#💿💿

[patetic-club]

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ʷᵉˡᶜᵒᵐᵉ, ᵗʰⁱˢ ⁱˢ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵒʳˡᵈ ⁿᵒʷ🖱

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀

[solaceseven]

more than friends?

things they do that make you second-guess your friendship featuring: gojo satoru, geto suguru, kento nanami, ryomen sukuna, toji fushiguro.

GOJO - being touchy.

you’re used to gojo’s touch.

the way he drapes himself over your shoulders like a human scarf, pulling you into his side without a second thought. the way his hand finds the small of your back when he guides you through a crowd, his palm pressing firm against you, like he’s staking a silent claim. you’ve grown accustomed to the way he plays with your fingers absentmindedly—twisting your rings, tracing circles over your knuckles—while he rambles about something completely unrelated.

it’s always been like this.

that’s what you tell yourself, at least. that it doesn’t mean anything. that he’s like this with everyone.

but lately, it’s been getting harder to believe that.

because his touches have started to linger. his fingers don’t just graze your wrist anymore—they rest there, warm and grounding, his thumb brushing slow, deliberate strokes against your pulse. when he reaches for something above your head, he doesn’t just stretch over you; he presses his chest against your back, close enough that you feel the heat of him seep into your skin.

and then there’s the way he looks at you.

like right now.

you’re both sprawled out on his couch, half-watching some random movie he insisted was a classic (it’s not), when you feel it—his fingers, absentmindedly tracing shapes on your wrist.

you try not to react, try to focus on the screen, but your breath catches anyway. if he notices, he doesn’t say anything. he just keeps going, slow and lazy, the pads of his fingers skating along your skin like he’s mapping out something only he can see.

your pulse jumps when his fingers move up—tracing the inside of your forearm now, featherlight. it’s not accidental. you know it. he knows it.

but he doesn’t stop.

you sneak a glance at him, expecting that usual smug grin, but he’s still staring at the screen. too casual. too relaxed. he’s testing you.

like he’s waiting for you to do something about it.

you should move your arm. you should pull away. you should call him out.

but you don’t.

because the way he’s touching you now—it’s not friendly. it’s not casual. it’s not something he does with anyone else.

and the worst part?

he knows you know it.

GETO - never correcting people when they assume you’re his partner.

you don’t think anything of it at first.

you and geto move through the grocery store like you always do—bickering over which brand of cereal is better, tossing random snacks into the cart, laughing when he makes fun of your terrible attempts at balancing fruit on top of an already overflowing pile of groceries.

it’s easy. it’s comfortable. it’s just you and him.

and then you get to checkout.

the cashier, an older woman with kind eyes, watches as geto effortlessly lifts the heavy bags before you can even reach for them. he does it without thinking, just like how he had taken the cart from you earlier, just like how he always opens doors for you, just like how his hand had rested on the small of your back when guiding you through the aisles.

she smiles warmly.

“you two make such a lovely couple.”

you freeze.

your brain short-circuits for a split second, mouth already opening to correct her, but then—then you hear nothing from geto.

not a single word of clarification. not even a chuckle or a shake of his head.

nothing.

instead, he just hums, tilting his head slightly as if considering the statement. he doesn’t deny it. doesn’t laugh it off. just lets the words sit there, completely unbothered.

your head snaps toward him, eyes wide.

he meets your gaze, entirely too calm, a slow smirk forming at the corner of his lips. and then—because he’s absolutely insufferable—he leans in slightly, voice smooth as silk.

“you hear that?” he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. “we’re a lovely couple.”

you want to strangle him.

your reaction must be obvious because the cashier just beams, clearly convinced she was right. “oh, young love is so sweet. you take good care of them, dear.”

geto chuckles, and before you can protest, he effortlessly places a hand on the back of your head, ruffling your hair like you’re some flustered little thing.

“always,” he says smoothly.

you don’t remember the rest of the transaction. you’re too busy contemplating whether it’s legal to strangle someone with a grocery bag.

as you’re walking out, geto leans in again, voice dripping with amusement.

“you could’ve corrected them,” he muses, lips dangerously close to your ear. “but you didn’t.”

your stomach flips. you hate that he’s right.

NANAMI - always taking care of you.

you don’t plan on staying this late.

but time slips away between deadlines and last-minute emails, and before you know it, the office is nearly empty, the sky outside painted in deep shades of navy. you sigh, rubbing your temples, already dreading the long commute home.

by the time you step out onto the quiet street, the city lights glowing around you, your phone buzzes.

you don’t have to check to know who it is.

nanami: where are you?

your stomach flips.

you: just leaving work. why?

the message is barely delivered before another one comes in.

nanami: stay there. i���ll be there in five.

you frown at your screen. he was nearby?

true to his word, exactly five minutes later, a familiar figure approaches.

nanami, dressed in his usual crisp attire, looking entirely too put together for this hour. he doesn’t say anything at first, just glances at you, scanning you over like he’s checking for any signs of exhaustion.

“you should have left earlier,” he says, voice even, but you catch the slight furrow of his brow.

you roll your eyes. “yeah, well, i got caught up.”

“hm.” he exhales, the sound bordering on exasperation, before tilting his head toward the direction of your apartment. “let’s go.”

you blink. “what?”

“i’ll walk you home.”

you huff a laugh. “nanami, it’s fine. i can handle walking alone.”

he gives you a flat look, as if the idea is so ridiculous it doesn’t even warrant a response. Instead of arguing, he simply starts walking, fully expecting you to follow.

and—of course—you do.

it’s not the first time he’s done this. You know it won’t be the last.

he doesn’t hover, doesn’t lecture you about staying late. but his presence is solid beside you, steady and unwavering. his hands stay in his pockets, but you know—if anything were to happen, if anyone so much as looked at you the wrong way—he’d be on them in a second.

as you near your building, you sneak a glance at him. “you didn’t have to do this, you know.”

nanami sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like you’re the one giving him a headache. “i know.”

“…then why do you?”

he stops walking. turns to face you, studying you for a long moment.

then, with a sigh—like he’s so tired of explaining the obvious—he simply mutters:

“because you don’t take care of yourself.”

and that’s that. no room for debate. no further explanation.

your heart stumbles in your chest.

because he doesn’t say i worry about you. he doesn’t say i do it because I care.

but he doesn’t have to.

the truth lingers in the quiet, in the way he watches you, in the way he makes sure you’re safe—every single time.

and when you step inside your building, looking back one last time, you catch him still standing there. waiting.

making sure you’re okay.

like he always does.

SUKUNA - being unreasonably jealous.

it starts off as nothing.

a passing comment here, an unimpressed scoff there. sukuna has always been blunt, always had a sharp tongue and an even sharper glare. but lately, you start to notice a pattern—one that becomes impossible to ignore.

it happens again tonight.

you’re out with friends, the atmosphere light and easy, laughter filling the air. you’re mid-conversation with some guy—a friend of a friend, nothing special—when you feel it.

that presence.

it’s not loud or obvious, but it’s there. a weight lingering at your back, pressing into your skin before you even turn around.

and when you do—

sukuna is already watching.

seated across the table, one arm draped over the back of his chair, his gaze locked onto you with an expression that makes your stomach flip. bored. blank. irritated.

you try to ignore it. you keep talking, keep laughing at whatever the guy is saying, but it doesn’t matter. because every time you sneak a glance in sukuna’s direction, his eyes are still on you.

unwavering. unrelenting.

you swallow, trying to shake the weird tension creeping up your spine. but then the guy leans in slightly—just slightly—and that’s all it takes.

there’s a sharp scrape of a chair against the floor.

and then sukuna is there, standing beside you, a hand dropping heavily onto your shoulder.

“alright,” he drawls, voice slow, lazy, but carrying something unmistakably sharp. “this conversation looks thrilling.”

the guy stiffens. you do, too.

you glance up at sukuna, narrowing your eyes. “what are you doing?”

“listening.” his fingers tap idly against your shoulder, his weight sinking into the space beside you like he belongs there. “should i join? or is this, what—special?”

your brows furrow. “are you serious?”

he tilts his head slightly, feigning confusion, but you know that look. the glint in his eyes, the smirk barely tugging at his lips—he’s enjoying this.

the guy across from you clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “uh—i was just—”

“no, no,” sukuna interrupts smoothly, finally dragging his gaze away from you to look at him. “you were just what?”

the guy hesitates, then shakes his head. “never mind.”

and just like that, he stands, mumbling something about needing another drink before walking away.

you whip around to face sukuna fully, shoving his arm off your shoulder. “what the hell is wrong with you?”

he doesn’t move, doesn’t even pretend to be remorseful. if anything, he looks amused. “relax,” he hums. “didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

you scoff. “oh? and how exactly was he looking at me?”

sukuna shrugs, completely nonchalant. “like he could have you.” his head tilts, eyes flickering over your face. “and he can’t.”

your heart stumbles.

you open your mouth, then close it. because what do you even say to that? what does he even mean by that?

he smirks at your silence, reaching out to flick your forehead lightly before leaning in—just close enough that your breath catches.

“relax, brat,” he murmurs, voice deep, low, too much. “i’m just looking out for you.”

you should shove him away. roll your eyes. call him out for acting like an overprotective asshole.

but instead, you just sit there, pulse unsteady, second-guessing everything you thought you knew about this friendship.

because you know sukuna. and you know damn well—

this wasn’t just him looking out for you.

TOJI - flirting with you consistently.

it starts small. barely noticeable at first.

a lazy smirk here, a lingering touch there.

you don’t even think much of it in the beginning. it’s just toji being toji, right? he flirts with everyone—cashiers, waitresses, random people in passing. it’s just how he is.

except… it’s different with you.

because when he leans in close, voice dropping lower just for you to hear— “that color looks real good on ya, sweetheart. what, tryna drive me crazy?”—his eyes don’t leave your face. because when his fingers skim the small of your back, guiding you through a crowd, they stay there a second too long to be casual. because when he throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his warmth, he’s comfortable like he belongs there—like he’s claiming that space.

and then there are the compliments.

not just the casual you look nice or that suits you. no, never that simple.

“bet guys lose their damn minds over you.” he says it so offhandedly, like it’s just a fact—just something everyone knows.

you scoff, rolling your eyes. “yeah, sure.”

“i mean it,” he murmurs, and you hate the way your stomach flips when his gaze settles on you, something dark and unreadable in his eyes. “if i were them, i wouldn’t let you outta my sight.”

you tell yourself you’re imagining it—that he’s just messing with you. that’s what he does.

but then it keeps happening.

every single time, without fail.

you’re just trying to grab something from a high shelf? suddenly, he’s behind you, reaching over your head, his chest nearly brushing against your back. he doesn’t have to get that close. he knows it. you know it. but he does it anyway, voice low in your ear as he hands you whatever you needed.

“next time, just ask me, yeah? don’t gotta strain that pretty little neck of yours.”

you push him away, muttering something under your breath, and he just laughs, all smug amusement.

he’s always touching you, like he can’t help himself. a hand grazing the back of your neck when he adjusts your hoodie. his palm resting against your thigh when he leans in to say something. he doesn’t cling to you, doesn’t make a big show of it—but it’s there. subtle. constant. a quiet, unspoken thing.

and then—then, there are the moments that really get to you.

like when you’re out with friends, sitting side by side, and his fingers find the hem of your sleeve. absentmindedly playing with the fabric, rolling it between his fingertips. he doesn’t even seem to notice he’s doing it, just listening to the conversation, relaxed and completely at ease. like touching you is second nature to him.

or when you’re waiting in line for something, standing close, and he leans in just slightly, dropping his voice low.

“keep looking at me like that, sweetheart,” he murmurs, eyes flicking to your lips for half a second. “gonna start thinkin’ you want somethin’ from me.”

your breath catches.

and the worst part? the absolute worst part?

he sees it. every damn time.

sees the way your pulse flutters at your throat. sees the way your fingers twitch, like you don’t know what to do with them. sees the way you avoid his gaze, pretending like your entire body isn’t reacting to him.

and every time, without fail—he just smirks.

like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. like he’s enjoying it. like he’s waiting—patient, unhurried—for you to break first.

and the thing is…

you think he knows you will.

eventually.

[analogseeker]

[chocolilies]

( ୨ৎ. husband!nanami kento x wife!reader. . .ᐟ

◟ꪆ୧ nsfw (afab!reader, fingering, teaching a lesson through sex, ditzy reader) - also on ao3!

nanami kento, who wears his wedding ring everywhere.

he never takes it off, he doesn't dare to. why would he? 

it symbolises the promise you two made to each other, the love you have and continue to share— of course he wants to show it off to the whole world.

you’ll never find him without it, golden band always snug around his ring finger when he showers, when he cooks, when he cleans, when he works...

which is why he's so disappointed to find yours teetering on the edge of the bathroom sink.

steam sticks to the mirror, blurrily framing the disappointment on his face as he picks up your ring, turning his head to look at you, watching you ransack your shared wardrobe for clothes to wear tonight.

