#Top-Rated Assignment Help

[stellamarielu]

soft

jack abbot x female reader

summary: jack gets injured on his shift and you’re there to help him get stitched up, making it impossible for him to ignore the soft side you bring out in him— especially when it makes his heart rate jump alarmingly high.

content: just a whole lot of fluff, reader is a resident on robby’s shift and jack has a capital c crush, i’m talking down astronomically bad, cursing, lots of cheesy banter between robby and jack bc i couldn’t help myself, reader is described to be upbeat and positive, very sunshine x grump coded, also the reader wears bright colors and patterns from time to time [sorry if that’s not your jam it just has to be that way for the plot, you get it], mentions of a brief altercation, mentions of blood and stitches, bad medical terminology [don’t yell at me i tried my best]

word count: 3.5k

author’s note: ok so hi this is my submission for the A DOCTOR A DAY event! but it's also a request from the lovely and talented @letsgobarbs so I thought I'd put them together and make this bad boy. thank you loops for the extraordinary idea, and thank you to my lovely babies, @clubsoft @ananonymousaffair and @letsgobarbs for putting on such an incredible little event! very very excited to see all the entires! my assigned dialogue was, “nothing defines a man like love that makes him soft.” and the color i got was green!

A reoccurring psych patient, and an elbow straight to the eye, landed Jack a seat in his own emergency department.

“I’m fine,” his voice came out with a twinge of annoyance, and a profusion of frustration as he side-eyed Robby from across the room.

But he was indeed, not fine. He was annoyed— borderline livid— at the current situation.

He should be on his way home, not sitting in an open treatment room with blood trickling down the side of his face.

It was completely unintentional, just an unstable patient throwing limbs in an effort to avoid an IV. What he thought would be his last case of the day, was now the reason for his friend making jokes at his expense, while Jack waited to get his brow sutured up so he could finally go home. 

“Yeah Okay. Whatever you wanna tell yourself.” Robby’s voice filled the room as he gathered supplies for the simple procedure.

“If Gloria found out you got a work related injury and walked out of those doors without somebody clearing you— on my shift? She’d have my neck.”

“Whatever, just make it fast.” 

All Jack could think about was how last night’s shift felt like the longest one he’d worked in a while. Taking a hit straight to the face was just the cherry on top of a dreadful night. The comfort of his bed was starting to look unbelievably far away as his presence at the hospital persisted long after it was supposed to.

“What’s the rush? You got a hot date I don’t know about?” Robby’s expression was a little too amused for Jack’s taste, as he placed a pulse oximeter on his finger.

“Yeah actually, her name is a breakfast bagel from Cal’s and 7 hours of uninterrupted sleep.” Jack stared down at the contraption sitting on his pointer finger, almost chuckling to himself at Robby’s commitment to care.

“A pulse ox? You’re really serious about this whole Gloria thing huh?”

“Yeah she’s been on my ass lately. Plus you got hit pretty hard, gotta make sure you don’t go down on us. Your risk for a heart attack is only going up with your age.” The smug curl of Robby’s lips as he pulled at the latex of his glove, made Jack instinctively roll his eyes.

Before Robby could start stitching, Dana’s voice carried into the room as she passed by the open door, “Robby, we’ve got a motorcyclist coming in. Multiple open fractures, severe blood loss with trauma to the head, and a possible pneumothorax, about 3 minutes out.” 

Robby shot Jack a knowing look as if to say, sorry buddy, duty calls.

“Oh c’mon, you’ve got this in three minutes.” Jack was desperate to get out of the hospital and on his way home. He was right, they both knew Robby was more than capable of lacing up two or three quick stitches before he was needed on the incoming trauma.

“As much as I would love to sit here and miss potentially the best case of my day to be ridiculed by you, I’m gonna have to make your fucked up eyebrow somebody else’s problem. Don’t worry, I’ll leave you in good hands.”

The sudden smirk Robby shot his way, had confusion clouding Jack’s mind. It wasn’t until the smug attending was calling out your name, that Jack understood the motive behind Robby’s words.

