#lecture cocooning

[theunvanquishedzims]

Just spent an hour bawling on the phone at my dad about Gender and got a lot of God Loves You back, so Operation Wait For Dad To Die Before Doing Any Gender Fuckery is firmly back on the rails

At least my hair cut rocks

[skylleramber]

La porte mystérieuse, elle possède une légende, si nous franchissons son seuil, nous serons face au monde de l’au-delà, la porte mystérieuse, elle est entre deux mondes, c’est la gardienne de l’invisible, elle referme les voix du passé, et si vous entrez, vous les entendrez hurler, la porte mystérieuse, elle est remplie d’ornement, si vous arrivez à les décrypter, vous comprendrez qu’en la franchissant, vous serez pour toujours damné.

[elladeco-blog]

[comatosebunny09]

drowning | sylus

— summary: sometimes, you don’t realize you’re drowning until it’s too late. he’s always there to throw you a life preserver when you need it. — cw: depression, anxiety, self-deprecating thoughts, mild angst, comfort, mild language, sylus is a big ol’ softie — notes: i felt heavy today. i needed to escape to my delusions to get through it. thanks for reading. — now playing: chaconne - enhypen

You, but refusing to get out of bed because the world’s too heavy a burden to bear right now. 

You try to encourage yourself to at least shower—you smell like depression and yesterday’s outside clothes. Sometimes, that’s enough to lift your spirits. The motivation of a warm spray unfurling the knots in your shoulders. 

You try to force yourself to get up and eat—you like to eat. Your stomach’s screaming at you. You haven’t had shit since lunch yesterday, and it feels like something’s sinking its claws into your stomach and pulling down. 

But that’s not enough to get you out of bed. It’s the safest place for you right now. It doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t doubt you, doesn’t admonish you for the one wrong thing you do against twenty other rights. And you’re bundled up like a little sulking burrito in your comforter, refusing to do more than turn over and pray for sleep to tug you under.

However, sleep’s lulling embrace never comes,

Your thoughts are too much to deal with. Everything is too much. Caving in. You know it’s best for you to be around people. To reach out, but you’ll feel even shittier for dumping your problems on your friends, no matter how much they tell you they’re more than happy to listen. No matter how much you try to solve everyone else’s problems for them. 

Besides, you don’t want to look weak. You hate it when people worry about you. You’re a pillar of strength for most everyone in your life. How are you going to take care of everyone else when you can’t even get yourself together?

Your phone buzzes by your pillow for the umpteenth time. You squint against its brightness, the jarring blue light the only source of color in your dark room. You have no sense of time. Don’t have to look at your screen to know he’s calling you again. 

You’ve been avoiding him like a sickness since you got off work yesterday—another person you don’t want to drag into your caldron of misery. 

You shove your phone under your pillow after silencing it, cocooning yourself deeper into your blanket and the turmoil of your mind. You’ll be better tomorrow, you promise. You always snap back after a day or two. Then you’re back to being the bright and obnoxious source of optimism everyone knows and loves.

You’ll talk to him later. When you’re better and not a husk of yourself, and your stomach isn’t empty while your brain is too full. 

Too bad he has no intention of waiting for you to get your shit together.

Your bedroom door creaks open. 

You turn away from it, curling up into a little hissing ball as the artificial light of your hallway spills in. Your thick, shag rug swallows the sounds of weighted footsteps. They near the edge of your bed, and you shut your eyes tight, receding further into your comforter.

A tongue clicks in disdain, a heavy presence looming over you. Your stomach lurches when the familiar drag of his voice permeates through the comforter.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding.” There’s a note of humor buried deep beneath the chiding, the concern.

You stiffen in response. He takes your silence as his cue to carry on with making you feel even shittier.

“Is there a reason you’ve been more difficult to get a hold of than the President?”

You flinch as if physically struck. You hate when he talks to you like that. Like there’s a lecture churning in the clouds, rolling over the horizon.

You swallow, realizing how fucking dry your throat is. Your lips quiver, struggling to form around words, also cracked and crusted with small flecks of blood. When’s the last time you had water?

“Go away,” you meekly manage.

The room’s other occupant huffs something offended. “I came all this way to check on you, and this is how you repay me? Your ability to discard me when you no longer find me useful is…assuring.”

You release a weighted sigh. Shaky. You don’t intend to be mean. You just…don’t want him to see you like this. Especially not him. 

You spend some time in thick silence, listening to your heart thrum. And it is then you realize it’s raining outside. He came all this way in the rain? Well, fuck. 

Your mattress dips under his weight. A gentle hand falls onto your ankle, thumb smoothing over the jut of bone there through layers of goose feather. You hear him swallow. Picture him, a hulking mass of silver and intimidation, trying to approach you without exacerbating things.

“Sweetie, what’s wrong?” he asks, cautious like you’re a cornered animal he’s afraid to scare off. 

Your stomach pulls. Again, you despise sympathy. Making people fret over you, especially when it’s him. You’ve spent most of your life fending for yourself. Putting on this fake mask of optimism. He’s got his own things to worry about without you adding one more hardship to his life.

You remain silent, and he presses. Spindly fingers crawl beneath the comforter, seeking out the smooth glide of your skin. Your calf. He rubs soothingly. Your instincts tell you to pull away, but the warmth of his palm is grounding—an anchor in the face of a tidal wave threatening to wash you away.

“Talk to me. Please. I haven’t heard from you all night. Not a word today. I tried to give you space. But I was worried.”

And there it is. The nail driven into the coffin.

It’s not intentional, but you sink deeper regardless, that gnarling feeling twisting up your gut. A warm film of tears washes over your eyes. You tamp it down, shove away the frustration. Your voice strains.

“I’m alright, Sy. Just tired.”

You feel him turn on the bed, his knee nudging your back. His hand slides to your hip where he kneads it between careful fingers. 

“I don’t believe that.”

You scoff, the sound of it sticky. Of course, he doesn’t. You can’t fool him. He’s too smart for his own good. Sometimes knows you better than you know yourself.

Before you can think, he’s curling around you. Notches his pelvis up against your bottom, tangling your legs together, dragging you closer against the hard press of his body, into the circle of his arms. You owlishly blink as he slots his chin in the junction of your shoulder. Want to laugh because you’re a complicated mess of limbs and bedsheets. 

You smell him even through the thick layers of your comforter. He smells like petrichor, spring, and stale cologne. The warmth he exudes is dizzying. Comforting, causing your lids to grow heavy. 

He breathes deep behind you. Hums low in his throat, voice vibrating your back and playing up your spine like a xylophone. You contemplate wriggling out of his embrace. You don’t deserve his sympathy—his pity. But his embrace around your middle is possessive as if to convey, I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere. 

“You don’t have to tell me what’s on your mind,” he says, voice steeping low, gritty like sand caught between your toes after a day on the beach. He presses full lips against the slope of your jaw. 

“But know that whatever storm you’re weathering, you don’t have to endure it alone.”

That’s the dam-breaker.

Tears spring to your eyes faster than you can think. A bitter sob forces its way past your lips. Why does he have to be so fucking sweet?

He holds you tighter as your body shakes. As you let go of everything you’ve been holding in for the past few months. Strokes reassurance into your stomach with his thumbs, nuzzling further into the hollow of your shoulder. Whispers words of encouragement and it’s alright’s in between your hiccups and apologies.

He doesn’t let go even long after your tears have dried up, and the rain’s let up outside. You feel sleep nipping at your psyche, at the edges of your vision. Maybe you just needed a good cry to tire you out. Open up those floodgates of contaminated water you’ve been fighting to contain. 

But before you sink under, your boyfriend softly murmurs in your ear, “Ah ah ah. I bet you haven’t showered all day. I can smell it.”

You reach back to pinch his hip, a scowl screwing up your face as his chest shakes with affectionate laughter. You roll your eyes and wrench yourself free of his embrace. Snatch the blanket off your head—it was getting hot under there, anyway. 

Sylus moves to the edge to draw you between his legs, a disarming smile cresting over his lips as he holds you at the waist. “There’s my girl,” he croons, pressing your foreheads together. Kisses you quick, but it's enough to leave you breathless. 

You let him lead you to your bathroom to wash up. He leaves you to your own devices as the shower’s comforting spray washes over your skin. You lather up with your favorite body wash, the scent working as a soothing balm over your nerves. 

He has your favorite robe and slippers waiting for you when you get out. Sits you on top of the toilet to dry your hair off. Maybe he uses a little too much leave-in conditioner, but he’s smiling all fond as he detangles your hair the way you taught him before taking his time blowdrying your hair. 

He drags you into your kitchen for your favorite takeout. Entertains you with stories about the twins running him ragged. When you’re full and laughing and your cheeks ache from smiling so much, he holds you in your bed until your eyes grow heavy again. Hums something lucid, raspy. 

“Sy,” you say with your back to him, voice weighed with sleep.

“Hmm? Yes, sweetheart?” he replies, lazily pulling at some strands of your hair. It feels good, pushing you further under. 

“Thank you.”

You hear the smile in his voice. “Of course, sweetheart. Anything for you.”

[vylosinbound]

Hello! May I request a situation (fluff/angst) where the MC (any gender) barged into a character's room on the verge of tears? Any reason is fine and you could also do any character, but for me preferably Mephisto because I could see him letting his pride down to comfort MC.

Thank you so much! ♡

Thank you so much for sending in this request! I truly love working with emotional scenarios like this, especially when it involves a character like Mephistopheles, whose pride makes moments of softness so impactful. I hope this short drabbles brings the emotion you were looking for to life!

On the edge of breaking

When MC cries in front of them

Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub and Belphegor + Mephistopless

Genre: Angst / Hurt/Comfort / Emotional Vulnerability

The character is caught off guard by MC’s sudden breakdown and drops their usual behavior to provide unexpected comfort.

LUCIFER

You slam open his door, and for once, he doesn’t lecture you.

His eyes narrow at your trembling form, and without a word, he sets his pen down.

"Come here," he says quietly.

You don’t even make it halfway before he meets you, tugging you into his chest, letting your tears soak into his shirt.

For a long while, all he does is run a hand down your back and murmur, “I’m here. You’re safe. Whatever it is… we’ll handle it.”

MAMMON

He jumps when the door bursts open. “Oi! You can’t just—”

Then he sees your face. And the attitude drops.

“Hey… hey, hey. What happened?”

He rushes to you, arms hesitating for a second before fully wrapping around your shoulders.

“I gotcha, alright? The Great Mammon’s here.”

You don’t say anything, just hold onto him. And for once, he doesn’t try to be cool. Just holds tighter.

LEVIATHAN

You enter in a blur, and he nearly panics. “W-What?! Did I do something? Was it the last game night?”

But the tears in your eyes say it’s deeper. Real.

Levi's voice drops to a whisper. “Oh… oh no.”

He awkwardly guides you to his bed, wrapping a blanket around you both like a cocoon.

“You don’t have to talk… Just, uh, sit here. I’ll stay. I promise.”

SATAN

You barge in, and he’s halfway through a book when he looks up, confusion replaced by concern in seconds.

His brow furrows. “Who hurt you?”

You can’t even speak. But he sets his book down without marking the page, and that’s how you know he’s serious.

He takes your hand gently. “Let me be your quiet for a bit.”

And you sit in silence, breathing in the scent of old pages and comfort.

ASMODEUS

His smile fades the instant he sees your watery eyes. “Oh, love…” he says softly. “Come here.”

He doesn’t ask what happened, not yet. He just opens his arms, letting you fall into them.

He strokes your hair, kissing the crown of your head.

“You’re still beautiful when you cry… but I’d rather see you smiling.”

BEELZEBUB

He stops mid-bite, mid-chew, the only time food is completely forgotten.

“Are you okay? Wait, stupid question.”

He sets the food aside and rushes to you, pulling you into his arms with gentle force.

“You’re shaking… do you want to talk? Or just stay like this?”

You nod into his chest, and he just holds you, solid and warm like a shield.

BELPHEGOR

He’s half-asleep until he hears the door, groggily annoyed, until he sees you.

Immediately alert.

“Tch. Come here, you’re not crying alone.”

He pulls you into bed with him, tucking you under the blankets and into his chest.

His hand strokes your back slowly, soothing. “Whatever it is… it’ll feel smaller tomorrow. I’ve got you till then.”

MEPHISTO

You push into his room uninvited, and he opens his mouth to complain, sees your expression, and it dies on his lips.

He stands slowly, letting out a careful breath. “...Who do I need to destroy?”

You shake your head, lip trembling.

With a small sigh, he shrugs off his coat and drapes it around your shoulders, guiding you to the chaise.

He doesn’t touch you, not yet. Just sits beside you and says, “Stay here. Cry if you must. No one will see but me.”

[eternalguk]

Pink Hearts & Black Clouds || jjk. — 01

Love me at my lowest, I’ll love you when you’re barely holding on

↠ Pairing : Jungkook x Reader

↠ Summary : Jeon Jungkook is the epitome of a brooding grunge. Moody, distant, and always a little too sarcastic. A grumpy, tattooed college student who barely tolerates anyone… except you. Somehow, the girl who’s a whirlwind of pink hearts and strawberry lipgloss is the one who keeps dear Jungkook on his toes.

But you must admit… behind that gruff exterior, there’s a side of him only you get to see—gentle, caring, and ready to spoil you in his own way. Everyone else may see him as the tough guy with a permanent scowl, but you know better. Jungkook’s heart? It’s all yours.

↠ Genre : established relationship au, college au, grunge!bf x bimbo!gf, angst, fluff & smut

↠ Word count : 3.8K

↠ Warnings : swearing, making out, teasing, exhibitionism (sex in a lecture theatre), unprotected sex, penetrative sex, rough sex, slight dumbification, dirty talk, begging, oral sex (m. receiving), ass smacking, scratching, dom!jungkook x sub!reader, use of pet names, sex on a desk (he hits it from the back at one point), a very moody but flirtatious Jungkook paired with bimbo!oc deserves its own warning :) - I think that’s about it?

↠ A/n : Hi there ; here it is! Chapter 01 of my first series, ‘pink hearts and black clouds’ which I am so excited to share. This story means a lot to me as it explores two completely different personalities finding their way together. With bimbo, sunshine!reader and grunge, grumpy!jk, I hope you enjoy exploring this world as much as I loved creating it. It’s messy, it’s fun, it’s emotional, it’s steamy (at times 👀) and it’s absolutely everything I could ask for! I’d love to hear what you think - your reactions, favourite part, or even anything you’d like to see from them in the future! Feedback / comments are always appreciated. Thank you for giving my story a chance & happy reading 🦢.

↠ Song : ‘Closer’ by Jungkook / ‘Good for you’ by Selena G

❧ Chapter 01 : Lipgloss & Leather

prev. || next  || series masterlist || masterlist

A stream of light filters through the wooden, venetian blinds of the lecture theatre windows, slicing through the warm, cinnamon-scented air.

God bless Ms. Choi for her diffusers.

The ambience of the empty theatre is a sharp contrast to the wintry chill that is dancing around outside. The time of season where it bites at your cheeks and refuses to let go. Inside though, the warmth feels like a holiday cocoon, the kind that makes you shed layers and forget the frost clinging to the world beyond your surrounding.

Unfortunately, despite the serene atmosphere, you don’t feel any less distracted.

You are perched in a chair at the back of the theatre, mindlessly playing with your pink glitter gel pen while Jungkook sits on the desk in front of you, legs spread arrogantly, one boot perched on the seat beside yours. The light catches on the silver chain hanging from his neck, a stark contrast to his black t-shirt and ripped dry-denim jeans.

You should be focusing on taking notes for the upcoming midterm, like he told you to do, but instead, your eyes keep wandering back to the powerful man in front of you.

Powerful because he consumes your entire being.

You pout as you swirl a strand of your hair around your finger, oblivious to the smirk curling on Jungkook’s lips as he catches onto your little daydream.

“Not taking notes, princess?” he asks, tone dripping with mockery.

“Erm…” you blink at him, momentarily caught off guard. “I was… thinking?”

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Thinking. Right. About the syllabus or about how good I look right now?”

Your cheeks flame as he leans forward, chin propped lazily on his tattooed hand. His dark hair falls messily over his face, making him look even more impossibly cocky.

“Both?” you meekly offer, putting down the glitter pen and propping your chin onto your soft hands.

His grin stretches wider. “You’re cute when you lie.”

You smile at the compliment as Jungkook reaches out and grabs the gel pen from the desk, inspecting it like it was the most interesting thing in the world. The sight of his tattooed fingers gripping the sparkly pink plastic makes your heart race.

“Why do you even need this?” he teases, holding the pen just out of reach when you try to grab it back. “It’s ugly, you definitely don’t use it to write anything down and it’s pink.”

Jungkook grimaces, observing the pen as though it’s a foreign object.

You huff and pout harder, crossing your arms. “You said you’d help me study, but all you’re doing is being mean!”

“Mean?” Jungkook cackles, the sound low and gravelly. “Doll, I’m just keeping it real. Someone has to be with you.”

“Ugh, you’re the worst!” you whine, trying again to snatch the pen, but Jungkook is faster. He swiftly moves it behind his back, staring you down with his usual, conceited smirk.

“And yet, here you are. With me.”

“Because you don’t let me leave,” you shoot back, a small huff escaping as you try your best to appear annoyed.

But you aren’t. Not even a little bit.

Especially when Jungkook leans in even closer, his dark eyes scanning your face like he is trying to memorise every detail.

“C’mere,” he says softly, contrasting his suddenly serious expression.

You blink up at him, your heart fluttering. “Why?”

“Just come here, doll. Trust me.”

You hesitate for half a second before leaning forward, and that is all the invitation Jungkook needs to grab your chair and yank you forward, placing you between his legs. Your breath hitches as he cups your face in his hands, the rough pads of his thumbs stroking your cheeks.

“You’re too fucking pretty, you know that?” he murmurs, his voice so low and intimate that it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Jungkook…” You trail off, feeling utterly flustered and ridiculously warm under his intense gaze.

“What?” he questions, cocking his head playfully. “You don’t like compliments? Want me to call you dumb instead? You like that, huh?”

“N-no!” you stutter, and the way he leans in closer makes your head spin.

“That’s what I thought,” he says with a smirk, brushing his nose against yours. “My good girl likes being told she’s pretty.”

Your heart thumps loudly in your chest as his lips find yours, the kiss starting soft but quickly turning hungrier. Jungkook kicks your chair back before tugging you impossibly closer, his hands sliding down to your waist.

“Fuck, you taste sweet,” he mumbles against your lips.

“Strawberry lip gloss,” you utter, still fairly dazed.

He hums appreciatively, a smile now evident on his face. “My favourite.”

Jungkook’s hands slides lower, squeezing your hips as he deepens the kiss. You moan softly when he nips at your bottom lip, his pierced tongue sweeping over it a second later.

The sound of the theatre door creaking open in the distance makes you freeze.

The wind.

“Jungkook!” you hiss, pulling back slightly. “What if someone comes in?”

Jungkook grins, completely unbothered. “Free show?”

“You’re impossible!”

“You love it,” he teases, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth. His hands tug at the hem of your short pink skirt, hiking it up higher as his fingers toy with the edge of your lace underwear.

“Ahh, is this the pair I got you the other day?”

“Jungkook…” you mewl, voice barely above a whisper. You manage a quick nod, before falling to rest your head on Jungkook’s shoulder.

“My doll is always so needy,” he grumbles, his dark eyes locking with yours. “But I don’t mind.”

Jungkook continues to fiddle with your underwear, his hand slipping inside to cup your now soaked sex in his rough hands. “Nice and wet.”

You squirm in his grasp, your cheeks burning as he presses another kiss to your neck, nipping the sensitive skin until you gasp.

“Relax, baby,” he whispers. “I’ve got you, I promise.”

And with that, you give in - like you always do with your lover boy.

“Get on the desk.”

Your heart races as you turn toward the heavy, wooden desk behind you. It feels cold beneath your palms as you hoist yourself up, the sound of your skirt rustling loud in the quiet space. Jungkook watches you intently, his eyes darkening as you settle onto the surface, your legs dangling over the edge.

He steps closer, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing the hem of your skirt higher.

“Look at you,” Jungkook whispers, his voice dripping with approval. “So pretty. So perfect for me.”

You shiver, your hands gripping the edge of the desk as his fingers trace patterns on your skin. Jungkook’s touch feels electric, sending sparks shooting through your veins.

“J-Jungkook—” you stutter, your voice shaky.

“Shh,” he interrupts, his voice firm but gentle. “Just relax. Let me take care of you.”

Your boyfriend's words send a wave of warmth washing over you, and you let your body sink into the desk as he leans in, his breath hot against your neck. You feel the stubble on his jaw brushing against your skin, the faint scent of his woody cologne filling your senses.

“The way you give in,” he begins, his lips grazing your ear, “is fucking beautiful.”

A soft whimper escapes your glossy lips as his hands move higher, pushing your skirt up to your waist. His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, and you gasp as he tugs them down, leaving you exposed.

Jungkook is quick to toss them onto his discarded leather jacket draped over the chair beside him. The delicate blush of your pink panties against the rugged, worn leather is a stark contrast that sends your mind spiraling.

“Stunning,” he utters to himself, eyes roaming over your body with a hunger that quickens your pulse.

Why the fuck is this man so hot?

You squirm, cheeks burning with embarrassment, but Jungkook doesn’t give you time to think. Not that there was much going on up there anyway.