"darling, are you forgetting something?"

he watches you snap your head around, drops of water still dripping from your recently showered body, mouth forming an 'o' out of shock as you realise what he's holding.

"oh!" you rush towards him, outstretching your left hand once you reach him so he can slip the ring back onto where it belongs, smiling bashfully up at him. "sorry, it must've slipped my mind."

you don't miss the frown that deepens on kento’s face at your careless gesture, placing your hands on his cheeks and pulling him down for a sweet kiss, your way of apologising for the mistake. "don't be upset, ken. it won't happen again."

oh but it does, and even though kento knows deep down that these are simple mistakes, he can't stop the pit that forms in his stomach whenever he finds your ring abandoned at your work desk, or the kitchen counter, or even slipped forgetfully into your bag.

he tries his best not to let it irk him, instead resorting to reminding you each time he finds your ring somewhere other than on your finger, making sure to slip it back where it's meant to be with as much love and care as the day you first exchanged rings and vows.

his resolve crumbles the moment gojo opens up his stupid mouth.

“woah, trouble in paradise?”

kento’s shoulders stiffen at the light-hearted way your coworker comments on your lack of ring, standing at your doorway holding lunch for the both of you as he watches you laugh it off with a wave of your ring-less hand, explaining your forgetfulness and immediately starting to look for the tiny trinket.

“darling,” kento speaks slowly from the other side of the room, announcing his arrival at the same time he flashes you with the item you were looking for. 

you don't seem to notice his clenched teeth and narrowed gaze as you happily walk over to him, allowing him to slip your ring back on before placing a kiss to his cheek in thanks, the maximum amount of affection you dare to show in your workplace. 

it hadn't dawned on him until then that he wasn't the only one that would notice your missing ring, wondering nervously as he finished up that day’s work just how many of your friends had noticed, whether the girls you normally went out and drank with assumed that he was a terrible husband, that there was indeed some trouble in paradise, that you were stuck in a loveless marriage instead of the obvious: that you were just forgetful.

he tries not to show his upset later that night when he finally arrives home, but as the dutiful and perfect wife you are, you notice immediately. you ask him what's wrong, offer to cook him his favourite dish, hold him in bed like you usually do whenever he feels down, tell him you’re there for whatever he might need and want…

“but… what I need… is to remind you how important this is to me,”

you watch as he catches your left hand in his, bringing it up to his face and pressing a chaste kiss to the warm metal, amber eyes staring deep into yours during his action. 

you smile, moving said hand to cup the side of his face, running your thumb over his sharp cheekbones. “I know how important it is, ken…”

despite your sweet coo and love-filled gaze, kento knows, deep down, that you need a reminder. 

“of course you do, angel,” he sighs, leaning closer into your space as his eyes trace your unforgettable features, drinking in your lovestruck expression. “but I feel that lately, it’s been slipping your mind. don’t you think that, as your husband, it’s my duty to make sure you never forget?”

your husband's ring feels cold against your flushed skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth his fingers are radiating as they slip through your sopping folds, collecting your dripping essence like a prize as his chapped lips press sloppy kisses all over your neck.

you can't stop the noises that leave you at the teasing, fleeting touches, eyelids drooping closed in pleasure as his other hand plays around with your chest, nimble fingers grabbing and tugging at your nipples in tandem with his other hand’s movements, sending rushes of overstimulating pleasure throughout your tired body. 

you're unaware of how many times he’s made you cum so far, the towel he’d oh so graciously placed beneath you thoroughly soaked thanks to his continuing ministrations, yet all you can focus on is the strange but welcome feeling of his ring pressing against your most intimate parts, bumping against your clit with every movement from his nimble hand and sending jolts of pleasure through your spent self, though you assume that this was your husband’s desired effect all along. 

“you’re doing so, so good, angel,” his voice rasped against your ear, harmonising with the squishing sounds your poor cunt was making, every touch to your clit making your body lurch and quiver, the feeling overwhelming. “c’mon, one more, alright? or have you already learned your lesson?”

lesson? you think as you feel his ring finger slip into you along with his middle and index, cunt loose enough to accommodate all three and hopefully his cock after this “lesson”. 

“w- won't take it off again, ken, pr-promise,” you gasp out, arching your back against his chest and pressing your rump against his very hard erection, which he'd been neglecting in order to get you to this point. 

you feel his fingers curl, hitting your g-spot perfectly like they had times before, but he didn't relent like you'd expected him to. 

“k-ken?”

“that's not all.” 

you whine out in confusion, hips moving along with his fingers despite the need to give your body a break, chasing the high that your mind oh so wanted but body couldn't exactly reach. 

“b-but-”

“it's not just about wearing the ring, darling,” kento started to explain, showing off his amazing dexterity by continuing to play with your tits with one hand while still fingering your pussy with his left, pressing a sweet kiss against your tear stained cheek. “no, if it was about that, this would've been over way more quickly.” 

you can feel a different sort of pressure start to build up in the lower parts of your tummy as he paused, legs shaking from the disturbance and in warning of what was to come if kento keeps doing his thing, though by the looks of it, he was nowhere close to stopping. 

he stays silent, allowing you to realise that he was really waiting for you to answer, as if you were both immersed in a casual conversation and he hadn't just melted your brain with just his fingers, and you force yourself to speak despite the mind numbing pleasure. 

“wh- oh god! what's it a-about, ken…?” you mewl, hips raising each time he pumps his fingers inside, almost like you were trying to ride him since his cock was still tucked away inside his slacks, his palm rutting deliciously against your clit with every movement. 

you hear him stifle a groan as your hips start to move, torturing himself as well as you by not bothering to help himself, too focused on your pleasure to act on his own, pressing his lips to the spot under your ear in an attempt to muffle the whimpers that were threatening to escape him. 

“k-ken?” you half-questione, half-moan, letting your head fall back onto his shoulder and focusing your blurry gaze on your husband's flushed face, drinking in the gorgeous expression he was sporting. 

“darling,” he lets out breathlessly, brown eyes darting down to meet your own, hands still not relenting in their attack despite his pause in speech, trying to compose himself before speaking once more. “it's- fuck, I… I want you to remember why you wear it, honey. who put it on your finger, who you belong to...”

he shudderd as one of your moans rings out throughout the dark room, not helping him in the slightest as he tries his best to fight against the urge to flip you over and fuck you like the both of you deserved. 

“who I belong to,” the strokes of his fingers grow deeper and more attentive, attacking your g-spot relentlessly as you writhe in his arms, his loving yet possessive words sending tremors throughout your body. 

“oh, kento…”

he exhales shakily at the moan of his name, letting his head fall forwards to rest on your shoulder in an attempt to ground himself, sinking his teeth into your shoulder with a shudder. 

“you're not going to- fuck, let this go, a-are you?” you manage to whisper out cheekily, hips and body still moving subconsciously on his fingers. 

“not a chance, my love,” 

kento moves slightly, adjusting your body so you're pressed even more impossibly closer to him, ass still perched against his hardened cock, member twitching and spitting out pre against his dampening slacks with each movement from your almost drunk body, high of pleasure and doing whatever it can to reach that high kento had seemed to have promised before. 

“I'll make sure you never want to take this off again—” he starts, and you gasp out in horror as his fingers slide out of you, lifting his soaked hand up to your chest, giving you a few seconds to panic before quickly replacing it with his other hand, nipples softening at the sudden lack of stimulation. 

to accentuate his point, his left hand, the one where he proudly displays his ring, the one that's covered in your juices and almost pruny due to the amount of time spent playing with your wetness, finds your own, carefully intertwining your fingers together and showing off both of your rings. 

“—not because you're afraid of forgetting, no…” 

you shudder as his other hand resumes the work his other had been doing, immediately feeling that intense need of release come back, biting your lip to muffle your sounds in order to listen to your husband better, not wanting to interrupt him, especially when he was like this— disheveled, flushed, with tiny whines escaping his chapped lips with every press of your ass against his crotch. 

“but, because every time you look at it—”

you can feel it building up, your release at the tip of your fingers, but not exactly like all the other times before, so you know what's coming. 

it's not the first time kento's gotten you to this point. he's exceptionally proud of it, obviously. no one before him had ever gotten you to squirt before, and evidenced by the rings that were currently getting dirty in your juices, no one but him ever would. 

his fingers quicken their pace inside you, attacking your g-spot with force before suddenly moving up to give your clit the same treatment, pinching and rubbing the tiny bundle of nerves in an expert manner, knowing exactly what to do to get you to that oh so delicious release. 

you raise your hips in preparation for it, pressure building up in your most intimate parts as you moan and cry out your husband's name, his mind crumbling with every sound you make, trying to stay on track. 

his mouth opens in awe as you grab onto his hand tighter, vision going white as you finally reach your climax, voice getting caught in his throat at the beautiful sigh of you coming undone on his fingers, love-filled eyes drinking in every single inch of your trembling bare body, release-soaked fingers still rubbing at your cunt rapidly.

he chuckles as you try to move away from his touch once it becomes too much, apologising silently for the overstimulation with a kiss to your sweaty temple, before finally finishing his speech. 

“—you’ll think of this.”

[kingsillysmilez]

Welcome To The Club !! [Static under Cut]

[yubit]

[mageofmadness]

LADS MEN + ANESTHESIA

(2k) 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ sfw [17+] includes: talk of surgery though non-descript, under the influence of anesthesia, pitiful men, pathetic attempts at ass grabbing, possibly ooc. go easy on me, i've never written zayne or xav. we're trying.

SYLUS unfortunately does not handle anesthesia well.

he doesn't handle hospitals well, preferring to take care of any issues he has himself. he hasn’t stepped foot in a hospital in years but cannot take care of this problem himself, and he's mad about it. pissed. he’s dismissive of everything said unless it’s coming from you and you have to remind him on more than one occasion to be nice and to stop acting so childish. no biting the nurse's heads off, the doctors are just doing their jobs, etc. he’s a nightmare patient who is only amicable when you’re by his side. sylus is all bark and no bite, too big for the damn hospital bed as they roll him into surgery.

despite that, everything is going relatively smoothly. you kiss him before he leaves, glaring at him as he says, “if i die in there, wait for me. promise i’ll be back.”

he comes out of it immediately and starts yelling for his wife. you two are not married, but good to know where things are going.

he's the one that freaks out and security almost escorts you from the building. you try to calm him down but he’s beside himself. sylus is too big to be manhandled back into the bed, seemingly forgetting he’s hooked up to all these wires, and he refuses to speak to anyone but his wife. gritting his teeth, “where is she? what did you do with her?” you (the she in question) are standing right there, but there’s been a shift change and new nurses and they don’t recognize you and he starts yelling the moment you touch him, trying to get him to lay back down:

"i am married do NOT touch me. do not...don't touch. my wife will kill you. she will! don't touch me, where are the doctors? get her out of here, my wife...oh she's going to be so mad. you touched me, she's going to be so mad. I'm going to be in so much trouble."

it takes you leaving the room, standing awkwardly in the hall as people glance at the commotion, and walking back in for sylus to suddenly recognize you. he looks absolutely pitiful, relieved beyond thought at the sight of his wife finally, and you know he’s never, ever going to live this down. 

CALEB is relentless.

even under the, quite frankly, insane amount of anesthesia he had to be given before surgery, he’s still trying to do for you. caleb tries to give you his blanket because he’s cold (you are not, but the gesture is sweet.) he offers you his sad hospital food, insisting you need to eat and must be starving “y–you…love jello, pips” (you love jello as much as the next person.)

he tries to give you his only pillow and asks for water from the nurse for you as well. he gets mad there’s nothing you want to watch on the tv: how dare the hospital not have your favorite show. he ignores the doctors and glares at them as he scoots over to make room for you to lie down next to him, scoffing at the suggestion that something as vital as you being as close to him might not be the best idea right now.

“it’s in your best interest to let her lay down,” caleb says, eyelids heavy. the doctors eyes widen and you wince. “i’m paying for this hospital stay, correct? that’s what i thought, so this bed is mine, therefore it’s hers and if you don’t want her laying in bed with me, maybe invest in some more comfortable couches. not just a chair.”

it’s all very sweet, except through all of this his speech is slurred and he keeps nodding off in the middle of talking. it’s hard to take his harsh words and mean looks seriously. it makes his glaring at the doctors quite ineffective and when caleb’s finally brought the water, he doesn’t remember he asked for it for you, and drinks it all. his attempt at fluffing the pillow for you is nothing more than weakly punching it a few times, and he offers you the blanket by half-heartedly pushing it onto the ground before powering down like he’s been unplugged.

he only calms once you are in bed with him, sending apologetic glances at the nurses and doctors. telling him yes the water was great and yes, you’re very warm and content (he still has the entire blanket and you’re sweating actually. he runs so hot.) and yes the pillow is fine (you’re not even laying on the pillow.)