“Oh, you have to be kidding me.” The murmured annoyance from Jack’s lips sent Robby chuckling.

The laugh was no doubt caused by the memory of a shared confession over a couple of beers not more than three weeks ago.

Jack and Robby went out for drinks on their day off. It was a regular occurrence, but that specific night was a little different, because that night, Jack let it slip that he thought you were pretty. 

The men were sat side by side at the bar, recounting some of their best cases of the week, when Robby brought up your impressive intubation record.

Jack’s comment on your abilities had Robby stunned into a quick moment of silence.

“Pretty and she knows how to clear an airway.”

It was a subconscious declaration of affection from Jack, spoken into his glass as he took a sip of beer. 

A meek confession that Robby clung to, because he’d always noticed it— the way Jack’s stare lingered a little too long on you in those fleeting minutes when your shifts overlapped.

It was impossible for him to miss his friend’s not-so-subtle flirting when you were around. He’d been patient, waiting for Jack to bring it up first.

“Just your type.”

Robby’s words met Jack in the same way, stumbling off his lips and into his glass before taking a swig.

You were one of Robby’s residents. One of his favorites actually. A phenomenal doctor, always one step ahead of everyone else and charting your own course without having to be told what to do, it made Robby’s life a whole lot easier. What didn’t make Robby’s life easier? Watching his best friend dance around his undeniable attraction to you. He knew better than anyone that Jack had been out of the game for a while.

In fact, he hadn’t seen him show interest in anyone until you came along. Over the three months of shy smiles and round-about compliments paid to each other in passing, you and Jack's interactions had become impossible for Robby to ignore. He'd even tried bringing them up multiple times to see if Jack would admit to having a crush on you, only for him to jokingly brush it off every time.

“You could ask her out, you know?” Robby kept nursing his drink, trying to look nonchalant because the moment he put too much attention on the topic, he knew Jack would shut it down. 

“Yeah, we’re not doing this.”

And there it was, right on cue. Shut it down, and brush it off, like he did every time.

“Oh come on Jack. She’s great, you’re great, I see the way your demeanor changes when she's around.”

“Oh does it now?” Deciding to indulge in Robby’s incessant need to meddle in his lovelife, Jack fed into his friend’s accusation with raised brows and chuckle on his lips. 

“Yeah you get a little softer.”

“And, what makes you think I’m not just tired after a long night of people griping at me.”

Robby let a brief blanket of silence fall over the two of them before adding one final thought to the conversation.

“Nothing defines a man like love that makes him soft.” Robby smiled as he said it. He knew Jack would give him a hard time for saying something so introspectively cheesy, but he also knew it would resonate with him whether Jack chose to admit it or not. 

“I’m sorry?” Jack nearly choked on his IPA at the abnormally poetic words leaving Robby’s mouth. 

“Did you just pull that right out of your ass or what?” He was giving Robby a hard time, but couldn’t deny the truth hiding in the statement. 

That night he went home and lost more sleep than usual thinking about you— playing out past conversations over and over again in his mind, just to hear you say his name, or to see the captivating curve of your lips. The visions kept him up, even if it was just glimpses of you in his memory.

Robby didn't bring up Jack's comment about you after that night.

A few lingering stares and silent chuckles slipped from him when he watched the two of you interact, but he decided against bringing up that specific conversation. He knew Jack would just dismiss him, and keep to his stubborn reservations when it came to you, so he didn't push. 

This was the first time Robby took a chance, venturing into the territory of Jack’s confessed feelings. The timing was impeccable, with him needing to find someone else to do Jack’s sutures. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity to force the two of you to be alone in a room together. 

“What can I say? I like watching you squirm,” a low giggle remained on his lips as Robby aimed his words at Jack, just before you appeared in the doorway.

“Hey, what’s going on?” 

Soothing with a gentle glimmer of energy, your voice flooded the room in mellow twilight and shimmering stars, hitting Jack’s ears in a way that instantly made his face heat up.

