюха в баре, умоляющая меня трахнуть ее". И, черт возьми, ты почти у цели. Но потом - скрип. Дверь внизу. Вы оба замираете.

"Блядь". Твой взгляд устремляется в коридор, откуда доносится шум. "Закрой его, черт возьми", - Джеймс прижимает тебя сильнее, его дыхание обжигает твою кожу. Шаги. Вниз по лестнице. Ты чувствуешь, как его член дергается внутри тебя, но он не вытаскивает его - просто прижимает тебя к стене, ожидая. "Если он подойдет, я выпрыгну из окна", - шепчет он.

"You off yer head?!" You glare at him, hissing like a pissed-off cat.

"Oi, it's this or yer dad catchin' his daughter gettin' railed against the wall like some cheap slag."

You wanna kill him.

But the footsteps fade. Must've been Dad-he's always sneakin' out for a cuppa or a midnight snack, innit? Done it all his bleedin' life, and of course he'd pick now, when some stranger's bangin' his girl in her own room. You've cursed him and the whole damn heavens a thousand times already, scared stiff to yer bones.

Then, a second later, he's at it again.

"Y'know what?" He speeds up, voice goin' rough. "Might even be proper hot if we get caught."

You try to snap back, but he silences you with a kiss and all you can do is give in.

'Cause, Christ, he's right. It is hot.

[letthemkook]

T⭕️P OF THE CLASS J.JK

Pairing: Rival!Jungkook x Academic!Reader Setting: Saint Eros Prep Academy – the most prestigious private school in Seoul Genre: Enemies to lovers, slow burn, elite academia, secret obsession Themes: Academic rivalry, secret longing, jealousy, banter, rich kids drama

You’ve hated Jeon Jungkook since you were five.

It was during the preschool spelling bee—where you’d proudly spelled hippopotamus and he’d immediately followed up with onomatopoeia, then smiled that annoying bunny grin like he’d just cured cancer.

Ever since, he’s beaten you at everything.

Saint Eros Prep is the kind of place where perfection isn’t just expected—it’s weaponized. Legacy kids with billion-won last names, state-of-the-art architecture, and an annual tuition fee that could feed a small country.

And Jungkook? He’s Saint Eros royalty.

Number one in academics since freshman year. Captain of the fencing team, MVP of the basketball league, lead singer in the school’s jazz band, and top prize at last year’s art show. Somehow. You’ve spent years clawing your way to second place in every ranking—just under him.

You despise him. You hate his perfect grades, his perfect jawline, his perfect record, and most of all, his obnoxious smirk every time he passes you in the hallway.

“Still chasing me, sweetheart?” he says as he leans beside you at your locker on Monday morning, fixing his tie. “Maybe if you begged, I’d slow down a little.”

“Maybe if you fell off a building, I’d finally get first place,” you mutter, slamming your locker shut.

Jungkook just laughs—infuriatingly. “So feisty before 8 a.m. You must really love me.”

You roll your eyes so hard your brain hurts.

Everyone thinks you two should be together. Your parents—old friends from some preposterous high-society club—have been pushing it for years. Your friends, who are also his friends (of course they are), say you’re soulmates. Even the school gossip blog, Eros Unfiltered, ships you.

But you don’t love him. You want to crush him.

And yet, it never fails—no matter how hard you study, how perfectly you present, he always edges you out. By half a point. By one stupid applause louder. By one extra flattering comment from the headmaster.

You tell yourself it’s fine. That you’ll beat him eventually. You have to.

What you don’t know—what no one has dared to tell you—is that Jeon Jungkook is in love with you.

He has been since kindergarten, when you punched him in the face for taking your crayon.

And that every medal, every record, every award—it’s never been about being the best.

It’s always been about impressing you.

The Midterms War

It starts when the midterm results are posted on the gold-trimmed bulletin board.

Jeon Jungkook – 98.4%

(Y/N) – 98.1%

You stare at the numbers like they’re a death sentence.

“Tragic,” Jungkook says, casually sipping an iced americano as if he didn’t just destroy your dreams. “So close, yet so beneath me.”

“You probably bribed the proctor,” you hiss.

He leans closer, voice low and infuriatingly soft. “I’d rather bribe you.”

You shove past him, cheeks burning, but you hear him chuckle behind you like he just won something bigger than the test.

Later that day, you’re cornered by your friends—Hana, Jisoo, and Minho—who all give you identical smug looks.

“Just date him already,” Hana groans. “He’s clearly obsessed with you.”

“Obsessed with ruining my life,” you retort.

“Obsessed with staring at you in chem lab like you’re radioactive gold,” Minho mutters.

You try to ignore them. But things start to get… weird.

Jungkook starts helping your favorite teacher carry her papers—just so he can sit near you at lunch.

He paints your portrait in art class. Without asking. It wins a prize. He hangs it outside the auditorium.

He tells off a guy who asked you to winter formal. Like, actually threatens him.

And he starts getting jealous.

Painfully, obviously jealous.

When you laugh a little too long at Minho’s joke, Jungkook "accidentally" spills juice on Minho’s white designer shoes.

When you get partnered with Kim Namjoon for a bio project, Jungkook gets himself reassigned to your group. “You’ll fail without me,” he says smoothly, tossing a pen onto your notebook.

And then one day—your lowest moment—you find a note slipped into your locker.

“Even if you hate me, I’ll still love you. – J”

You crumple it and throw it in the trash.

You don’t see the way Jungkook watches from across the hallway.

You don’t know that he stayed up all night writing it, rewrote it five times, and nearly threw up before sliding it into your locker.

You think he’s just messing with you. Another game. Another taunt.

But you’re wrong.

Because Jeon Jungkook would burn the whole school down if you asked.

And the only reason he hasn’t kissed you yet—is because he knows you’d bite him.

------

Saint Eros’ annual Founder’s Gala is the biggest event of the school year. A masquerade ball, black-tie only, hosted by the academy's board of trustees and attended by the kind of parents who measure love in trust funds and legacy admissions.

You’ve never hated anything more—until this year, when your mother springs it on you like a trap.

“You’ll be going with Jungkook,” she says over dinner, so casually you almost choke on your soup.

“What?”

“He already agreed. It’ll look nice for both families. You two are always competing, it’s time you showed the school you can collaborate.”

“I’d rather be eaten alive by wolves,” you say flatly.

Your father barely looks up from his phone. “Wear something flattering.”

You storm to your room and text Jungkook the most venomous message of your life:

Y/N: You planned this, didn’t you? Jungkook: I have no idea what you mean, princess. Jungkook: But I am flattered you think I have that kind of power. Jungkook: Can’t wait to see you in a dress.

You block him.

But you can’t block the Gala.

You show up in a black satin gown, hair swept up, lips blood-red, ready to murder him if he so much as breathes.