RAFAYEL is a runner.

he’s insistent, the moment his eyes open, that he’s ready to go home. pack everything up, give him his clothes—he’s not taking no for an answer. the hospital smells weird and he wants his own bed. these are the words of a man determined to be heard as if he’d have the ability to stand, let alone put on his pants. rafayel is halfway to unplugging himself from everything, scanning the room for his things, asking you for what you think are the car keys as if the way he’s slurring his words isn’t a great indicator of his ability to operate a motor vehicle right now and he’s an arguer. he’s pouting. he’s rolling his eyes and throwing his hands in the air, dramatically throwing himself against the pillows.

rafayel insists he’s fine enough to go to the bathroom himself: “if i can piss by myself, i can drive a car.”  his logic is flawed. you also say no when he mumbles from the bathroom, “can you come hold it? my dick while i piss?” which negates his previous logic and you do tell him that to which you get a pout and shoved out of the bathroom. 

rafayel is the type to look you in the eyes and half-consciously mumble something about, “i’m not trying to have domestic dispute in the hospital, are you? take me home.” you gently try to push him back into the bed, reminding him he’s in a hospital gown and his ass is out. you’re amazed at the large words he’s using, not so impressed with the way he’s trying to get out of the bed again. and again. you’re also not impressed with the way he’s swaying in place, telling the nurses with a pout that he’s fine. that you’re there to take care of him now so, “you’re dismissed, your services are no longer needed” and that if you’re not going to take him home, rafayel will just go get the car himself and pull it around. you love how overly confident he is, and it really is ideal that he’s so weak from the drugs that he’s easily overpowered.

it takes three nurses and a doctor and you raising a brow at him, pointing your finger and narrowing your eyes, for him to flop himself back down into the bed. he loses steam quickly after that, waking up later and not remembering a thing but you do remind him that he flashed his bare ass to the entire staff.

XAVIER concerns the doctors with how long it takes him to wake up.

he’s out like a light and wakes up after sleeping like the dead and sees you speaking to the doctor. he’s silent, he’s not yelling. he’s quite sound up there in his head despite the anesthesia but he doesn’t like that doctor or how close he’s standing to you or the doctor’s hand on your shoulder or the way the male nurse comes in to ask you something and while he’s the most level headed of them all, he still can’t help but say something. 

you and the staff seem really chummy, and who knows how long he’s been out. he finally clears his throat, both you and the doctor looking over. 

“leave.”

xavier glances between you and the doctor. you’re tired, you’ve been there since morning, and you give the doctor a clipped smile, thanking him and nodding, letting him know it’s fine, and you’ve got it from here. xavier’s eyes don’t leave the doctor until he’s out the door and for the next few hours, you are confined to the small sliver of hospital bed with him as he silently fumes that the doctor was trying to make a move on you while he was indisposed.

“you smiled at him,” he insists. “i don’t trust him. i’ll report him for medical malpractice.”

you take none of this personally, quickly reminding him being nice as a doctor is a good thing. you almost find humor in it, if xavier’s calm demeanor wasn’t somewhat unnerving after the second and third hour. you ask him if he’s in pain, he says no. you ask him if he wants to rest, he says no. you ask him if he needs anything, he says no. you realize too late that he’s doing everything to avoid the doctor coming back into the room. when he finally does, xavier speaks for himself. slowly, a bit stilted, but he’s impressive with his lucidity. tightening his arms around you and asking for the door to be shut this time when you two are left alone. 

“i’ll sleep when we’re back home.”

safe to say he manages to pull it together well enough to be discharged as soon as possible, and once you’re home, he drops the act, turns into a bit of a baby, and passes out to sleep again.

ZAYNE is 100% handsy.

he’s a doctor, he knows what he’s getting into and what’s going on when he wakes up. he wasn’t worried before, he’s not worried now and you’re actually the one that’s been stressed this entire time. zayne has the wherewithal to understand he’s stuck for a bit in this room, and while his can you hand me that water? is genuine, he narrows his eyes as you walk past him and reaches a limp hand out to grab your ass. you turn around, startled, and he shrugs. he has the drugs as an excuse, not that zayne doesn’t appreciate your ass on the regular, he just has an excuse now to grope you in the hospital bed which, let’s be real, he’s kind of into. not the whole him-in-the-bed situation, or you in the bed if the roles were reversed but, well. the thought of you as a hot nurse does cross his mind. he might not remember this later, but his defenses are down, and he won’t blame himself.

“lay in the bed with me,” zayne mumbles, eyes closed. “c’mon.”

you remind him that’s not the best idea, he’s a doctor, and he should know this but he frowns and opens an eye. it’s endearing, this side of him, and you know what’s coming before you even lay down. zayne’s hand falls from the bed, grabbing your ass again as you slowly try to crawl into the bed with him. the doctors come in, and zayne is dismissive, spouting off responses to their questions with his eyes closed as if this is all a walk in the park as he feels you up still under the blanket. a handful off your ass is squeezed every time he has to answer another annoying question.

you whisper, reminding him that he’s not being the best patient right now, and zayne scoffs, seemingly letting the anesthesia work its magic on his limbs and lack of filter:

“i’m lying in bed resting, i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“stress is not good for recovery.” another squeeze. “don’t stress me out.”

you relay all of this to him after he’s fully conscious, even slipping in his mumbles talk of you as a hot nurse he’d let slip while asleep, and he blinks. there’s a slight blush, but he does not deny or condemn his own actions. like he said, he won’t blame himself.

@ mageofmadness 2025. ִֶָ. 232.161.195 161.178.232

[odxrilove]

☆ COLD!RIKI X DOWN BAD!READER TEXTS PART.2

pairing: riki x member's sister!reader

contents/warnings: smau, yn is sunoo's sister, yn = nervous & riki = flirting?.. idk man TT tw mentions of exams... svt mention (🤤), petnames hihi, kms jokes

back to masterlist! or part 1!

taglist: @0x1lovebot @fairybinie @odetoyeonjun @sensitively-taken @pockyandme @soobin-chois @lolalee24 @junityy @kaimal @laylasbunbunny @jaeyunverse @enhacolor @honglynights @starry-mins @bibinnieposts @yoonzin0 @todorokiskitten @aaa-sia @tyunni @4xiaojun @pointlessapple @hykai @angelyeo-hyj @enluv @seiux @dokyeomkyeom @isoobie @moonkyeom

please do not copy, repost or steal any of my work. all content belongs to @odxrilove

[muta99]

★彡 Big Brother Wukong!

[hhaechansmoless]

Six Strings, Zero Clues

pairing: mark lee x reader

trope: strangers to lovers, uni au

description: Mark Lee thinks he’s the next big indie artist. You think he’s the reason you have eye bags. After weeks of listening to his 2 AM guitar sessions through your ceiling, you finally snap and put up a very direct complaint on the bulletin board. He, of course, does not take the hint. Now you have to march up there and personally make him stop—except it turns out Mark might actually be kind of… cute? Annoying, but cute.

Part of the Notice Me (literally) series!

warnings: food mentioned, language, second hand embarassment? slander too I suppose

w/c: 7.1k

a/n: phew its here and um this was supposed to be some silly little thing for all the dreamies djsdk (by the time this is up the masterlist for the series will also be out but try to guess who's who!! i've left a few hints hehe) also i dont play the guitar but if a mark swoops in offering to teach me i will not say no.

taglist

The printer whirs, spitting out the paper, and you snatch it up before it even lands in the tray.

“Okay, but have you considered not escalating this?” Giselle asks, sprawled across the common room couch, half-watching you and half-scrolling through her phone.

You don’t bother with a response. Instead, you dig through the mess of random supplies on the bookshelf, hunting for tape.

“Like,” she continues, “what if he’s going through something? What if this is his only coping mechanism? Are you really gonna be the villain in some dude’s healing arc?”

You pause just long enough to glare at her. “Bold of you to assume I’m not the one going through something.”

Giselle hums, tilting her head in consideration. “I mean. Fair.”

You find the tape—buried under a pack of sketch pens—and tear off a piece with your teeth. Giselle doesn’t even blink. You’ve clearly been driven past the point of rational behavior.

The common room is nearly empty at this hour. The vending machine hums in the corner, a lone microwave beeps from the communal kitchen, and some guy is asleep at one of the tables, his face smushed into an open textbook. Outside, the campus is quiet, bathed in the dull orange glow of streetlights.

And above all that—above you—the same godforsaken sound drifts through the ceiling. A soft, melancholic strumming, like the soundtrack of a coming-of-age movie that just won’t end.

Newsflash: we’re not. This is a dorm, not some group therapy tent at a shitty music festival, and I promise you, no one is having a life-changing moment listening to your sad indie ballads through these paper-thin walls. I don’t know what heartbreak you’re working through, but please—either take it somewhere else, invest in some headphones, or play at a reasonable hour like a normal human being. 

You slap the notice onto the bulletin board and smooth the tape with your palm. Giselle huffs as she gets up from the couch to read the piece of paper you’ve put up.

NOTICE: TO INDIE GUITAR GUY

Some of us just crawled out of finals week held together by caffeine and regret, and the only thing we want to hear at 2 AM is nothing. But instead, every night without fail, you’re out here strumming away like we’re all living in some coming-of-age movie where you’re the main character. 

If not, I will personally start hunting you down to cut your guitar strings. Try me, asshole.

“You do realize you could just go up there and knock, right?”

You cross your arms. “And then what? Have a conversation?”

“That is generally how human interaction works, yes.”

You shake your head. “No. If I knock, I have to be nice. And if I’m nice, I can’t say everything I want to say. This is a better solution.”

Giselle gestures toward the board. “Your better solution is an unhinged public rant?”

“Yes.”

She squints at the paper, then snorts. “You threatened to cut his guitar strings.”

“Because if I get my hands on them, I will.” You shove a thumbtack through the top of the page for extra measure, pinning it onto the board with a little more force than necessary. The other notices tremble in protest—flyers for dorm cleaning (which you think would definitely be a scam), someone looking for a new roommate, and a very questionable ad for adopting a cat together.

You furrow your eyebrows at the last one. Whoever put that up actually lacks brain power because pets aren’t allowed in the building and the RA can easily see what’s on this board. 

You turn away from the bulletin board, brushing your hands together like you’ve just solved a great moral dilemma. “Okay,” you say, “I’m going to bed.”

Giselle barely glances up from her phone. “Good luck with that.”

You ignore her and make your way toward the hallway, already fantasizing about the blissful, uninterrupted sleep that will hopefully be in your future. Maybe you were a little dramatic, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

And if Indie Guitar Guy has even an ounce of common sense, he’ll take the hint.

And right now, you’re pretty sure you’re experiencing it firsthand.

E

The placebo effect is when your brain tricks your body into thinking something is working, even when it isn’t. Like when people take sugar pills in medical trials and somehow start feeling better just because they believe they got real medicine. It’s mind over matter, proof that sometimes, the illusion of change is just as powerful as change itself.

For the next two days, you sleep like a rock.

The thought of guitar guy reading your notice, and finally stopping his antics makes all your post-exam exhausted brain latch onto the idea like it’s a lifeline. It doesn’t matter how it worked—whether it was shame, guilt, or a sudden revelation that 2 AM concerts aren’t a personality trait. What matters is that it’s quiet. No more strumming drifting through the walls, no more tossing and turning while waiting for him to get tired.

You wake up feeling victorious.

For the first time in weeks, you don’t have to drag yourself out of bed like an extra in a zombie movie. Your coffee tastes better, the air smells cleaner, and even your 8 AM lecture seems bearable. Giselle eyes you over her cereal as you practically float around the dorm, humming to yourself.

“Wow,” she says, shoveling another spoonful into her mouth. “I almost forgot what you’re like when you’re not being slowly driven to insanity.”

“You see?” You gesture at yourself. “This is what happens when people respect community living.”

By the third night, you almost forget he ever existed.

But of course, you were being delusional. Stupid, even. Because this dorm not only houses you and your friends, but also stupid boys who would probably not give a flying fuck about notices like the one you put up. 

You rub your eyes vigorously, trying to scrub away the sleepiness. It’s past midnight and you should be cruising through your REM cycles right now. Instead, you listen to the strumming of a guitar somewhere above you.

And because the universe is cruel like that, you actually recognize the damn song.

Why would anyone sane play Mariposa by the Peach Tree Rascals at fucking 1 in the morning? You curse internally before groaning, rolling onto your stomach and shoving your face into your pillow, as if that’s going to block out the sound. It doesn’t. If anything, the acoustics of the dorm—cursed, absolutely cursed—only amplify the soft, lazy strumming. He’s not even playing the full song, just absentmindedly plucking out the chords, like some guy in a movie sitting by a campfire, contemplating life or whatever.

For a brief second, you think, Okay, fine. It sounds kind of nice.

And then you remember that it’s past midnight.