“Dr. Abbot here, took an elbow straight to the face first thing this morning. I was gonna stitch it up, but they need me on the incoming trauma.” Robby barely looked your direction as he spoke, but Jack couldn’t take his eyes off you, only a few feet from him, watching from the doorframe.

“Think you can handle it?” Robby glanced over at you as he joked, a grin stretching across his face.

“I’ve got it covered, boss.” You matched his playful tone, and the whimsical change of your voice made Jack’s eyes divert to the ceiling because— fuck Robby for doing this to him. 

“Make sure to keep an eye on his vitals, he took a pretty hard hit.” Robby’s voice carried from down the hall as he walked out of the room, leaving you and Jack alone.

You took to the space in front of Jack. 

Your body slid so effortlessly next to him, that he had to fight not to adjust his position under the sudden nervousness of having you so close. 

Drawing a quiet breath at the feeling of your thigh resting next to his, he sat still on the edge of the cot. You were on his right side, your left leg gently pressed against him as you leaned closer toward his body to get a good look at his face.

“Damn that’s bad. Someone really had it out for you this morning, huh?” Your fingertips barely touched his temple as you examined his forehead. An audible swallow pushed down his throat at the contact.

He didn’t know what was more embarrassing, his body’s immediate response to your touch, or the fact that he’d nearly been taken out by a patient, and you were the one witnessing him in such a vulnerable position. 

“Yeah well, he had a really effective defense response. I'll give him that.”

Thank god his voice didn’t betray him. His words came out clear and concise, despite the fluttering in his chest at your body right next to his.

Then you laughed. 

He really loved your laugh. In fact, he went out of his way to make jokes just to hear it. It was soft, but rich. The kind of distinctive, infectious sound you could hear in a crowded room ten years later and know exactly who it belonged to. 

“Well, I’m sorry you had to be on the receiving end of it.”

The laughter fizzled from your voice and was replaced with genuine concern as you cleaned his brow. The gentle passes of gauze against his forehead made his mouth go dry, only because he knew it was your fingertips behind the motion.

“Somebody’s gotta take one for the team.” His response was quick as he focused on the words leaving his mouth, trying not to think about the way your hands were working so carefully to take care of him.

Your presence made him nervous enough, but your touch? He couldn’t get a handle on the distraction of your fingers on his skin, even if there was a veil of latex and gauze in between.

You bent further forward into his body, the warmth of your thigh pressing harder against his as your hands carefully angled his head where you needed it, fingertips underneath his jaw, and at his temple. He forced his stare to the floor out of fear that looking into your eyes would send him straight into cardiac arrest.

Looking down at your shoes, he memorized the pattern of your laces to keep himself from thinking about the mildly intoxicating scent radiating from your body. He’d never been this close to you before— close enough to get a whiff of something fresh and so distinctively you.

Maybe it was your shampoo, or laundry detergent? Perfume perhaps?

Shoes. Back to your shoes. It was the same pair of white sneakers you wore most days, but the green socks peeking out at your ankles made him grin. A subtle smile that he was sure you wouldn’t notice as you prepared a needle at your fingertips. 

You always wore a pop of color, something to bring your own personal style into the doldrum of the ER.

It was something he shouldn’t have noticed; the patterned shirts you sometimes wore under your scrub top, the red hair tie you left on your wrist every so often, the memorable collection of colorful socks you constantly sported with your tennis shoes…

The subtle excitement of your accessories matched the bright charisma you brought into the building every time you walked through the doors. You appeared every morning like his own personal ray of sunshine, equipped with an irresistible laugh, sweet smile, and lime green socks. 

“Are you feeling okay?” His sock induced trance was broken at the sound of your voice— abrupt and concerned.

“Yeah, I’m good.” His eyes peered up only to notice your stare fixed on the pulse ox resting on his finger.

He almost forgot about it entirely, busy with the distraction of your proximity taking over his entire being.

“Your heart rate is just really high.” 

Of course it was. 

His heart was nearly beating out of his chest from the moment Robby called out your name earlier. 