His hands grips your hips, pulling you closer to the edge of the desk. He wraps your delicate legs around him, engulfing you in his embrace.

“As beautiful as you look like this,” Jungkook mutters, caressing your cheek, “I need you on your knees.”

You’re quick to comply, gently shoving Jungkook away. He cackles at your eagerness, but deep inside his brooding heart, he feels at awe.

“Open your mouth,” he commands, quick to change personas, voice rough with desire.

Again, you obey without hesitation, your lips parting as he unzips his jeans. His cock springs free, already hard and straining, and your eyes widen as he steps closer, the tip brushing against your lips.

“Suck,” he orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You hesitate for only a second before leaning forward, taking him into your mouth. His taste is salty and masculine, making you moan softly as you begin to move your tongue, your lips wrapping tightly around his girthy member.

Jungkook groans, his hand tangling in your hair as he guides your head up and down. “That’s it, doll,” he encourages, his voice thick with pleasure. “Take all of me.”

You sink deeper, gagging slightly as he hits the back of your throat. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you don’t stop, determined to please him.

“Such a good girl,” Jungkook effortlessly praises, his grip tightening in your hair. “You were fucking made for this.”

The words send a jolt of heat straight to your core, and you moan around him, the vibrations making him shudder.

“Fuck,” he curses, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. “I’ll be painting your face with cum if you keep that up.”

You pull back slightly, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Isn’t that what you like?”

Jungkook chuckles darkly, his thumb brushing over your swollen lips. “Not yet, baby. I have other plans for you first.”

Before you can even think of a response, Jungkook pulls you off the floor, spinning you around so your back is pressed against his chest. His hands roam over your body, cupping your breasts through your satin blouse as he nips at your earlobe.

“You’re turn, princess,” he whispers, voice sending shivers down your spine for the umpteenth time this afternoon.

You gasp as his cold fingers find their way between your legs, exploring your already soaked folds. He teases you mercilessly, touch light yet maddening enough that it has you writhing in his bulky arms.

“Please,” you beg, voice trembling with need.

You try to grind against him, but Jungkook’s firm grip stops you from doing so.

“Please what?” he taunts, feigning confusion, breath hot against your neck.

“Fuck me,” you whimper, the words spilling out effortlessly.

Jungkook grins, his teeth flashing in the dim light. “What my pretty doll wants, my pretty doll gets.”

In one swift motion, he lifts you onto the desk, positioning himself between your legs. Jungkook’s cock presses against your entrance, and you yelp as he thrusts into you in one smooth, powerful movement.

”God, why are you so tight?” Jungkook groans, his hands gripping your hips as he begins to move. “I fucked you this morning.”

The sensation, along with the reminder of your earlier shenanigans, is overwhelming and both the stretch and burn send waves of pleasure through you.

You wrap your legs around Jungkook’s slim waist, urging him deeper as he pounds into you relentlessly.

“Harder,” you whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders. “More.”

Jungkook obliges, slamming into you with a force that has the desk rocking against the floor. The sound echoes through the lecture theatre, mingling with your desperate moans and his guttural grunts.

“Could fuck this cunt all day,” Jungkook growls, his pace increasing as he mercilessly hammers his thick cock into you.

You cling to him, body trembling on the edge of release. But just as you’re about to let go, Jungkook pulls out, leaving you gasping and empty.

“No!” you cry, your eyes snapping open to meet his smug grin.

“Not yet,” he warns, voice firm. “You’re not cumming until I say so.”

You whimper, your body aching with need, but Jungkook isn’t done. He flips you over onto your stomach, hoisting your hips up so your ass is in the air.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice muffled by the desk.

“Giving you what you wanted,” he replies casually, his hands spreading your cheeks apart.

And then Jungkook is inside you again, filling you completely as he drives into you with a ferocity that leaves you utterly breathless.

Your sopping pussy lewdly squelches around Jungkook, completely soaking him. The sound turns the pair of you on further.

“Right there!” You mewl, pushing yourself back onto Jungkook, the pressure making you moan uncontrollably.

“Say it,” he demands, his voice rough with exertion. “Tell me who fucks you this good.”

“Y-you,” you stutter, your voice breaking as he hits your g-spot deep inside you. “This drenched pussy is yours.”

“And who do you belong to?” Your boyfriend growls, his hand coming down on your plump ass with a sharp smack.

“I’m yours!” you cry, the pain mixing with pleasure in the most delicious way. “Love the way you fuck me.”

Jungkook smirks, his pace slowing as he leans over you, lips brushing against your ear. “Good girl. Now come for me.”

As soon as the words leave his filthy mouth, your body convulses, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over you as you come undone. Jungkook isn’t far behind, his own release hitting him with a force that leaves him trembling.

The feeling of his cum oozing into you has you wanting to turn around and ride the fuck out of your lover boy.

Jungkook collapses on top of you, his breath hot against your skin as you both struggle to catch your breath.

“You okay, doll?” he asks, his voice softening as he turns you around and carefully seats you on the desk.

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips. “Yeah. I’m- wow.”

Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re amazing.”

“And you, Bakugo,” you reply, your voice hoarse and barely above a whisper.

Your lover boy grins, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back. “Round two after lunch?”

The cafeteria hums with energy, alive with the noise of lively chatter and the sporadic clatter of trays hitting tables.

You’re perched on the bench beside Jungkook, a tray of half-eaten chips and an unopened can of Samjin Mango Soda sitting in front of you.

Across the table, Taehyung and Jimin are engaged in a heated debate about Haikyu, their hands waving dramatically as they try to outtalk each other about the anime the two of them are currently rewatching.

Well, truthfully speaking, all of you have been rewatching, but only the two of them are so deeply interested. Maybe Jungkook, but he’d never admit it.

Speaking of Jungkook, he is slouched against the table, one elbow propped up as his thumb scrolls lazily through your phone, staring at pictures you had taken of yourself today.

And he says he isn’t obsessed.

As usual, he hasn’t said much, just the occasional grunt when someone asks him a question. He looks effortlessly intimidating, his black hoodie (that you finally returned) pulled low over his forehead, his iconic silver chain around his neck catching the light and his usual scowl that is always imprinted on his beautiful face.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t be more of a contrast. You’re in your own world, a makeshift beauty station spread out in front of you, next to yours and Jungkook’s shared meal. Your compact mirror is propped against the soda can, brushes and glosses neatly scattered around it.

A soft pout forms on your lips as you reapply a coat of your signature lip gloss, the sticky sheen glistening in the light. You’re blissfully focused, tilting your head to inspect your work like an artist perfecting their masterpiece.

“You’re so wrong,” Jimin says, leaning forward with a look of betrayal. “There’s no way Seijoh vs. Karasuno is better than Shiratorizawa vs. Karasuno.”

“It’s about the emotional stakes, Jimin,” Taehyung replies, sipping his iced tea as though he is a certified anime critic. “Oikawa’s genius mind versus Kageyama’s raw talent? That’s art.”

“Art?” Jimin scoffs. “Bro, real art is Ushijima annihilating them with a spike.”

Taehyung shrugs. “Oikawa’s smugness had more impact than any spike ever could.”

“Who’s Kageyama again?” you pipe up, tilting your head.

Jungkook’s phone, well your phone, lowers an inch as he glances at you, his expression blank. “You can’t be serious. We literally watched an episode yesterday.”

You shrug, completely unbothered by the disbelief in his tone. “I don’t remember the boring ones.”

Jimin nearly chokes on his drink, eyes wide in horror. “Boring?! He’s literally the King of the Court!”

“Don’t,” Jungkook says flatly, cutting off Jimin’s impending rant. “She’ll just start listing the hot ones.”

You grin, batting your lashes at him. “Is that a problem, Koo?”

Taehyung leans back in his seat, smirking. “You’ve got your hands full, don’t you, Koo?”

“I wouldn’t call it that,” Jungkook mutters, though his ears tinge pink. “And don’t fucking call me that.”

Taehyung catches it immediately, raising his brows. “Is that a blush I see, Jungkook? The same guy who nearly broke someone’s nose in basketball last week?”

“Fuck off,” Jungkook grumbles, sliding your phone over to you.

“Bro, you’re whipped,” Jimin adds, his laugh practically echoing across the room.

“No I’m not-”

“You are,” Taehyung interrupts, pointing a chip at him. “It’s so obvious. You’ve got that whole, ‘don’t fucking talk to me’ thing going on, but this one over here bats her fake lashes and you’re folding fast.”

“Hey! They’re real,” you protest, leaning forward and resting your chin in your palms.

You study Jungkook with a teasing smile. “Is that true? Am I your kryptonite?”

His eyes flick to yours, dark and unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something - amusement, maybe, or fond exasperation. Jungkook simply doesn’t answer, just grabbing a chip from the tray and popping it into his mouth.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you say, your smile widening.

Jungkook rolls his eyes, but it’s half-hearted. He leans back in his seat, stretching his long legs out under the table, and you notice the way his fingers tap rhythmically against his knee. He looks relaxed, but you know him well enough to recognise the effort it takes to hold back a snarky comment.

“He doesn’t even deny it,” Jimin continues, grinning like he’s won something. “You know what? I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think you’re good for him.”

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden compliment. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung agrees, though his tone is far more mischievous. “You’re like the sunshine to his thundercloud.”

“Lipgloss to his cigarette,” Jimin chimes in.

“Or the idiot to his genius,” Jungkook finishes off, his voice dry as ever.

You gasp, smacking his muscular arm lightly. “I’ll have you know I’m very smart!”

“Name the capital of the United States,” he challenges, barely hiding the smirk tugging at his lips.

“Easy,” you say confidently, shrugging your shoulders. “Hollywood.”

Taehyung and Jimin dissolve into laughter, and even Jungkook can’t hold back the small shake of his shoulders.

“Christ,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re unbelievable.”

You pout, confused why the boys are laughing. But, the sight of Jungkook joining in with them has you leaning into his side, grinning up at him. “You still like me, right?”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, but his hand moves to casually rest against the small of your back, his fingers caressing the exposed skin.

And that?

That’s the only answer you need.

You busy yourself with dabbing some extra Dior blush onto your cheeks, the sunlight streaming through the window catching the shimmer within it. Jimin plays with your Ilia mascara, shaking his head as he takes in the rest of your makeup that is scattered around.

Taehyung sees that you’re occupied and smirks, leaning closer to Jungkook. “You defo love it, you’re just too much of a moody shit to admit it.”

“Love what?” Jungkook asks, deadpan, though the tightening of his jaw gives him away.

“Having someone fuss over you,” his best friend teases, motioning his thumb towards you with a grin. “She’s got you wrapped around her finger.”

Jungkook exhales sharply, looking down at the now empty takeaway container in front of him like it’s suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. “You have nothing better to talk about?”

Your eyes dart to him, catching the faintest hint of red creeping up his neck.

Smiling to yourself, you lean your chin on your palm. “It’s okay, Jungkookie,” you coo softly. “You don’t have to say it. I already know.”

He glares at you, but there’s no real bite to it. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” you ask, pouting in innocence. “You love it when I call you that.”

Taehyung and Jimin burst into laughter once again at your audacity.

Jungkook narrows his eyes at them before turning to you. For a split second, his fingers twitch on the table, like he’s about to pull you closer. His gaze softens as it lingers on you - like he’s on autopilot, already halfway to pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

But then he stops.

Clearing his throat, he leans back in his chair instead, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt over his head like armour. “You’re insufferable and annoying.”

You blink, caught between surprise and amusement. “You almost- you almost did it!”

“What?” he grunts, refusing to look at you.

“You were going to kiss my head.” Your voice is laced with a playful lilt, but there’s a flicker of something tender beneath it. “Don’t worry, Kookie. Next time, you’ll follow through.”

His tongue pokes against his cheek, a telltale sign of his rising frustration - or embarrassment, you can’t quite tell. “Shut up and eat,” he mutters, tugging his hood lower before he shoves a packet of crisps your way.

Jimin and Taehyung howl in laughter, and you can’t help but join them, even as Jungkook mumbles curses under his breath.

Somewhere beneath the gruffness, there’s the faintest quirk of his lips - a fleeting smile that only you seem to notice.

And in small moments like this you conclude that while Jungkook doesn’t give you flowers or grace you with love letters, he gives you something that is endless - pieces of himself: his time, his trust, his unwavering presence, and a love so consuming it feels like forever.

And there we have it! Please do let me know your thoughts ; the support I receive means the world to me 🫶🏻

↠ Taglist : @bangchanwantsmesobad @rklvez @doulcha @starlight-1010 @mimi1097 @khadeeeeej @jkslvsnella @royalguk @gaebestie @iamstilljk @myjungkookthighs @jungshaking @kookiesgiggles @minimoninini @lovejkmilitarywife @pplongoing @pokolunolino @dontcallmeelle @taeisbae13 @ronyiboniyy @nerdycheol @onlyforyoukook @ukandtwme @morosisxx @smwhrinthehaze @thebluegoddess @ramyun-h @remgeolli @minniejim @cherricherryy @avawants2havefun @fr0ggieth1nk @ahgasegotarmy116 @jeeykey @ficluvr613 @deeznutkooks @kookienooki (names in italics could not be tagged).

[ozzgin]

I really hope you continue the eldrich God story. I may or may not have become obsessed with the idea, and i think it's actually really funny and I also just love the idea of a God being in love with a human.

Also, I love your writing and art! I hope you're doing well!

Yandere! Eldritch God x Detective! Reader

Based on this prompt and this meme. You're sent to a remote island to investigate a string of murders, and end up with a horde of cultists and their Lovecraftian God who is very much obsessed with you. Don't worry, he just wants to help you with your case!

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, tentacle tomfoolery again

[More Monsters]

The island checks all the boxes for a stereotypical shady place: the grimy boat captain who talks in riddles and vague warnings, the constant fog, the tavern filled with rumors and fears, the bizarre statue of a creature with tentacles. You were expecting most of it, save for their patron God being a literal monster.

Soon after your arrival, you discover that you’re being followed by men in dark robes. Could it be related to your case? A little alcohol-aided interrogation, and the locals confess to you about the existence of a cult. The dots begin to connect.

Unfortunately for you, whatever theory is cooking up in your mind couldn’t be further from the truth. The patron Beast of the land has been watching you from the moment of your arrival. He’s rather intrigued by your nonchalant city attitude, your stubbornness, your lack of any sense of danger. Thus he demands that you’re brought to his lair.

A game of cat and mouse. You are now convinced this said cult is responsible for the murders, so you delve deeper into their secrets. At the same time, the men put all their efforts into chasing you down. The Lord's wishes are their command; for how long can you outsmart sheer numbers?

At last, they succeed. You’re dragged over, cocooned in thick rope. “My Lord, we’ve brought you the sacrifice”, one cultist proclaims victoriously. Sacrifice? The ancient creature gazes at the men with utmost confusion. He frees you from your restraints with a mere point of his tentacle appendage, and proceeds to lecture his devout following for treating his special guest with such shameful brutality. Everyone blinks in disbelief, you included.

What the hell is this, some beastly romcom? Once everything is cleared up, you dust your knees, stand up unceremoniously, and tell the cosmic deity you’ve no time for idle gossip. “There’s a criminal running free and it’s my task to stop it”, you bark. Aha, that’s the very same attitude that got his nebulous heart pumping with curious desire. He cannot explain the maddening interest he’s taken into you. The monster releases a monotonous hum, causing you to jolt in surprise. The cult leader gasps. “He…he wants to help you solve the case”, the man concludes, defeat in his voice.

“Does it have to be all of you?” You whine, clicking your tongue at the sight. It’s the morning after the godly encounter, and you’re greeted outside your room by the cult leaders and their monster. “I can’t be discreet with a dozen monks after me. Not to mention…” your eyebrows furrow. “What on Earth is he wearing? Is that a detective hat and a mustache? Are you mocking my job?” You demand, glaring at the eldritch beast and his ridiculous disguise.

“Excuse me, I’ll have to ask you to quiet down”, an employee suddenly interrupts. “You and the gentlemen over there.” You stare at him incredulously. Can he really not see he’s facing an enormous, tentacle monstrosity? You swear you can discern a grin forming across the creature’s amorphous, unholy features. Alright, you’ve been convinced. What now?

As a child, Sherlock Holmes was one of your favorite books. You'd flip through the pages and daydream about your own future as a detective, though your little fantasies never included Watson as a cursed entity of a thousand tentacles. The eldritch creature seems to be more interested in you than the case itself. Eyes always fixated on your movements, tendrils creeping around you, never leaving your proximity.

Why would he need to look elsewhere? He can already tell how things will unfold. He is, after all, the God of this land. He knew your wanted culprit had been hiding in a sealed room right under your nose, as you dusted for footprints and scribbled hurried notes. He knew the underground tunnel had deadly traps, which would have normally put your investigation to a swift end. "Kind of suspicious to leave his trail unguarded like this", you mumble in deep thought. The cosmic God smiles.

He wouldn't dare ruin your fun. Consequently, he only interferes when your safety is involved. As annoyed as he is by the criminal's persistent attempts to kill you, he doesn't want to steal your grand capture. Besides, he is very much content with the current circumstances.

As the two of you follow along the dark passageway, you clear your throat, lips pursed awkwardly. "Uh...Thank you for dealing with the obstacles", you finally say. The monster pretends to ponder your words. "Hey now, don't play dumb with me. The conveniently deactivated bombs? The mutilated guards clumsily stuffed behind the door? I am a detective, after all."

You feel a thick tendril wrapping around your arm, and you turn to glance at the creature. His eyes of spiraling depths regard you intensely. A voice suddenly echoes in your head; is he trying to communicate with you? Deep, resounding, and imposing. "I am looking forward to our next case."

"Next case? Sorry pal, I work alone-" your throat clenches involuntarily. Somehow, your innards are flooded with a particular kind of certainty, dictating an ironclad truth: you do not have the option to refuse. You sigh, exasperated. "Fine! Have it your way. At least skip the fake mustache", you beg, then pause. You slap a second tentacle that has made its way under your shirt. "And avoid groping me when I'm thinking. You interrupt the little gray cells at work." You tap your temple to prove your point, and the eldritch God bows lightly. Of course.

He'll refrain himself until you're off work, Detective.

[starlitunicorn]

Scar Tissue, Chapter 1

Zayne x Reader. University AU. Reader is not MC. Slow-burn. Angst!

When you begin your university year with an accidental collision with her new professor, Dr. Zayne, your world is thrown into awkward chaos. What starts as a simple mishap spirals into a tense dynamic between you and the former surgeon. Word count - 4.3k Chapter 2

A/N: I was really inspired by the wonderful @eelliotss and their story "Borrowed Time". It made me want to try writing something, for the first time in my life. It was definitely a hard challenge, since English is not my first language, and I don't have a writing style, but I really wanted to create something as wonderful as them (please check out Borrowed Time, it's literally a masterpiece). I would be more than happy to hear criticism or suggestions, just be gentle, I'm really new to it. ♡

Throwing a playlist I used while writing, hopefully it will help you immerse yourself in the story.

The fresh, slightly cold air tossed fallen leaves, lifting them from the ground, forcing them into a bizarre dance mid-air. Slightly cold autumn air is pushing its way through the tops of the trees, carrying careless talks and laughs of the students, who are slowly approaching the big, towering building. 

The start of the new academic year is always worrying in anticipation of new acquaintances, new friendships, and new experiences. But the least exciting part here is probably the lectures, a bunch of homework, that will keep you away from going out with your friends, and tests. Fixing the loose strap of your backpack, you slowly walk along the stone pathway, tossing the golden leaves with your shoes. The lingering summer memories are flashing in your mind, making you miss hot sunny days and carefree time away from the town. Approaching the big, open glass door, you look up at the large building with the flashy name of your university. Covering your mouth with your hand, you yawn, stepping over the doorstep. Even though you promised to go to bed earlier last night, you stayed up too late, like usual, playing games. It will be hard to get back into the “normal” schedule after three long months of going to bed at sunrise. A loud laugh and hustle behind makes you turn your head. A group of students, walking inside the building, was laughing and talking loudly, sharing some funny moments from their summer vacation. They were so loud that it was hard not to hear what they talked about. You huffed, turning your head away, when suddenly, you bumped into something. Or someone. 

A strong smell of cologne and coffee enveloped you when your nose touched the soft fabric of a coffee-colored coat. Base notes of wet moss and amber with light heart notes of jasmine and pine hit your sense of smell, leaving a transparent cocoon around you. A loud gasp escaped the lips of the person you just walked into. You slowly looked up with your guilty gaze, but you underestimated how high you had to lift your head. Your gaze stopped first on the steaming brown blotch staining his chest: a fresh splash of coffee. Then, higher, to meet a pair of deep hazel eyes burning with irritation. 

His pale face looked irritated. His refined features were nicely framed by the dark, short hair, which looked shiny and well-styled. His thick eyebrows were furrowed, making his eyes appear even more piercing. Scarred fingers were clenching the half-empty cup of coffee as if waiting for something. An apology, perhaps. You quickly snap back from observing the man, nodding your head in a guilty gesture. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Your hands searched your pocket, getting out a clean handkerchief, and handing it to the man in front. He swiftly grabbed the cloth from you, rubbing it on the wet spot, seemingly making it worse, smearing the coffee around the white shirt. Mortified, you murmured another apology and turned on your heel, rushing toward the stairs to escape the heat of his gaze—and the burning embarrassment tightening in your chest.