Sitting up abruptly, you push your covers off, jumping off your bed with a newfound motivation. What kind of asshole sees that big notice that you put up and still doesn’t have the decency to stop?

When Giselle hears you shuffling around, she looks up from her econ textbook, shaking her head with a sigh. “You’re going to feel bad when this guy turns out to be, like, the sweetest person ever.”

You scoff, yanking a hoodie over your head. “I’ll take my chances.”

Giselle closes her book and watches you with something between amusement and resignation. “What are you even gonna say?”

You shove your feet into a pair of slides. “I don’t know. Something about common courtesy and how not everyone wants to listen to his fuckass music?”

She snorts. “You’ve already committed to the villain role, huh?”

You jab a finger in her direction. “No. I’m the protagonist. He’s the inconsiderate side character messing up my storyline.”

Giselle slumps into her desk, her voice coming out muffled. “Again, you’re going to feel so bad when this dude is actually, like, a golden retriever in human form.”

You ignore her, grabbing your phone and stomping toward the door. “I highly doubt that.”

And with that, you march out of your room, slamming the door behind and scaring the scrawny but tall kid who lives in the dorm next to yours. His clothes and the corridor smell vaguely of something burnt, but you don’t think too much of it, fully prepared to give Indie Guitar Guy a piece of your mind.

The walk to his room isn’t long, but it gives you just enough time to fully work yourself up. Your footsteps are firm, your hoodie sleeves bunched around your fists like you’re ready to throw hands if necessary. Every tired, miserable night flashes before your eyes.

You knock once. The chords still continue to be played. You knock again. No reaction.

Your eye twitches as you knock again—hard, promising that this is the last and you’ll break his door the next time if you have to. 

The strumming stops. There’s a beat of silence, then the sound of soft shuffling. You hear the doorknob turn and then the door swings open and the entire speech you’d prepared dies in your throat.

He’s cute.

And not in the way you were expecting (not that you were, but still). He stands there, slightly disheveled, hair messy like he’s been running his hands through it, an old hoodie hanging loose on his frame. His guitar pick is still caught between his fingers, and his eyes—dark, warm, blinking at you in confusion—look way too soft for someone who’s been torturing you for weeks.

You forget, briefly, what you came here to do.

Then he scratches the back of his neck, looking at you in confusion. “Hey… Can I help you?”

To your absolute horror, instead of going off on him, the only thing that escapes your mouth is, “Um.”

UM?

What happened to excuse me, asshole, do you have no shame? Where the hell did that go?

He looks at you expectantly, still waiting for you to continue.

You swallow hard, mentally scrambling to put yourself back together. “So… I don’t know if you saw, but I put up a notice on the bulletin board?”

He blinks. “What notice?”

You hate how your stomach flips at the way his brows pinch slightly, confused but genuinely curious, like he actually wants to know.

You clear your throat. “Just—about the, uh. The guitar.” You gesture vaguely, as if that explains anything. “At night.”

“Oh.” It comes out almost sheepishly as he looks down at the pick he was flipping in between his fingers, like he’s only now realizing.

You should push. Tell him off right now, stand your ground and speak your mind. But all you manage is to say—

“It’s just, um… really late, y’know?”

Oh my God.

What is this? A customer service complaint? Where is the wrath, and the all-caps shouting you promised yourself on the way up here?

He blinks at you again. Then, slowly, his lips part in realization.

“…Wait,” he says, eyes widening. “Am I the asshole from the notice?”

You stand there, every inch of your body fighting to scream YES. YES, YOU DUMB, SILLY, PRETTY BOY.

“...I mean—I wouldn’t say asshole?” You grimace.

You did. In fact, you didn’t just say it—you typed it out, printed it AND posted it in the common room’s bulletin board. Why didn’t you just scream it out of the windows while you were at it?

“Oh, shit.” He scratches his forehead, “That was you?”

Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “I—uh.”

He watches you for a second before exhaling. “Oh, man. I’m really sorry about that,” he says, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “I swear, I didn’t see the notice until earlier tonight.”

You should still be annoyed. Should. But the way he says it—so earnestly, with his brows slightly furrowed—makes you forget.

“I thought it was just some general complaint,” he continues, glancing down before hesitantly meeting your eyes again. “Didn’t realize I was the ‘asshole.’”

You feel heat creep up your neck. “Okay, but, like, not seriously—”

His lips twitch, like he’s fighting a smile. “Right. Totally.”

Your face burns.

Guitar guy must sense your embarrassment because he quickly clears his throat, straightening up. “Anyway,” he says, voice a little softer, “I really didn’t mean to keep you up. I just—I play when I can’t sleep.” He scratches his forehead, looking almost bashful. “Didn’t think it was carrying through the walls that much.”

Before you can mumble out something incoherent or non-sensible again, he continues. 

“No, yeah. You’re right. I’ll stop.” Then, almost shyly, he glances back at you. “I, uh… I don’t think we’ve met before?”

You blink, caught off guard.

“I’m Mark,” he says, smiling a little. “Since, y’know. You technically already know way too much about my sleep schedule.”

You let out a breathy laugh, more surprised than anything. You hadn’t expected him to be this nice. Or this—

Well. This.

“I guess that’s fair,” you mumble, suddenly feeling a little stupid standing here in your sleep shorts and oversized hoodie.

Mark’s smile lingers. Then, with a little hesitation, he nods toward you. “So, uh. Do I get to know your name, or?”

You hesitate for half a second—because this is not how this was supposed to go, and he is not supposed to be this sweet—but eventually, you sigh, giving him your name.

Mark nods, a small grin on his lips, “Cool, well. I’m really sorry. I’ll stop now, so you can go sleep!”

Maybe it’s because he said he couldn’t sleep, or maybe it’s because you think that in your notice it may have seemed like he’d a bad player (he’s not), or maybe it’s just because your sleepy brain finds him cute that you pipe up, just before you leave.

“I’m sorry if I came off as really rude. It’d just been a hard week.” You sigh, a little hesitant, “And you don’t have to stop playing… I mean—at this time, please don’t. But I wouldn’t mind listening to you some other time.”

Mark blinks, clearly caught off guard. “Oh—uh—really?”

You nod, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze. “Yeah. You’re… not bad.”

His ears turn a little pink. “Oh. Thanks.” He scratches his neck, smiling softly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

There’s a pause.

Then, before you can process it, Mark lifts a hand, pointing his fingers toward you like a finger gun. “Sleep well, neighbor.”

Oh my God.

You shake your head, biting back a smile. “Goodnight, Mark.”

And with that, you turn away, fully aware that you’ve just lost the battle. God, Giselle is never going to let you live this down once you tell her.

A

The next morning, you groan as you shuffle out of bed, running on autopilot as you grab your mug and head to the common room, your only goal in life being to reach the sad, overworked coffee machine.

The moment you step in, the sharp smell of burnt coffee greets you—bitter, slightly tragic, but necessary. You yawn, rubbing your eyes as you press the button on the machine, waiting for it to sputter out something drinkable.

“You actually slept last night, right?”

The voice makes you blink. You turn, and standing next to you, looking way too put together for this hour, is Mark Lee.

Oh.

You fight every urge to react. He’s in a hoodie, hair slightly mussed like he just rolled out of bed, his hands shoved into his pockets. He’s looking at you, head tilted slightly, waiting for an answer.

“Uh.” You blink again, processing. “Yeah?”

Mark lets out a tiny breath of relief. “Good,” he says, nodding. “I, uh… I stopped playing. Like I said I would.”

Oh, he’s shy.

Somehow, this is worse. You were prepared for maybe an awkward nod or a "what’s up?". Not this gentle, earnest follow-up on whether you got enough sleep.

“Yeah.” You swallow. “I noticed. Thanks”

Mark nods again, rocking back on his heels. He’s quiet for a second, then gestures toward the coffee machine. “You, uh… do this every morning?”

You shrug. “Unfortunately.”

He lets out a small laugh, and for some reason, you feel stupidly warm.

“There you are.”

You both turn as Giselle enters the room, hair still a little messy from sleep, her own mug in hand. She barely glances at you before heading straight for the coffee machine, too preoccupied to notice the tension in the air.

When she’s finally done shoving your mug out of the way and filling her’s first, she looks up at the two of you.

“Who’s this?” Giselle asks you, voice loud enough for Mark to hear.

You’re about to reply when Mark steps forward instead, holding his hand out for her to shake. She stares at it for a second.

“I’m Mark. Um… the annoying guitar guy.”

“Oh!” Giselle exclaims, a smile making way onto her lips as she shakes his hand. “Good to meet you. Damn, did she yell your ears off yesterday? I tried to stop her, I swear.”

Mark laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nah, it was fair. I didn’t even realize how loud I was.”

Giselle smirks, nudging you with her elbow. “See? Not everyone’s out to get you.”

You roll your eyes, choosing to ignore her as you finally bring your coffee to your lips. The second the burnt liquid hits your tongue, you wince. “God, this is awful.”

Mark watches, slightly amused. “Yeah, it smells kinda brutal.”

You sigh. “It’s usually bearable. Can’t function without it.”

“You ever try the café across campus?” Mark asks. “Way better than whatever this is.”

You shake your head. “Too much effort. This is closer.”

Giselle hums, sipping her own coffee. “She’s lazy,” she supplies helpfully.

You glare at her, but Mark just chuckles, rocking back on his heels. “Well, if you ever decide to make the trek, let me know. I’ll come with.”

You nod absently, still focused on your coffee. “Mm, noted.”

Mark hesitates for half a second, like he’s waiting for something, but when you don’t react, he clears his throat. “Alright, I’ll catch you later.”

“Later,” you mumble into your mug, already preparing for the day ahead.

As soon as he’s gone, Giselle turns to you, staring.

You blink. “What?”

Her lips curl into a slow smirk. “Oh my God.”

You narrow your eyes. “What?”

She snorts. “Nothing. You’re just an idiot.”

You scowl. “Great. Love to hear that first thing in the morning.”

Giselle just shakes her head, looking far too entertained as she takes another sip of coffee. “No, no. This is fun. Let’s see how long it takes.”

“See how long what takes?”

But she just grins. “Nothing. I’m going to shower first.”

D

The library is quiet, save for the occasional sound of pages flipping and hushed whispers between students. You’re not here by choice. You’d have preferred to sit in the common room, a little more comfortably, but the heated discussion over banning glitter for the upcoming door deco competition isn’t something that you’d sit through either.

So now, you’re here, settled at a table near the corner, your laptop open, coffee beside you. You don’t even realize someone is sitting a few seats away until you stretch, glance up—

And Mark Lee is looking right at you.

Oh.

Your brain stalls for half a second before you lift a hand in a casual wave.

Mark grins, like he was waiting for you to notice, and—without hesitation—grabs his stuff and moves over.

"Hey," he says, plopping down across from you.

You blink at him. "Hey?"

He gestures vaguely. "Thought I’d say hi."

You squint. "Didn’t look like you were studying."

Mark laughs, rubbing his jaw. "Yeah, well… he’s having roommate trouble right now, and I’m a great listener."

It takes you a second to register that he’s talking about the guy still sitting at his old table. When you glance over, you realize—oh. Renjun.

You nod as you glance back at your laptop. You vaguely remember seeing the notice that he needed a roommate, but it’d probably been taken down a few days ago. 

“Has he not found one yet?”

“Worse. He forgot to mention that he’d only room with guys,” Mark sighs, glancing at him before shaking his head, “And now he’s living with a girl that he’s definitely starting to like.”

You almost laugh out of disbelief. “Is co-ed rooming even allowed?”

“Nope,” Mark pops the p. “But he’s a fucking goody-two-shoes and the RAs love him, so honestly, even if they find out, they’ll give him a good notice period for either to move out.”

“I can hear you two.” Renjun hisses, before shrinking a little as he looks around, hoping no one was bothered.

You clear your throat. “So, what, are you just here for moral support?”

Mark grins. “Kind of. I keep them sane.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Right. Naturally.”

He leans in slightly, chin resting on his palm. “But, you know, the library’s not so bad.”

You shoot him a skeptical look. “Didn’t take you for the type to hang out here for fun.”

Mark shrugs, the corners of his lips quirking up. “Maybe I’m turning over a new leaf. Becoming a dedicated academic weapon.”

You exhale. “Right. And I’m the dean of the university.”

He gasps. “Wow. No faith in me at all? For all you know, I could be topping my classes.”

You hum, unconvinced.

Mark watches you for a second, then leans in just a fraction closer, voice lowering slightly. “Guess I’ll have to prove you wrong then.”

You blink at him, caught off guard, but before you can say anything, Renjun finally looks up from his laptop, fixing Mark with a withering stare.

“Can you prove it somewhere else?” he mutters. “Some of us are actually trying to study.”

Mark grins, completely unbothered. “See? Told you he’s suffering.”

G

You’re halfway through filling your water bottle when you hear a loud clatter followed by an equally loud “Shit!”