“I’m fine.” He tried to move his hand further from your view, hoping to brush it under the rug, and get a move on with the mortifying interaction. 

“Are you sure? If he hit you hard enough to break skin maybe-”

“I promise. I’m fine.” He pulled out a tone in his voice that people usually didn’t argue with. It was a deep, commanding timbre that he had perfected over the years. It came in handy when he had an especially combative patient, or in this case an extremely beautiful woman hounding him for an incredibly humiliating confession as to why he couldn’t get a grip on his bodily reaction to her presence. 

“Whatever you say, Dr. Abbot.” Finally giving up the fight, you let a spirited air back into your words. Jokingly dismissing your concern, and trading it in for weary trust as you let him convince you that he was okay despite his alarmingly high heart rate. 

“But if you go AFib on me…” 

“I won’t,” his voice still held the same robust sound as he looked you straight in the eyes.

“Just stress.” He looked at you as he spoke, and the desperation in his eyes contradicting the tone of his voice.

His stare was tender, and almost pleading while his words spread through the room, sturdy and sure. 

“Or adrenaline or something… I’ll be fine.” He didn’t look away as he continued explaining the reason for his quickening pulse. You found it slightly unnerving, and undeniably endearing as he kept his eyes fixed on yours for far too long. His words began to trail quietly, slowly losing their robust momentum. 

Jack was in a complete daze. He made the mistake of looking up into your eyes, and now he was stuck, getting lost in the all too familiar color, illuminated by the concentration in your gentle stare. He was enamored.

“Well I’ll be quick so you can get out of here.” You reached down to grab some supplies before bringing your hands back up to Jack’s face, finally starting to suture his brow. 

“Although I’m sure Robby would’ve been done by now.” Your eyes zoned in on his injury, while Jack’s stare stayed trained on your face. 

“Eh, I’m glad you’re here and not him.” His voice was amiable and subdued, dripping with a delicate sound you’d never heard from him before. 

“Why’s that?” Still watching the careful work of the needle threading at his forehead, your eyes narrowed in focus, as the question formed on your lips.

“I’d have to deal with his smartass jokes. Plus, he’s too perky in the mornings.”

“And I’m not?”

He wanted to laugh at your question. Of course you weren’t too perky in the mornings. You weren’t too anything. You were perfect. 

“I don’t mind it when you are.” Your movements paused for a split second when the words left his mouth in that same strange, fragile tone.

You could feel his eyes watching- peering up, as you tried your best to keep your attention on your hands.

He felt you stop, internally panicking that he’d said something wrong, he kept talking. 

“I just- you’re different.” The words stumbled out, losing a bit of their fragility as they tripped over each other in an effort to reassure you. 

Your brows furrowed slightly at the word and Jack was convinced he’d just dug a deeper hole to bury himself in. 

“Different?” The one word question left your lips as they struggled to withhold a smile. 

You were amused at the way Jack was fumbling over his words.

It was rare to catch him in such a flustered state. You chalked it up to the fresh wound he’d just received, and his abnormally high heart rate that he really should be paying more attention to. 

“Pleasant.” 

Then you stopped. Longer this time. It must’ve been at least 30 seconds that your fingers paused their threading, as you glanced down at the pulse ox between sutures. Sure enough his heart was racing again.

110 bpm.

You would be concerned about his inevitable descent into a questionable cardiac rhythm if it weren’t for the way his eyes were fixed on yours. His stare was so deliberate, you could feel your own pulse quickening underneath the growing heat of your skin. 

“Pleasant? How so?”

112 bpm.

“You just have this way of making everyone happy. It’s subtle. You’re always smiling and positive, but it’s never performative, it’s just who you are.”

A warmth spreads through your body at the compliment, rolling like waves as each of his words washed over you, completely enveloping you in a state of coy flattery. 

“You’re just easy to be around.” 

The heat threatened to reach your face, as he continued talking. His words were nearly a whisper with his voice floating up to you, low and smooth. 

“I like being around you.” 

115 bpm.

You open your mouth before you’ve even decided how you want to respond to Jack’s innocent confession, then unexpectedly, a voice that’s not yours fills the room.