He shows up in a custom tux, looking like the human equivalent of an 800 SAT math score.

And the moment you walk in together, arm-in-arm (your mother insisted), the entire ballroom pauses.

Gasps. Flashbulbs. Whispers.

The blog updates within ten minutes: “Enemies to Lovers? Saint Eros’ Hottest Power Couple Debuts at Gala”

You want to scream.

Jungkook whispers, “Try not to fall in love with me tonight.”

“I hope your bowtie strangles you.”

He laughs.

But the longer the night goes, the stranger it gets.

Because when he touches your back, it burns. When he whispers in your ear, your stomach flips. When he dances with you—hand firm on your waist, eyes locked on yours—it doesn’t feel fake.

And you can’t stand it.

“I know what this is,” you hiss between songs. “You’re trying to distract me before rankings.”

His expression shifts.

“Is that really what you think?” he says softly.

You stare at him.

Then someone taps your shoulder.

“May I steal her for a dance?” asks Taemin, heir to a luxury hotel empire and an actual gentleman.

You say yes. Partly out of spite.

Jungkook watches from the edge of the room, drink untouched, jaw tense.

And later that night, when the Gala ends, and he walks you to your car, he says nothing.

You expect some joke. Some cocky remark.

Instead, he just looks at you.

Quiet. Intense.

“You’ll never believe me,” he says, “but I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”

You freeze.

He leans in—but not close enough to kiss. Just enough to make you feel every inch of heat between you.

“Good night, Y/N.”

He walks away.

And for the first time in your life…

You can’t tell if you still hate him.

[gamesetattach]

The Blind Leading the Blind

Jannik Sinner x Reader One of the worst blind, double dates to date, and that's saying something... but you might've bagged Jannik Sinner because of it, so it all levels out. Warnings include feminine-presenting reader, female side character with a nerfed personality (so sorry, I love women!), unwanted physical contact (touches, hugs, etc.)... lmk if there's any more!!

The restaurant buzzed with the kind of energy only Monaco could produce—luxurious, high-priced, and full of people who seemed to have just stepped out of glossy magazines. If the country's facilities weren't so convenient for your drivers, you'd never have chosen the area to begin with.

You adjusted your dress, feeling slightly out of place as you entered the private dining room to face this blind double date arranged by work friends. It wasn’t your idea, but after some persistent nudging from your co-workers you conceded. Your tight knit team of data analysts at Williams AMG spent maybe too much time together, and meddling with the love life of their youngest and most single hire seemed to be one of their favorite distractions.

The setup sounded harmless enough: two sets of pairs, good food, and decent conversation. The other couple there would at least serve as a buffer if you didn't hit things off with your own date, you rationalized. What could go wrong?

---

You spotted the group almost immediately. You assess your presumed date, Julien, as you make your way over. Classicly handsome and visibly built, he had one arm lazily draped over the empty chair beside him and an ankle rested on the thigh of his too-tight pant. At the sight of your approach, the only move he made was the obnoxious widening of his already smug grin. You swore you could see the arrogance glint off his eyes from across the room and as you talked yourself into keeping an open mind, you couldn't help but brace yourself.

Across from him, Jannik Sinner—yes the professional tennis player, thanks to the involvement of one Carlos Sainz Jr.—sat beside his date, a woman who exuded disinterest from every limb of her body. You felt an instant wave of sympathy for him. This was going to be a long night.

“[Your Name], right?” Julien asked, greeting you with a smile that felt more predatory than welcoming.

“That’s me,” you replied, forcing a polite smile as he kissed your cheek though his hot breath lingered too close for a second too long. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he said, motioning for you to sit beside him. “You’re even more stunning than I was told.”

You glanced at Jannik and his date as you sat, rushing out an introduction before being interrupted by Julien. His eyes met yours, and there was a flicker of something in his expression—sympathy, perhaps? His date, Margaux, didn’t seem to notice your arrival; she was busy scrolling through her phone off the corner of the table.

---

The first course was served, and the conversation quickly went from dull unbearable. Julien dominated the dialogue as he launched into a monologue after monologue about his accomplishments, barely pausing to breathe, let alone ask you anything about yourself. When you did manage to mention your job in motorsport, his response was a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Ah, motorsport. All that noise and fuss over cars going in circles,” he said, chuckling. “Not exactly my scene, but I’m sure it’s… entertaining. There's money there, that's for sure.”

You debated responding, but Jannik’s voice cut in for the first time all night.

“Actually, F1 is fascinating,” he said, his tone polite but firm. “The strategy, the engineering… it’s incredible what they can achieve.”

You shot him a grateful look, and he gave you a small, knowing nod in return.

Margaux sighed dramatically. “Tennis and motorsport. Two things I can only barely pretend to feel excited about.” She took a sip of her wine, not even glancing at Jannik. “Don't you ever get bored of hitting a ball back and forth?”

Jannik’s jaw flexed, but his response was diplomatic. “Not really. It can seem that way, yes, but there's more to it than just hitting the ball.”

“If you say so,” she replied, her tone dripping with boredom.

Your eyes met Jannik’s again, and this time, his gaze seemed to say, “Can you believe this?” You bit back a smile, and offered him a subtle lift of your wine glass.

As the evening dragged on, Julien became more insufferable. He leaned closer every time he spoke, his hand brushing against your arm or shoulder under the guise of emphasizing a point. By the time dessert arrived, you were actively leaning away from him, your discomfort clear.

Even with all your efforts to remain composed, you knew Jannik was monitoring your reactions. When Julien reached out to wrap around your shoulders and pull you closer for the third time, Jannik smoothly interrupted.

“Hey, Julien,” he said, his voice light but with an edge. “Didn’t you say you had some big project coming up? I’m sure [Your Name] would love to hear about it.”

Julien, distracted by the opportunity to talk about himself, withdrew his hand and went into yet another self-promoting story. You shot Jannik another grateful look, mouthing, “Thank you.” He gave a small shrug, as if to say, “Anytime.”

---

Finally, the night came to an end. Julien insisted on walking you home, but you quickly made an excuse about needing to run some boring and long, night errand first. Jannik, overhearing Julien's persistence, spoke up.

“I’m heading the same way, I uh- I have the same errand,” he said, standing and grabbing his coat. “We can walk together.”

Julien hesitated, clearly displeased, and you thought you spied Margaux already halfway out the door, not even bothering to say goodbye.

“Sure,” Julien said, his smile forced as he gave you another squeeze at the waist. “Next time, then.”

You nodded politely before twisting out of his grasp, and Jannik followed your escape into the cool Monte Carlo night.

The walk was quiet at first, the tension of the evening still lingering. But as soon as you were far enough from the restaurant, you both burst out laughing. It was an an uncontrollable fit that came in waves, both of you doubled over clutching each other. And it seemed every time you'd slow for air, you'd lock eyes and start laughing all over again.