You whip around just in time to see Mark Lee standing in the dorm kitchen, staring at the floor like it personally betrayed him. A broken instant ramen cup lays at his feet, noodles spilled across the tiles in a sad, soupy mess.

“…Do I even want to know?” you ask.

Mark looks up, startled. He must not have noticed you walk in. His hood is halfway up his head, and his sweatpants are hanging loose at his hips, like he just rolled out of bed to grab food.

“I—” He rubs the back of his neck. “I thought I could grab it before it hit the counter.”

You raise an eyebrow, stepping closer to assess the damage. “And?”

He sighs. “And I could not.”

You try to hold back your laugh, but it slips out anyway. Mark groans, crouching down to clean up the mess, and you, feeling slightly bad for him, grab some napkins to help.

“Appreciate it,” he mutters as you both start wiping up the broth.

“No problem. Midnight disasters seem to be a running theme in this dorm,” you joke.

Mark huffs a small laugh. “Tell me about it. Last week, Jisung nearly set the toaster on fire.”

You pause, still crouched down. “Is that the kid that lives next door to me? I swear that the night I came and complained—” You shoot a slightly guilty look at him. “—to you, he smelled like burnt stuff.”

“Probably,” Mark shakes his head, “I mean, I’m not the best person to teach him how to cook, but he’s got a few friends. The kid’s just too stubborn and a little bit of an airhead to ask for help.”

The two of you continue cleaning in comfortable silence for a moment before you stand to toss the napkins in the trash. When you turn back, Mark is still crouched on the floor, gathering the last of the noodles into a pile. His hood has slipped back slightly, revealing the messy strands of his hair, and his sleeves are pushed up just enough to show his forearms.

Not that you’re looking.

Mark groans as he tosses the ruined noodles into the trash. “Man, this sucks. I was really looking forward to eating that.”

“You could just make another one?”

He hesitates, then sighs. “That was my last cup.”

You frown. “That was your only food?”

Mark scratches the back of his head, avoiding your gaze. “…Maybe.”

You stare at him. “Mark.”

“I meant to get groceries,” he mutters. “I just forgot.”

“For how long?”

“…A while.”

You let out a long sigh before turning toward the fridge. “Alright, come on.”

Mark blinks. “Huh?”

“You’re not starving on my watch,” you say, pulling out a container. “I made extra earlier.”

His eyes widen slightly. “Wait—really?”

“Don’t make it weird.” You shove the container into his hands before you can think twice.

Mark stares at it for a second before looking back up at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re kind of nice, huh?”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “Don’t spread that around.”

He hums as he pops open the lid. “Guess I owe you one now.”

“Damn right you do.”

Mark laughs, leaning against the counter. “You know, if you ever wanna cash that in, we could go grab real food sometime.”

You snort. “Yeah, sure. In exchange for a half-eaten bowl of ramen.”

He grins, scooping up a bite. “Deal.”

You shake your head, grabbing your water bottle before heading back to your room.

You twist the cap back onto your water bottle just as Giselle walks in, kicking off her shoes with a sigh. She doesn’t even look at you before flopping face-first onto her bed.

“I give up,” she mumbles into her pillow.

You glance at the clock. “On what? Life?”

“Basically.” She groans, turning her head just enough so her voice is no longer muffled. “I ran into my ex on the way back. He saw me trip on the dorm steps. I don’t think I can recover from this.”

You snort. “You literally dumped him. Why are you embarrassed?”

She lifts a hand in the air, shoving her middle finger at you. “I have my reasons.”

Shaking your head, you take another sip of water. “You could always poison his meal plan or something.”

“Maybe.” She turns onto her side, finally looking at you. “What about you? You were out late.”

You shrug. “Just went to get water.”

She narrows her eyes slightly. “And?”

“…And Mark was there.”

That gets her attention. She sits up properly now, leaning forward. “Oh?”

You frown. “What?”

She tilts her head at you. “Nothing. Just…interesting.”

You roll your eyes. “He spilled his ramen. I helped clean it up.”

“Uh-huh.”

“That’s it.”

“Uh-huh.”

You sigh, climbing into bed. “What?”

“Nothing.” She flops back, pulling her blanket over her legs. “You just seem to run into him a lot.”

You pause for a second. “He lives upstairs.”

“Mhm.”

You throw your pillow at her before slumping into your bed as well, switching your lamp off with a sigh.

It’s not weird.

Mark lives upstairs. You’ve only run into him a couple of times. Completely normal, considering the dorm isn’t that big. Still, as you stare at the faint outline of your ceiling in the dark, you think back to the way he laughed, how he leaned against the counter, how his eyes crinkle when he smiles.

He’s cute. That’s just a fact. In an endearingly clueless way, with his messy hair and his habit of rubbing the back of his neck when he talks. Objectively cute. Universally acknowledged cute. Annoyingly cute, even.

But it’s not like that. Obviously.

You roll onto your side, pulling your blanket tighter around you.

Just a coincidence. 

You close your eyes, willing yourself to sleep, but for some reason, you can still hear his voice in your head. The soft laugh, the way he said we could grab real food sometime. The casualness of it.

Not an invitation. Not really. Right?

You huff, pressing your face into your pillow.

Whatever. You’ll probably forget about it by morning.

B

You hear the music before you see him.

The common room isn’t empty, but it’s quieter than usual—just the occasional shuffle of someone flipping through a textbook, the distant hum of the vending machine. And then there’s him.

Mark is curled up on the couch, one leg tucked under him, guitar resting easily against his chest. He’s not playing anything loud—just soft, absentminded strumming, like he’s working through a song in his head.

And you should keep walking. You really, really should.

But instead, you hesitate, shifting from one foot to the other just enough that the floor creaks under you. Mark glances up at the sound, fingers faltering slightly over the strings.

“Oh,” he says, blinking like he wasn’t expecting company. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you say back, already regretting this.

His lips twitch, like he’s holding back a smile. “You look like you were about to turn around.”

You scoff, stepping fully into the room. “I was just—” You pause. What were you doing?

Mark tilts his head, waiting.

“I needed a break,” you sigh.

He nods, adjusting the guitar in his lap. “Good timing.”

He doesn’t elaborate, just keeps playing, and maybe that’s your cue to leave—but your feet carry you toward the couch anyway. You sit down—not next to him, but close enough to see the way his fingers move over the strings.

You watch for a second, then glance at his face. “You play in the daytime now?”

Mark exhales a quiet laugh. “Only because I’ve been feeling considerate towards a certain someone.”

You’re sure that there’s colour rising to your cheeks now, but you try to mask it off by laughing. “Wow. Growth.”

He shakes his head, letting out a soft hum under his breath, but he doesn’t deny it.

For a while, there’s no talking—just the sound of the guitar, the occasional scrape of his pick against the strings. You don’t realize how much time has passed until you catch yourself fully zoning out, elbows resting on your knees, watching his hands like an idiot.

Mark notices.

He doesn’t call you out for it, but his fingers slow slightly, like he’s suddenly aware of the attention.

You snap out of it immediately, shifting your gaze. Nope. Absolutely not.

Mark clears his throat, tapping his thumb against the body of the guitar. “You play?”

“What?”

“The guitar,” he says, nodding toward it. “You don’t play, do you?”

“Oh.” You shake your head. “No.”

Mark hums, considering. “Do you want to?”

You blink. “What?”

He shrugs, adjusting his grip. “I could teach you something. If you want.”

You hesitate. You could say no. You should say no.

But Mark is already tilting the guitar toward you, his brows raised in a quiet ‘well?’

You fumble with it, your fingers slipping against the strings as you try to mimic the way Mark holds it. It feels unnatural, like trying to write with your non-dominant hand.

And against all logic and reason, you reach for it.

The guitar is heavier than you expected.

“Here,” Mark says, shifting closer on the couch. His knee brushes against yours, and you stiffen slightly, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or if he does, he doesn’t care. He reaches over, adjusting your grip. “You’re holding it like it’s gonna bite you.”

“Maybe it will,” you mutter.

Mark laughs, low and warm, and you try not to focus on how close he is. His fingers guide yours to the fretboard, pressing down on the strings. “This one’s the B,” he says, plucking it. A soft, clear note rings out.

You frown. “Sounds like every other string.”

“Wow.” He feigns offense, clutching his chest. “And here I thought you had an ear for music.”

“I have an ear for silence at 2 in the morning,” you deadpan.

Mark grins, “Fair.” He leans back slightly, but his knee stays pressed against yours. “Okay, try pressing here.” He taps a spot on the neck.

You attempt it, but the string vibrates pathetically under your finger.

“You’ve gotta press harder,” he says.

“I am pressing hard.”

Mark hums, skeptical. Then, before you can react, he reaches over and presses his finger on top of yours, adding pressure. “Like this.”

Your brain short-circuits.

His hand is warm. His fingers are calloused from playing. And he’s so close you can smell his stupid laundry detergent—the one that everyone else in this dorm uses.

You swallow. “...Right.”

Mark doesn’t move his hand. “You got it?”

"Yep." Your voice cracks slightly.

"Sure?" His thumb brushes against yours as he adjusts your positioning - just for a second, but it's enough to make your pulse jump.

"Positive." You stare very hard at the guitar's soundhole.

Mark finally pulls back, rubbing the back of his neck. The tips of his ears are pink. "So, uh. That's... the basics."

You strum all the strings at once. It sounds like a trash can falling down stairs. "I'm a prodigy."

"I wouldn't say no to, like. Coffee instead." He says it too fast, then backtracks. "I mean—not like—just caffeine helps with—"

Mark snorts. "Yeah. Next Ed Sheeran right here." He fiddles with his pick. "We could... keep practicing sometime. If you want.”

You shrug. "I mean, I guess I owe you for not murdering me over that notice."

"Mark."

"Yeah?"

"You're rambling."

His shoulders hunch. "Right. Sorry."

You hand the guitar back. "But yeah, coffee's fine. The dining hall swill is killing me anyway."

Mark brightens instantly. "Remember that place across campus? Their cold brew is actually decent and they've got these chocolate croissants that—" He cuts himself off, clearing his throat. "I mean. If you're into that."

"But I'd commit crimes for a good chocolate croissant," you add.

"Cold brew gives me heart palpitations."

"Oh." His face falls. "We could find somewhere else—”

Mark's smile returns, slow and warm. "Tomorrow? I'm free after two."

"Sure." You stand up, completely missing the way his fingers tap an anxious rhythm against the guitar body. "Don't be late."

"I won't!" It comes out too eager. He cringes at himself. "I mean. Yeah. Cool."

As you walk away, you don't see him slump back against the couch, dragging a hand down his face. You definitely don't hear the quiet, frustrated whisper of: "Smooth, Lee. Real smooth."

E

You're lacing up your sneakers when Giselle walks out of the bathroom, rubbing her damp hair with a towel. She pauses mid-step when she sees you.

"Where are you going?"

"Getting coffee with Mark." You tighten the knot on your shoe.

She stares. Then, very deliberately, looks you up and down.

You're in a hoodie (a slightly wrinkled one), sweatpants, and the same sneakers you've been wearing for three years.

"...Dressed like that?"

You frown. "What?"

She gestures vaguely at your entire existence. "You're just going out like that?"

You scoff. "Dude. We’re just hanging out."

Giselle presses her lips together like she’s trying very, very hard not to lose her mind.

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

You glance up. She's watching you in the mirror, towel slung over one shoulder, eyes sharp.

You narrow your eyes. "What."

She exhales sharply. "Okay, tell me this: how many times has Mark asked you to ‘hang out’?"

You shrug. "I dunno. A few times? Haven’t really been able to go."

"And these ‘hangouts’—" she makes little air quotes, "—were they things like, ‘Hey, wanna grab food?’ or ‘Hey, wanna get coffee?’ Or, oh, I don’t know, ‘Hey, wanna come sit really close to me while I teach you how to play guitar?’"

Your mouth opens. Closes.

Because, yeah. That is... exactly how it’s been.

Giselle sees the realization hit. "Oh my God," she says, dragging a hand down her face. "He’s been asking you out this entire time!"

You blink. "What? No. He hasn’t—he’s just been nice."

Giselle shoots you a deadpan look. "Nice?"

"Yeah!" You wave a hand. "Some people just—invite other people to do stuff! It’s normal!"

Giselle rubs her temples. "Okay. Let’s say, for a second, that I believe you. Do you think Mark has asked anyone else to ‘just hang out’ like this?"

You open your mouth. Pause.

Giselle’s smile is way too smug. "Mhm. Exactly."

You shift uncomfortably. "Okay, but—but what if you're wrong? What if this is just his personality?"

Giselle flops dramatically onto her bed. "Then I will personally apologize to you for enabling your delusions." She waves you off. "Now go. And if he confesses, don't let your dumbass panic and run into traffic."

You scowl. "That happened one time."

Giselle is already onto her dressing table, raking through her makeup brushes.

You check the time. Mark’s already waiting.