“Still not done in here?” Robby came barreling into the room. His presence was loud and boisterous compared to the sheepish exchange taking place between you and Jack.

He stopped a few feet into the room. Seeing your body so close to Jack’s, with your hands still working at the injury on his forehead, and your eyes locked on each other, seemed to make him apprehensive about continuing into the room, like he was interrupting something.

“Jesus, let the man go home.” His chuckle echoed around you as he decided to come closer, inspecting your work. 

“That was fast. What happened to that being the best case of your day?” Jack piped up from underneath your touch. He was careful not to move his head as he aimed his question at Robby, eyes averting to the man standing next to you. 

“Yeah, it went south pretty quick.” Robby’s voice finally found a level close to silence, as he watched in concentration while you tied off the last stitch. 

“You need some help there? I could send in one of the medical students-” He joked looking over at you. He knew you were quick. The way you were taking your time, being overly methodical with Jack, was out of character for you. 

“Very funny. I’m done.” You softly glared over at Robby as you took a step back, pulling your gloves off.

“See what I mean about the smartass jokes?” Jack’s eyes were on you, still holding a lingering softness from your unfinished conversation just moments prior. 

“Oh so I leave you two alone for a few minutes and you just use it to talk bad about me?” Pretending to be offended, Robby scoffed at the notion of you two discussing his comedic timing, watching as you and Jack just stared at one another.

“Something like that.”

Your response was hidden behind a smile while you and Jack stayed submerged in a brief moment of smitten eye contact and unquestionable curiosity, before you made your way to the open door.

“I’m gonna get back out there. Try not to take anymore elbows to the face Dr. Abbot,” You joked before taking a single step into the hallway, turning your back for a split second to look at him one last time.

“and I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

With that, you were already halfway down the hall, onto the next patient.

Robby stared at Jack with a goofy smile forming on his mouth as your absence left the room silent.

“Don’t.”

The single word snapped from Jack as he brushed past Robby, leaving the room before he could be hit with his friend’s smug confrontation.

He left for the day, but not before stopping by the triage desk on his way out, purposefully walking past you just to get one last glimpse of your smile for the day.

the pitt masterlist

[vrystalius]

Live to see another day

After the Mugen Train incident your husband Kyojuro is slowly recovering with your help.

Pairing: Kyojuro x gn!reader

Despite all his injuries and great pains, your husband’s bright smile matches that of the sun. You dream of it every night, how life was before Kyojuro went on that damned mission that caused so much suffering and pain for the both of you. Yet, despite everything, he pushed through and forces himself through physical therapy in hopes to recover fully. Your head was resting on your crossed arms, on the hospital bed your husband was laying in. You weren’t planning on falling asleep like this, but you were so, so tired from everything yesterday.

Shinjuro came to visit and caused nothing but make Kyojuro’s heart-rate rapidly rise, his eye sight in the injuried eye got worse, his resistance to the pain-medication that Shinobu assigned to him increase and with that his pain got more intense. You thought your husband was getting better. Last night you were even able to crawl into his narrow hospital bed and cuddle with him. The first time in months. It was so nice to feel his arms wrapped around your body. His touch felt so securing and as if nothing in the world matters anymore, as if Kyojuro can protect you from anything. Even if he may be bedridden for so many more months.

You didn’t want to open your eyes yet despite waking up. You can’t look at your husband’s bandaged body yet, it’s too early in the morning for that. Your body relaxed in the awkward position you were in, your arms stretching and spreading out to carefully rest them over his legs. You wanted to feel him close but weren’t sure where you’re allowed to touch him without him giving you a pained smile and gently reminding you that what you just touched was making him want to cripple in pain. You left Kyojuro’s legs shift beneath your arms and you carefully pulled them back to your body, fearing you might did exactly what you were afraid of doing— hurting him. You slowly opened your eyes but didn’t lift your head, staring at your husband’s handsome, bandaged face from where you were resting your head. He was surprisingly awake already, staring right at you. Was he watching you sleep? You gave him a weak grin and rubbed your eyes, sitting upright on the incredibly uncomfortable chair you were sitting in, stretching your tired limbs. Kyojuro watched quietly.