“That was unreal” you finally managed, wiping a tear from your eye.

“The absolute worst,” Jannik agreed, his own laughter fading into a warm smile. “I’ve had bad dates before, but that… wow.”

“Marguax was just so welcoming,” you said sarcastically.

“And Julien?” Jannik asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, a total catch,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “I’m honestly counting down the seconds until he calls me again.”

Jannik chuckled. “You played it off well, though. I thought you were going to throw your drink at him at one point.”

“Oh, I was tempted,” you said, grinning. "I think I would have if you hadn't stepped in."

There was a lull then, the residual laughter mellowing out into something softer. Jannik looked at you, his expression thoughtful.

“You know,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I feel the night would’ve been a lot better if it had just been the two of us.”

You stopped walking, turning to face him. “Well... we can make that happen,” you said, your heart skipping a beat.

His smile widened, a hint of relief and excitement in his eyes. “How about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow sounds perfect,” you replied.

And you continued walking, maybe slower than you needed to, the damage of the double date already a distant and funny memory, replaced by the promise of something far better.

[blueseashells]

Under the Lights

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Reader x Lando Norris

Genre: Fluff, Slow-burn, Suggestive, Pre-relationship

Warnings: Light cursing, suggestive content, emotional tension, soft dom vibes, close physical proximity.

---

You only meant to disappear for five minutes.

Just five minutes without comms chatter, power drills, or the echo of producers chasing content. Five minutes where you could *breathe*—somewhere no one would expect to find you.

So, naturally, you chose under the car.

Half-pretending to inspect the wiring, half-curled into a cocoon of shadows and quiet, you’d finally found a moment of peace on an otherwise chaotic race weekend. In the middle of the McLaren garage, ironically, you felt… invisible.

And you liked it that way.

Until two shadows blocked the fluorescent light above.

You didn’t move. Blinked once, twice, letting your eyes adjust to the familiar silhouettes towering just outside your bubble. Helmet visors stared back—one matte black with Monster decals and an obnoxiously confident “LN4,” the other crisp, white-blue, like everything else Oscar Piastri touched.

They didn’t speak.

You squinted. “…What.”

Lando tilted his helmet slightly, visor catching the harsh lights. “This is the *worst* hiding place I've ever seen.”

Oscar’s voice filtered through his helmet comms—soft, amused. “It’s giving... gremlin.”

You let out a sigh so dramatic it bordered on theatrical. “I’m not hiding. I’m breathing.”

“You’re literally under the car,” Lando pointed out flatly.

“Exactly. Which makes it the *quietest* place in this garage.”

Oscar shifted, arms folding across his chest. “You know you don’t have to hide from *us*, right?”

“I’m not hiding *from* you,” you mumbled.

“Good,” Lando said with a grin you didn’t have to see to know was there. “Because we always find you anyway.”

Of course they did.

Of course Lando would sniff out chaos like a bloodhound, and Oscar—well, Oscar never *looked* for you. He just always *knew*.

You sat up slowly, the floor cold against your hands. “Shouldn’t you two be, I don’t know, doing driver things?”

Lando crouched next to you, suit crinkling. “Briefed. Yelled at Zak. Stole a Red Bull from Ferrari.”

Oscar followed, kneeling gracefully. “I did *not* sign off on that.”

“I brought you one too.”

“Then you're forgiven.”

You groaned, trying to fight the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re both actual idiots.”

“But we’re *your* idiots,” Lando said, smug as ever.

Oscar leaned in, his visor tilting just enough that you felt the weight of his gaze. “You okay though?”

You froze.

There was something in his voice. Not just a check-in—*real* concern, quiet and grounding. The kind that made it harder to lie.

You nodded, softer this time. “Yeah. Just… needed space.”

He tilted his head. “Then breathe here instead.”

“Where’s *here*?”

Lando held out a hand. “With us.”

You stared at it—his fingers calloused from years of racing, always warm—and took it.

---

They didn’t take you back to the pit wall or the briefing room. Instead, you found yourself sandwiched between them in the McLaren motorhome’s tiny media lounge, crammed together on a sofa clearly meant for two, not three.

Oscar sat on your left, knee brushing yours, calm and cool even in his half-zipped suit. Lando sprawled on your right, legs draped lazily over yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. Because to him, maybe it was.

Your polo still smelled faintly of rubber and brake dust. Their hair was tousled from helmets, their undershirts clinging to sweat-damp skin. It should’ve felt too intimate.

Instead, it just felt… *right*.

Lando handed you a water bottle and a protein bar. “Eat. You forget when you’re overwhelmed.”

Oscar nodded. “And drink. You get headaches when you’re dehydrated.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you two *mom-ing* me?”

Oscar shrugged. “You mother us all the time. We’re just returning the favor.”

“You yelled at me yesterday for skipping lunch,” Lando added cheerfully.

“You *did* skip lunch.”

“Exactly.”

You rolled your eyes, but took the bottle. “Thanks.”

Silence settled in—not awkward, just *comfortable*. The kind of stillness that only exists between people who know each other too well.

Then Lando murmured, more serious this time, “We’ve been watching you.”

You turned your head slowly. “That doesn’t sound creepy *at all*.”

Oscar met your gaze. “This weekend especially. You’ve been running yourself into the ground.”

“I’m *fine*.”

“You’re always fine,” Oscar said, voice soft but firm. “But you don’t slow down. You don’t stop. Not unless someone pulls you back.”

Your shoulders sagged. Maybe they were right. Maybe the only time you ever truly let go… was with them.

“Why do you always know when I need this?” you whispered.

Lando leaned in, lips brushing your temple. “Because we *see* you.”

Oscar’s fingers slid carefully over yours. “Because we *care*.”

That was the moment it shifted.

You’d known you were falling—hell, you’d been *free-falling* for a while now. But here, between their warmth and their words, it hit you: they weren’t just catching you.

They were falling, too.

You looked between them—Lando, chaotic and loud but never careless. Oscar, quiet and steady, always watching. And you, stuck in the gravity between them.

“You guys are dangerous,” you whispered.

Lando’s grin turned wicked. “Only if you keep looking at us like that.”

Oscar’s hand grazed your thigh, light but deliberate. “You okay with this?”

“With… what?”

“This,” he said. “Us. The three of us.”

You swallowed.

“I think about it every night,” you admitted. “And every time you’re near me.”

Lando’s voice dropped a register. “You don’t know what that does to us.”

Oscar’s hand tightened slightly on your leg, grounding you again. “We’ve been patient.”

“Too patient,” Lando added, lips brushing your jaw now.

Your breath caught.

Oscar leaned in, breath warm against your skin. “Tell us to stop.”

You shook your head, voice barely audible. “I won’t.”

“Good.”

Then Lando kissed you—quick and electric, like a dare. His lips tasted like Gatorade and mischief.