Your stomach flips.

You swallow. "I'm gonna go."

"Yeah," Giselle sighs, rolling onto her side. "Go figure your shit out."

—

You’re definitely overthinking this as the two of you walk around campus.

Mark walks beside you, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, shoulders relaxed. He kicks a stray pebble down the sidewalk, eyes mostly on the ground. Meanwhile, you are internally spiraling.

Because Giselle’s words won’t leave you alone.

"He’s been asking you out this whole time."

And the more you think about it, the more obvious it feels.

The coffee. The late-night talks. The stupid guitar lesson where his hand had covered yours, warm and steady.

You sneak a glance at him. He looks normal. Maybe a little cold, but not like someone who’s been trying to ask you out for weeks.

You fidget with your sleeves. Just ask. It’s Mark. It’s not like he’s gonna laugh in your face. Right?

“…Hey.”

Mark glances over. “Hm?”

You swallow. “So. This whole, uh. Hanging out thing.”

His brows lift slightly, like he’s waiting for you to continue.

You take a deep breath. “You—you weren’t, like. Asking me out, were you?”

Mark stumbles.

Not dramatically, but just enough that his shoe drags weirdly on the pavement.

You immediately regret everything. “Never mind! Stupid question, forget I—”

“What?” Mark fully stops walking.

You stop too, face burning.

Mark turns to you, brows slightly furrowed, like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle. “…Why would you ask that?”

You die internally. “Giselle said something,” you mumble.

Mark blinks. Then he shifts from one foot to another. “What… exactly did she say?”

You stare very hard at the sidewalk. “Just. That you might’ve been, um. Subtly. Asking me out this whole time.”

Silence.

You dare to look at him.

His ears are so red.

“Oh,” he says, voice sounding a bit strung, higher than usual.

You panic. “You don’t have to say anything! I just—”

“I mean,” Mark rubs the back of his neck, looking very interested in a nearby streetlamp. “I… kinda was?”

Your stomach flips.

Oh.

Oh.

Mark winces. “Not in, like, a weird way! Just—” He exhales, rubbing his temple. “I thought you were cool. That night when you came up, i thought you were like…really pretty. And I figured, if you weren’t interested, we could just keep hanging out and it wouldn’t be—” He gestures vaguely. “A thing.”

You nod. Maybe too much. “Right. Yeah. Totally.”

Mark watches you carefully. “So, uh. Is it weird now?”

You pretend to think, but you already know your answer. You can see Mark’s shoulders shrinking with every waiting second.

“No.”

Mark’s shoulders relax. “Oh. Cool.”

You fidget with your sleeve. Your breath stutters.

“I think I like you too,” you admit, voice way too soft.

Mark stares for a few seconds, like he almost didn’t hear you, before his whole face lights up.

“Oh.” He clears his throat. “Uh. That’s—that’s cool.”

You laugh, nervous. “Yeah?”

He nods, a little too fast. “Yeah.”

When he looks at you again, he’s still flushed, still blinking like he’s trying to process this in real time.

“So, uh,” he starts, “what now?”

You don’t really know how to answer that.

You rock back on your heels. “I mean… we’re still getting coffee?”

Mark lets out a soft laugh, like he hadn’t even considered otherwise. “Right. Yeah. Obviously.”

The two of you start walking again, a little slower this time. The air between you is different now—not awkward, but buzzing, like a chord just on the verge of ringing out.

You steal a glance at him. His hands are jammed in his pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched, but there’s something almost relieved in the way he carries himself now. Like he wasn’t expecting this to go well.

You bite your lip, hesitating.

“You know,” You begin, “I thought you were cute too.”

“What?” Mark lets out, a little too loudly.

It almost makes you giggle. “That night when I came up to complain. I was supposed to go all out on you and make sure you’d never play your stupid guitar again. I was quite serious about cutting your strings off.”

Mark shakes his head sheepishly with a small laugh. 

“But when you opened the door, I kind of forgot all of that.”

He stares at you, lips parted slightly like you just short-circuited his entire brain.

You shrug, suddenly feeling way too exposed. “I dunno. You just—looked cute.”

Mark drags a hand over his face, groaning. “What the hell.”

You blink. “What?”

“That’s so unfair,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “You showed up looking all pissed off and intimidating, and I was standing there in, like, the ugliest shirt I own.”

You snort. “It wasn’t that ugly.”

Mark groans again, looking up at the sky, almost too embarrassed to meet your eyes. “This is crazy.”

“What is?” you ask, still laughing.

“That you thought I was cute!” He gestures wildly. “Like. That doesn’t happen!”

You roll your eyes, but your stomach is doing so many flips. “Shut up.”

Mark looks at you for a second, then exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. The tips of his ears are still bright red. “I was really nervous that night, you know,” he admits.

Your brows lift. “Really?”

He nods. “You were just—you had this whole, like, ‘I will end you’ vibe, and I was trying so hard not to make it worse. But then you kinda—” He stops, mouth twitching. “You hesitated. Just for a second. And I thought, ‘Oh. She’s not actually as scary as she looks.’”

You gasp, shoving his shoulder. “Wow. Rude.”

Mark laughs, bumping into you slightly. “Sorry, sorry. But I was right, wasn’t I?”

You purse your lips. “Debatable.”

Mark hums, tilting his head. “Guess I’ll have to spend more time with you to figure it out.”

Your heart does a weird little jump.

You don’t let yourself overthink it.

Instead, you nudge him back, eyes flicking forward to the coffee shop just ahead. “You better buy me the best chocolate croissant they have.”

Mark grins. “Deal.”

And when his fingers brush yours, just briefly, you don’t pull away.

[ctrlhope]

Lily pleaseeee share your favorite ot7 hybrid fics, i can’t find any 😭😭😭😭

OMGGGG BB YOUVE COME TO THE RIGHT PLACE OKIEEE I LOVE OT7 FICS REAL BAD

I’ve been reading hybrid fics p much since I started reading bts fanfics so… I can hook u up dastardly style 🤩 links under the cut <33

so before I start listing ima be so fr and say I like most of my hybrid fics verryy formulaic. i p much only ready hybrid bts x human reader and I really enjoy the whole plot of ‘y/n inherits bts and doesn’t know what to do!’ Or ‘y/n sees 7 hybrids at the shelter who need help and doesn’t know what to do!’. It feels sooo chicken noodle soup to me and it feels good for my soul <33 so I hope these fics feel like chicken noodle soup for u too and that you love them as much as I do <33

Series

Abundance ✰ @angelicyoongie

HYBRID CLASSIC FICCCC actually one of the first hybrid fics I think I ever read?? Def the first hybrid ot7 which is kinda crazy 😭 perfect chicken soup for the soul <33 probably the basis for the way I like hybrid fics I read formatted now!! you can really see how the authors writing grew with this fic. Was the fic that made me fall in love with hybrids, actually. I love all of her work so bad man [last updated: 10/4/24]

Trouvaille ✰ @spookyserenades

on my main recs list for a REASON!!! MODERN OT7 CLASSIC FIC!!! if you like the slowest of burns… you’ll enjoy this fic heavily. once again my favourite chicken-soup style so I can’t help but recommend it <33 I have… so many words id like to say about coyote jimin and hoseok… but I will remain silent for my own dignity 😔love all of her work terribly <33 [last updated: 8/17/24]

SeVen Uncaged ✰ @/missing_min_meowmeow (ao3) and @/polaritae (ao3)

two part series (first half completed, second half not) detailing the difficulties of adopting 7 hybrids reader was completely unprepared for 🙂‍↕️ YESSS MA’AM!!! LOVE LOVE LOVE!!!! I love how this fic goes into the details of how difficult mentally and physically this kind of change would be for the hybrids. I love the characterisation of each of the boys. I LOVE IT!!!! pls give this series a chance it is so definitely worth it even though it’s unfinished. A love it terribly, in its entirety. I LOVE FLAWED CHARACTERS!!! [last updated: 9/11/23]

Restitution ✰ @/cloudtea (ao3) @cloudteawrites (tumblr)

like I said I REALLY like fanfics where reader comes into a bunch of hybrids and has to deal with the consequences 😭 that being said, this has exactly everything I love in a hybrid fic, I absolutely love the concept, and the stories of where each of the guys came from before. THIS is exactly what I mean when I say a chicken soup fic— warm and comforting. Hopefully the author will come back to it someday <33 it’s so good even though it’s just the beginning [last updated: 4/19/21 — permanent hiatus]

Loving You Isn’t Hard to Learn ✰ @/arduouslove (ao3) @arduouslove (tumblr)

MANNN ITS SO WARM AND COMFORTING!!! like,, i know i keep saying chicken soup and IM SORRY BUT THATS WHAT THESE ARE FOR ME!!! I absolutely adore the concept of a motel for hybrids to go when they need help. And I really love the development we’ve seen so far between Hoseok and jimin. Another fic that was left at the beginning, but truly lovely. Another one I hope the author updates again someday <33 [last updated: 03/07/23]

Still Life ✰ @/king_myg (ao3)

OKAY NO YOU DONT UNDERSTAND THIS IS ACTUALLY LIKE,,, ONE OF MY FAVOURITE HYBRID FICS IVE READ!! The concept behind it is just so,, intriguing. It’s a yandere fic, so it has that edge to it but the way jungkook just *is* is so…. No you actually just have to read it to understand. I love this fic sooo bad actually. And Yoongi who pretends not to be a hybrid… and!! I really can’t express in words how exciting this was for me to read. I can’t wait to see how the rest of the guys relationships develop with the reader. [last updated: 5/22/24]

Home Calls the Heart ✰ @anonnie-in-wonderland

verryyy cute ot7 fic <33 the first chapter just feels very warm and soft. its adorable how tae wants to 'adopt' a human for his family even though he doesn't quite understand the repercussions of it [last updated: 12/17/22]

About love ✰ @mochiimac

One of my favourite tropes of reader coming into hybrids and them all hating each other right off the bat!! The writing style feels so safe too <33 [last updated: 04/24/3]

A Hundred Percent Human ✰ @/wrienne (ao3) @wrienne (tumblr)

Another CLASSIC ot7 hybrid fic!! I remember reading the first few chapters before I took a break from fanfics back in the day. Each of the characters (bts memebers) are so interesting and I love the personalities the author made around them as well as all the world building they did within the fic. The class system was so interesting to me and TAEHYUNG??? God, such a fun and dynamic story!! Highly recommend you check it out [last updated: 7/24/23]

Daddy’s Money Makes the World Go Round ✰ @/That_Author (ao3)

SOOO warm and comfortable. Guarddog Namjoon rlly just wants to keep the reader safe even though her parents are mean. Their relationship (as well as the rest of the guys that come into the home) is just SO sweet n gentle <3 [last updated: 10/28/22]

Oneshots

Secret Story of the Swan ✰ @purpleyoonn

one of the few yandere fics on the list and oh so sweet <33 the way they gently lure reader is so 🥺 and she gives in easily to their charms 🥺 v cute little oneshot <33 love her a lot

Beastly Gods ✰ @lemonjoonah

A CLASSICCCCCC one of the only (other) yandere fics on this list. mostly taehyung x reader w/ implied ot7 x reader ++ drabbles featuring ot7 x reader. I love this fic so much actually you don’t understand. It holds such a special place in my heart PLS READ IT!!

Tangled Hearts ✰ @writersrealmbts

Adorable look into readers life with 7 hybrids <33 truly love how this fic played out and the interactions the members had with eachother and the reader. ITS JUST REAL CUTE OKAY!!!! Makes me all soft nd gushy!! Very cute <33 i love it.

To Be Read / Currently Reading

Kindness ✰ @/angelaronin (ao3)

Stray Cat Strut ✰ @/typhloticharuspex (ao3)

Meritocracy ✰ @/saylilirose (ao3)

The Dog Days are Over ✰ @/mintedmango (ao3)

Redamancy ✰ @/dalgi_jungoo (ao3)

A Sweet Change ✰ @/kagsii (ao3)

Peculiar Pack ✰ @/dollremi (ao3)

If anyone has any reads I didn’t mention comment them or message me them!!

** I’ll update this as I read more / find more fics I’ve read in the past that I enjoyed!! By no means is it complete, these are just the fics I’ve read/reread recently nd enjoyed <33 Currently going through my tumblr likes to see if I’ve missed any <33 ✰ last updated: 01/19/25

Main Rec List | individual/poly hybrid rec list (coming soon)

[mikneuteto]

png resources ♡

from mod teto ! all sourced 4m picsart, dont credit!

[solaceseven]

breath of fresh air

you storm out in the middle of an argument. featuring: gojo satoru, geto suguru, kento nanami, ryomen sukuna, toji fushiguro.

GOJO - the second you stormed out, gojo was right behind you.

you heard his footsteps almost immediately, quick and determined. of course, he wasn’t going to just let you go—not without a fight.

“leave me alone, gojo,” you snapped over your shoulder, picking up your pace.