Swearing under your breath, you quickly move up the stairs, hoping this encounter won’t cause any trouble for you. Your palm slightly tapped your forehead, as if punishing yourself for not being careful enough. He didn’t look like a student. Maybe the way he wasn’t rushing anywhere, like other students, or the fact that he looked older than all the boys around, made you think he was the new lecturer, or someone with a higher position. What can make it worse? 

The morning encounter disappeared from your mind really fast, in the rush of the day. Running around the halls, trying to find the correct lecture hall, and meeting with classmates quickly took your thoughts to a different place. Your phone was exploding with new group chats and new contacts, trying to keep up with everything. The buzz already made you miss the quiet of your room and the comfort of your bed. Quickly unfolding the piece of paper with your schedule, you glance at the sign with the room number. Making sure it’s the correct one, you step inside, looking for an empty desk. Your gaze fell on the empty desk near the window in the room's far corner. You never liked sitting right in front of the teacher's face. If you took the front row, it always made you feel more supervised. This could take away the pleasure of doodling when the lecture gets too dull. Just as the bell rang, the door slowly opened, and the sound of footsteps echoed in the spacious room. Weirdly punctual, you thought, tapping the pen on the empty page of your notebook. The teacher's arrival time tells a lot about their teaching and their temper. Someone who is constantly late is usually laid back and a really easy-going teacher, letting students slack, or will try to blend in and joke around with them. As for someone who arrives with the bell.. It can be a tough one. Meaning, no relaxing in their lessons. 

It was enough for you to see the coffee-coloured coat that flashed in the doorframe, as your head sank into your shoulders. Soon, his tall figure was standing next to the teacher's desk, as he carefully put the cup of hot, fresh coffee on the table, next to the pile of files. He didn’t seem to rush, slowly taking off his coat and placing it on the back of the chair, exposing the faint coffee stain on the white shirt. 

Arms crossed, as the gaze of his hazel eyes carefully studied the room. It stopped on you for a second too long, forcing you to look away with a hint of guilt, once again reminding you of the incident in the morning. You slid down the chair, grabbing your notebook and hiding your face. It seems like he didn’t forget about the spilled coffee as fast as you did, since it ruined his outfit for the day. And it’s the first day of the new year, what a look to show up in a stained shirt. He finally stopped drilling your notebook with his eyes, slowly walking in front of his desk and leaning on it. “I hope you all had a nice summer, but it’s time to get serious and put a great start to your new academic year,” his voice, calm yet loud and clear, filled the room. It didn’t sound as you imagined it would, and there were no angry notes, so it made you relax and brush off the embarrassment once again. “I’m Zayne Li, a former awarded Cardiac Surgeon from Akso hospital, and now, your new anatomy teacher. You can call me Doctor Zayne. Hopefully, we can all work well together and achieve great results by the end of the year.”    

A wave of whispers rumbled across the class. Zayne Li was a well-known surgeon in one of the most prestigious hospitals in the town—the person who conducted tons of scientific research and was even awarded for one of them. Students seemed to wonder why he quit his job to teach at the university. Giving up something you've built for a long time isn't logical. “You have a lot of questions, I see. You can ask,” he lets out a quiet chuckle, turning around and grabbing the files from the table, opening them, and scanning through the text. The voice from the first row yelled out first, “Dr. Zayne, why did you quit your job as a surgeon at Akso hospital?” Zayne stopped, tapping his finger on the hardcover of the files. “You can ask anything not related to my dismissal.” Other students started asking questions about his work. Some had questions about his research, while others said he inspired them to enter this university. Zayne graduated as the best student from this exact university, which many think made the place special, and studying here could open many doors in the future. 

As for you, your inspiration to enter this university is your parents. They insisted, you didn’t complain, since at the time, you didn’t have any ideas for your future direction. The physical therapist wasn’t that bad, and your grades allowed you to get in. Still, his answer left you wondering. What could make such a successful doctor leave his position to be a teacher? You trailed deep in your thoughts, doodling some chaos on the pages of your notebook. You didn’t notice how the conversation shifted from questions to introductions. Your name was called twice, before you finally came back to reality, lifting your head up, and getting up. “Sorry. Uh, that’s me. Nice to meet you, Dr. Zayne.” Still struggling to keep eye contact with the man, you stare at the coffee stain on his shirt. He seems to notice, letting out a quiet hum and ticking your name in his journal. “You seem very windy today. Not the greatest first impression,” he murmured, looking down at his shirt. Some students turned their heads around to look at you. Annoyed, you don’t say anything, swiftly sitting back in your chair. Embarrassment burns in your chest, but it goes away fast. It must be the payback for his ruined outfit. Quickly wrapping up introductions, Zayne starts the lesson with some literature recommendations to get into the subject. Writing down the necessary books, you feel Zayne’s heavy gaze on you as you glance up. His unblinking hazel eyes, as if looking somewhere past you, make you feel cold shivers on your back. So much for wanting to stay “unnoticed”, that’s why you chose the furthest desk, but it seems like there’s no hiding in this class. 

After the bell rang, class ended. Everyone collected their scattered belongings, leaving the classroom. Zayne, on the other hand, wasn’t rushing to pack. His files were standing on the table in a really nice pile, placed on top of each other. He tried to be precise even in the way he put things on his desk. You were leaving last, since the way from the corner of the room to the exit door was the longest, but just as you prepared to step out of the class, you heard a clear call. “Hey. I think I should give this back to you.” Zayne reached into his pocket and handed you the handkerchief from earlier. Now, stained with coffee and shriveled, it was saturated with the smell of Zayne’s detergent, sitting in his pants pocket all day. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not mad. But you should be careful spilling someone’s hot drink like that. Others might not be as forgiving.” His strict tone echoed in your head, like a parent lecturing the child about putting on the hat before going outside. Your fingers slowly grab the handkerchief, shoving it into the open backpack. Your lips curve into a smile, which you usually give someone when you mess up, showing a barely visible dimple on your cheek. It seems that in that exact moment, Zayne froze on the spot. His fingers dug into the edge of the table, and his mind shifted somewhere far away from here, deep in his memories. Noticing that his consciousness left the walls of this room, you quietly smacked your lips, rocking back and forth. Maybe he tried to remember something, to tell you about an assignment, or something else, so you just decided to give him some time. But it didn’t look like he was about to return anytime soon, so you slowly started backing up from the class, looking all around the place in a silent embarrassment. “Soo-oo.. I think I will go, I need to find another lecture hall. Have a nice day, Dr. Zayne,” you murmured, quickly turning around and disappearing from the classroom, like the wind. You heard him say something in return, but you couldn’t understand it, since the sound of his voice was drowned in the crowded corridor. Blinking several times at a loss, you shake your head, trying to eliminate the feeling that your new teacher is a weirdo. After a tiresome first day, your next destination was the university library. You decided to grab all the literature needed for your new subjects while you were at it. The library hall was in the farthest corner of the building, so reaching a big room stacked with books took some time. A library assistant handed you a little piece of paper with blanks, so you could write down all the books you’re taking. You ran your fingers through sparkly clean shelves, which were polished before the start of the new year. Your hand stopped at the “scientific research” section for the correct title. You scoffed under your breath, fingers closing around a book with Zayne’s face staring back at you from the cover. “Recommending your own research as class literature,” you muttered. “What a braggart.” But the smug satisfaction barely had time to settle before a low hum sounded behind you. Your arms instinctively wrapped around the book, clutching it to your chest. You didn’t dare turn around. The scent of coffee hit your nose, sharp and unmistakable. A sigh slipped out of you, heavy with dread, as you slowly turned, already picturing the furious expression you’d seen that morning when you'd spilled his drink.

“I mean… that’s wonderful. You must be really proud of it.” The corners of your lips twitch as you force an awkward smile. He doesn’t react, just rolls his eyes and takes a slow sip of his caffeine-heavy drink. Your ears burn. No way you’ve embarrassed yourself twice in front of your new teacher on your very first day. And to top it off, insulted him to his face.

“I just wanted to see who would actually stop by the library to get the books,” he said, pausing to lick the bitter remnants from his lips, “so I could maybe point them out as dedicated students next time.” Then his gaze flicked toward you, sharper now. “But I wouldn’t mention you. Since you already think I’m bragging, you should go ahead and read all my research.” He tilted his head with clear irritation, then set his coffee cup on the nearby table. 

Zayne stepped forward, closing the distance between you in one long stride, never once meeting your eyes. Your fingers dug into the book’s hardcover, but your legs refused to move. His chest stopped just in front of your face when he finally closed his eyes and exhaled—a long, heavy breath, like the weight of the entire day had just dropped onto his shoulders.

“Move.” The word came low and calm, almost a whisper scraped from the back of his throat. It cuts through your trance like a blade. You jolted, stepping aside without a word. His hand brushed past you, reaching for the book you'd unknowingly been blocking. 

Finally, lowering the worn research in your hands, you feel another heavy weight pressing down on your arms. Zayne places a thick, glossy book on top of your little pile. He moves past you, calm and deliberate, retrieving his coffee from the table. He said nothing, leaving you in the quiet of a library, staring at his light smile from the book cover. You lift your head and furrow your eyebrows at his echoing presence. Shoving books in your backpack, you try to fit everything without damaging your belongings. You quickly fill in the book registration paper and leave it on the desk at the exit, sprinting out of the library and soon out of the building. In your thoughts, you are already home, leaving the heavy day behind the university doors. The trip home doesn’t take long. The bus ride almost lulls you to sleep, but you manage to jump out of your seat before missing your stop. Entering the small apartment building, you climb the stairs, dragging your feet behind you. Stopping in front of your apartment, you slowly open the door, yelling, “I’m home!” from the doorway. You hear the quiet hustle in the kitchen when a dark-haired girl peeks out of the corner. Seeing your exhausted face, she offers you a warm smile. “Oh, hi. How was the first day?”. She finally leaves the kitchen, wiping her hands with a stained towel. It’s been the second year you and your friend Simone have been renting an apartment together. Living with her was not draining. She was a great roommate, and it took some weight off your shoulders regarding payments.

“They already loaded us with a mountain of books to read, and I’ve managed to get on my new teacher’s bad side. Wouldn’t be surprised if he fails me.”  You flopped onto the couch, grabbing a pillow and pressing your face into it, trying to bury yourself in the soft, forgiving embrace and shut out the world. Simone laughed, perching on the armrest and promptly stealing the pillow, your only line of defense, exposing your face to the light. “No one’s going to fail you,” she said with a grin. “Just get your teacher something nice. A bottle of wine, some fancy chocolate—boom, apology accepted. Who wouldn’t love that?” She flashed that radiant smile again, the one that always, without fail, made you feel a little better. “I was just cooking. Food’ll be ready in ten. Go wash your hands.” But you were already sprung to your feet, yanking open your backpack and dumping the books onto the couch to make space for something else.

“You’re a genius! I’m getting an apology gift.” You were halfway out the door before you finished the sentence.

“You can start without me!” you shouted back. Simone didn’t say anything, but her smile lingered. Somehow, she always knew exactly what you needed—even when she didn’t realize it. 

The late afternoon air hit your face the moment you stepped outside—crisp, laced with the distant scent of city exhaust and someone grilling down the block. You didn’t slow your pace. You zigzagged past the corner store, dismissing the sad stack of mass-produced chocolate bars in the window. 

No, this needed to be thoughtful. Personal. Maybe even charming. If Zayne was the type to wear expensive cologne and carry himself like a walking thesis paper, he probably wasn’t a fan of cheap sweets or mugs that said #1 Professor.

A small boutique caught your eye, tucked between a flower shop and a bookstore. Its window displayed neatly wrapped gift boxes, jars of imported honey, artisan teas, and a pyramid of dark chocolate truffles that looked sinfully expensive. 

A soft chime rang as you stepped inside. The place smelled like cinnamon, cedar, and vanilla—like December wrapped in tissue paper.

A woman behind the counter looked up with a warm smile. “Looking for something in particular?”

“Yeah,” you said, breathless. “Something for a… teacher. As an apology.”

Her smile widened knowingly. “Tough start to the year?”

You nodded, laughing a little under your breath. She guided you toward a velvet-lined shelf of truffles—dark, decadent, and neatly boxed with subtle gold accents. One label caught your eye: Dark Chocolate with Whiskey Ganache. You picked it up. Rich. A little bold. Slightly dangerous. Just like the man you were trying to appease.

“This one,” you said, nodding. “It feels… honest.”

“Excellent choice,” the woman said, ringing you up. “Strong enough to say sorry without groveling.”

You left the shop ten minutes later, the gift bag swinging gently at your side. In it was your olive branch—boozy, bittersweet, and slightly impulsive, just like you. Simone was right. You couldn’t undo the mess, but maybe you could sweeten the aftermath. 

Arriving back home, you realize that Simone has already vanished from the apartment. You notice a little note on the fridge, with her pretty, neat handwriting: I’ll be late, don’t forget to eat something. You look around to notice a small plate of pasta with meat sauce on the table, served with cheese, and even cutlery laid out for you, like a quiet invitation. 

A warmth spreads through your chest like a blanket. You didn’t need grand gestures. This was enough. This was Simone. Thoughtful even in something so simple as making dinner. 

You scooped up the plate and made your way to your small but clean room. It was lined with bookshelves, scattered with little figurines, and glowing softly from a tangle of LED lights. Nothing extravagant—just yours. 

Devouring the still-warm pasta, one hand already hovering over your laptop’s trackpad. The screen lit up as you opened your browser, fingers hesitating for only a second before typing: Zayne Li. The search bar flickered, loading results almost instantly. Articles. Publications. Academic praise. But nothing, nothing about his sudden departure from Akso Hospital. 

You leaned in, scanning the titles again. If someone like him, arguably one of the best surgeons in the country, had walked away from such a high position, shouldn’t that be front-page news? 

You even found his social media profile, though it felt sterile, curated, like a gallery where only the right parts of a life were displayed. Polished. Untouchable. Whatever happened… it was hidden. Intentionally. A soft sigh escaped you as you leaned back in your chair, pushing the empty plate aside. 

If the truth was hidden five feet deep, you weren’t curious enough to grab a shovel. At least, not yet. So you decided to get your mind off it by launching your favorite game, slightly glancing at the gift box, in anticipation of tomorrow.

The morning was quiet, cold but fresh and welcoming. You arrived earlier for the possibility of meeting up with Dr. Zayne and giving him your apology present, that you so thoughtfully prepared yesterday. The university halls are half-empty, still sleepy from the quiet night. Only the most dedicated students roamed these corridors at this hour. Those chasing scholarships, high honors, or simply the peace in the quiet of the library. 

You look through the schedule sheet, scanning the list of classrooms and lecture slots, stopping on the ones marked with his name. First period. It has to be the chance. But, arriving at the destination, you’re met with silent, empty walls. Your stomach twisted. What if you can’t find him before classes start? What if you lose the moment, or worse? What if the chocolate melts? You run around the halls, mind racing with possibilities. Where would Dr. Zayne go this early? What is the first thing he does in the morning? Then it hits you. Coffee. Of course. Without hesitation, you pivot towards the side exit to find a small coffee corner in the university garden. And there he is. Sitting alone on a bench, a paper cup cradled in his hands. He’s not on his phone. He’s not reading. Just sitting. His eyes are distant, as if he’s entertained by some unspoken deep thoughts. The rising steam curls around his face in soft spirals, making his glasses fog. He didn’t have those yesterday, but chose to wear them while drinking a hot drink. 

You slow your step, heart thudding from the sprint. Finally, taking a deep breath, you walk closer to the bench, figuring out how to start your heartfelt apology, since you didn’t think it through before. Your fingers clench around the pretty red box as you slowly nod, clearing your throat, trying to grab his attention, as he seemed not to notice you.       

“Good morning, Dr. Zayne.”

He glances up, brows faintly raised. You push through the knot forming in your throat.

“I know we had a… rough start.” You try to keep your tone light, but the words already feel like too much and not enough at the same time. “And I realize we’ll have to tolerate each other for the rest of the year, so—”

A pause. Your mind races ahead of your mouth, tripping over everything you didn’t rehearse.

“I just wanted to apologize for yesterday. I wasn’t careful and didn’t mean to sound rude or disrespectful. Especially toward your work.”

You extend the box toward him, almost too fast, and squeeze your eyes shut the moment it leaves your hand, bracing for laughter, or worse, complete dismissal.

“I don’t like alcohol.” He cut as sharp as a blade, making you freeze on spot. Somewhere in your mind, you could almost see a black Game Over screen flashing across your vision. 

Of course, you managed to mess up again, and how did that even happen? There’d been no way to know his preference, but that didn’t make the sting any less brutal. Pulling your hands away, your face darkened. Your shoulders dropped, the heat rising in your cheeks, as you were already prepared to leave without saying a thing, because it seems like a silent retreat is better than taking the embarrassing hit in the gut. 

“But you put in the effort,” he murmured, voice low and edged with something unreadable. “I appreciate that.”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“I accept your apology. Though you should know. I was never mad to begin with.”

You blink, caught off guard.

“I’ve had worse from first-years. It takes more than spilled coffee and a stray comment to make me hate someone.” 

Zayne’s long fingers grasped the box, tucking it neatly under his arm as he rose from the bench in one smooth motion. His height loomed for a second before he gave a small, deliberate nod—an understated gesture of gratitude. Then, unexpectedly, his hand landed on your shoulder. Firm. Measured. His gaze locked onto yours, eyes scanning your expression with unsettling precision, making you feel like after a carrot, there will be a stick. “You really are.. windy.” 

It wasn’t quite an insult. Not quite praise either. But it lingered in the air, and for some reason, it felt like he wasn’t entirely wrong. With that, he disappeared from your view, behind your back, entering the building, leaving a somewhat bitter aftertaste of your failure. But at least you know your teacher is not holding a grudge, so there’s nothing to worry about. Right? 

[firingstars]

in this life | ch. 5

bucky barnes x female reader

summary: "There's only one God, doll, and He's gonna bring me back to you." "I don't need God," you told him, fresh tears brimming over your eyes. "I just need you."

warnings: 18+, mdni, brief descriptions on an injury/blood, reader momentarily gets depressed, reincarnation trope, language, mentions of financial instability/being hungry, memories are written with italicizes, no use of y/n, angst, yearning, longing, everyone's alive no one is dead because i said so, alternating pov's

word count: 5.7k

a/n: idk why this chapter was kinda difficult for me to write... i know how i want the story to end and its already written out and ready but idk whats going on the middle of this story is irking me

previous chapter | next chapter

Unknown [10:14am]: What does Traumatic Memory Rehabilitation Science actually entail? I tried Googling it, but I didn't find anything on the subject.

You stared at your phone for a few moments, hiding the device behind your laptop screen. You were in the middle of a lecture, and your professor would definitely call you out if he saw you right now. Of course, it didn’t matter to him that he was going on and on about how his wife was somehow related to this neuroscience class and there must be something wrong with her pathways in her mind for her to leave him. Sometimes you think this class was just an easy way for your professor to be able to rant to people that had no choice but to listen.

You put your phone face down, and pulled up the messages on your laptop. At the very least, you could look like you were taking notes. 

Me [10:17am]: science that focuses on how trauma affects the structure and function of memory, and how the patient’s memories could be stabilized, restored, or rewritten in ethical ways. could be natural trauma or artificial trauma given by outside means

Unknown [10:19am]: Artificial trauma?

Me [10:21am]: wasn’t a huge part of why america didn’t want to give you that pardon bc of what that organization did to you? and your lawyers argued that it wasn’t your mind there?

Unknown [10:22am]: Ah. I see.

Unknown [10:23am]: I didn’t know you kept up with the case.

Me [10:26am]: my grandpa was still around when you were going through it. he would talk my ear off on the phone about how you were being treated awfully by the country and was part of the support groups outside the courtroom demanding a fairer sentence for you.

Me [10:27am]: and it was pretty big news, sergeant. 

Bucky doesn’t respond, and you think you may have scared him off. After saving his phone number officially in your contacts as Sergeant Barnes, you close the messaging app. You go through the rest of your class, finishing off with another surprise quiz that you thankfully knew all the answers to, and head off to grab something to eat before going to the library to study. 

You should apologize to him, you think. It may have been a lot to say all of that, all of a sudden. It could still be a sensitive topic for him, and you may have brought up a bunch of memories for him that you didn’t mean to. You want to hit yourself over the head. Your field of study is meant to help people like him, and yet you just caused issues for him. 

You really could use a shot. Tequila. Vodka. Something strong. But it’s barely noon, and you still have the rest of your day ahead of you. 

You push open the door to the Campus Grounds, and stop in your tracks. 

You didn’t scare him off. 

Your eyes fall on his figure almost instantly. Buckty’s wearing that same leather jacket that he always seems to wear. He looks a little cleaner today, beard a little shorter than the last time you saw him. The dark circles under his eyes are lighter, an indication of more sleep. His shoulders aren’t wound up too tight either.

And he turns to you, as if he’s been waiting for you this entire time. Your heart flutters as caterpillars hatch from their cocoons and turn into butterflies in your stomach.

“Doll,” he greeted. The nickname still makes your mind run circles, but you force yourself back into reality as you focus on his next words. “Fancy seeing you here. Didn’t know you came here, too.”

“At my university’s cafe?” you asked, tilting your head. “The university where I attend school? Spend a majority of my day at?”

Bucky cleared his throat, obviously caught. “Stark told me that the food here was good. I’m expanding my palate…” The man before you pauses, eyebrows furrowing at the menu. “What the hell is a matcha?”