Oscar followed, slower, deeper, like a secret unfolding. His kiss lingered, like he wanted to learn the shape of you one breath at a time.

You melted between them—dizzy and breathless, heart thudding against two impossible rhythms. And still, they didn’t rush. Didn’t push.

Oscar broke away first, forehead resting against yours. “Not here.”

Lando hummed against your neck. “Not yet.”

You nodded, heart pounding. “Later.”

Both of them smiled like you’d just handed them the checkered flag.

Lando pressed a kiss to your cheek. Oscar’s lips brushed your shoulder. And in that too-small space on that too-small couch, with hands brushing skin and emotions pulled tight like a wire—you realized you’d never been more *found*.

---

Part 2 ??

[seredelgi]

COME BACK TO ME

fandom: Attack On Titan/ Shingeki No Kyojin

pairing: Eren Jaeger x Reader, Toxic! Eren Jaeger x Fem! Reader, Eren Jaeger x You, Modern!Eren Jaeger x Reader, Dom!Eren Jaeger x Sub!Reader

summary: Not completely satisfied with her sex life and anxious about the impending day of her wedding, reader turns back to Eren, her ex, to get what she misses from her fiancee.

rating: Mature, 18+

warnings: toxic!eren, toxic!reader, toxic relationship in general, smut, sex, vaginal sex, breeding kink, choking, cheating, as in reader cheats on her fiancee with eren, profanity, mild degradation, kind of angsty too, dirty talk, raw sex, light dom! sub! undertones, edging, nipple play, modern au

word count: 3.6k

tags: @anniemika @vlsquuu

a/n: I'm usually not that much of an Eren simp but he honestly fits the toxic ex-boyfriend trope too well, so here. This is really the scrappiest scrap ever but yeah, enjoy. Let me know if I've missed any warnings. English is not my first language so forgive any mistakes.

You love your boyfriend. You really do.

There's no denying that when he proposed you felt kind of nervous about the idea of spending a lifetime with him, but that's no reason to doubt how much you love him.

He's sweet, he's caring, and most definitely very handsome. " He's quite a catch" your friends constantly like to remind you "Such a step up from that clown you were so down bad for"

Eren Jaeger.

Your girlfriends couldn't stand the guy. And honestly, how could you blame them? He's not been the best partner to you during your time together.

He was obnoxiously self-centered and way too jealous.

You were together a year, but you put up with his shit that long simply because he had one of those annoyingly difficult-to-replace redeeming qualities.

Boy, was Eren good at sex.

Your now fiancee is good too, but that's no match for the way Eren could make you feel back in the day.

And you know it is no excuse for what you did. It doesn't matter how nervous or weirded out you have been about the impending approach of your big day, you shouldn't have called him. You shouldn't have needed to hear his voice so bad, and most definitely shouldn't have hoped for him to invite you over to his apartment, sounding way too smug already in doing so over the phone.

But you can't help it, it's just the effect he has on you. You lose all common sense when it comes to him. He's intoxicating, and that, unfortunately, is part of his damn charm.

However, it is quite difficult to regret any of those decisions right now, sweaty and spread underneath him, taking him deep enough to leave you out of breath.

He's not been able to wipe that stupid grin off his face since he opened the door and met your big eyes, languid already with the denial of how much you missed him.

It's always been like that with him. You got carried away by the nostalgia, you felt the suffocating need to see him again, and then felt ready to bolt the second you were met with his piercing green gaze again.

He hadn't let you, of course.

He took hold of your wrist as soon as you turned around to escape from him. He'll be damned if he won't get his hands on you, after months of pointless abstinence.

He's never properly digested your break-up. He'd let you go reluctantly, but still messaged you, still lingered in your life like a ghost.

It didn't help that you'd continued living in the same neighborhood as him for a while after you two had split.

If you had to be honest, that was the very reason why you hadn't been able to be completely faithful to your new man in the first few months of your relationship. You happened to run into Eren a few times too many, giving in way too easily to his rumblings about how he was sorry, that he should've treated you better.

Well, it's too late now, you had found yourself saying, only to end up getting railed by him anyway.

Who were you kidding? You were too damn weak to resist him.

It only happened twice, and you felt so bad about it that you decided to move from the area as soon as things with your boyfriend seemed to take a good turn.

Eren didn't take it very well.

He called you insistently and left you so many messages that you had to block him on pretty much any social media. But he still reached out to you, one way or another, through some of his friends. He didn't have them write anything to you directly, but they always looked at your stories and your posts and you were positive they reported everything back to him.

That's why you're sure he knew you were engaged when he answered your call that very day.

He just didn't care.

Part of you knows you should despise him for it, that the fact that he invited you over anyway doesn't speak highly of him. However, that's exactly why you called him. You knew he wouldn't give a damn about your approaching wedding. If anything, he'd turn this into yet another stroke at his pride, yet another thing to hold you by the neck with.

And that's what he's doing now while burying himself into you. He wraps his hand around your neck and slaps against your ass so hard that all you can hear is the sound of your pussy milking his length and his rasping puffs of pleasure.

Man, you've missed this.

There's nothing quite like the way he makes you feel.

You're not sure what it is about him, and it's not like you don't get fucked properly by your fiancee. There's something about sex with Eren tho, that simply drives you wild. Maybe it's in the fervency of his touch, so eager to elicit a response that it often ends up ravaging you insatiably. It's like he needs you to like it.

It almost makes you wonder how on earth could you have let all of this go.

But then he brushes the strands of your damp hair off your face and whispers to you:

" Couldn't stay away from it, huh?" his breaths are heavy, and their warmth sinks into your skin like sin itself " Missed me that much?"

You can't help rolling your eyes at that. Whether or not his nonsense ranting is the only reason for it, only you know.

You dip your nails into the flexing muscles of his back and whine so loud into the otherwise quietness of his room that you're sure the whole building has heard that. He must've had the same thought too, because he snickers cockily back at you.

You hate to be so easy to break for him, but there's no helping it, and you can't stop your pitiful whining from pouring out anyway.

" Use your words, princess" he drags out, his hold on your neck tightening " Can he make you feel this good?"

You shouldn't humor him, shouldn't let him know the shameful truth of intimacy with your man, but how can you lie to him now that he's smacking so hard against you that you barely remember your name?

No way any of the men you've had in your life could even come close. And even if reluctant, some part of you needs for him to know.

" Nu-uh, Ere-hn" his name comes out amid quiet pathetic whimpers and he basks gloriously in them, pretty much drunk on the sight of your pleasure.

" Fucking knew it" you can hear his groans reverberating through you, shaking you up from within and making you shiver all over.

You're not prepared for the suddenness of his touch when his thumb comes to rest upon your already throbbing clit, applying the right amount of pressure where you've been aching for it, and you exhale a deep long moan that makes him chuckle and dive onto your neck, to pepper it with kisses and gentle bites.