“nope.”

you groaned. “i need space.”

“i need you to not walk around alone at night,” he countered, effortlessly keeping up.

you whirled around, frustration bubbling over. “i can protect myself.”

gojo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "i know you can. you’re strong, way too strong for me, honestly—i think about it all the time, actually, how you could probably throw me into the sun if you really tried—”

“gojo.”

“right, right, focus.” he exhaled. “i know you can handle yourself. that’s not the point. i just—please, come back home.”

you clenched your jaw, crossing your arms. gojo loved your stubbornness—adored it, actually. but right now, he just wished you’d listen to him.

when you didn’t say anything, he groaned dramatically, throwing his hands up. “come on—don’t make me get on my knees.”

“you wouldn’t.”

“oh, i would. right here. in the middle of the street.”

you rolled your eyes, turning to keep walking. when you finally took in your surroundings. without even realizing it, you’d walked all the way to a 7-eleven.

gojo followed your gaze, then brightened immediately. “oh? a sign from the heavens?” he turned to you with a grin. “ramen?”

you sighed, and gojo, ever the opportunist, pressed on. “my treat.”

“you always pay,” you deadpanned.

“exactly! so, technically, i didn’t even have to say that—but i did, because i’m a generous and loving boyfriend.”

you exhaled, shaking your head. “…yeah, okay.”

gojo beamed like you had just accepted a marriage proposal. “knew you couldn’t resist me.”

you shot him a glare, but he just threw an arm around your shoulder, steering you inside like you hadn’t just been arguing minutes ago.

as he grabbed entirely too many snacks, sneaking extras into your basket with a shit-eating grin, you felt the weight in your chest ease just a little.

you weren’t done being mad at him—not completely. but as he stood beside you at the register, arms full of junk food, nudging you with his elbow like a lovesick fool, you realized—

yeah. you’d be okay.

GETO - suguru doesn’t stop you.

not because he doesn’t care—no, quite the opposite. he watches as you grab your coat, as you storm out, and he lets you go. he knows you need space, and he respects that.

but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to find you.

you don’t know how long you’ve been walking, the frustration from your argument still lingering, but eventually, you find yourself stopping by a quiet street corner. you sigh, rubbing a hand over your face, trying to steady your thoughts—

and then you hear it. a smooth, familiar voice from behind you.

“you’re really making me work for it tonight, huh?”

you whip around, only to see geto standing there, hands tucked casually into his sleeves, watching you with that unreadable expression of his.

you glare. “how did you even find me?”

he tilts his head, amused. “you’re predictable.”

you huff, crossing your arms. “if you’re here to drag me home, don’t bother.”

geto steps closer, slow and easy. “i’m not dragging you anywhere.”

you raise an eyebrow. “then what do you want?”

he exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “you’re upset. i get it. but you know i hate leaving things like this.” he steps beside you, hands still tucked into his sleeves. “so, i figured i’d come find you.”

you don’t answer right away, staring at the ground. then, without warning, your eyes begin to sting. you blink rapidly, willing the tears away, but it’s too late—geto sees it instantly.

his expression shifts, the tension in his shoulders vanishing in an instant. before you can turn away, he’s already in front of you, his hands cupping your cheeks with the kind of gentleness that makes your chest ache.

“hey, hey, hey,” he murmurs, tilting your face up to him. “don’t cry.” his thumbs brush lightly under your eyes, catching the first traces of tears. “look at me.”

you do, even though it only makes your throat feel tighter.

his brows furrow, guilt flashing across his face. “i’m sorry, okay?” his voice is soft, sincere. “i didn’t mean to upset you.”

you swallow hard, blinking up at him. “…you were being an ass.”

a small, breathy chuckle leaves him. “yeah,” he admits. “i was.”

you sniff, and he immediately wipes away another tear before it can fall, his touch warm and steady. “but i didn’t mean to be,” he continues. “you know that, right?”

you nod.

geto exhales, relief evident in his expression. his hands don’t leave your face, his thumbs still tracing slow, soothing circles against your skin.

“come home?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

you glance away, mumbling, “still mad.”

“i know.” his lips quirk into a small smile. “you can be mad at me at home, too.”

a pause. then, finally—

“okay.”

he doesn’t say anything, just lets his forehead rest lightly against yours for a moment before taking your hand in his, squeezing it once before leading you back home.

NANAMI - the argument had left a bitter weight in your chest, one that you couldn’t shake no matter how much you wanted to. the walls of your shared home felt too tight, too suffocating, so you did the only thing that made sense—you grabbed your coat and walked out.

you didn’t have a destination in mind, just the simple need to move, to put some distance between you and the words that had been thrown too carelessly.

at first, you thought you were alone. but then, a few blocks in, you heard it—steady, familiar footsteps trailing behind you.

you sighed. “kento.”

a pause. “hm?”

you turned slightly, just enough to glance over your shoulder. sure enough, he was there. hands in his pockets, expression unreadable, but present nonetheless. he didn’t try to walk beside you, didn’t call your name or tell you to come home—he was just there.

“you don’t have to follow me,” you muttered.

nanami exhaled slowly, adjusting his tie as he kept his pace behind you. “i know.”

and yet, he didn’t stop.

you didn’t push him away, either.

the night air was crisp, the streets quiet save for the occasional car passing by. you walked, and he followed. neither of you spoke. the argument still lingered between you, raw and unhealed, but for some reason, his quiet presence made it easier to breathe.

eventually, your feet carried you to the park. it was empty this late, just dimly lit by a few scattered streetlights. you found yourself heading toward the swing set, your steps slowing as you lowered yourself onto one of the swings. the chains creaked slightly under your weight.

nanami hesitated for only a second before taking the swing next to you. he didn’t say anything, just sat there, hands resting on his thighs, eyes fixed ahead.

the silence stretched, not uncomfortable, just… there.

after a long moment, you broke it.

“we’re going to be okay, right?” your voice was quieter than you intended, but you didn’t correct it.

nanami didn’t answer immediately. he let out a slow breath.

“yeah,” he said, firm, certain. “we’re going to be okay.”

and for the first time since the argument, you let yourself believe it.

SUKUNA - the door had barely swung shut before you heard heavy footsteps behind you.

you had barely made it down the front steps when a clawed hand wrapped around your wrist, yanking you to a stop.

sukuna’s grip wasn’t painful, but it was firm—unrelenting. “where do you think you’re going?” his voice was low, edged with something unreadable.

you didn’t turn to face him. “i need to cool off.”

his fingers twitched against your skin. “tch. you can cool off inside.”

you exhaled sharply, attempting to pull away, but he didn’t let you. his grip remained steady, grounding. “i don’t want to be inside right now, sukuna.”

“and i don’t want you wandering off alone.”

you finally turned, eyes burning with frustration. “i can take care of myself.”

his expression didn’t change, but something flickered behind his crimson gaze. “i know you can.” his tone softened, just barely. “that’s not the point.”

silence settled between you, tense and heavy. the night air was cool against your skin, the world around you quiet. your breathing was uneven, your heart still pounding from the argument. you wanted to be stubborn, to keep walking just to prove a point.

but sukuna didn’t let go.

for a long moment, he just looked at you. not with anger, not with amusement—just quiet, unreadable intensity. and then, after a sigh that sounded almost reluctant, his grip loosened. his hand slid down to take yours, fingers wrapping around yours in a way that felt less like restraint and more like holding on.

“come back inside,” he muttered. his voice wasn’t commanding, not like before. it was something else. something almost pleading.

you hesitated, still upset, still wanting to fight. but his hand was warm, solid, there. the fight had drained out of you, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.

after a long pause, you sighed, giving his fingers a small squeeze before turning back toward the house.

sukuna didn’t say anything, just followed beside you, his hand never leaving yours. when you stepped inside, he made sure the door was locked behind you, his movements slow, deliberate. neither of you spoke as he guided you toward the bedroom, the silence no longer suffocating but something quieter, softer.

the argument wasn’t over. you weren’t ready to let it go. but as sukuna’s grip lingered, steady and sure, you knew—

you two were going to be okay.

TOJI - toji doesn’t follow you. at least, not right away.

he watches as you storm out, jaw clenched, arms crossed, your anger still crackling in the air like static. he lets you leave, doesn’t call after you, doesn’t chase you down. he just sits there, rubbing a hand over his face with a deep sigh.

but after a few minutes, he clicks his tongue, grabs his jacket, and heads out after you.

he knows you—knows you’re stubborn, knows you need space, but he also knows it’s late, and he’ll be damned if he lets you wander around alone.

it doesn’t take long to find you. you’re sitting on a bench at some quiet little bus stop, arms hugged around yourself, your knee bouncing impatiently. toji exhales, shoving his hands in his pockets as he makes his way over.

you glance up when he steps in front of you, glaring. “go away.”

“not happening,” he says flatly.

you scoff, turning your head. “i don’t wanna talk to you.”

“good,” he deadpans. “cause i ain’t here to talk.”

you blink, caught off guard, looking at him. he just shrugs. “you needed space, so i gave it to ya. now i’m just gonna sit here and shut up.”

and with that, toji plops down onto the bench next to you, spreading his legs wide, leaning back like this is the most natural thing in the world.

you stare at him. “you’re kidding.”

“nah.” he closes his eyes, tilting his head back. “go on. be mad.”

you are mad. but suddenly, it feels a little ridiculous.

the two of you sit there in silence, the sounds of the city buzzing faintly in the distance. the weight of the argument still lingers, but toji’s presence, solid and unshaken, makes it feel smaller. like it’s not going to swallow you whole.

after a while, he cracks an eye open, side-eyeing you. “you done sulking yet?”

you huff. “i’m not sulking.”

“yeah, yeah.” he stretches, rolling his shoulders. “c’mon. let’s go.”

you hesitate. “i dunno…”

he stands up, glancing down at you. “i’ll buy you food.”

you squint. “bribery?”

toji smirks. “call it what ya want. just get up.”

you sigh, but when he holds a hand out to you, you take it. his grip is warm, steady, and when he tugs you to your feet, he doesn’t let go.

“where are we going?” you mumble.

“dunno.” he shrugs. “we’ll figure it out.”

and somehow, that’s enough.

[chocolilies]

─── messy sheets. ꒱

( ୨ৎ. roronoa zoro x fem!reader. . .ᐟ

one of zoro's many favourite things about dating you is how you pick up on each other's mannerisms.

◟ꪆ୧ nsfw (afab!reader, thigh riding, groping, fingering) porn with a tiny bit of plot, though the plot is mostly fluffy! based on this request! spreading my titty fiend!zoro agenda... reblogs and comments are appreciated a lot!! (⁠ʃ⁠ƪ⁠＾∇⁠＾) !

w.c : 3.2k.

also on ao3 + op masterlist !

“don’t ever come back here again!”

“you don't own the ship, asshole! I'll go wherever I want!”

dodging a kitchen knife, zoro slammed the door to the galley shut, stomping down the corridor as anger seethed through him. 

“can’t even get a drink in peace,” zoro growled as he clutched at one of his swords, pushing open the door to your room, having half the mind to turn back around and slice the cook up a bit until he set eyes on your bed. 

he found you sprawled out horizontally over the covers, one of his too-big-for-you shirts pulled over your sleeping body, head falling off of one of the pillows, while you hugged the other tight against your chest. 

now, one thing zoro loved about dating you was seeing just how much you influenced each other. 

when you’d both first joined luffy’s crew, you’d snap and whine at him for napping at the most random intervals of time, kicking him awake or simply complaining very loudly with nami about how he used his free time, driving the swordsman up the walls. 

yet after all that time spent grumbling about his sleeping habits before you’d gotten together (and maybe a bit more after that), here you were. messily spread out on your shared bed with drool running down your chin, taking one of those naps you once objected so much against. 

he held in a laugh, his tiff with the cook fizzling away in his mind as he took in your sleeping figure, the light from the afternoon sun shining into the room and hitting you in an almost angelic way, which for zoro, you were nothing but. 

he carefully propped up his swords against the wall, shaking his shoes off before silently moving towards what you’d both silently agreed on was his side of the bed, though thanks to the way you had moved around in your bed, were now occupied by your bare legs. 

zoro had once heard about how you moved around a lot during your sleep, having heard nami’s complaints about your sleepy kicks or slaps back when you used to share a bed with her, always laughing loudly at the way you would shy away from her in embarrassment, unaware of how squirmy you were asleep. 

surprisingly enough, though, the moment you started to sleep alongside zoro, you stopped moving. maybe it was because of his incredible pain tolerance (since one slap from you would hardly register as painful) that your movements didn’t stir him awake, or maybe it was because of the unyielding grip he had on you the moment his arms found your wriggly body. 

he found it hilarious that it was the latter. 

zoro carefully took both of your ankles in one hand, pushing your legs and subsequently moving your body so you were lying in a more “appropriate” manner, though considering the many times he’d ended up horizontal on a bed, he shouldn't really be judging. 

once he’d made enough space for himself, he let go, kneeling on the mattress before pulling his shirt and haramaki off, polloping himself down on the bed as soon as he’d flung them across the room (something he knew he’d get reprimanded for later).

a grunt left him as he tried to get comfortable, arms immediately spread out instinctively to find your body, wrapping them around your waist and dragging you across the already messy covers into his chest. 

you let out a whine as the rough movements forced you to let go of the pillow you’d been cuddling, though seemed to immediately calm down once you subconsciously realised whose arms you were now in. 