“Depends. Do you want it iced or hot?” you chuckled, stepping into the line.

“How do you take it?”

“Iced, with oat milk, and a pump of vanilla,” you answered. 

Bucky looked a bit helpless at your words, so you repeated the order back at the barista, including two ham and cheese croissant sandwiches to be warmed up as well before giving her your phone number to use your meal points. 

When the drinks come out, you watch as Bucky takes an experimental sip before looking a little confused at the flavors on his tongue before seemingly accepting whatever was going on. You let out a small laugh.

“Not bad?” you guess.

“Not bad,” he agreed, following you as you make your way out towards the door. You hand him his croissant. “What’s your plans today?”

“Studying. We’re towards the end of the semester, and I have finals coming up in a few weeks. I’ll graduate in the winter once I’m done with the upcoming term.”

“Impressive,” Bucky hummed beside you, taking a bite of his croissant. 

“Any Avengers need a therapist?” you asked, glancing at him. Thankfully, he doesn’t look too bothered by your text conversation from earlier this morning. If he was, you were sure that he wouldn’t even be here, still walking beside you right now.

The man chuckled beside you, smiling. “None of them wants to admit that right now.”

“Pity,” you said sarcastically. After a beat, you added, “Sorry. If my message to you earlier was a bit heavy.”

“Not at all,” he shook his head, “I just started driving, so I couldn’t reply.”

“Ah.” So you were overthinking it. Makes sense. 

“It would’ve been nice,” he cleared his throat before continuing, “If your field of study was finalized and completed when I was first put back out in the world. I think it would’ve been helpful for me to be regulated back into society.”

You give him a small smile. “Sorry about that. Took me a bit to decide what I wanted to study. Took a few years of a gap year before I went back to school.”

Bucky chuckled, and took another sip of his matcha latte. It looked like it was growing on him. Either that, or he just wasn’t picky about food. 

“You’ll have plenty of opportunities to help people other than me,” he told you. 

“I hope so. Otherwise all this student debt will be for fucking nothing,” you grunt. Another smaller laugh escapes his lips, and you find that the noise awakens a small flutter in your chest that will keep you feeling warm and fuzzy. 

Your feet come to a slow as you stop at the library commons, and you turn to look at Bucky. He looks back at the building briefly before turning to you, giving you a small smile and nod.

“Well. Happy studying,” he said, albeit a little awkwardly.

“Is that all? You just came here to get some matcha and walk me to my university’s library?”

“I just wanted to see your face today,” he admitted. 

You really didn’t expect him to be so upfront with his words. You couldn’t help the smile that came to your face. You bit the inside of your cheek to prevent your lips from curling even wider than they already were.

“I would say I would FaceTime you later so you can see my face again, but I noticed that the message bubbles I sent you weren’t blue. What do you have? Android?”

“Uh. Flip phone.”

You stared at him for a brief second, searching his face for the joke. 

There was none.

“I’ll call you later,” you settled on.

“I’ll wait for it,” he replied, letting out a breath of relief.

Adding calling Bucky to the list of things to do every night was as easy as adding something to your nighttime skincare routine. First step: remove makeup with micellar water. Follow up with a makeup balm. Wash your face with a cleanser. Pat dry with a towel. Use a toner. Moisturize. Call Bucky.

The first night had your heart racing on whether or not you should even call him, too. You were pacing around in your apartment. You stared at your phone on your bed as if it was a bomb that you had to defuse within the next few moments. You told him that you would call, but it was past midnight and you just got off your shift. You had no idea what the bedtime schedule was like for an Avenger, but you told him that you would call. Eventually, you decided that you would at least try to call. If he didn’t answer, then you would send a follow up text for an apology.

Bucky answered right away.

“Thought you weren’t gonna call,” is what he said as soon as the line connected.

“Wasn’t sure if you were still going to be awake,” you replied softly.

“You said you were gonna call. I waited.”

You aren’t sure why your chest squeezed at those words. You swallowed thickly, and took in a shaky breath as you clutched the phone tighter in your hands, trying to formulate another sentence to force out past your lips.

“You know I only work night shifts at the diner, right? I always close,” you told him.

“I know.”

“Then you don’t have to stay awake because I say stuff like that. What if I didn’t call you? Would you stay awake all night next to your phone until I called?” you asked. You weren’t scolding him, you weren’t badgering him– you were just a little stressed. A little worried. 

“I knew you would,” he replied. There was so much certainty in his voice. The steadiness. 

“How are you so sure?”

“I just knew you would.” Again, there was nothing in his words that wavered. 

You paused, letting it sink in for a few moments as your heart thumped in your chest. You dug your nails into your palm, allowing the bite against your skin remind you that this was reality, and you were alive at this very moment.

“Do you want me to keep calling you?” you asked in a whisper.

“I wouldn’t mind it,” he said. A pause. “I like hearing your voice, too.”

From that point forth, Bucky continued to answer every single call without fail. Most of the time, each call was answered within the first ring. Sometimes the call went to the second, but never the third. Your calls had never gone to voicemail once. It was almost as if he anticipated your calls every single night.

You began to look forward to every single one of your calls. It became the highlight of your day, the thing that you looked forward to most after the long and stressful day.

By the second week of your nightly calls, you were really appreciating it. He helped you study. You would have your phone on speaker, on your desk beside your textbooks as you pulled out concepts and verbiage from your brain as if you were teaching a lesson to him, and ask him if he understood a single thing that you just told him. Sometimes you would text him your study guides and he would test you, then let you know what you needed to improve on. You were certain that he heard you slam your forehead on your desk several times over the past fourteen days.

Moreover, Bucky was not much of a talker, which meant that he was a great listener. When you were done studying, your phone would be resting beside your pillow as you laid down. The lights would be turned off and you would close your eyes as you talked to him.

It was as if he knew you were drifting off to sleep. His voice would be softer during these moments. Lower, slightly gravely. Sometimes, both of you would get a little bit more vulnerable in your sleepier states. 

“You should really sleep earlier,” he would tell you. “Your health might take a hit if you keep this habit up.”

“I don’t particularly enjoy sleeping,” you confessed to him.

“It’s good for you. Especially with the amount of studying that you do.”

You sigh deeply, pulling your blankets higher up your body. “I know, I know. I just… I don’t sleep well. I wake up and I’m sad. I wake up and I wish I never woke up. And I don’t mean that in a… sad, depressed way– even though it sounds like it. I just want to stay in my dreams.”

Bucky was quiet for a few moments. “You mean the dreams about the soldier?”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Does that sound pathetic?”

“No,” he answered without skipping a beat. “It means you’re happy there.”

“Then doesn’t that mean I’m sad out here?” you ask with a soft laugh.

“You tell me. Are you?”

It’s your turn to fall silent. You don’t know how much or how little time has passed in your sleepy state before you finally answer, “I think I’m not as sad since I met you.”

“That’s good. I think I enjoy life a little more, too.”

“Even though all I talk to you about is the ethics and neuroscience of trauma?” you joke.

“I have a lot of trauma myself, so it’s interesting to know how the trauma affects the neural pathways of my brain and the rest of my body,” he responds with a soft chuckle.

“Mm… Just wait until I get to the section on how your muscles hold all that trauma. It’s not just your brain, Sergeant,” you murmur, shifting deeper into your pillow. 

“I have seventy years of muscular and mental trauma. How long do you think that will take to undo?” 

“You can’t undo trauma, Bucky,” you hum. “I can teach you how to live with it, to learn how to regain yourself from the experiences that you’ve been through– but you can’t undo what ultimately has brought you here. Your trauma isn’t you. But what you do with the trauma is what’s important. Do you carry it and let it weigh you down? Do you let it fuel you and all your rage? Or do you let it be the reason to be a better person?”

“I wish you were my therapist when I had to have one,” he tells you after a few moments, his voice soft. 

Bucky doesn’t choose to elaborate on the topic of trauma any further, or tell you more about his past. You already have a decent understanding of what the Winter Soldier is and what he did based on what was leaked to the public years ago. You don’t push him when he decides to brush it off.

You let out a small laugh, smiling into your sheets. “Don’t forget to tell your Avenger friends about me.”

“I think I might keep you all to myself, sweetheart.”

“I don’t think I mind that, either.”

Sometimes, Peter disappears without a trace and MJ gets irritable. However, she knows what she signed up for when she became Spider-Man’s girlfriend. She knows that she can’t be too upset with him, though Peter really does try to let her know whenever he leaves. Peter just has a one track mind. He hyper focuses on one thing and forgets everything else. 

Bucky doesn’t do that with you. You got a message from him a few days ago letting you know that he will be busy. You expected it to come sooner or later. You were surprised that it wasn’t sooner. Bucky has a job– a very demanding job. One that you can’t ever imagine yourself being in that world or in that kind of life. However, he still communicates with you, which is more than you can say Peter does with MJ. 

Sergeant Barnes [7:27am]: I will not be able to make our meetings for the next few days. I will let you know when I am back in the city. Will be in Malaysia. My phone will be off. 

Me [7:30am]: stay safe bucky

Sergeant Barnes [7:31am]: Always.

The fact that he calls your nightly calls a meeting makes you smile at your phone. You think he’s cute. His age is also showing from the way that he texts you, but you decide to let it slide. If you think about it realistically, the man is only in his early to mid thirties if you’re doing the math right. You’re well aware he was born in 1917, but with the amount of time that he had lost in between with everything that went on with his life— that is an age gap that you can get behind.

“What are you smiling so wide about right now?” MJ grunted, hitting your hip with hers as she walked by. “Table seven needs refills.”

“I was already on my way,” you shoot back, picking up the water pitcher as you fix your grin. 

You’re overthinking, you’re pretty certain. He’s a friend. There’s nothing more to the calls that have been going on every night since you said you would call him. You don’t hang on to every single word he says like it’s a prayer, and you certainly don’t find yourself lulling yourself to bed to his soft whispers every single night like it’s a lullaby. Your mood hasn’t improved the past few weeks, and you’re not smiling more often. You’re definitely not more energized even though you’re losing more sleep by staying up an extra hour later to talk to him longer on the phone, and lying to him by saying that you truly do sleep that late anyways.

You’re a goner and you know it– and you’ve only seen the man in person a handful of times. You were more than certain that he was haunting your mind more than you were haunting his. 

“You look like shit,” you told MJ once the night was over. “Tonight wasn’t even all that bad.”

MJ glared at you as she clocked out on the computer, and waited for you to do the same so you two could walk out together. Your routes home were the same part of the way until they diverged. 

“Peter’s still gone. Still have no idea where he is or when he’s coming back,” she muttered, shoving her arms through the sleeves of her jacket haphazardly. You think she’s crazy for even wearing a jacket in the middle of summer, but you don’t mention it with her current mood. “So yes, I am a little pissed off.”

“Did he leave in the middle of the night again?” you asked, closing down the computer.

“No, he woke me up this time,” she sighed. You two walked out the back, locking the door behind you. “Still, it was really early in the morning and he didn’t explain much before he left. Though, he really can’t ever explain much.”

“I’m sorry, MJ,” you said, a small cringe running through your body. You really can’t imagine what she’s going through.

Though, then again, you’re not even sure why Bucky felt the need to tell you that he was going off the grid for a few days. Or even why he told you where he was going for the mission, either. You were certain that was some kind of classified information if even MJ couldn’t know– if Peter wouldn’t tell her before he left. 

Was it a mistake? Did he mean to tell you all of that information? Or was something going on through his mind that made him accidentally send that to you when he didn’t mean to. Either way, you had more information than MJ, and you weren’t even sure if you were allowed to tell her. You weren’t totally sure what telling her would even do. There would be no purpose in giving her the location. Malaysia was a large place– the Avengers could be everywhere and anywhere. Besides that, maybe Bucky and Peter weren’t even in the same area doing the same mission.

You decided to keep your mouth shut, even though you didn’t feel particularly good about it. Then again, you’ve held enough secrets of your own from your friends over the years. You have a lot of your own issues that they don’t know, and you’re more than certain they will never find out.

Maybe that’s why you feel a certain attachment to Bucky. He knows about your dream soldier boy, and never judged you for it. He brought him up once or twice, too. Bucky knows more about you in the past few weeks that you’ve known him versus the past few years that you have known your friends.

It makes you feel guilty, in a way. Peter has shared his own secrets with you– something that he had no obligation to share with you. It was something that was originally held between the three of them, but he felt that you were important enough to know about it. MJ has some familial issues and has problems letting people close to her, but she still finds herself opening up to you and starting conversations with you more than you start them with her. You’re not super close with Ned, but you know the guy is more than happy to talk to you about any kind of project that he’s working on at the moment. Both him and Peter enjoy spilling whatever information they can spare on whatever work they’re doing.

And yet, you’ve never told them the real reason why you’re studying what you study.

You wish MJ a good night, and tell her to get some rest as your paths split and she heads down her road to her place that she shares with Peter. You make your way down to your own.

New York’s summer nights are muggy. Slightly humid, but better than when the sun is out and beating down on your skin like it’s trying to wear you down. It’s not bad at all, seeing as you’ve lived here for the majority of your life, but you can still see yourself moving out of this busy city and somewhere quieter. 

Away from this nonsense and drama. Maybe you’d be able to run away from your own head if you tried hard enough.

You push the thought away as you push your apartment door open. It’s creaky, and you know you need to spray drown the hinges with WD-40 again.

You toe your sneakers off and hang your purse on the hooks that you nailed to the wall when you first moved in— holes that you would have to fill later on when you eventually move out if you want your security deposit back. Your feet ache against the creaking floorboards that are only slightly dampened by the carpet runner that you put in the entranceway of your apartment. 

You hate this place, as much as you try to deny it. 

You despise the overhead lighting that you never flicker on because it’s too bright, but you also never turn on the various amounts of mood lighting that you thrifted from corner stores because you simply can’t be bothered. You can’t stand the way your landlord sometimes forgets to pay the building’s AC bill, even though you slave away every single day to pay your rent and utilities. You shouldn’t have to suffer for some fucking comfort in your own home. 

You hate the cheap mattress that you barely could afford, that you cried when you bought— not out of happiness, but because you knew you wouldn’t be able to eat real meals for the next week until your next paycheck hit. 

This entire place was a death sentence in your mind. It wasn’t home. It was simply a place to rest when you weren’t running around outside, trying to pretend that your mind was right and your life was stable, and the diagnoses the doctors gave you years ago weren’t looming over your head. 

Your stomach growls, and you know you don’t have substantial ingredients in your kitchen to satiate you. You should’ve eaten more on campus earlier today, and you want to kick yourself for your lack of insight. 

You still drag your tired body to the kitchen to find what you can, ripping open the old fridge. What stares back at you is empty shelves and a half drunk water bottle along with some celery.

You settle for the celery, grumbling to yourself. 

“Maybe I’ll use the ten thousand for groceries,” you mutter, leaning against the counter. 

“Gave it to you so you could use it, not save it.”

Your heart leaps out of your body, and you drop the celery in your hand as you shriek. You turn quickly, looking over the kitchen peninsula towards your living room— in the darkness of your apartment, lit only by the streetlights pouring from your windoes, you see a figure. 

He’s sitting on the couch, draped over the armrest. His head is resting against the wall— his chest falling and rising in uneven motions. He looks to be wearing gear. He looks like a shadow. 

“Bucky?” you breathe, your heart still stuttering in your chest wildly. “What the fuck?”

“Hey,” he greets with a grunt, but he doesn’t move from his place on the couch. “Sorry. Needed a place to just.. Lay low.”

“Okay,” you said slowly, moving slowly. 

You go to the windows, closing the blinds and drawing the curtains shut before turning on the lamp. Lay low— you assume no one knows he’s here. You want to interrogate him on why and how he’s in your apartment, but with proper light illuminating him, you find the question long gone and missing from your lips.

He’s injured. Badly.

His vest is ripped at his side, and he’s pressing his flesh hand to it, though you can still see his skin stained with his own blood. His forehead also seems to be gashed, and there’s a deep bruise blossoming on his cheekbone, and his lip is split. You’re not sure of what other injuries he could be hiding under the layers of gear he’s wearing, too. 

“What…” you whispered.

“The drawings are nice,” he said, clearing his throat. You follow his eyes to your coffee table, where your sketches of the soldier man from your dream are haphazardly strewn about. You were going to scan them and post them in the morning. “You’re talented.”

“Wait— no,” you denied. You’re not letting him breeze past the clear issue at hand here. “I need— Fucking. Washcloth?” 

Your mind is short circuiting as you quickly rush through your apartment, turning lights on as you go. You bring your CVS bought first aid kit along with a small bowl filled with water and several other washcloths to the living room, pushing your sketches and other art supplies to the floor to make space. 

You’re on your knees in front of him, gently peeling his hand away from his side to inspect the gash on his side. You’re glad you’re not squeamish from the years you’ve spent in the city, but the wound is deep and angry and red— and you are not qualified for such an injury.

“I am not medically trained. At all,” you tell him, panic flashing through your face. Then you demand, “Why did you come here?”

“You’re safe.”

Your breath stops, just for a moment. Bucky isn’t saying that your apartment is safe. That this area in New York is safe— you are someone safe. In just two words, he’s telling you everything. 

You clench your jaw and dip your washcloth into the bowl of water and bring it to the gash on his side. Your eyes flicker to his face. He never flinches. His muscles don’t ripple in pain. His body doesn’t betray him in a way that yours does when you poke at a bruise that you know you shouldn’t be touching. 

It breaks your heart and soul all the same. 

It’s quiet between you two as you go through three more washcloths to remove the dried blood from his body. Then you open up the first aid kit. You’ve never had to use it before other than for some bandaids. 

You don’t even realize your hands are trembling until his metal hand rests on yours. You lift your head to lock eyes with his. His face is gentle, despite the amount of pain that you’re sure is racing through his body at this moment.

“There should be a pair of gloves,” he said, his voice even. You blink for a moment before realizing that he’s directing you on what needs to be done. You quickly move. 

You slide the gloves, eyes darting all over the first aid kit you bought. You were paranoid when you bought it– this expensive thing. You weren’t even sure why you got it, when all you used it for was a few bandaids here and there every once in a while. You praised your past self for this very moment now.

“Saline, antiseptic, and ointment,” he continued, and you pull out each corresponding item from the kit. “Help me clean the wound. Use the gauze. After that, try to find something called a butterfly bandage, if you know what that is.”

You don’t fucking know what that is, but you’re not going to voice that out to him right now. 

Instead, you force your muscles to move past the fear in your body. Bucky is still directing you through the entire thing like you are the one that’s injured here– like you’re the one that’s a few seconds from passing out from pain. You want to scream at your own uselessness, but you know that it isn’t true. Bucky wouldn’t have come here if he thought you were useless.

As the bandage goes on, and you tighten his wound shut, he finally lets out a breath and relaxes against your couch cushions.

“Is that it?” you whispered, eyes flitting across his face.

“That’s the worst of it, yes,” he nodded, closing his eyes.

“There’s more?” you demanded, horrified. 

Bucky lets out a chuckle, as if this situation is funny to him. Maybe it is. To him, probably it is. This is just another regular Thursday to him. For you– this is the first time that you’re ever coming close to a situation like this. 

“I heal faster than the average human. I’ll be okay. This one is just pretty bad, I promise.”

You don’t believe him, not fully. You clench your jaw as you clean up the bloodied gauze and washcloths– tossing them into your garbage bin before going into your freezer to grab a few ice cubes to throw into a ziplock bag for the bruise on his face. He takes it without complaint.

Questions are spinning through your head, nagging at you deeply. The words are threatening to spill out of your mouth, and you’re not sure that you can stop it. 

“Is… Is Steve okay? Peter?” you asked. 

Bucky’s eyes flicker to you, eyebrows furrowing at you briefly. “I understand you asking about Steve. But Peter?”

“Spider-Man,” you whispered in correction, swallowing thickly. Recognition dawns on his face as you reveal that you know. Bucky lets out a small breath, a silence settling over the two of you. He doesn’t press for any other details.

“Mine was a solo mission. Everyone’s out doing their own thing right now. Most of them are in teams. Haven’t heard any of the others being injured or hurt.”

Relief fills your body. Your shoulders sag briefly as you move to sit on the opposite end of the couch from him.

“New York is pretty far from Malaysia, Buck… How the hell did you drag your battered body all the way to my apartment?” The question came from your lips before you could think that he may not even be able to answer you. 

“Tracked down the target from Malaysia to the outskirts of New York,” he answered without hesitation. “Didn’t wanna head back into the base looking like this.”

“So you thought that waiting in my apartment like this for me to come home was any better?” you asked, eyes wide.

“Well, I had a feeling that you would just take care of me rather than demand to know the details of the mission first,” he replied, shaking his head. There was the faintest of smiles on his face that you could see in the dim lighting of your apartment.

“Is it okay for me… to know all of this?” you asked wearily.

“You won’t become a target, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he quickly answered you, his voice serious. 

You shook your head immediately. “No– no. That’s not what I meant. Won’t you get in trouble? With… whoever your bosses are?”

“What they don’t know won’t hurt ‘em,” Bucky said with a shrug. Then, he looked at you, eyes catching yours. You couldn’t look away, caught in the stormy blue of his face. “You’re not scared?”

“I don’t think you would do anything that could ever get me hurt,” you murmured honestly. You pause. “You’re not afraid that I won’t leak your location to the world?”

The smile came back on his face. “Like I said, doll– you’re safe. I don’t worry about much when you’re around.”