You're already so close, but if you know him well enough he won't let you off the hook that easily.

" Look at you all dumbed down on my dick" the hand of his that had kept you in a chokehold up until then comes to brush down your lips, parting them sweetly as he looks into your half-lidded eyes " What'd he say if he saw you like this?"

You want to tell him to shut up, that you're not here to boost his ego a few sizes. However, you find compelling the way spite is turning him ravenous on you. And as he skates down your skin to squeeze your breasts you catch your breath, bracing.

He knows how much you like nipple play, something you've been missing lately. Your soon-to-be husband indulges in it, but he's way too gentle for your tastes, and even if you've reassured him that he can go hard on you, that you can take it, he just can't bring himself to.

Eren tho, is a whole other matter.

He brushes them lightly, teasing you, making you shiver from expectation. Your chest swells up to chase the warmth you can feel radiating from his hand, demanding it on you. It's like you're a puppet, dancing around at any pull of his at your strings.

You're dipping your teeth into your bottom lip so hard that you fear you'll cut it, but when he finally pinches you, you free a shrill sob of satisfaction. Pain curses through you like an injection drug, it haunts at those corners of your mind that had been, until then, still reticent to the heat of his touch.

He still knows you so well you can't help but melt into it now, tho.

" Still fancy this, darling?" he twists your right nipple in between his fingertips, toying with it, having you arch your back as a jolt of pleasure runs through your nerves to come pulse in your swelling clit. The little nub is desperately throbbing for him to speed up the pace that his thumb has been reserving it.

You nod enthusiastically, buckling your hips against his, eliciting the kind of hiss from him that reminds you how even though he likes to play dominant, he's just about as much at your mercy as you are at his.

" Shit- Easy, babe" his voice is croaked with arousal, this time around he's pleasantly taken aback by how receptive you still are to what he used to do to you " 'gonna have me nut into you like that"

You bite your bottom lip harshly at that, trying to refrain from letting him know just how much you would actually love that. You can't let a guy like him know. He'd attempt to knock you up in an instant, probably seeing it as the perfect opportunity to claim you back.

And even if there's no chance he could manage, you still don't wanna give him the satisfaction.

His thumb is still grazing lazy circles around your sweet spot, giving you enough to leave you impatiently waiting on the edge, craving your release so bad that you utter a little "please Eren" against his lips. Lips that are hovering way too close to be able to keep resisting them, and they look so good that you almost feel compelled to kiss him.

But you can't.

It would make this too sentimental, too real for you to able to take it.

" Please what?"

He's wicked, but hell, do you like it.

You hear the sound of your juices mixing with his as he stretches you out, a thin line of drool silently streaming down your chin, giving him yet another reason to smirk to himself proudly.

" Please Eren, make me 'cum, please"

Begging him for it has always proved to be effective in getting what you want. He usually felt spurred enough by it to give in immediately. Plus, you've always secretly loved that, too.

This time around it doesn't seem to be enough, tho.

" See, I'm not sure you deserve that, darling" his pace has become unabating, it's starting to sore you, it's starting to make you regret coming here in the first place, especially when he just won't let you have what you want " You were very bad to me, weren't you?"

Nuh-uh.

But you nod anyway.

And that's about the extent of the amount of power he has over you.

You're able to leave him and stop thinking about him, able to start a new life and date other men, able to accept a marriage proposal, even. But the second he's got you, you're not capable of denying him anything.

You're completely at his mercy.

" 'm-hm sorry" you keen, and see a genuine sparkle of surprise arise in his eyes at that, the quivering sense of loss he must've felt the day you deserted him still hidden in there, twinkling like a treasure he just won't surrender.

If there's something you know for certain, if there's anything you'd bet your life on is that he loves you. Sure, it's in that sick, toxic way of his that just about makes you twist your guts and ache for him at the same time. But he does nonetheless, and you've never doubted that.

There's definitive proof of it in the softening of his tone the second you apologize to him.

" Then leave him baby" he's breathless as he begs you, he kisses your lips and you can't deny him, even reveling at the contact, having craved it so bad that it almost hurts. It heightens your senses and makes you hungry for more.

You've missed it a lot, maybe more than you had the rest of it.

With him, it was always so needy. A desperate clashing of teeth and avid chasing of tongues, always wrapped in moans as he selfishly pulls you in. It is so intense that you'd dreamed about it for nights after you had ultimately decided to break up with him.

" Come back to me" whispered in between harsh puffs and meetings of lips " You know you want to, 'can feel it in the way you squeeze me"

Damn, he's so close to cracking you that it's almost scary.

" Can't let me go" chants and prayers of his just add up to the increasing intensity of his pressure on your clit, bringing you so close that literal tears stream down your cheeks, and somehow you know it's not just because of the gut-wrenching need to orgasm.

You just hate that he's right, and it hurts so much, even in the midst of all the pleasure you're feeling.

" You're still mine" fervid kisses cover the skin of your neck, humid little reminders of what you feel for him, and then you feel the fluttering of your walls welcoming the long-awaited approach of your climax.

He can feel it too, because he steadies his movements, and his eyes are trained on your features as you turn to jelly underneath him, incoherent pleads ecaping silently past your lips.

" Like that, yeah" you can hear him only dazily in the background of your pleasure as you shudder against him, and then you feel his lips claiming yours back, giving you no time at all to even catch your breath. He flicks his tongue in your mouth as you cry into him, and it's just the most excruciating kind of evidence that what he's said is all true.

You are his, and you always will be.

And it makes it all the more agonizing that you cannot be.

It's not long before he tears away way from you, his thrusts suddenly sloppier, his breaths ragged and uneven, and he looks at you, still weakly trembling underneath him, looking positively worn out.

That's how he likes you. Satisfied by him, and only him.

" Fuck- Gotta pull out, baby"

You flinch instinctively at that, your legs crossing behind his back, thighs clenching desperately at his hips, and you know you wouldn't do this if you weren't so high on him.

However you're still hazed from the aftermath of your pleasure, and you so don't want him to part from you.

He looks down at you, confounded.

" Don't you play with me babygirl" he threatens, his breaths so short you can feel he's holding on for dear life, waiting for a confirmation that you do in fact want him to nut inside of you " You know I'll do it"

The idea is appealing, and you recall that's something that you two have always played with in the past.

Back when you were together he'd told you to get off the pill, that he was very much capable of pulling out in time when necessary, when really, he just loved the risk. He got off on the idea that he could knock you up at any moment, his only restraint the one of his will.

It should've felt scary, to give him full control on something like that, but he'd always behaved.

It was a game, and it really did a trick on him. It makes him shiver even right now, against the sudden softness you reserve him as your fingers run through his long brown hair. He tilts his head back and hums, chasing your touch as if starved for it.