“messy girl,” zoro murmured as he looked around the state your bed’s covers were in after what he assumed had been less than an hour (he clearly recalled you screaming at luffy for something or other a bit before he’d wandered into the kitchen), craning his head so he could press a sloppy kiss against your cheek. “mean, too. napping without me…”

he adjusted the arm underneath you so it was right against your neck, not wanting for you to grow uncomfortable with it digging into your waist, watching as you immediately rested your head against his warm bicep, letting out a soft noise of content. 

his other arm, though, had completely other plans. he moved it from its place around your waist, dragging his hand underneath the oversized shirt of his you’d stolen, placing his warm palm right above the elastic band of your panties, chuckling as your body shivered in response. 

one thing you'd quickly learned about zoro the moment you'd started dating was that he loved your tits. 

he'd once “joked” about throwing all of your bras overboard one day in which you'd walked out of your room without one, eyes trained to your chest each time you walked by, not shying away from showing his attraction to you in that state, though you (and everyone else who had heard his proclamation) knew he was fully capable of doing it. 

zoro's hands were on you every chance you got, taking your tits into his hands and squeezing like they were stress balls, thumb and index slowly working on your pebbling nipples, chin perched on your shoulder and just watching, never making a sound except for the sighs or grunts that would leave him in response to your own whimpering noises. 

sometimes it wasn't even sexual. sometimes he just found comfort in groping you, playing with the flesh as you say in his lap working on something or as a stress reliever after a particularly gruelling battle. 

this, he thought as slid one of his legs between yours, was not one of those times. 

zoro leaned down to press kisses to the exposed skin of your shoulder, leading a trail right up to the spot behind your ear, smirking as you shivered in response to the soft blow of air from his breathing. 

“...’ro.” you mumbled sleepily, hand moving to cover the one that had started playing with your tummy, stirring awake due to his movements, completely different to how zoro could sleep through wars if he wished to. 

“mornin’,” he joked breathlessly into your ear, deciding to continue teasing as he nibbled at your ear lobe, making you squeak and try to move away. “hey, hey, stop moving.” 

“stop bitin’!” you slurred out tiredly, swatting at his face with a huff, knowing it was probably pulled into an annoyingly smug look. 

“can't… ‘specially not when you look this cute in my shirt, all sleepy…” 

“you get turned on by the weirdest things…” you groaned, already feeling his hand start to move up your abdomen, going directly towards his two favourite things. 

his teeth immediately sunk into your neck in response to your little insult, taking advantage of your body's natural reaction to the pain to finally grab at your tits, tugging at your nipple almost immediately, his other arm moving from the position he'd previously put it in to grab at your other tit, not wanting to leave out any of your two girls.

“you’re so pervy, zo… y’re no better than-” your words were cut off as you moaned out in surprise at the immediate attack on your slowly pebbling nipples, the action sending shockwaves through your body, arms lying stiff at your side as you tried to decide what do with your hands, teasing words fizzling away in your mind, too busy enjoying the way your boyfriend was massaging your chest. 

“don't.” zoro growled into your ear with a pinch to your nipples, a high pitched whine leaving your mouth at the little retaliation, knowing full well what was about to leave your mouth, not wanting to think about the perv-cook when he was in the middle of playing with his girl's tits. 

“m-meanie…” you gasped, back arching at the slight pain that accompanied the pleasure that rushed through your body at his actions, feeling the leg that he'd slipped between your own start to move, the coarse material of his trousers along with the pressure of his thigh pressing tight against your panty-clad core. 

“yeah? ‘m just a big meanie?” zoro grunted, licking at the spot he'd previously sunk his teeth in, slowly but surely moving his thigh back and forth, loving the way your tiny frame jumped and shivered at every stimulation he gave. 

“y-yeah-” breathlessly, you started to move down to meet the movements of his stiff thigh, muscles rippling between your legs despite the little effort it took for him to move like this in comparison to you, who was already growing tired from the constant movements without the help like you usually had. 

“this is me being nice,” he licked a stripe up your neck to the spot behind your ear, where he pressed a very uncharacteristically sweet kiss to, your mind flowing with confusion as to how he could focus on kissing, groping and grinding into you all at once. 

well, considering you were dealing with a man who fought with three swords, you shouldn't be surprised at his dexterity. 

each movement of his thigh against where you needed him most sent waves of pleasure through your tired body, and you could anxiously tell that you were leaving a damp spot on his trousers by the way you were dripping, your boyfriend's ministrations enough to get your pussy soaked. 

it also didn't help that each time he pulled his leg forward, his knee would bump against your already throbbing clit, sending shockwaves up your spine and forcing whines out of your wet lips, saliva pooling in your mouth and threatening to slide down your chin like it previously had been doing during your nap. 

“y’really don't want me to be mean,” he taunted, leaving more kisses across the expanse of skin his too-big shirt exposed for him to touch, fingers letting go of your already abused nipples, a sigh of relief leaving your parted lips at that, focusing instead on groping at the rest.

at your lack of response, zoro grinned, basking in the sounds you were making before he slid his leg out of yours, not missing the way they immediately tried to press down onto it, a horrified sound leaving you at the sudden lack of pleasure. 

“z-zo!” you exclaimed, trying to turn around to look at him, but by the way he had you pressed tightly against, you found that movement to be impossible. “wh-what was that for?” 

your whines were music to his ears, ignoring the way you were squirming in his arms, though his hands continued to play with your tits. “what was what for?” 

he acted like he hadn't just put a pin in your pleasure, instead moving to grind his front against your backside, evidence of his growing pleasure pressing into your ass. 

“mean enough for you now?” 

you whined at his taunt, a gasp escaping you as one of his hands let go of your tits, confusion filling you as to what that lonely hand would be getting up to. 

“‘m sorry!” you whined, finding it slightly ridiculous that you were apologising for simply implying that your boyfriend was being mean, though you would've done anything to get that beautiful pleasure back. “please- please…” 

“please what?” you could hear the smirk in his voice, though by the way his hand was already trailing down your stomach towards your soaked cunt, you knew you wouldn't have to do any more begging except to please him. 

“touch- touch me, pleaseee…” you begged, even though his index and middle finger were already teasing the spot right above your clit, tracing the soft texture of your panties, trying to discern which pair you'd worn that day. 

“there's my girl.” he grinned, pride filling him up as he finally got that initial brattiness out of you, pressing a sloppy kiss to your cheek as his fingers went up to the elastic band of your underwear, reaching his hand under it and running over your pubic hair, fingers sliding right between your soppy folds. 

your breath hitched in your throat as he immediately found your tiny bundle of nerves, already an expert on how your body worked and what you needed from him, rubbing slow circles into it like he knew you liked, a sharp contrast to the way he'd previously been grinding his leg against it. 

your legs twitched with every movement, your pleasure picking up from where he'd left off, tummy growing warm as he toyed with you, and though you could feel yourself slowly making your way up to your orgasm, you knew zoro wouldn't let you cum just like that. 

“shit, she's a messy girl, jus’ listen to her…” he murmured, referring to the sounds your cunt was making with every move of his finger, adding a second one in hopes that the cacophony of sounds would increase. 

“don't teaseee…” you drawled out, lolling your head back against his shoulder as he peppered kisses all over you, sliding his fingers around the erogenous zones around your clit, sparking pleasure all over you. 

“‘m not teasing.” he grunted, his hips jerking slightly to make contact with your ass, rubbing his erection against you in tandem with his own fingers, though still completely zeroed in on your pleasure. “I jus’ know what she wants.” 

you puffed out your cheeks, though whatever you were about to snap back died in your throat as he finally slid his fingers down to your soaked entrance, teasingly running his fingers around the ring of muscles. 

“fuck, y’feel tight.” zoro groaned, the heel of his palm pressing right into your clit, stimulating your little nub with each twitch of his fingers. 

“gonna fuck me open?” you jeered, out of breath at the continuous amount of pleasure being forced onto your sleepy body, another wave of slick leaving your cunt at the thought of getting fucked. 

“fuck, I wish…” zoro rasped, cock twitching against your back at the shared idea, shaking his head slightly, too comfortable in this position to move around. “not today, though. ‘m just enjoying playing with your little cunt for now.”

he slipped his middle finger into your hole before you could even reply, though he knew you had no qualms with his reply, always admiring his hands and exclaiming how much you loved having them on your pussy. 

his finger immediately found your g-spot, arching it to rub against the spongy spot that made your toes curl, palm still grinding against your clit deliciously. 

“s-so good!” you cried out, one of your hands grabbing at the arm he'd shoved down your panties, nails digging into his tanned skin in pleasure, though no pain registered, too busy playing with your cunt to focus on it. 

“yeah? ‘course it is, it's me.” he said, ego inflating at his own words as you twitched in his arms, slipping another finger into your tight heat to join the attack on your g-spot, his other hand still playing with your tit, warm pleasure building up in your tummy as he worked you out. “‘know you better than anyone.” 

fuck, it almost pissed you off how right he was. 

“no one like me, right?” 

“no one!” you cried out on instinct, moving your hips in tandem with his hand, amplifying the rising pleasure and grinding back on his stiff cock at the same time. “only one for me, zo!”

“atta fucking girl.” he spat out, breathless from the possessive talk and the own pleasure that was rushing through his body, pre leaking from his tip and forming a wet patch against his trousers. “y’close?” 

“mhm!” you shook your head up and down aggressively, moans and whines tumbling out of your mouth as you neared your peak, hand pulling at zoro's arm to alert him of it and ask that- 

“I got you, don't worry.” he sighed, knowing what you wanted before you even said it out loud, pulling his fingers out of you with a loud squelch, pressing his wet fingers against your clit like you wanted and rubbing quick circles onto it, your legs shaking as your hips tried to keep up with the sudden switch in stimulation, though thankful for the help, as it was what you needed to get where you wanted to the most. 

“fu-fuck, zoro! m’so close!” 

zoro knew what that meant. already too familiar with your body and your needs, he knew that that meant to continue whatever he was doing. not to speed up, not to slow down, not to switch techniques, just keep doing what was making his girl scream. 

“it's okay, I got you,” he almost purred, grip tightening on your tit as his hips jutted out to search for stimulation on his leaking cock, although he knew he'd probably be able to cum just by witnessing your orgasm alone. 

“oh god, oh god-” zoro grunted at your words, knowing that he'd usually let out a teasing ‘god’s not fucking you this good, baby’, at your whiny words, smirking as you immediately changed your tune. “zoro! oh, zoro, zoro!

your mouth flew open in a silent scream as you finally reached your peak, riding out your orgasm with help of zoro's fingers, that were quickly covered in slick by the way you'd came, soaking both his hand and your panties, probably even leaking onto the already messy covers. 

you whined as the hand that had been groping you moved to grab at your neck, moving your head painfully to a side so zoro could slot his lips against yours, drinking up your moans and whimpers as you swapped spit, eyes wide open and taking in the way you were falling apart on his fingers. 

you quickly found yourself twitching in overestimation once your orgasm washed away, whining into zoro's mouth, a telltale sign to slowly stop his ministrations. 

“hey, hey…” he shushed you as he leaned back, letting you lie down properly as he propped himself up on the bed, watching you shiver in the aftershocks of your orgasm as he pulled his fingers back from your perky clit, leaning back down quickly to press a kiss between your furrowed brows. “y’okay?” 

you hummed in response, cracking your eyes open to take a look at your grinning boyfriend, his face flushed and sweaty as his chest rose and fell with each quick breath, almost like he'd- 

“zo, just by-?”

“just by seeing you, yeah.” he exhaled, eyes flicking down to his bulge, cock softening against his trousers as he himself came down from his high, bringing the fingers he'd used on you up to his mouth and licking them clean, eyes darting around the room as if he wasn't in the middle of licking your juices off his fingers. 

“don't goooooo…” you whined, knowing he was probably looking for the closest thing he could use to clean you up, much rather preferring cuddles with your boyfriend to a dry cunt. 

you outstretched your arms out to him and made grabby hands, watching as he grinned in response to your need actions, landing on top of you with a grunt and resting his head right on the tits he'd previously been attacking. 

“brute!” you gasped, hands finding solace in his hair and running through his green strands, pouting down at your boyfriend. 

“mmm… next time don't let me suck your tits, unless you wanna see a real brute.” 

[kingsillysmilez]

WE ARE HYPERN☆VA !!!