You don’t know how long you spend staring at him, your heart thumping erratically in your chest again. It’s not from the fear of being shocked by a man in your apartment, or the panic that the man is Bucky injured in your apartment. It’s that stupid nickname that your soldier calls you, it’s the way the word falls from Bucky’s lips so casually and easily. It’s as if this was right, for him to always call you this. 

Your apartment suddenly feels whole. Warm. The space that felt empty a few moments ago is taken over with enough joy that you’re certain that you could spend the rest of your days here as long as Bucky continues to look at you the way that he’s looking at you right now.

With trust. You don’t even know why he trusts you. Why he’s so unwavering in his faith in you.

It’s terrifying all the same. You don't think you deserve it.

“There’s this Chinese place that’s 24/7,” you whispered, breaking the silence. “Do you want take out?”

Bucky’s smile grows a bit wider and he nods at you. “That sounds great.”

next chapter | masterlist

taglist: @kitkatyap @bitchycheesecakecat @saintserpentine @miss-chuchu @majorasbat @sleepdeprivedfrfr @shortandb1tchy @bruiscdlikeviolets @thebuckybarnesvault @alltheusersaregone @1967barracuda @ab-baybay @ilovegojotbh @cheriecelestial @clairdelunea @intothesoul @thelittleredbean @the-salty-asian @sagittariussupernova @sebastians-love @duacruel @phoenix666stuff @lvrrinx @kjmonster111 @tangledinpeonies @winter-crow @aligned-starz

[ephie-om]

Sick Day

You pause by the door, hand poised to knock. A weak cough sounds from the other side, followed by a wet-sounding sneeze and a defeated groan. Shit, he really wasn’t joking about being sick. You give the door a couple of quick raps and open it without waiting for a response. 

Two huge wet blue eyes stare back at you from under the pile of blankets. “Mammon…”

“MC!” Even through his stuffy nose and raspy throat, the delight in his voice is unmistakable. “I was worried Lucifer was gonna stop you from coming.”

“Yeah, he tried,” you sigh, perching on the edge of the bed. Puffing up your chest in your best Lucifer impression, you declare, “MC! You cannot take care of Mammon. He is perfectly able to recover from an illness himself. Lord Diavolo would be very displeased if you fell ill.”

Mammon hacks out a laugh that quickly turns into a cough, curling up even tighter under his layers of blankets. He takes a moment to catch his breath, then peeks out at you again. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him I’m a bomb-ass wizard who doesn’t get sick.” Mammon blinks at you. 

“I also told him I’d take over your chores while you’re sick,” you admit.

“Yeah, that would do it,” he sniffles. You hand him the box of tissues from his bedside and he blows his nose into three of them, tossing them over the side of the bed, where they land in a pile next to your feet. He tucks his reddening nose back under the covers and pulls his cocoon tighter around him, shivering.

“You look terrible.”

He shoots you a look, probably trying to be intimidating, but it doesn’t quite land coming from his pathetic, sniffling form. “Here, let me straighten out the blankets.” Your hand reaches for the covers when you hear a grating noise. You pause, trying to process. Did this demon just hiss at you? “I’m trying to help you, asshole.”

In one surprisingly quick movement, he shakes off your hand and buries his entire head in the blankets. “You’re going to let all the cold air in,” his muffled voice accuses you.

“Hey, idiot,” you say affectionately, tugging at the covers. One doleful blue eye peeks up at you. “Remember how I’m a bomb-ass wizard? Who can cast a warming enchantment?”

He huffs dramatically. “Okay.” His grip loosens enough to let you fluff out the many layers covering him, sending a fresh wave of chills over his body. He scoots back up to rest his head on his pillow, nuzzling his face into it like a cat. You mutter an incantation over both of his bottom blankets, then pull them back up and tuck them in carefully under his body. His eyes flutter shut the instant the warm fabric touches his skin, and you nestle the rest of the blankets over top of him. He groans appreciatively, his muscles visibly relaxing into the bed.

You smile down at him, marveling at how cute he can look even while half-conscious. Before you can stop yourself, you reach down to brush his fluffy white hair out of his eyes. He jerks slightly at your touch, and you brace yourself for a whiny lecture on “how dare you touch the Great Mammon while he’s sick and dying”, but nothing comes. The opposite, actually. He pushes his head into your hand, so close you can feel his warm breath against your wrist. 

You sit on the bed, doing your best not to let your weight on the mattress shift his body. Your arm rests just above his head on the pillow to let you use your whole hand to pet his head. Uncomfortable, sure, but that’s secondary to the demon by your side. You let your fingertips graze over his head, not quite sure how much force you should use.

Experimentally, you run your nails gently along his scalp, threading his soft hair through your fingers. The corners of his lips turn up ever so slightly.

You’re so screwed.

Thankfully, your question is answered almost immediately by one pouty demon. With a theatric sigh, Mammon heaves himself up on his arms, then plops himself down so that his head rests squarely on your lap. You go back to petting his head in long strokes down his scalp, which you assume is what he wanted since he refuses to budge even an inch. Not that you mind. Having the Avatar of Greed as putty in your hands (or lap) is probably feeding your ego enough for Lucifer himself to sense. Not to mention the weight from his head on your legs is awfully comfortable.

You lean back against the headboard and close your eyes, letting the soft sound of his breathing and yours meld together. This wasn’t so bad. Even if you did get sick, you could pull the “woe is me” card and convince him back into your lap. He probably wouldn’t need much convincing anyway.

so I was stalking @butchmammon's blog to try and find their posts about their skeptic mc au when I saw a post about a mammon sick fic and I got inspired ':) so thank you for that xo

[santaasi]

softest spring

pairing: film director!james potter x actress!reader

summary: you don’t tell anyone it’s your birthday. but james potter knows anyway. and he’s the only one who cares enough to remember

warnings: slow burn, fluff, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language

word count: 1.7k

a/n: it’s my birthday today — yay! can’t believe how old I feel, haha. I wanted to share a little fluffy (and maybe just a bit self-indulgent) piece of Muse with you. hope you enjoy it!

prev. episode // next episode

YOU DON’T TELL ANYONE IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY. Not out of mystery. Not for drama or some secret thrill. It’s just easier this way.

It’s not that you want to be forgotten—quite the opposite, really. Somewhere beneath your ribs, something small and hopeful clenches at the thought. But you’ve learned that silence is safer than expectation. That if no one knows, no one can fail you. No one can ruin it by remembering too late or not at all.

So instead, you build yourself a quiet kind of fortress. One where nothing can touch you if you pretend not to care. You say nothing.

You wake with sunlight spilling soft and warm across your sheets, golden and forgiving. There’s one message on your phone — a midnight timestamp, glowing quietly in the dark of your notifications.

Happy birthday, sweetheart. Proud of you, always. x Dad.

Your mum sends a photo from home: your little brother holding up a “23” candle that’s slightly melted and leaning sideways on a store-bought cake. Your sister texts saying she’ll FaceTime later, promising wine and gossip and blurry laughter from her kitchen. You smile at your screen and pull the duvet higher, cocooning yourself in warmth and pretend-enoughs.

University has been — distant. Not unkind. Just… arms-length.

It’s not that you mean to keep people out. You just learned to walk into rooms like you already know no one wants you there. And people — sensitive to temperature — feel the chill in your posture, the heat of your boundaries, and decide they’d rather not burn trying to reach you. They don’t say it outright. But you’ve heard the careful phrasing. She’s a little aloof. Cold, maybe. Thinks she’s better than us.

You don’t. You really don’t. You just haven’t figured out how to be smaller to fit their liking. And honestly, you’re not sure you want to. But that kind of stubbornness doesn’t make birthdays easier. It doesn’t soften the hours or fill the silence between lectures.

And so, you carry this day like a secret tucked into your coat pocket. A flicker of warmth. A little ache. And the quiet hope that maybe — not today, maybe not ever — but someday, someone will remember without needing to be told.

You don’t have plans. You move through the day like normal. Class. Notes. A half-hearted lunch. You leave early, unnoticed, the hours slipping past without resistance.

At 16:59, you’re outside the post-production suite, bag over your shoulder, boots scuffed from too much walking. Your lips are painted a shade deeper than usual — a quiet act of rebellion, or maybe a gift to yourself. You’re not sure which. It doesn’t matter. It’s yours.

Inside, James Potter is already hunched over the desk, framed by the soft hum of machines and dust-speckled light. His curls are a chaotic halo, silhouetted in the low glow of the monitors. You expect the usual when he sees you — some clipped remark about the last edit, a flurry of thoughts about color balance or transitions.

Instead, he looks up and smiles.

Not the wide, charming grin he hands out like candy to everyone else. This one is softer. Warmer. It feels… private. Like he’s offering it just to you.

“Hey,” he says. “Happy birthday.”

You blink. “What?”

“I said happy birthday.” He stands, brushing his hands on the thighs of his jeans, suddenly awkward in his own skin. “I know you didn’t tell anyone. Figured you might not want a fuss. But I thought– well. I just…”

He gestures toward the corner, sheepish now, like he’s unsure of himself, like he’s handed you something too tender to name.

You follow his gaze.

On the side table sits a cake. Pale and golden. Lemon, you think. Your favourite. The scent drifts faintly through the edit suite — sunlight in sugar form, not too sweet, not trying too hard. Beside it sits a small glass bottle of elderflower presse and two mismatched mugs, one chipped at the rim. A blanket — your blanket, technically, the one you always steal when you fall asleep on the studio couch — has been folded neatly over the armrest.

You don’t move at first. You just look. Let the picture settle around you, soft and improbable.

“You don’t like chocolate cake,” James says quietly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You said once it’s too… chocolate. So, lemon. From that place near the canal–  the bakery you mentioned after the second shoot. You said their frosting tasted like summer.”

Your throat tightens. The room seems to hush.

“How do you even remember that?” you ask, not accusing, just... stunned.

He shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck, gaze dropping to the floor like it might help him stay steady. “I pay attention.”

There’s a pause. One of those long, suspended moments that stretches out like a held breath. You don’t know what to do with the weight of it, so you move, slowly, toward the table. The cake is small, elegant. One candle flickers at its centre; its flame almost absurd, burning steady in the dim quiet of a post-production suite.

“You lit it already?” your voice is smaller than you expected. Barely above a whisper.

“I didn’t want to ask you to make a wish in front of me,” he says. “Figured… you might hate that.”

You glance back at him. A laugh escapes, surprised and hoarse, catching on the edge of something else. “So you decided to give me a solo candle moment. In the editing room.”

He grins — wide now, bashful and boyish. “Dramatic effect,” he says.

Your heart aches. Not the bad kind. The kind that feels like something blooming too fast inside your chest. The kind that’s dangerous only because it’s real.

And then you see the gift.

Small. Wrapped in soft brown paper, the kind used for parcels and poetry. Tied with old black camera tape, like film spooled around a secret.

You lift it carefully, fingertips brushing the edges. Peel back the paper like it might bleed if you’re not gentle enough.

Inside is a book. Not new. Its spine creased, corners curled like it's been lived in. You know it immediately — your favourite novel. The one you’d quoted once, absently, while adjusting the aperture on a shoot at golden hour. The one you lent him a week ago when he was curious why you always reread the same book over and over again. You hadn’t even thought he would read it. 

But this copy isn’t yours. Of course, it’s not. It’s someone else’s. Filled with underlines and looping margin notes, sentences circled in ink like someone had fallen a little bit in love with every word.

Your fingers drift over jumping letters, tracing ink like it might tell you something his voice hasn’t. You don’t speak at first. The silence stretches — two seconds, maybe three — but it feels like the air itself holds its breath.

“This was yours,” you murmur finally, not quite a question, more a quiet discovery.

James nods. “Found another copy last week. Brand new. Clean. But it didn’t feel right. This one’s better. It’s got… history.”

You sit slowly, the book settling into your lap like it belongs there. A lump rises in your throat — small and sharp and impossible to swallow. James says nothing. Just reaches for the elderflower bottle, pours it carefully into one of the mismatched mugs, and passes it to you like it’s something breakable. Sacred.

“Why did you do all this?” you ask, voice barely above the hum of the edit suite fan.

He meets your eyes. Steady. Quiet. Shrugs, but not dismissively. “Because I wanted to. Because… I figured maybe no one else would.”

You look at him — really look. Not just the silhouette you’ve grown used to across editing desks and camera rigs. But James, as he is now: curls tousled, ink smudged on his wrist, the ghosts of sleepless nights clinging to the edges of him. He looks tired. He looks lovely. He looks like he’s waiting for you to see him.

And you do.

You don’t say thank you. You don’t need to.

Instead, you shift — just an inch — closer. Just enough for your shoulders to brush. You take a sip of elderflower, let the cool fizz settle the tremble in your chest. You cut a piece of cake. Pass him a slice without speaking.

You lean back into the couch, into the hush of the moment, into the flickering golden quiet he’s given you. And for the first time today, warmth fills  your chest — slow and certain, like rays of sunshine. Not just on your skin, but deeper, in the hidden places that had curled in on themselves. The parts of you that had learned not to hope.

Maybe this — this softness, this noticing — is what it means to be known. Not because you asked. Not because you earned it. But just… because.

Eventually, you murmur, “You going to show me the edit, or are we just going to sit here drinking elderflower like it’s a silent film?”

James throws you a look, all boyish charm and a smile; the kind you never quite mind when it’s him. Never him. “Right. Yeah.”

The room fades into the hum of old speakers and shifting light. You spend the next hour shoulder to shoulder, knees barely brushing, watching yourselves flicker across the screen in half-formed takes and golden flares. Your voice loops in stereo. Your laughter spills like water. A version of you lives there now — cinematic, bright-eyed, untouchable.

And James, always leaning in, voice low, reverent.

“That frame– God, the way you walked into the light. Like you knew it was yours.”

“You didn’t blink. You didn’t even breathe. That moment… killed me.”

“I think this is the one. The cut I’ll send to the festival.”

And still, the candle flickers. The lemon cake is down to crumbs. The elderflower tastes like summer held between teeth. And his presence, so close beside you, begins to feel like something stitched into the shape of your day. Something you hadn’t realized you needed until it was here — quiet, real, and impossibly kind.

You don’t tell him. You won’t. Not yet.

But something in you folds, just slightly, like a page turned down in a well-loved book.

You fall a little bit in love with him that day.

Not in declarations or grand gestures.

Just… enough to begin.

thankx for reading <3

i love my birthday. i always have. there’s something quietly magical about having a whole day that’s just yours — even if it’s small, even if no one makes a big deal out of it.

this piece means more to me than i expected. it’s the first time something i wrote has felt this personal. i didn’t plan it, but somehow i ended up writing a part of myself — tucked between the lines, folded into the soft, quiet moments.

and maybe, when those moments come — the ones where you feel a little forgotten, a little invisible — we all deserve a james potter. someone who notices the little things. who remembers. who makes something gentle and meaningful just because it’s your day, and because you matter.

thank you so much for reading something this close to my heart. love you all endlessly. and as always, i’d truly appreciate any feedback, whether in the comments or my inbox. :3

                                    – your santi 🪐

masterlist // muse script

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 4

Previous Chapter: Part 3 | Next Chapter: Part 5

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship: Shoto Todoroki x Fem Reader! 💋

Genre: Fluff, Romance, S*xual Tension, Making Out, Smut

CW: MDNI!, A18+, kissing, romance, sexual tension, spicy scenes, lemon

Link to My Master List

“Sir, UA has such a strict and well-planned curriculum. What could possibly have been “neglected” by the faculty and staff?”

Aizawa smirks at Ida as if the young Engine hero has made a particularly funny joke. He looks out at the class and takes a deep breath before his next statement:

“This afternoon Recovery Girl and Midnight will be joining us as we discuss a crucial topic. We are going to walk you through an Intro to our Sex Ed curriculum.”

The class is silent. Then, a hiss rises from the back right of the classroom.

“Yesssss. Yesss! Finally! You’re finally granting permission for us to appreciate all of the gorgeous ladies in our class! It’s my time to shine - ”  Mineta’s unhinged chattering is silenced when Mr. Aizawa easily wraps him in his capture gear.

“Does anyone else have an inappropriate comment to share?” The teacher asks lazily. The class says nothing. Mineta whimpers pathetically beneath the layers of binding cloth and Erase rHead ignores him.

There’s a bright knock at the classroom entrance. Before anyone can answer, the large door flies open to reveal UA staff members Midnight and Recovery Girl. As usual, Midnight is sparkling with energy, smiling devilishly at the class as she glides into the room. Recovery Girl has less flare as she steps into the classroom – her movements are quiet and stiff. The wrinkles on her face tell stories of a lifetime of hero work.

“Hello, Class.” The school nurse says as she stands before them all. “I’m so sorry we didn’t get to this conversation at the beginning of the year. There’s just been so much chaos and injury lately surrounding UA, we weren’t able to prioritize the Sex Ed curriculum the way we normally do.” She beams at them, looking pleased to be out of the infirmary for once.

Midnight sweeps her arms out dramatically. “Your changing hormones are no doubt running rampant! We’re here to tame you little demons. Let me dominate this conversation and teach you the true meaning of pleasure.”

Mineta groans audibly from within his binding cocoon, and a look of disgust flashes across Mr. Aizawa’s face.

“Settle down, Midnight.” He turns to address the class at large. “As part of the curriculum we will have monthly Sex Ed & Health seminars run by Midnight, Recover Girl and me. During these sessions we will discuss the basics surrounding reproduction, consent, and safety. We will also split into small groups where you can feel more comfortable to ask potentially embarrassing questions.”

“To kick things off for today, we’re not going to give you the classic “your bodies are changing” lecture you get in middle school. Instead, we’re going to set some ground rules for living in a shared dorm space with classmates your age.” Mr. Aizawa shifts on his feet and looks over at Recover Girl, prompting her to take over.

The elderly hero shuffles up to the front of the class and grins up at them through thick coke bottle glasses. “Here’s the deal, kids. We realize that you all live on the campus and that your scholarly lives overlap with your home lives in a new and unique way. This is a unique situation, and we ask that you do your best to prioritize your studies and your health at all times. If you find yourselves struggling with your mental or physical health, we ask that you speak to one of us and we can create a plan together to help you get on track.”

“Additionally, we’re expecting you to be respectful of each other’s personal space. You all share a dorm, so between class and dorm life you will be together 24/7. This can be fun since you’re fairly friendly with each other, but eventually there will likely be conflict and disputes. Please come to us for help mediating any tough living situations, we are more than happy to step in and help you sort through challenging relationships.”

“And speaking of challenging relationships…” Midnight cuts in, tossing her thick purple hair over her shoulder as she squares up to the class. “Let’s talk about dating.”

At this point, most of the class’s faces are bright red. The room’s vibe has shifted from curious to uncomfortable and awkward.

“Most of you are 16 now, and understandably you may start to take notice of your classmates in new ways. You may want to explore relationships beyond friendship.” Midnight winks at your class meaningfully. “You are all independent young adults and we can’t control how you feel about one another. But unfortunately, we will be enforcing a strict no dating policy this year.”

“What!?” Mina and Toru cry out in unison. Midnight’s mouth quirks into a sad smile and she looks over at the girls. “Sorry, ladies. We have never had a dorm program before, so there is still much to figure out. Obviously we aren’t going to monitor you all 24/7. But we are going to trust that you are all being appropriate in the dorms and respectful of each other. And that means no dating and no physical relationships between students.” You feel your ears burning at those words, you wish you could look over to see Shoto’s reaction. Thankfully, you’re sure that he’s got his typical stoic look plastered on his face.

“Rest assured, there will be plenty of time in your life for dating and exploring your sexuality with consenting partners. But for now – you are all students first. Focus on making this year at UA count. Learn all you can and grow into strong, supple young heroes.”

Recovery Girl chimes in, a sweet smile on her face. “Despite our zero tolerance policy surrounding dating and physical relationships between students, we will be educating you on the finer points of consent, protection and building healthy relationships in our monthly seminars.”

Mr. Aizawa releases his hold on Mineta and drags himself back to the front of the classroom alongside his fellow educators. “Please remember – you are all minors. We want to reinforce that relationships with adults are strictly forbidden. If any adult approaches you inappropriately at an internship, at an agency or in public we implore you to report it to us so we can deal with it and keep you safe. Many people around Japan know who you are due to the televised broadcast of the sport’s festival. I’m not saying this to scare you – but I want you to be aware that your faces are fairly well known and not every fan that approaches you has good intentions.” He rearranges his binding scarf around his shoulders before looking back out at his class.

“Are there any questions?” Mr. Aizawa scans the room with interest. You turn your head to see if anyone is raising their hand. To your surprise, Shoto’s arm is in the air.

“Yes, Todoroki.” Midnight calls on him, pointing at him with her wildly inappropriate tiny leather whip. “What’s your question?”

“I don’t understand.” Shoto says in his typical flat tone. “You’re going to teach us about sex but you don’t want us to have it?”

And just like that, the tension in the room breaks. The entire class is laughing out loud.

“I’m serious.” Shoto says blankly, not understanding the giggles surrounding him. “Shouldn’t we be executing practical examples of the knowledge we’re learning? Isn’t that how our training works?” Shoto’s brow is creased a bit in obvious frustration, but this just makes everyone laugh even harder. Even Bakugo is joining in at this point.

“Why Icy Hot – you tryin’ to get laid!?” Katsuki cackles out, adding to the chaos.