" Wanna feel you 'cum inside of me" you whisper in his ear, and his eyes roll back, his unchecked growl making you whimper against him when his hand closes around your throat again, shoving you back on the mattress. And then he starts railing into you with renewed intensity, your head bobbing up and down with his thrusts, and it feels like absolute heaven.

" So fucking desperate for it" it seems like your request has relieved his stamina, and you resume your moaning when his other hand comes to grip your hip to keep you steady, his fingers dipping into your meat so hard you close your eyes shut " -haven't changed a bit"

You feel the awakening of a new need, and you chase after it as you can feel him do with his, his cock piercing through you and hitting your cervix with every single snap of his hips into yours.

" Eren" you let out so quietly that he almost misses it, but when he feels you convulsing around him again, your pussy shamelessly sucking him in, he can't take it anymore. He 'cums with a deep grunt and spills all his warm seed into you, staining your walls and marking you down with his teeth buried in the curve of your neck.

You're so high on it that it barely registers, the way he's sucking on your skin greedily, how whatever he's imprinting on it will have to be covered with make-up before you go back home.

When he's done you're still puffing and tamely shaking, a sweaty mess, holding onto him to try and regain a shred of your lost composure.

He's got you good this time around. You didn't expect to come twice, not being used to it anymore.

His pants are thick and hot against your skin, and when he's finally able to better control them he levers himself up to look at you.

" Fuck, I hope I got you pregnant" he smirks wickedly.

You know it shouldn't, but your heart skips a beat when he confesses that to you.

You shake your head feebly and huff contently, you'd missed the feeling of satisfaction that good sex leaves you soaking into.

" I'm on the pill"

He frowns and slips out of you, evident disappointment washing over him.

" Ow, now that's no fun"

You sigh and look at him as he lays beside you, his cock still half-hard and glistening with the remains of your juices.

" See, that's why we can't be together"

He turns to look at you at that, this time around a hint of hurt clouds his green eyes, asking for you to explain yourself.

" Having a baby is not supposed to be fun" you say then.

" Says who?" he retorts promptly, " Damn y/n, that's one depressing way to look at life"

No use arguing with him, you two are just too different. And that's why you get up, the feeling of his 'cum leaking out from you and streaming down your thighs quietly stirring up your not-yet-silent arousal.

You can't lie to yourself. It had felt good to feel him empty himself into you.

Right is the best word that comes to mind.

But it isn't right.

And the disconcerting truth of it is, that no matter how inebriating in the making, Eren Jaeger is a threat to everything you've come to hold dear.

" I gotta go" you mutter before the sight of him laying comfortably on his bed like that could arise in you the need to cuddle up to him and sleep it off.

You can't let yourself, nor him, delude into that fantasy.

" So that's it?" he lets out, one of his hands behind his back, his muscles flexing and his eyes appraising the view of you getting rid of his 'cum with a napkin you'd hurriedly gathered from your purse.

You sure as hell cannot fathom the possibility of showering at his place, it is way too dangerous of an idea, even if very appealing.

You stay silent, unable to conjure anything that could sound remotely appropriate at a moment like this.

" You gonna hit me up again when you'll realize he's not enough for you"

His words sound resolute and resigned, and they hang over the room like venom as you look at him, baffled.

He's calm and collected, even if his eyes betray a hint of dejection that he would never let anyone else ever catch onto. But they're unwavering as if he can predict your future to be intertwined with his.

How can he even stand to feel like that?

How can you?

You gather your things and go for the door, before he could turn even meaner, before he would show his true colors.

" Give Reiner my best, would 'ya?"

You stop short when you hear your fiancee's name. Your heartbeats racing, your breaths quickening at the realization that you had been right.

He'd been watching silently this whole time.

A chill runs up your spine as you close the door to his apartment shut behind you, and you swear to yourself, that no matter how tempting, you'll never give in to the need to see him ever again.

[berryispunk]

Moving Day

Chapter 3 of "Rain Down on Me" for the April Showers challenge by @jolapeno

series masterlist

pairing: Frankie Morales x ofc! reader

tags: enemies to ???, banter, tense car ride, arguing in the rain, they're both disasters, Frankie being an idiot, i hate(love) them, it's getting worse before it gets better

notes: prompts I used for this one were: Eight-The moment they realised they were in love & Twenty-Six-The weight of an unsaid confession

word count: ~ 1,5k

A few months later, you find yourself helping Will and Monica move into a way-too-expensive, high-rise apartment downtown—because apparently, good friends are also unpaid labor. The building has valet parking, concierge service, and enough mirrors in the lobby to make you painfully aware of how sweaty and underdressed you are for a place like this.

You knew there’d be boxes. What you didn’t expect was Frankie Morales.

Because of course, he’s here.

Leaning against the moving truck like he owns it, sunglasses pushed into his damp curls, one hand lazily wrapped around a coffee cup he absolutely didn’t pay for. As soon as your eyes meet, he flashes that lazy grin, and you feel your stomach sink with theatrical annoyance.

“Of course, you’re here,” you mutter under your breath.

Monica greets you with a breathless hug, arms full of throw pillows. “Thank God! We’re dying. Will’s useless. Frankie’s only slightly less useless.”

“Charming,” Frankie says, shooting you a wink over her shoulder. “Morning, Sunshine.”

You ignore him, but he keeps talking anyway, because he’s Frankie.

“You look thrilled to be here,” he says, matching your pace as you head inside with a box.

“Thrilled would imply I didn’t know you’d be here,” you shoot back.

“Ouch. Already coming in hot.”

“I call it emotionally honest.”

“You call it emotionally violent,” he grins. “But sure.”

You don’t respond, just march toward the elevator, mentally preparing for the day. You can survive this. You’ve survived worse. Probably. Somewhere between carrying too many boxes and trying not to accidentally hit Frankie with a lamp, you casually mention, “It’s gonna rain later.”

He barely glances up from the mess of cords he’s trying to wrangle into a bag.

“No, it’s not. Look—it’s sunny. Humid. Classic ‘stop being dramatic’ weather.”

You just smile to yourself. Let him be smug. Nature will take care of him.

And, of course, several hours later, the sky splits open like it’s personal, pouring rain over the city. You’re helping Monica haul a suitcase from the car when it starts, and in seconds, you’re soaked through.

So is Frankie.

His shirt clings to his chest, sleeves pushed back, curls flattened against his forehead. For some reason, your brain decides now is the time to freeze in frame. You quickly look away, but it’s too late—he already noticed.

“You’re staring,” he says, voice dangerously close and obnoxiously smug.

“In your dreams,” you retort.

“Probably. But you’ll never admit it.”

“Why would I? You’re literally the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

“And yet,” he smirks, “here we are. Helping the same friends. Spending the whole day together. Getting drenched in what some people call ‘definitely not rain.’”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re in denial,” he shoots back, shrugging like it’s all a game.