“Quiet.” Mr. Aizawa’s quirk activates, his hair rising up into the air intimidatingly. The laughter fades quickly. The teacher decides to take mercy on Shoto. “We’re going to give you knowledge and background on these subjects so that if you do eventually want to have a physical relationship after graduation, you’ll be able to do it safely.”

“Think of it this way.” Midnight says, putting a finger to her chin as she talks it through. “We’ll be teaching you Sex Ed theory. Later on in life you can use what you’ve learned and practically apply that theory.”

Shoto still seems a little miffed, but finds this answer acceptable.

“Any other questions?” Recovery Girl prompts.

Mina raises her bright pink hand. “Are the other years allowed to date? Or is it just our year?”

“That’s a good question.” Recovery Girl says encouragingly. “As of right now, dating and relationships are off limits for all course levels. However, we have made a few exceptions for members of the senior class who have recently turned 18 and are in good standing with their grades and internships.”

“Isn’t the age of consent in Japan 16?” Kaminari raises his hand but doesn’t wait to be called on. “Most of us here are 16 – why can’t we date?”

“This is what we have decided on as a faculty. You will abide by these rules.” Mr. Aizawa says firmly, causing Kaminari to shrink back into his chair. “Any other questions?”

No one else raises their hand. “Thanks for the time everyone. You all know where to find me!” Recovery Girl waves kindly at everyone as she makes her exit.

Midnight cocks her hip and waves her leather whip around one final time, signaling an end to their awkward discussion. “Thanks for listening, class! I’m excited to take this journey of physical maturation with you all.” And with that, she leaves as well.

Mr. Aizawa looks out at them all, clearly exhausted. He lifts his arm and reveals a small clicker in his hand. He hits the combination of buttons that open up their hero costume closet. “Alright, everyone – get changed and meet at the gym for combat training. It’s going to be a long afternoon.”

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

Combat training is exhausting as per usual. It’s so intense that you don’t have the headspace to really mull over all that Aizawa, Midnight and Recover Girl have told you. One big question does eat away at your nerves, though – given the class wide dating ban, will Shoto want things between the two of you to end?

During the training class, Shoto doesn’t even glance your way. You ignore him in kind, focusing all your energy on your sparring matches with Tsu and Ochaco. The whole afternoon is intense, your body quickly becoming sore from all the movement. When the bell rings to signal the end of classes, you’re immensely grateful. You troop to the locker room with the other girls and indulge in a long, hot shower.

You have a quick dinner in Class A’s dorm with the rest of your class, scarfing down some leftovers as you complete some homework at one of the many kitchen tables. Shoto sits down next to you with his own meal and textbooks.

He makes a show of setting up his homework – opening his textbooks slowly and laying out all of his pens on the table between the two of you. As he sets out a pencil, he purposefully flicks it so that it rolls into your bowl of soup. You look up at him in surprise and he flashes you a gentle smile, moving his hand to grab the rogue writing implement. He touches his pinkie to yours for a few seconds as he scoops up the pencil. The light touch sends electricity up your arm and you quickly pull it away.

You know that Shoto did it purposefully by the way he smirks at your reaction. You work quietly next to each other for the next hour, studying in parallel. It feels strangely intimate and strange – it’s almost like in studying next to each other, you’re flaunting your secret for all to see. Part of you keeps waiting for Shoto to turn to you and ask to review the day’s earlier Sex Ed discussion, but he keeps his head down in his work.

After an hour or so he packs up his books and gets ready to leave. Before he does so, he glances around to ensure that everyone else is occupied before he reaches towards you and draws a small star in the corner of your notebook page. A moment later, he’s gone – marching back to his dorm room with his stack of books and writing instruments.

You stare down at the tiny star, a smile pulling at your lips. You’re not sure exactly what Shoto intended the star to mean. But you’re sure as hell that if Shoto was breaking off your little hookup arrangement, he wouldn’t take the time to scribble a sweet doodle in the margins of your notebook. Maybe you should just text him and ask what he wants to do – what he thinks? You shake your head to clear it before diving back into your English homework.

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

A few hours later, you end your evening in Mina’s room.

You and Mina are huddled on the floor around Toru, who is drawing out a battle plan on a small white board.

“Alright.” Toru says, concentrating. “Here’s a list of all the supplies we would need to throw a totally-rad-top-secret-awesome party. And here are all of the variables we will need to figure out in order to pull it off in secret – distracting Mr. Vlad King is going to be our biggest challenge. Ugh, and then there’s Monoma. We’re gonna need to keep him from blowing up our spot again this time.”

Mina grabs the dry erase marker from Toru’s hand and quickly crosses Monoma off of the list. “He won’t be a problem this time around.”

You give Mina a questioning look. She waves you off. “We’ll get to that in a minute. Let’s focus on party supplies first. We will need to pick up soft drinks, chips and snacks. We can ask someone to grab paper goods like cups, plates, napkins, etcetera…ooo we should ask Sato to make some sweets!”

“Do you really think the whole class is going to be up for this? They’re all still way pissed about the curfew rule.” You ask skeptically.

“I’ve started asking around on the down low.” Toru chimes in, drawing some hearts stars in the corners of the white board. “So far everyone is pretty interested. I think the class needs a break to blow off some steam. Our course load has been so crazy lately, it’s been a while since we were last able to have some fun as a group.”

“Who did you ask?” You’re curious.

“Despite some initial hesitance, Ochaco and Tsu are in. They convinced YaMomo to come as well. I think she even said she’d bring some tea or something. Midoriya is all in, too – he’s going to work on getting the class rep to be cool with everything. Shoto and Tokoyami said they’d show up if it happened, but they weren’t too keen on helping with the planning process. Sero and Kirishima said they can help us with any heavy lifting. That’s it so far – I’m going to keep spreading the word tomorrow.” She notes all of the people who have expressed interest down on her white board.

“What about Minetta?” Mina asks, making a clear yuck face. “Like, I know he’s a member of our class. But lately he’s been extra gross.”

“Ugh…yeah we kinda have to invite him, don’t we?” You say, thinking back to a time earlier in the month when Minetta tried to smack your ass in the cafeteria. “He’s the worst.”

You’re distracted when you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. It’s Shoto. You turn to read your phone so that the others can’t easily see the screen.

Shoto: Hey Y/N. I have been thinking a lot about the Sex Ed class today. I’m concerned that by continuing together we’re breaking the rules.

Y/N: Yeah, I was thinking the same.

Shoto: To be honest, I don’t really care about the rules. I think we should do it anyway.

You smile and warmth bubbles up your chest.

Y/N: I’m in if you’re in.

Shoto: I'm in 💯.

You set the phone down, trying to ensure you’re not smiling an unnatural amount.

It buzzes a second time. You flip it over, expecting another text from Shoto. Instead, you’re surprised to find a message from Honenuki.

Honenuki: Hey Y/N! Check out this song, it’s been a favorite of mine lately.

 You click on the link and it immediately takes you to a YouTube video for an old 1960s song. “Some Kind of Wonderful” by the Drifters. You hastily click pause before the song can buffer and start playing.

Y/N: Can’t wait to check it out!! Here’s one I’ve been listening to.

You shoot back a Spotify link to the latest Sabrina Carpenter song and put your phone back on the ground.

Honenuki: Sweet, I’ll take a listen!

“Oooo who’s texting you, Y/N!?” Toru puts down the white board so you can all get a clear view of it. She reaches for your phone but you snatch it away before she can grab it.

“No one crazy. Just Honenuki from earlier.”

You now have Toru and Mina’s full attention. “Whaaaaat!?” They both cry out, scrambling over each other to get closer to you.

“What did he say!?”

“Did he ask you out?”

“Is he confessing?”

“OMG does he want you to sneak out of our dorm and over to Class B’s so he can make sweet love to you!?”

This last comment from Mina brings you all to silence. And then you break into a fit of giggles.

“No, guys, its not like that! He’s just nice!”

“Ok, ok. We believe you.” Toru waves Mina’s comment off with invisible hands. “And its not like any of us can pursue a fated romance anyway. Not with the new “rules” that have been announced by Mr. Aizawa, Recovery Girl and Miss Midnight earlier today.

Mina rolls her eyes. “Yeah what the hell was that about? It really feels like these extra Sex Ed classes came out of nowhere.”

“Hmmm.” Toru caps her dry erase marker and presses it to her unseen lips. “I wonder if something happened to trigger this response from the teachers. Do you think people in one of the first year classes are actually dating?”

Your stomach drops.

Mina gasps. “Oh my GOD! Do you think someone we know has been having sex!?” She shrieks out, and you and Toru shush her.

“Absolutely not!” Toru flails her arms around for good measure.

“There’s no way.” You say with a shaky laugh. You try to keep your face from flushing. A thought hits you. “And even if people were…doing sexual stuff…how would the teachers know?”

“Maybe someone got caught!” Mina declares, her antennae twitching thoughtfully. “Think about it…maybe a couple was sneaking around in the dorms and one of the teachers caught them banging on campus during a faculty patrol.”

“That would be so scandalous!” Toru yelps.

Your mind is whirring at 100 miles per hour. Did your teachers find out about your little rendezvous with Shoto Todoroki!? The timing seems so suspicious. You try to think back to the past 24 hours – had you left any clues? Had you been too loud? Your mind is in free-fall as you recall the way that Mr. Aizawa had knocked on Shoto’s dorm room door while the two of you were wrapped up in a compromising embrace.

You take a few calming breaths and try to snap yourself out of it. Really…even through Mr. Aizawa had knocked on Shoto’s locked door, how could he have possibly known what you and Shoto were up to on the other side of it? These new school policies had to be totally unrelated and a coincidence. Besides – it wasn’t a crime to be in another classmate’s room. Even if Mr. Aizawa had heard your voice from within Shoto’s dorm, there wasn’t any evidence that you and the youngest Todoroki were up to anything nefarious.

“Ok we are definitely going to investigate this whole situation further.” Mina grabs a hot pink post-it note and sharpie off her desk and returns to the floor. She peels off the top note and writes on it with big block letters: “Who’s Hooking Up At UA?” she sticks the post-it to the wall beside her desk alongside a few other notes listing out projects like “Master Ultimate Move” and “Ace Next Math Test.”

“This has become a mission of utmost importance. The UA tea must be spilled.” She says wisely.

You feign interest and nod in agreement as Toru lets out an affirmative “mhmm!”

At this exact moment, you wonder if you should tell your friends everything about you and Shoto and your steamy hookups. If you tell them now, you’re sure that they will help you figure out if Mr. Aizawa and the staff know that you’ve been intimately engaging with Todoroki. Mina and Toru are absolute masters of gossip and know exactly which strings to pull to get intel. They’re going to make amazing heroes one day, especially Toru with her insane stealth skills.

But no. It feels safer to keep it to yourself. Everything that’s happened – specifically Mr. Aizawa and Endeavor knocking on the door while you’re half naked and moaning in Shoto’s arms – is so totally embarrassing. You can’t bare the thought of explaining the whole situation to your two friends. Would they laugh? What if someone were to overhear? You think to all of the heroes in training with hearing and stealth-based quirks running around the school. Privacy was so hard to come by, it was so easy for it to be compromised. Now the boundaries that Mr. Aizawa had spoken about earlier this morning are stating to make sense to you. You’re all living in such close quarters and respecting each other’s privacy and personal space really should be paramount.

The real question on your mind is this – if you and Shoto continue to smooch in secret, how will you avoid getting caught? The entire student body is likely on high alert, looking for any potential transgressions surrounding the no dating rule.

“I wonder how the other classes are feeling about all these new rules?” You muse.

“We’ll know soon enough.” Mina says, checking her phone. “Actually, we’ll know in 2 minutes.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, nervous at her tone. Toru uncaps her dry erase marker and scribbles down a few more notes on the white board.

There’s an unexpected knock on the door that causes you and Toru to jump.

“The key to all of our plans has arrived.” Mina hops to her feet and scampers across the small dorm room. “Ladies, I present to you our secret weapon.”

She opens the door and reveals the last person you’d expect to be in the Class A dorm – Nieto Monoma.

Monoma stands in the doorway, tall and annoyingly handsome. He’s smiling genuinely and you’re surprised to see him looking so…normal. Typically when he’s within speaking distance of any Class A students he’s a loose cannon.

He smiles down at you and Toru, eyes flickering over to the white board. Toru reflexively moves to cover the plans with her arms, but being invisible it doesn’t do much to deter Monoma’s gaze.

“Hello ladies.” He says in that slippery tone of his. You’ve never seen Nieto in casual wear before. Tonight he’s wearing soft black sweatpants along with a grey band logo crewneck. When he’s acting like a normal human being, his face is actually quite attractive. His long blonde bangs fall gracefully across wide grey eyes in a graceful aristocratic way that reminds you a bit of Shoto. “I heard we’re going to get into some trouble together tonight.”

“Nope. Absolutely not.” You turn and glare at Mina, shooting her your best “WTF” expression.

“Mina! We can’t trust him – he ratted us out last time!” Toru says angrily, still unsuccessfully attempting to keep the whiteboard of plans out of site.

Monoma’s face creases into a frown. “Yeah…about that…”

Mina shushes him and beckons him into the small dorm room. She checks to make sure no one is out in the hall before closing the door soundly and turning the lock. She means business.

Monoma joins the three of you on the floor around the white board. In his dark attire, he looks very out of place among Mina’s hot pink room decor. Mina waits for everyone to get situated before speaking.

“Monoma is sorry. He reached out to me last week to formally apologize to us for tattling on our last party.” Mina says, straightforward and to the point. “He wants in on our next big bash.”

“What’s with this sudden change of heart?” You ask skeptically, crossing your arms as you survey Monoma’s face. He looks embarrassed, maybe even guilty as he meets your eyes.

“Well, you see - ” Monoma starts to speak, but Mina cuts him off with a quick wave of her hand.

“Let me do the talking, blondie.” She shuts him up. “Girls, this time around Monoma can’t rat us out – not now that we have leverage.”  She grins at you and Toru. “There’s something that Nieto here desperately wants. Something that only the three of us can provide at this time. And in exchange for that thing, Monoma is going to keep Mr. Vlad King out of our hair.”

“He can do that?” Toru says doubtfully.

“He can.” Mina says confidently, turning to the blonde intruder with a grin. “Okay, now you can apologize to them, Monoma.”

The Class B menace shifts uncomfortably on the floor, eyes slightly downcast. “Look, I know it was shitty of me to report you guys last time. I shouldn’t have - ”

“Yes it was shitty! We have a stupid curfew now because of you!” Toru bursts out, clearly pissed that her time is being wasted listening to Monoma.

“I know and I’m sorry!” He actually looks sincere. You wonder what the “leverage” Mina mentioned could be to make him act like a regular human being capable of remorse. “I was jealous of your class and the party and I didn’t think things through before I went to Mr. King. After I told him I…well, I regretted it immediately.” He hangs his head in shame and his regret actually feels sincere. His long blonde bangs cover his eyes and he stares at the ground, waiting for you all to speak.

“We would have invited Class B had we known you were interested. But we were under the, ugh, impression that some of you hated us so we didn’t even think to reach out about the party.” You say, feeling a tiny bit sympathetic at the way Monoma’s head is miserably flopped over. “Honestly we didn’t think our whole plan through last time, which is why it was so easy for the whole thing to fall apart.”

There’s a pause. Toru chimes in “Yeah, we definitely could have thought our plans through more. But your hatred for our class contributed to the disaster.”

“I don’t hate your class.” Monoma says slowly, feeling out his words. “I’m just…jealous of all the attention you guys get from the media and from the teachers. I thought that was pretty obvious. We’ve all worked so hard to get here; I thought that once I got to UA it would be an even playing field. But so often it feels like Class A gets preferential treatment.”

“I can see how you would feel that way.” Toru says stiffly, still unwilling to trust Monoma. “That’s a reasonable feeling. But you could have just tried to get to know us instead of acting like such an asshole all the time! We don’t want Class A to always be in the spotlight the way it is. Surely you see that.”

Monoma sighs. “For the past year I’ve really let my insecurities rule the way I act towards other people. And it’s made me an absolute dick. Look, guys, I’m legitimately sorry and I really want to help you make this party thing work. I’d understand if you don’t trust me and if you don’t want me involved. But please give me a second chance.”

You look at him distrustfully. “You’re saying all the right things, pretty boy. But what I really want to know – what’s this supposed “leverage” that we have over you here? How can we guarantee you’re not trying to lull us into a false sense of security so that you can eventually betray us?”

Mina grins. “Do you want to tell them, Monoma? Or should I?”

Nieto blushes, patches of scarlet bloom on his pale cheeks. “W-well…Mina said she could do something for me. Something I haven’t had the courage to try to do on my own - ”

“Spit it out.” Toru says, clearly reveling in his discomfort. “We don’t have all day.”

“R-right.” Monoma takes a deep breath, trying to regain his usual swagger. “There are two things that I want. The last time I reported your little scheme was because I was jealous I wasn’t invited. So obviously this time around I’d like Class B to be part of the party. And the second thing I’d like – a chance at a kiss.”

“You sound crazy.” You smirk at him. But you glance over at Mina and she nods at him, encouraging him to continue.

“So I figured as a more formal apology I could help you all pull off this party. I can distract Mr. Vlad King and make sure you don’t get caught. And in exchange, you could invite my class and give me a turn at Spin the Bottle.”

This is a lot to digest. You’ve never heard Monoma speak so rationally before, and you still fear it’s some kind of elaborate ruse. Also…he’s interested in your game of Spin the Bottle!? Weird.

“So who do you want to kiss?” Toru asks, a giggle bubbling up. “…Kendo!?”

Monoma looks away, embarrassed.

“Nope, that’s not it.” You say, grinning at Monoma’s obvious embarrassment. “If you don’t tell us, we have no shot at making it happen for you.”

“It’s Hitoshi Shinso.” Mina says knowingly, crossing her arms. “You want us to rig spin the bottle so that you’ll be able to kiss Shinso.”

You and Toru gasp and Monoma’s cheeks get red again. He covers his face with his hands, hiding himself from sight.

“Shinso!?” You and Toru cry out in shock. Monoma looks up at you all, his eyes wide. He’s got that unhinged look that you’ve come to expect from him during training exercises.

“Of course it’s Shinso!” Monoma bursts out – he’s back to his usual self. “He’s a goddamn wonder! He’s the only member of your class that truly deserves the prestige that Class A seems to exude!”

“Dial it back, dude.” Mina admonishes, and Monoma comes back to himself.

 “Listen. At this point, you guys have been around me in our joint training sessions enough times to know that I can be…challenging as a classmate and as a friend. Shinso doesn’t treat me like I’m some kind of burden or freak. Over the past semester, he’s become one of my closest friends. He’s kind and thoughtful and brave. Jeez, I have such a massive crush on him, I’m not even sure what to do at this point.”

He rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment but continues on. “I overheard you all talking about your crazy ‘spin the bottle’ plan last month and its been stuck in my brain ever since. It would be the perfect way for me to organically be affectionate with Shinso. I don’t have the courage to confess my feelings to him on my own, and I thought that maybe… well maybe if the two of us kissed, then I could finally know how he feels about me. I could see if we’re more than friends.”

“Anyway I really shouldn’t have ratted you out to the teachers, that wasn’t cool. You have my sincere apologies.”

“What’s in it for us, Phantom Thief?” You cross your arms.

“Monoma is going to help keep Mr. Vlad King off of our trail. He and Class B are going to cause a diversion that will keep any teachers away from our party for a few golden hours. And a few members of Class B want to come to the party, of course.”

“How long have you been working through this Mina?” Toru asks in awe.

“Monoma and I started chatting about it after he ruined out last party. I went to confront him about being such an asshole, and he actually apologized immediately.”

“Now how are we going to guarantee a kiss between Shinso and Monoma?” You wonder aloud to your friends.

Mina gives her trademark toothy grin. “Leave that to me.”

You survey him, still untrusting. “We’ll think about it. But first, I want some intel.” He looks up at you curiously – he clearly wasn’t expecting this.

“So what does Class B think about the whole Sex Ed thing and these new rules? Where do you think this is all stemming from? Tell us what you know.”

“Hm.” He smirks at the three of you. “Alright.” Monoma launches into a detailed description of his day. It sounds extremely similar to your own experience - Midnight and Recovery Girl had joined Class B for a similar talk during their morning courses. Class B was just as shocked by the Sex Ed discussions and the new dating rules as Class A. According to Monoma, there are a handful of couples within the class that have been dating for a while. He wonders aloud if maybe the new dating rules are specifically targeted at them.

“People in Class B are hooking up!?” Toru gasps at the tea. “Who!?”

Apparently Shihai Kuroiro and Kinoko Komori have been dating for quite a few months, and Kosei Tsuburaba and Sen Kalibara have some kind of sexual tension situation going on where they might be dating in secret but no one is truly sure.  Oh and Setsuna dated Rin for a while, but they broke up and it was a whole dramatic thing. I think she’s started going out with Reiko now.”

You are shocked at the amount of dating drama Monoma is describing amongst Class B’s members. You instantly feel relieved, realizing that the dating ban can’t possible be about you and Shoto. It’s clearly a response to Class B’s previously uninhibited horniness.

“So are they all stopping now that the dating ban has been put into place?” Mina asks, clearly loving all of the intel.

“I think for the most part everyone is just going to continue on with whatever they’re doing. Everyone will just be a little more careful in front of the teachers and staff.” Monoma says thoughtfully. “I’m sure these rules are more about Class B than Class A – I don’t think I’ve heard anything about dating in your class?”

“Nope.” Mina provides helpfully. “No relationships that we know of at least. There’s definitely tension between certain members of our class. And we’re absolutely going to see if we can play on that tension with our Spin the Bottle pairings.”

“Mina, we can’t control who kisses who in Spin the Bottle. That’s the whole point of the game – the unpredictability of it all!” Toru says in shock.

“Oh so you’re saying you don’t want to kiss Ojiro?” Mina smirks at your friend.

“I’m not saying that.” Toru amends. “But there’s no way for us to pull the strings with this game. We’re at the mercy of the bottle!”

“Like I said earlier…leave that to me.” Mina winks.

When he’s acting like a normal person, Monoma isn’t actually all that bad. He’s actually pretty genius when it comes to strategy. Toru passes her white board over to him and he assesses your plan so far.

“What do you think?” Toru asks. Your current plan to distract Mr. Vlad King relies on a series of continuously unhinged prank calls that will divert him to different parts of the campus over the course of two hours. It’s not a great plan, but it’s the best you all have come up with in the past half hour.

“It’s a start, but I have a much better plan.” He reaches out his hand for the dry erase marker. Toru hands it over easily. He uses the palm of his hand to erase out a corner of free space. He draws two squares and marks the “Class A” and “Class B.”  He then sketches out another rectangular shape to represent the faculty and staff living quarters. “We’ll need to intercept Mr. King in between the faculty building and the student dorm buildings. I can run up to Mr. King and tell him that I have an urgent issue that I need his help with. I’ll lead him away from the dorm buildings and towards the combat training facilities.”

“What will you tell him?” Mina asks, leaning forward on her elbows.

“I’m going to say that a student from Class A went to do some solo training at night and ended up getting himself into trouble. Then I’ll point him in that direction before returning to the Class B dorms.”

“What student from Class A will be the diversion?” You wonder aloud.

Monoma’s smile sparkles in the light of Mina’s fairy lights. “Minoru Mineta.”

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

The week goes by faster than you anticipated. You get pulled back into the whirlwind of UA life – classes, tests, training, studying. It’s all so much and sometimes you feel like you can barely breathe. You’re so busy you barely have time to grab a private moment with Shoto.

Late on Wednesday night, you’re lounging in the common area with Mina, Ochaco and Tsu studying for an upcoming English exam. You’re starting to get sleepy when you receive a text:

Shoto: Hey Y/N. Up for a quick study session?

You smile, knowing that he probably means he wants to hookup. You feel pretty prepared for the upcoming test and are caught up on all of your homework…so why not?

Y/N: Absolutely. Meet in my room in 10?

Shoto: See you then.

You make some lame excuse to your friends about needing beauty rest and hustle your way to your bedroom, tossing your book bag on the floor as you make sure everything is clean and tidy. Everything is in its place and your bed is made for once. You breathe a sigh of relief – Shoto is just so put together. It would be a little embarrassing for him to see your room in a messy state.

It’s been a few days since your last tryst with Shoto and between classwork and training those days feel like they’ve passed as months. Your body is exhausted from training but you feel jittery and horny at the thought of all the things Shoto will do to you when he arrives.

A moment later, there’s a knock. You wrench open your door with nervous, bubbling energy. You pull Shoto into your room and lock the door behind him soundly.

“You weren’t followed, right?” You whisper breathlessly as you loop your arms around his neck and move to give him a kiss on the cheek.

“This isn’t a spy movie, Y/N.” He winces as you kiss him, and you grimace as you notice a delicate bruise blooming on the side of his face from a rough training class. You step away to take him in – aside from the slight bruise on his face, he looks relatively unharmed. He’s wearing a pair of navy blue sweatpants paired with a plain grey t-shirt. The short sleeves of the shirt really show off his toned hero-in-training arms. His muscles bulge gently around the stack of books he’s cradling in his arms.

“What are the books for?” You ask curiously.

He looks at you, confused. “I thought we were studying.”

Oh. You face palm. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that Shoto is so goddamn literal. You do like that about him – he tends to be mercifully straightforward and his motivations are easy to understand. He’s not cryptic like the other boys in your class - Kaminari who hides his nervousness behind flirtation or Bakugo whose true feelings are constantly masked behind aggression and death threats. No, Shoto is all softness and direct communication. You need to remember that.

“Shoto, I thought you wanted to do another kind of studying.” You waggle your eyebrows and wonder if he’ll catch on to your innuendo. He doesn’t.

“So you don’t want to prepare for the English test on Monday?” He asks, confusion coloring his voice. “I thought I was pretty clear that I wanted to study from the way I texted you.”

You facepalm.

“No, Shoto, I want to make out.” You state plainly.

“Oh. Oh!” Shoto tosses his books to the ground and grabs you by the waist, wrapping his arms around you as he dips to briefly connect your lips. He breaks the kiss and looks down at you, smiling softly. “We can make out.”

You roll your eyes playfully and reach up to cup his lovely face. “We can definitely study together later though.” You lean in and touch his lips with your own. He groans into your mouth, eager.

“I was looking for an excuse to hangout with you.” He admits in between kisses. “This is really nice, but I like spending time with you outside of physical intimacy. You know that, right?”

You smile into his lips. “I like that you’re so straightforward Shoto. But now I feel bad – do you want to actually study? I don’t want you to get a bad grade because of me.”

“No, I don’t really care about studying anymore.” He tightens his grip on your hips and turns you so that your back is against the door. He moves to kiss across your jawline, down your neck. His hands drift up to the hem of your shirt and he moves to pull it easily over your head.

“Holy fuck.” You breathe out as he presses you back into the solid wood door. His movements are gentle, but firm as he keeps you in place. He kisses down the expanse of your clavicle, letting his tongue roam smoothly across the tops of your breasts. He shifts to get down on his knees so that he can move his mouth across your stomach, kissing and licking the exposed skin there. He stops for a moment to take his phone out of his pocket and lay it on your desk before diving back into spreading kisses across your skin. Wherever his lips touch, he leaves a trail of goose bumps in his wake. He reaches up, up, up with his fingers so that he can wander the stretch of your bra–clad tits. He takes his time, smoothing fingertips over the cotton cups of your bra until he finds the places where your nipples lay underneath. He pinches lightly on the fabric and it’s enough to make you moan.

“Shh.” He whispers against your stomach, quieting you. It feels incredible, to have your body worshiped this way by Shoto. Each of his movements is so purposeful, so tender. You never want it to end.

“You promise you’re not going to fail English class due to my seductiony ways?” You ask weakly as he continues to kiss towards your belly button. Shoto laughs softly, a happy sound.

“I swear that pleasuring you isn’t going to ruin my grades. At least not yet. Can I take off your bra?” He asks quietly, bright eyes gazing up at you questioningly.

“Um, duh. Yeah you can take it off.” You say, wanting him to keep going. This pulls a grin out of Shoto’s typically serious face. The small bruise on his cheek crinkles along his smile lines. His hands slide up your body and around to your back. He fiddles with the clip to your bra for a few moments before managing to undo the clasp. He slides the straps down your shoulders, and slowly pulls the cotton fabric away from your body to reveal your perky breasts. The room is chillier than you thought, and your nipples harden as they are exposed to the crisp air conditioning. Shoto looks up at you with a look of awe.

“Incredible.” He breathes, before leaning up to take a nipple into his mouth. He swirls his tongue around your pert bud, eliciting another moan from your sweet mouth. He doesn’t bother to shush you this time, instead moving to knead at your other breast with his sure fingers while he uses his lips to suck on your nipple. He continues this for a while – using his mouth on both of your breasts and ensuring each gets equal attention. You bite your lip and try to keep quiet, running your fingers through his two toned hair and nodding encouragingly when he does something you like.

By the time he gets to his feet so he can kiss you on the mouth once more, you’re absolutely soaking wet. There’s a spark between your legs that you’re having a hard time ignoring. You need him in the absolute worst way.

“Sit in my desk chair.” You whine, pushing lightly at his chest so you can get away from the door.

“Hmm?” He says, clearly not listening. His eyes are hazy with desire as he looks at you.

“The chair.” You point. “Sit down.” He doesn’t ask any questions or argue, he walks over to the chair and takes a seat.

“Thank God.” You say as you walk over to him, tossing a leg over his lap so you can straddle him. You brace your hands on either side of Shoto, gripping the back of the chair as you make yourself comfortable. You lean down and capture his lips in a scorching kiss as you sit down, cowgirl style, on his lap. He’s so deliciously hard beneath you, and you’re thankfully both wearing sweatpants so the friction between you is buttery and smooth as you find the perfect angle to grind your pussy against him.

“Y’N.” Shoto groans out in surprise, there’s no way he could have anticipated this. He literally thought you two were going to study tonight. You grin and move your hips fluidly, grinding against his fat cock again. You’d do anything to satisfy the need that’s building up in your core.

“Shoto…Shoto put your hands on my - ” You don’t even need to finish your sentence, Shoto hears you loud and clear. He reaches for your breasts and plays with your nipples as you dry hump him on your desk chair.

“Ah! Yes!” You manage to say between gritted teeth. “Shoto, I think I’m gonna…”

He presses his lips to your own, essentially shutting you up as you bounce on his lap, grinding your way to an orgasm. He slides his hands down to your hips and helps guide your movements, shifting a bit beneath you. The new position presses the tip of his hard cock against your clit the next time your hips roll. Its wonderful and delightful and just the thing that pushes you over the edge. The orgasm hits you in a wave and you break away from Shoto’s lips so you can gasp in pleasure as you ride it out. Shoto is smiling at you, so open and genuine. He’s enjoying watching you get off – it shows on his face and in the way his cock twitches against you beneath a few layers of clothing.

When you finally come down from your high, you pull him into a hug and slump against his shoulder.

“Fuuuuck, Shoto.” You whisper, your breath slowing down. “That felt so good.” He brings his hand up slowly and traces an icy finger down your sweaty back. You feel your muscles relax beneath his touch.

“You’re incredible, Y/N. Thank you for that.” He says, voice tinged with something akin to awe.

You stifle a laugh. “You’re thanking me for cumming?”

“Thank you for being comfortable enough with me to do that. It means a lot.”

“Shoto, you are literally the sweetest.” You press a kiss to his soft cheek before slowly removing yourself from his lap. “Dang, between this morning’s practice and what we did just now…I am sore.” You find your shirt on the floor and throw it back on over your bare chest. You scoop up your bra from the floor and toss it in the hamper.

“Maybe I can help.” Shoto stands up from the chair and strolls over to your bed, hoisting himself up onto the tall mattress before beckoning you to join him.

“You’ve already helped me so much tonight.” You say, fluttering your lashes up at him until he blushes.

“Just get up here.” He pulls you up onto the mattress and into his lap so that your back is against his chest. You can feel he’s still a bit hard beneath your butt, but he seems to be ignoring his boner in favor of taking care of you. A true gentleman – Kirishima would be impressed.

“Where are you sore?” He asks, resting a hand on your waist.

“My lower back.” You point to the spot. Shoto lifts up your shirt and covers the sore muscles with his strong left hand. He spreads his fingers wide, covering as much surface area as possible before activating his quirk. His left hand slowly warms up like a hot compress. You feel his palm grow steadily warmer and you feel instant relief flood through your back, making you sleepy and comfortable.

“Shoto, this is heaven.” You praise, leaning your head back against his chest and letting your eyelids drop. He kisses the top of your head.

“Good. I just want to make you feel good Y/N.” He lets you relax into his hand and doze for a bit. You’re comfortable and happy and feeling very cared for. The silence is comfortable, but after a few minutes Shoto starts to hum an old 90s song and the rhythm of it lulls you into a true sleep.

An annoying buzzing sound wakes you. Over on your desk, your phone is buzzing and blinking incessantly – someone is trying really hard to get ahold of you. You ignore it, trying to focus all of your attention on the way that Shoto’s right hand is carding through your hair.

“Mmm.” You hum with pleasure as he drags delicate fingertips through your scalp. Your phone continues to buzz. You’re annoyed and can’t enjoy yourself properly. You reach out and stop Shoto’s hand before it can go any further. “I should really check that.”

You get to your feet and adjust your sweatpants, secretly cursing whoever is trying to get ahold of you. You open up your phone and the screen reads “Mina Ashido: 4 missed calls.” Huh? You quickly hit redial. The phone barely rings once before Mina is squealing into the phone.

“Mr. Aizawa is doing a curfew checks! Make sure you’re in your room!” She all but shouts into the phone.

“What!?”

“It’s only 10:05 and he gave Toru and I detention for being out in the common area past curfew! He said he’s doing bed checks and knocking on doors next. Are you in your room!?”

“OMG!” You hang up on Mina and frantically wave your arms at Shoto.

“Aizawa is doing bed checks! You need to get to your room now!”

Shoto’s eyes widen and he quickly scoops up his English books from the floor. You push him towards the exit in a panic. You wrench the door open and quickly look up and down the hallway – it’s mercifully empty. Mr. Aizawa clearly hasn’t gotten to this floor yet.

“Okay, it’s all clear – go, go, go!” You push Shoto from the room bodily, his eyes still large and overwhelmed as he goes.

“But wait, I didn’t get to kiss you goodbye - ”

“This is life or death Shoto! Get out of here!” You push him in the direction of the staircase and quickly shut your door behind him. You hear his footsteps recede down the hallway and breathe a sigh of relief.

You call Mina back in a hurry. “Hey, sorry I hung up! I was out in the hall and had to make a beeline to my room before Aizawa made an appearance. He hasn’t been up to my dorm yet.”

“Thank goodness I got ahold of you before you got caught after hours! Lucky timing.” Mina sighs. “Now Toru and I need to spend tomorrow evening cleaning the classroom since we ‘broke curfew.’ This is bogus!”

“Wait that sucks.” You look in your mirror and fix your static hair as you chat. Suddenly, you have an idea. “I can come and help you, though. We can discuss our master plan while we clean!”

Mina laughs. “That would make it more fun! You’re such a good friend Y/N. I can always trust you to make things a little brighter.” You feel a knot form in your stomach at these words – Mina still has no idea about you and Todoroki. The magnitude of this secret weighs heavily in your heart. You bite your lip with anxiety. Should you tell her? She majorly saved your butt with that warning call…

“You too, Mina. You’re the best.” You say. You can’t seem to find the words to explain your Shoto situation to her, so you opt not to tell her. Your stomach continues to turn over in guilty knots. You hear hard footsteps coming up the hall, followed by the sound of distant knocking. “Oh my goodness I think Mr. Aizawa just made it to this floor. I’d better go.”

“Bye, girl! Text me!” Mina hangs up, leaving you to finish adjusting your appearance in the mirror. You make yourself presentable, pulling your hair up into a clean ponytail and adjusting your clothes to look less rumpled. A moment later, there’s a hard knock on the door.

You take a deep breath to center yourself and try not to look super ultra guilty when you open the door. Your teacher stands looming in the doorway, his hero costume looking a bit worse for wear. He must have just come back from patrol. He looks world weary and exhausted, the deep shadows under his eyes look worse than usual. His eyes are bloodshot – a typical side effect of his quirk.

“Oh, hi Mr. Aizawa. Is everything alright?” You ask brightly.

He glares down at you, but not unkindly. With his reddened eyes, he just tends to glare.

“Just doing a random check to make sure everyone’s sticking to curfew.” He says, voice gravely. “I’m surprised you weren’t in the common room with Ashido and Hagakure, you’re usually inseparable.”

You blink nervously at this – is he onto you or are you just being paranoid?

“Yeah I wanted to get some quiet reading done tonight. And you know how they are…definitely not quiet.” That’s the dumbest thing you’ve said all day, but for some reason Aizawa buys it.

“Yeah you kids are definitely one of the rowdier classes I’ve had over the years.” His sour look softens into an almost-smile. “Please go to bed at a reasonable time – we have a lot of training this week.”

“Will do!” You chirp out – you can’t believe you’re actually getting away from this situation unscathed.

He moves on to the next room and mutters quietly, almost to himself - “I caught Todoroki out of his dorm, too. We’re going to need to review the definition of “curfew” in homeroom class tomorrow.” He gives you a vague wave and you shut the door quickly, breathless. So Shoto didn’t make it to his room – from the sound of it, he ran right into Aizawa on the stairs.

You reach for your phone to text Shoto about the situation, typing out a quick “You got caught!?” accompanied by some shocked emoji faces. You hit send, and are surprised when you hear a buzzing noise coming from the direction of your bed – in his haste to escape your room, Shoto left his phone on your pillow.

“Aw, crap.” You scoop up the phone in its plain grey case and see your own text flash against the screen. You place it on your nightstand and resolve to discreetly give it to Shoto before class the next morning. Poor Shoto – caught for breaking curfew. You feel bad knowing that you’re the reason he likely has detention with Toru and Mina.

You get ready for bed - pulling on your comfiest pajamas and smoothing moisturizer across the planes of your face. You’re exhausted and still basking in the afterglow of your little hookup with Shoto. It would be so nice if he were here with you right now to cuddle. You wish you could run your fingers through his soft hair and watch him fall asleep in your arms again. Despite his absolute insane skills in combat training, Shoto is such a sweet quiet soul. You want to praise him for his sweetness, and help him realize that there are so many wonderful pieces of him aside from his powerful quirk.

You settle into bed and get comfy amongst your plushies, settling in for a good night’s rest. Your alarm is already scheduled for the next morning, but you double check that it’s set anyway. You take a moment to scroll through Instagram and are startled when Shoto’s phone starts to buzz on your night table. You scoop it up out of habit and read the screen. It’s a text from YaMomo.

Momo: “Hey Shoto, you left your sweatshirt in my dorm room yesterday evening. Come pick it up tomorrow? Good night.”

Um…WTF!?

End of Chapter.

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Previous Chapter: Part 3 | Next Chapter: Part 5

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Author's Note:

OMG wowwww I have been working on this update for a while! I have been writing Part 4 + 5 simultaneously, so you won't need to wait that long for the next update to drop! Part 5 is going to be *even more steamy.* In the next part, our character and her friends throw a big party and the class participates in a high stakes game of ~spin the bottle.~ I think you're all going to really enjoy it (and all of the ensuing drama, ofc!).

Thanks so much for reading and for your continued support on this + other stories! I hope that this was worth the wait. ☺️ Feel free to check out my other spicy works on The Master List pinned to the top of my blog!

❄️🔥THE EXCLUSIVE ICYTHOT TAG LIST🔥❄️

Oh and YEAH!! I started a tag list - if you’re interested in being on my tag list for Shoto's First Kiss chapters, please let me know! This tag list will hence forth be known as the "IcyThots" (get it...like IcyHot but instead we are all Thots for Shoto!? Heehehehe). If you commented enthusiastically on the past chapters I added you to the tag list - let me know if you want to be removed and I will absolutely take you off! I'm still new to this whole thing, so appreciate your patience!

XoXo, Red Riot Unbreakable Heart ❤️

❄️🔥THE ICYTHOTS🔥❄️

supersecretsamm luvsymai s0uldarling quackledoodleduck

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luna100v0 justagirlfr mayurin17 kiromiix ellalcves pokeureyesoutmf

kimsrie inlovewithluffy wtvbabes s0uldarling jeanbabygirl ava-cjkk

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winters-midnightquiet jennapancake himitsu-hikari

captainshindo fluffy-strawb3rry

elizarikaallen stanseventeen signmyheart

[skylleramber]

La danse des morts, elle est envoûtante, au rythme de la musique, les fantômes se manifestent, s’envolant dans les airs, sur cette mélodie céleste, une reviviscence de leurs vies passées, les libérant de l’obscurité, la violoniste joue les yeux bandés, entourée de tombe boisée, elle ressent les entités, mais à peur d’être pétrifiée, la danse des morts, continue sa sublime volupté, sous ce vent glacé, à l’abri des regards indiscrets, les fantômes du passé, s’animent à jamais.

[cupcakeinat0r]

Thinkin abt Dad Bod!Miguel…

Ft. Daddy, Praise, n Size kink!!! (Duh.)

[NSFW]

You leave the classroom after enduring the most stupid 3 hour 8am lecture that you needed for a stupid credit for the stupid degree that you cried and prayed for.

Your spirit is immediately lifted once you see your boyfie waiting outside of the building for you, the six-foot-nine man leaning against his car like a total poser. His burly arms are crossed, which makes his pecs bulge through his shirt even more. In your opinion, he fills out his button-up perfectly; the short sleeves barely able to contain his biceps, the hairs of his chest peeking out the first three open buttons… and his soft belly. Perfect for naps. You couldn’t see it from here, but you just knew his ass was lookin good in those jeans, too. You crash into his arms, kisses planted on your head. “Missed you today, mamita.” He mumbles into your hair. “Missed you more, baby. Now, please, take me home.”

You step in the house and face plant onto the couch. You could’ve fallen asleep right there, but you feel a breath on your ear, “Mamita, aye…”, you lift your head with a “hm?” toward the gentle voice, “Mama, ven a la cama… será mejor que’l sofá, beba… ven, ven…” you let out a small ‘Mph’ when you’re peeled off the couch. Miguel scoops you up bridle style, as if you were a feather, and takes you to the bedroom.

Once you sluggishly remove your clothes, down to your panties and tank top, you, again, face plant into what feels like heaven (your bed). Miguel goes to change so that he’s just wearing his boxers. He stops in front of the full-body mirror, looking at himself. His muscles are still there, but he isn’t too happy with what he sees, having gained some weight since being with you, but more importantly, he wonders if you think the same. Even a little bit.