You nearly slip on the wet pavement as you turn to glare at him.

“About what, exactly?”

He shrugs again, like it’s nothing—like your blood isn’t boiling half from rage, half from the way his shirt clings to every line of his torso. You hate this. You absolutely hate this. You have to remind yourself it’s just a bodily reaction, because hell, you couldn’t care less about Francisco -fucking- Morales.

“I dunno. That you like having me around.”

You laugh sharply. More out of spite than of joy. “I’d rather be stuck on a ten-hour customer service call listening to that godawful hold music than spend one more minute with your ego."

Frankie’s smirk widens like he just won a prize.

“Sure. Keep telling yourself that, Summer.”

You want to throw a soaked towel at him. Or maybe throw yourself into traffic, both equally valid options.

Instead, you grab the next box and march past him, ignoring the warmth creeping up your neck, the rain pouring into your collar. And the fact that yeah-maybe- you stared for a little too long at his jaw or this one unruly curl that sticks to his temple. You’re not giving him the satisfaction though.

He can keep his wet shirt, his annoying laugh, and his stupid, stupid smirk. You’ll win this round. Even if you’re soaking wet and barely holding it together.

The move drags on longer than expected, but eventually, boxes are unpacked, furniture is arranged, and the chaos dies down. Monica orders pizza, and the group settles in, tired and a little buzzed, just as the late hours start creeping in.

You grab your jacket and glance at your watch. You usually take the subway home, but before you can even make a move toward the door, Frankie’s voice cuts through the noise.

“Hey,” he says, his eyes narrowing slightly as he leans against the doorframe, the faintest hint of hesitation in his voice. “I’ll drive you home.”

You stop in your tracks, blinking at him. “What?”

Frankie’s jaw tightens, and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “I mean, unless you want to get stuck on the subway at this hour,” he mutters, clearly not sure why he’s offering, or why he even feels like he has to. “But, whatever, it’s up to you.”

You hesitate, surprised by the offer, but he doesn’t press further. There’s something oddly cold in his tone, almost like he’s expecting you to turn him down. You raise an eyebrow, debating whether to call his bluff, but after a moment, you sigh and nod.

“Fine,” you say, your voice dry, “but I’m not sitting in the backseat like a damn chauffeur.”

“Whatever,” Frankie replies, turning and heading for the door. There’s a sharp edge to his words, like he’s trying too hard not to show that it matters to him at all. You follow him out, and soon you’re in the passenger seat of his car.

—

The car ride is thick with unsaid things. Rain smears across the windshield in slow, heavy streaks, and the low hum of the engine is the only sound between you. You shift beside him, arms crossed, eyes fixed ahead—but not in that guarded, annoyed way you usually do. It's quieter. Softer. And for some reason, that throws Frankie off.

You break the silence first, voice low. “Seems to be a habit with us. Getting stuck in small spaces.”

He glances over, trying to school his face into something neutral. “Yeah. Real charming tradition.”

No bite. No sarcasm. Just… tired.

You notice. Of course you do.

And maybe that’s what makes your voice a little gentler. “You alright?”

Frankie laughs, short and hollow. “Why? Gonna diagnose me with a personality disorder next?”

That’s when your expression shifts, barely perceptible. You don’t say anything. Just look out the window again, rain hitting the glass like it’s trying to drown the silence. He doesn’t know why he says it. Maybe it’s because you’re not fighting him. Maybe it’s because that softness in you feels like too much. 

Because the truth is—he’s falling for you. In a messy, not-logical, entirely inconvenient way. And it’s driving him crazy. He’s acting like an asshole, knows it too, but it’s easier to push than to fall. It’s what he does best. Distance. Detachment. Keeps the bruises under the surface.

“Where’s your venom?” he mutters, eyes still on the road. “You’re usually way better at making me feel like shit.”

You turn, slowly, eyes narrowing. “I’m trying, Frankie.”

That catches him off guard.

You’re still watching him, anger flickering now. “I’ve been trying all day, actually. Trying not to snap, trying to be decent, trying to meet you halfway. But you just—you don’t know how to exist without biting first.”

He doesn’t respond because he doesn’t know how. So, of course, he says the worst thing possible.

“Maybe I just don’t buy your act.”

Your jaw tenses. “What act?”

“This whole sweet, almost-nice thing,” he says, venom now dripping from his tone. “What, you try it on and see if I’ll suddenly fall for it?”

The silence that follows is deafening.

You let out a sharp breath, then unclick your seatbelt.

“Summer—” he says, already regretting it.

But you’re pushing the door open.

“You wanna throw a few more insults before I go?” you snap, standing in the downpour now, rain soaking your hair, your clothes, your pride.

Hurt flickers across Frankie’s face like lightning—quick, raw, and immediately buried under the usual armor.

You see it anyway.

“I’ll walk,” you say, stubborn to the end. You turn and leave, steps sharp against the wet pavement. He opens the door halfway, calling after you.

“Summer—”

But you don’t stop this time and he doesn’t follow. He just sits there, hands clenched on the steering wheel, rain thundering against the roof of the car. And the terrifying ache of knowing he might’ve just let the only person who really saw him walk away. 

The rain doesn’t let up.

Neither does the feeling.

thanks for reading 💌

next part

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[bunnyreaper]

YES I DO HONEY BUN!

Let's get your most crack fic takes on how Gaz reacts to seeing spicy photos of his fellow operatives (141, Los Vaqueros and beyond, up to you!)

Like setup can be whatever you want but I'm imagining a "Hey an ex is trying to blackmail me by saying they are going to send these photos to the team so may as well pre-empt it, behold!"

you said crack fic, so I gave crack fic! admittedly not doing a good job with the prompt, but, hey ho!

your little hobby might have gotten out of hand. it started off as a silly little joke with johnny--he suggested you keep a polaroid of him on you, to really solidify your bond and friendship. 

you'd agreed, but hadn't expected him to produce the polaroid himself, and certainly not one that was just a picture of his bright smile, gorgeous torso, and admittedly delicious happy trail. it had taken you by surprise, but you felt the urge to keep your promise, and swore to yourself that one day you'd get him back with something equally as obnoxious.

from there, it had spiraled out of hand. 

simon had gotten wind of johnny's little picture, and one day approached you. you expected him to rip the two of you to pieces, but he hadn't. 

instead he slid across a polaroid of another shirtless figure, one that could be him, but with his face and tattooed arm out of frame and the alluringly lowered lighting, it's hard to tell for certain. he peered at you from behind a plain black mask as he whispered--no one will ever believe you.

price's picture had made its way into your paperwork 'accidentally'--a flattering picture of his thick, hairy stomach and broad chest, leading down to a pair of tight boxer shorts and muscular, imposing thighs. you're convinced he did it just to show them how the boys how it's done, a point of pride over his figure that is all man and not boy. all the while he maintained innocence and embarrassment at the mistake, yet he never made a move to get the photo back from your collection. 

all three photos sit in front of kyle, having spilled out from where they were hidden in the back of your phone case. he fights between confirming what he's seeing and refusing to look at all. 

different parts of him battle against each other. the first thing he felt was confusion, which quickly morphed into recognition, and then embarrassment. while the men's bodies were nothing he hadn't seen before, the polaroids all had an alluring, erotic edge to them, which brought blood rushing to his cheeks. 

it felt wrong to look, and yet he had so many questions--for them, for you.