You smile to yourself as you feel the stomach of your lover pressed against your back, wrapping you with his strong, hairy arms and entangling his thick legs with yours, cocooning you in a bundle of warmth. “Comfy, mamita?” He presses a tender kiss on your temple. You sleepily nod your head against the pillow, blissful in your position as little spoon. There’s a moment of peaceful silence as his calloused hand starts to affectionately rub your back under the tank top.

The thought still eats at him, though.

“Bebe…”

“hm?”

“Esta feliz conmigo?”

“What?” Your head snaps up toward him. There’s genuine concern in your voice.

“I love you, that’s no question, but if you want to have your college fun, you should be able to. I don't want you to miss out on experiences because of… me. ” You sit up now, looking at him with furrowed brows, “What’re you talking about?” He looks down at the bare skin of your thigh, a deep, discouraged sigh escaping his lips as his pointer finger caresses the skin there, “I just want you to be happy. More than anything.”

In one swift motion, you straddle him. “Missing what? Those dumb frat parties filled with little boys who wouldn’t know how to handle me? You’re so silly, baby.” You press a tongue-filled kiss on his lips, and a low growl erupts in his throat. “Ugh, I’d miss out on a million parties if it meant having all this.” You murmur against his lips before starting a trail of kisses down his torso, even with an occasional nibble, the warmth and hair of his skin meeting your lips the whole way down. You worshipped every inch of his thick body with your lips, all the way from his broad and hairy chest, his stretch marks, to his chubby midriff, down his mouth-watering happy trail, and finally to the hem of his boxers, where a bulge began to form.

You look up and give him a sultry look, “No college boy could ever compare to my fine ass hubby." His voice becomes strained, breath labored as you take your index finger and rub precise circles on his wet tip through his boxers, making him hiss. “fuck, mami… what did I do to deserve you? Eres una Bendicion, tu sabes?”, he caresses your cheek with his thumb, “Scored a fucking goddess… I’m so fuckin’ lucky. No sé cómo conseguí una mujer como tú..” he coos.

"And you’re so big n’ strong n’ handsome, Daddy. I love it.” Your voice combined with your touch made his dick twitch, his now angry tip slightly peeking out. You fail to fight back a small moan when you release his pretty cock from the confines of his boxers, it springing against his lower belly. Drool began to form in your mouth. You haven’t even tasted it and you were already cock drunk. “love this cock s’much…so perfect.” you mewl as you slowly begin pumping his cock. Miguel pathetically looks down at you; The prettiest girl in the world showing him the attention he doesn’t feel worthy of but oh so deserves. “Awe, You want daddy’s cock, don’t you, baby?” He tuts, his voice all sweet and pouty.

“Mhm,” you nod, a meek expression on your face.

“Let me show my man just how happy I am to be his.”

And any self-doubt that Miguel had about you being with him was poof! Gone.

*sighs* He sew cewt. Hope u liked it <3

Want more DadBod!Miguel ? Here’s my master list, bae!!

[kxsagi]

BABE GIMME SMTH NAGI PLEEEASSE I LOVE U IMA EAT U anyways LEMME REQUEST READER TAKING CARE OF NAGI PLS LIKE FULL ON BABYING HIM AND COOKING FOR HIM AND FEEDING HIM AND SQUISHING HIS CHEEKS i want to spoil him i will lick u

“𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐢 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐞𝐫𝐚”

a/n: literally anything for you, i will drop down to my knees if you so much asked and feed you airplane style if you want me to i freaking love you pretty girl (i will kill ego for you too ☺️)

(don't know art credits so sorry)

there’s a lump on your couch. 

a large, white-haired lump wrapped in your fuzzy blanket, blending in with the throw pillows like he belongs there. nagi’s long legs are hanging off the side, his hair is extra fluffy from the shower you made him take, and his phone is lying on his chest, long forgotten. he’s officially entered soft mode. 

"sei, i made food," you call from the kitchen, stirring the pot like you’re in some domestic drama and not just over here melting over your boyfriend’s pouty face. “get up, lazy.” 

he turns his head, barely. 

"don’t wanna," he whines, like it takes so much energy to eat. 

you roll your eyes, wiping your hands on a towel and marching over to him. "what am i gonna do with you, huh?" 

"keep spoiling me forever?" he mumbles, arms already reaching up as you bend over. he loops them around your waist and tugs you down so you fall half-on, half-off him. his blanket cocoon absorbs you too. 

"ugh, sei," you complain with zero actual heat. "i made you dinner and everything! you’re seriously not gonna come eat it?" 

“i will,” he says with a heavy sigh, like it’s a world-saving mission. “just feed me.” 

“... feed you?” 

he nods. and blinks at you. slow, expectant. catlike. 

you squint at him. “are you five?” 

he lifts a hand and pats his cheek lazily. “gimme a kiss too.” 

you do. because you're weak. and because he looks so cute, blanket wrapped around him like a burrito, his eyes half-lidded and lips slightly puckered. you kiss him once. then again. and when he goes in for a third, you pinch his cheeks instead. 

“waahh ~ hey,” he mumbles, words smushed as you squish his face between both hands. “that’s not a kiss.” 

“you’re so squishy,” you giggle, squeezing his cheeks until they puff out like a little marshmallow. “look at you, all pampered and dramatic. i should put a bib on you.” 

“you like taking care of me,” he argues, letting you manhandle his face like a stress ball. “you said so. remember?” 

you pause. "... i did say that." 

and you do. you love it. you love the way he completely melts into you like it’s his natural state. you love making him rice porridge when he’s tired, and fluffing his hair with a towel, and brushing crumbs off his shirt because he forgot how hands work while eating chips. 

you cup his face gently now, brushing your thumbs across his cheeks. "yeah. i like it a lot." 

he leans into your touch immediately, blinking slow like a cat being petted. “then keep doing it.” 

you do, continuing with feeding him dinner on the couch, despite your lecture earlier about eating at the table like a human being. you spoon warm rice and tamagoyaki into his mouth while he hums in contentment, leaning against your shoulder like a sleepy kid. halfway through, he grabs your wrist and takes the chopsticks to feed you back, but you know he’s just doing it to get kissed again. 

and you do kiss him. over and over. sometimes on the nose. sometimes on his jaw. sometimes on his forehead when he gets sleepy and curls up in your lap again. 

"you're such a baby," you murmur, brushing his bangs from his eyes. 

"your baby," he mumbles, snuggling deeper into your stomach. 

you smile. you're completely wrapped around his finger. and he knows it. 

but you don’t mind. not when he looks this soft. not when he lets you baby him, spoil him, love him. 

because in this house, nagi seishiro is the most spoiled boy alive. 

and you wouldn't have it any other way. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[prythiansprincess]

snow on the beach.

pairing: theodore nott x reader.

request: can you write some cuddles with theo? maybe he’s comforting reader, or maybe reader is comforting him, but this boy need some love pretty please.

song inspiration: snow on the beach by taylor swift.

author's note: as soon as i saw the gif by the lovely @dramaticals, i knew that i had to write a piece with it as the cover. get in, babes. we're simping for theodore nott.

The snow fell softly over Hogwarts, covering the castle with ice and frost. From the beach, Theo watched as the flurries glittered against stone and spire and frowned as the cold seeped into his bones. Underneath him, the Black Lake was frozen solid yet crystal clear. It might’ve been unwise to venture out so far from the shore, but Theo welcomed the clarity of the cold. 

The cigarette cradled between his slender fingers provided some much needed warmth, the nicotine filling his lungs and dulling his senses as he released a cloud of smoke into the air. Spread-eagled on the ice, Theo sprawled out like a snow angel, blinking away the snowflakes as it gathered on his lashes. 

Beyond the treeline, Theo glimpsed his friends chasing each other on their brooms. A loud cackle echoed from the Forbidden Forest as Mattheo hurled a snowball at Draco. Enzo and Regulus cursed as they narrowly dodged the attack, racing away from Mattheo as he laughed maniacally, clearly relishing his reign of terror. On any other day, he would’ve been flying right along his mates, but today was different. 

The boys could sense it as well. All morning, Theo had been distant and distracted. He barely participated in the conversations happening around him during lunch. When he turned down Mattheo’s invitation to play quidditch in the snow, his mates took the hint that Theo really just wanted to be alone.

So here he was, smoking in the freezing cold and hoping that the frigid air would provide a moment of reprieve from the complicated thoughts and emotions swirling within him. For his efforts, Theo was rewarded with a sore arse and a growing migraine pulsing behind his eyes. In other words, he was truly shit out of luck.

There was no escaping today. 

A soft shuffling beckoned his attention, but it wasn’t necessary for Theo to turn around to know who the steps belonged to. He could identify his best friend by sound alone. You always walked with purpose. Judging by the decisive click of your boots against the ice, Theo could tell that you were on a mission. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips as you came into view, your cheeks and nose flushed from the cold. 

With a hand on your hip, you cocked your head at Theo and posed a question in your usual no-nonsense tone. “Would you like some company or would you prefer to brood alone?” 

Theo looked up from his cigarette, biting back a smile. You were always straight to the point. Never one to mince words. Theo liked that about you. 

“I don’t mind the company if it’s you, principessa.” 

A soft smile graced his face as you transformed your robe into a blanket, laying it on the ice and beckoning him to move. Theo happily obliged and attempted not to chuckle as you fussed over him, clearly biting back on lecturing him on the dangers of catching hypothermia in this weather. You placed your bag underneath his head before laying beside him in the cocoon of fabric. 

Without a word, you tapped your shoulder. His heart warmed at the familiar gesture as he leaned against you. A sigh of satisfaction slipped past his lips as you ran your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp and easing all the tension from his body. 

“What are you doing out here?” Theo asked as you toyed with the curls at the nape of his neck. “You hate the cold.” 

“I do, but I don’t hate you.” 

Theo nuzzled against your neck, humming softly as the warmth of your skin soothed his senses. “I missed you at breakfast. Thought you were sleeping in, so I didn’t bother to wake you up.” His mouth quirked in amusement. “We both know what happens when your sleep is interrupted.”

“I’m not that bad,” you said sheepishly. 

“The last time I tried to wake you up before noon on a weekend, you threw a slipper at my head.” 

“I thought you were an intruder.” 

“Mhm,” Theo murmured against your shoulder. “That explains why you yelled, ‘Leave me alone, Theodore!’ after physically assaulting me.” 

By the way you shifted beside him, Theo knew you were rolling your eyes fondly. “For your information, I woke up bright and early this morning to head to Hogsmeade.” 

“Has hell frozen over?” Theo asked dramatically, furrowing his brows as he looked up at you. “The Y/N I know wouldn’t be caught dead in all this snow. Especially not without stealing at least three of my hoodies before stepping foot out of the castle.” 

You chuckled, brushing a strand of wavy hair away from his eyes. “Contrary to what you may believe, I’m not completely helpless without you. I bundled up and braved the snow to pick up a package from the post.” 

“I wish you would’ve told me, dolcezza. I would’ve gone to the village with you.” 

“That’s sweet of you, Teddy. But it was a quick trip and I managed fine on my own.”

Theo grumbled with displeasure, but rested his head on your shoulder once more. The two of you sat in comfortable silence, just soaking up each other’s company. You were clearly aware that something was on his mind, but you didn’t push. You knew that Theo would talk if and when he was ready. It was one of the many things he appreciated about you. Whenever you were together, there was never any need to fill the silence. Even without words, you could read him like a book. 

After a while, Theo put out his cigarette and turned over to face you. You smiled as he scooted closer and breathed in your strawberry shampoo. He brushed the snowflakes off of your cheek, but more fell to take their place. 

“How did you know I’d be out here?” 

“For reasons I will never understand, you love the cold. You said it helps you think clearly,” you replied, tracing the moles and freckles that littered his skin like constellations. “I figured you had a lot on your mind. I imagine the anniversary is a rough day for you.” 

Theo blinked in surprise. Though you told each other nearly everything, Theo had never disclosed the anniversary of his mother’s death. He rarely spoke about her to anyone. Even after ten years, the loss still made his heart feel hollow. 

“You know what today is?” He asked in a small, quiet voice. 

You nodded in confirmation. “Your nonna mentioned it in her last letter. I know you usually like to be alone to remember her, but I wanted to at least check up on you.” 

There was an ache in his chest as he met your concerned gaze. You placed your hand above his heart and rubbed over the spot like you knew how heavy of a load it was to carry. Theo’s fingers gently closed around yours. 

“I’m glad you did.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You asked softly. “All these years? I would’ve liked to be there for you.” 

There was a hint of pain in the edges of your voice as though robbing you of the ability to comfort him physically hurt. Knowing you, it probably did. You cared so deeply and loved so fully. It was just the type of person that you were. It was what drew him to you in the first place. 

“I didn’t think I could,” he admitted truthfully. “After my mum died, my father never spoke about her again. He just acted like the day of her death never happened. For him, it was just another normal day and not the day that I lost half of myself. My father said it was weak to show emotion, so I never did. I had no choice but to be strong, so I am.” 

Theo closed his eyes and attempted to tamper down his emotions. When he opened them again, he was met with your heartbroken expression. A pang of guilt struck his heart like an arrow. The last thing he wanted to do was upset you. Seeing you in pain was worse than enduring the Cruciatus curse and Merlin knew he had plenty of experience in that regard. Thanks to his cruel, ruthless father. Theo started to apologize, but startled when you cradled his face in your hands, your gaze full of bravery and determination. 

“Emotions don’t make you weak, Teddy. You’re allowed to feel. You’re allowed to grieve and rage and cry. You don’t have to be so strong all the time.” 

The words struck him to his very core. It had never occurred to him to let his armor fall. He wasn't aware that was even an option. All his life, Theo thought that repressing every ounce of emotion was the only way to cope with his mother’s death. He wasn’t granted permission to speak of her, much less grieve over her. Self-preservation had been drilled into him even before he was sorted into Slytherin. It was how he survived.

“I don’t?” He asked in a broken whisper. 

“No, you don’t.” You replied, pressing your forehead against his. “I’m here for you and I won’t judge you for being vulnerable.” 

Theo swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I don’t want to weigh you down with my burdens.” 

“You won’t,” you promised. “Whatever heaviness you’re carrying, I’ll carry it with you. You never have to do anything alone, Teddy.” 

The ice in his chest cracked and the armor he so carefully crafted around his heart splintered off into a million tiny pieces. It should’ve terrified him, but instead, all Theo felt was relief. You were giving him a safe space to feel. A luxury that had been ripped away from him the day his mother died. 

“I miss her so much.” 

With those five words, Theo felt the dam break. Years and years of sadness and anger and grief washed over him like a tidal wave, flooding his heart with the intensity of it all. The rush of the current would have wiped him out entirely if it hadn’t been for your arms wrapping around him, holding him to the present like an anchor. Theo clung onto you for dear life and sobbed. 

He sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. He cried until the front of your sweater was soaked with his tears. He cried until his throat was raw from screaming. He cried until his eyes were bloodshot and red and as heavy as lead. Through it all, you hugged him tightly, holding him against you firmly as you rubbed his back and whispered soothing words in his ear. 

“It’s okay, Teddy. Let it out. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Theo gripped the back of your sweater, bunching up the fabric between his fingers as he unleashed ten years worth of grief out into the open. You didn’t balk at any of it. The two of you had weathered the good, the bad, and the ugly together and none of it had scared you off. Theo believed you when you said that you weren’t going anywhere. To you, it was a sacred promise. One that you had kept faithfully since the day you met him. 

“I’m here for you,” you declared in reassurance, rocking him back and forth. “I always will be.” 

He didn’t know what he did to deserve someone like you. During times like these, Theo was convinced that you were his guardian angel. A gift from above to offset all the shit and misery that life brought. It was cathartic to cry in the arms of the girl he loved because he knew that you would hold him as he fell apart and put him back together in a way that only you could. 

After what seemed like ages, Theo finally looked up. With a sniffle, he watched with an awestruck expression as you wiped the tears from his cheeks and kissed his forehead. 

“I got something for you,” you whispered softly. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, but I think it might help. It’s a way to commemorate the loss of your mother, but to also honor the happy memories that live on in your heart.” 

You fished around in your bag and pulled out a small paper lantern. As you held it in your hands, it glowed as though enchanted. 

“Back home, we light these lanterns and release them to honor the loved ones we’ve lost. I asked my mum to mail me one and it just arrived in the post this morning. Special delivery.” 

Just when Theo thought he was all out of tears, a fresh wave crashed over him. He was the reason why you’d trudged out in the snow and frost so early in the morning. To pick up the most thoughtful gift that anyone has ever given him. Theo couldn’t help but bawl. 

Your eyes widened. “Oh no. I didn’t mean to upset you. We don’t have to do it if you want to. I can send it back—“

Theo shook his head. “No, no, no. It’s perfect. It’s the most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever done for me. Thank you. For writing to my crazy old nonna and letting me get snot all over your favorite sweater and turning a shit day less shitty. Thank you so much, Y/N.” 

You smiled, brushing his waves back. “You don’t have to thank me, Theo. I’d do anything for you. That’s what you do for the people you love.” 

His breath caught in his throat. Theo looked up at you with hopeful eyes. “You love me?” 

“With every fiber of my being.” 

Before he knew it, Theo was crying again, but this time it was happy tears. He leaned in, cradling your face in his hands just like you always did to him, and pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was so soft and so gentle, like he was afraid that you might disappear. 

“I love you, Y/N,” he declared with certainty. Theo loved you like the moon loved the sun. He loved you like the shadows loved the stars. You were the light that he’s been waiting for in the darkness. “I think my mum would’ve loved you too.” 

You smiled, intertwining your fingers together and kissing his knuckles. “I wish I had the chance to meet her.” 

“You still can,” Theo said with a smile. “Will you show me how to light the lantern, cara mia?” 

After you showed him how to enchant the lantern, Theo was able to light it by himself. The lantern glowed in his hands as he looked over at you. “What’s next?” 

“Usually, we say a few words to honor the dead. It can be as short or as long as you’d like.” Theo swallowed thickly. He seemed to be grappling with his thoughts, searching for the right words. You grabbed hold of his hand and squeezed. “There’s no right or wrong way to do it. As long as it comes from the heart. Don’t be scared, Teddy. I’m right here.” 

Theo nodded, smiling softly as he squeezed back. He composed himself for a moment and stared at the lantern. 

“Ciao, mamma. It’s Teddy. Today was really hard. It’s been ten years since I lost you, but I still feel you everywhere. I miss you a lot. I’m sorry that I never talk about you. Even now, it still hurts. But I’m learning that sometimes you just have to let yourself feel the pain. That it’s okay to let other people in and let them carry the burden with you. I’m lucky, mamma. I have nonna and my cousins and my mates. I have Y/N. She takes care of me. She always asks me about my day. She remembers every little thing I tell her, like the fact that I hate crusts on my sandwiches and pineapple on pizza.” 

You chuckled as his nose scrunched up in disgust. The sincerity of it all made your heart feel like it was overflowing with love for this beautiful boy. “She’s always bossing me around and fussing over me, but I secretly love that she cares so much. She’s got such a big heart, mamma. I’m lucky to even occupy a small portion of it. I guess what I’m trying to say is, you don’t have to worry about me. I’ve got Y/N to watch over me. I love you and I miss you. I promise I’ll talk about you more. Ci vediamo, mamma.” 

Your eyes welled with tears as Theo released the lantern. He turned to you, wiping a tear away. “Hey, none of that,” he teased. “I’ve cried enough for the both of us tonight, love.” 

“I’m sorry. That was just so beautiful. I’m so proud of you, Teddy. I know it wasn’t easy, but you were so brave.” 

He leaned down to kiss your temple. “Couldn’t have done it without you, cara mia.” 

Theo laced his fingers through yours and tugged lightly. “Now come on, dolcezza. Let’s get inside where it’s warm. I know you’re dying to lecture me about being out in the cold for this long.” 

You chuckled, not even the least bit surprised at how well Theo knew you. 

Later that night, after the two of you dried off, changed into pajamas, and snuggled underneath your warm blankets, you listened as Theo told stories of his mum. You laughed when he recounted the time his mum hexed Lucius for stealing her shampoo in third year. You cried when he recalled the way she’d always let him curl up in her bed after a nightmare, singing him to sleep and soothing her Teddy. 

In one night, the memories that he kept locked away in his heart for ten years came spilling out of Theo. You soaked up every detail like a sponge, hanging onto his every word. The sun was rising by the time he exhausted himself, but he felt so much lighter than he ever had. With your arms wrapped tightly around him, Theo knew that he was loved beyond measure. He could feel the affection and devotion radiating between you, like an invisible string that tied the two of you together.

As you spooned him, Theo grinned and kissed your fingertips. “Thank you for letting me talk about my mum. I’ve never told anyone any of that before.” 

“What makes me so special?” 

Theo turned over and smiled. “You make me feel safe,” he whispered in the darkness. You teared up at his words, knowing how hard it was for Theo to let his guard down. The fact that he allowed himself to be vulnerable around you was a privilege that you’d never take for granted. “You take all my fucked up, broken pieces and put me back together again. With you, I feel whole.” 

“It doesn’t matter how many times you fall apart, Teddy. I will always be here to pick up the pieces.” 

“Me too,” Theo murmured sleepily. He leaned over and kissed you, soft and sweet and pure. Your heart ached for him. You were convinced that your soul would’ve searched through infinity and back just to find him. “That’s what you do for the people you love.”

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