"didn't know you were that much of a perv, love." he looks at you with a cheeky grin.

"i'm not! it's a joke, they're not for my... personal enjoyment." you scoop them back up and stuff them in your phone case, hiding them from any other prying eyes. 

"they're not?" his eyebrow arches, him clearly not believing you. "so, you just have lewds of all of our team for the laughs?" 

"something like that." you nod, desperately wishing for a change of topic, after all, it is just some overblown joke. 

a few expressions flicker across kyle's face, before he settles on a slightly wounded puppy look. "why didn't you ask me for one then?" 

"we're just friends." you explain, trying to remain straight-faced despite the emotion bubbling up inside you. 

there's a very fucking good reason you never broached the subject with kyle, and went out of your way to even hide it from him. because you knew that one look at a lewd picture of kyle would be the death of normalcy in your friendship. 

"and you're not friends with the rest of the 141?" his face shifts from wounded puppy to confused puppy, head tilted and everything.

"i am, but it's not like i want to be more than friends with them--" you rush to explain, but let out just a touch too much, revealing your long-standing crush on the man sitting across from youm "i mean..." 

"didn't know you felt the same way, love." he smiles, genuinely elated rather than smug. it's clear not just from his words, but from his tone and the look in his eyes that he feels just the same way you do--enamoured." 

you can't help but beam back, equal parts nervous and excited. "not how i planned on telling you, but yeah. with them it's just silly, with you it'd be... different." you feel your cheeks flush at the confession.

kyle leans into your space a little, and as you think he's about to take your hand, he instead takes your phone. 

he throws you a wink before he takes out the polaroids, and slips them into his pocket. "looks like I'll have to take a few pictures of my own then, replace your little collection." 

[threepandas]

Bird4Bird Part 3: Yandere Hawks

Did you know? That Fukuoka has the highest concentration of winged Quirks in Japan? Most of them in or around Kyushu. It's a remarkably recent thing too. Used to be farther north, but that slowly died off when the Hero Rising Wing died in action.

Wanna know WHY?

It's because of the fuckin Gyms.

The markets. The specialty doctors offices. The clothing lines that cater to people who have LIMBS sticking out if their backs. All of those? Yeah, they picked up and looked for the next Hero to slap a brand deal on. Because GOD FORBID they serve the community that already existed and needed them.

So folks had to move. Sell their houses.

It was that or take the train for hours each day, after all.

Because? Again. No license? Who CARES if your health suffers! Fucking WALK. Dangerous muscle atrophy and spinal problems? Should have thought about being a HERO! Bleed for the state!

You're not bitter.

You're just routinely pissed enough to spit shards of GLASS.

Doesn't help that YOUR quirk? Oh, YOUR Quirk is one of the BIG ones. One of those "why yes, I CAN bench press a small vehicle, why do you ask?" Sorta quirks. The upkeep is a NIGHTMARE. You live in a god damned SHOEBOX.

You HAVE too! Because FUCKING INSURANCE doesn't cover "frivolous" "luxury" expenses like your Hero-grade gym membership. Which you only NEED because you'd BREAK the normal machines at a standard Avian Quirk Specialty Gym. But good luck trying to agree with the BIGOTS at-!!!

.....breathe. Just.... just breath. In, then out, in, then out.

Not Worth it.

This is workout time. De-stress. Getting to stretch your wings. Work up a swea-OH MOTHER FUCKER!!

Hawks bats his eyelashs, obnoxiously in your opinion, at you and twiddle his fingers in a cheeky lil shit wave. No. NO. This is you day OFF from community service. You were supposed to be FREE of him! How is he HERE?!

You look him dead in the eyes and project MURDER.

His obnoxious grin gets bigger. It's like he WANTS you to fight him! Is... is this bullying? Are you being BULLIED? You're on fuckin PAROLE. The flesh may be so, SO willing to slam him face first through a wall... but the spirit DOESNT WANT TO GO TO JAIL. His ass ain't worth it!

Leave you crimson ass, crow demon! FUCK OFF!

He pouts exaggeratedly at you. Dramatic and fake as shit. "Aaaw, aren't we FRIENDS? Don't you want to hang ooooout~?" NO! I would sell you back to whatever hell dimension you crawled from, for a toothpick I DONT EVEN WANT!

He looks delighted.

Stop that!

You try and ignore him. Finish your work out. But he is so, SO clingy and whiny and LOUD. He's doing on purpose. You know he is. HE knows, you know, he is. You can see it in his eyes. It's the fucking malicious little sparkle.

Is he getting OFF on this? What, does he just LIKE to harrass people? Pick at them?

If he keeps fucking around, he's GONNA find out.

You storm away the second your done. Try to lose him at the changing rooms. Fail. Now he's following you... eating greasy fried chicken... OBNOXIOUSLY. Does he HAVE to FLY while he does that?! The exaggerated noises are COMPLETELY UNNECESSARY!

You spin to rip him a new one, take one look at his smug, victorious expression... and? Actually? Enjoy your fucking chicken. Mama didn't raise a lil bitch. She had a Cutesy Pair Of Angel Wings™ her entire life. Was fetishized to FUCK and back. Learned the fine art of rage and taking no prisoners.

She? She raised a spiteful wrath child with a strong sense of justice.

Fuck yoooooooou.

You hope he CHOKES on that chicken. You begin to turn, but stop. He WAS looking annoyed that his plan didn't work. Why did he just start smirking? He looks entirely too smug and pleased. Not looking AT you. Over your head? Behind-?

"Omg, IS THAT HAWKS~♡?!"

Oh, fuck. You feel the blood drain from you face. His eyes flick down to yours. His PR, fake ass, smile has never been toothier. D...Don't do it. Don't you DARE.

He strikes a photo ready pose. Why YES HE IS~!

You desperately try to get out of the way. You've SEEN the carnage. The poor souls caught in the crossfire. High pitched squeals and thundering feet race closer from behind you. A red feather has by the front of the jacket. You stare down in betrayal. Back up in horror.

You're supposed to be a HERO!

The Fan's cometh. And with a howling curse, you get consumed by the crowd. Hawks laughs, bright and charming above the crowd. His feathers never leaving your body as you get thrown around. Shouldn't have ignored him~

But man, the face you made was pretty cute, too.

Following you was a great idea! He should do it more often~♡