“Good morning. You shouldn’t sleep like that, my flame. You will get back aches.”

You stretched your back and groaned loudly, proving his point. He laughed quietly, his eyes sparkling at the sight of you. His hand slowly reached out to your cheek and pulled your attention back on him. You carefully leaned into his touch, placing a small kiss into his palm.

“How are you feeling? You need anything for the pain?”

Your voice was still laced with sleep. Kyojuro shook his head slightly and pulled you a little closer.

“I’m fine love. Just stay with me, please.”

How could you refuse that wish? You scooted closer with your chair and rested your head on the edge of his pillow. His arm weakly wrapped around your shoulders, his fingers tracing loose patterns on your arm. His head slowly moved closer to yours, resting on top of yours. His warmth was radiating off his body and his touch was relaxing to the point of melting against his body. You lifted your arm and hovered over his chest and glanced at him, silently ask for permission to wrap your arm around his shoulders. A smile spread on Kyojuro’s face and he planted a kiss on the side of your head, nodding quietly. Slowly, your arm lowered to rest on his shoulder. You closely watched for flinches or pained expressions in case you were hurting him in any way, but wrapping your arm around his shoulder seemed fine. Tension left out of your body as you smiled softly. Kyojuro sighed contently and closer his eyes for a moment. The morning sun began to illuminate you two, the comforting warmth acting like a cozy blanket tucking you two in.

“I love you... Thank you for everything, my love.”

He turned his head slowly to look at you, his hand giving your arm a weak squeeze. There it was again, Kyojuro’s brightest smile that was able to brighten up even the most depressing days. You can’t even begin to comprehend how glad you are that your husband returned back to you, to your arms.

What would you do without him?

🎃

Fictober prompt: “It’s a new day, let’s go.”

I was planning on posting something for Akaza today, but a mutual randomly reminded me that today is the fourth anniversary of the Mugen Train Arc release date (in Japan) and I thought I should write something for our best boy <3 I miss him greatly. I just noticed that I need a plushie of him or a figurine, I have neither although he was my first favourite character in the whole series. I want a big, huge plushie of him :(

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <3

My event masterlist 🎃

[sugar-petals]

i HATE how people belittle jungkook for serving food and cooking in the military because it’s not high-rank, macho-masculine, significant nor apparently hardworking enough for them. that the countless arm skin burns/scarrings he got from constant heavy labors “aren’t worth as much as a badge” (my god i despise this discussion), needlessly trying to pit him against the other members - why???- who even wanted to help him out because they know its intense work, and not acknowledging that JK never had the weekends off which is cruel! the pay for cooks is already humiliatingly low (750,000 Won, sergeants get 5 million)! yes, jungkook is not in a position where he needs cash. but other cooks certainly will not be able to afford that. pay used to be so bad in that field, it was 127$ a month: people, that’s below inhumane. what would these folks say to yoongi, too? because social work apparently has neither notable military rank nor prestige either: they get only half the pay of cooks! that’s barely 217 bucks aka basically nothing in this day and age. how does yoongi deserve this, or anyone else? the korean ministry of national defense, aka basically the boss of all that, has a budget of 57 trillion, by the way. ask yourself where all that money goes if it isn’t mainly used to pay a living salary for soldiers. that yoongi was forced into that poverty sector out of his control because of his shoulder is only mended by the fact that he could avoid the maniacal procedures of the barracks, but paying social workers 300,000 Won a month should be forbidden. no, i don’t want to see idols humbled by zero pay and wrecking their body for their rulers (which they already do in the practice room anyway). yoongi’s done that twice now, then. i also want to see jungkook compensated and praised. cooking has immense value and we cannot go without it!

without social work, without food and drink, nothing in society works. just mentioning that. in case people slept on it. it’s the first thing you need to do to keep it all running. downplaying it is a sign of total buttkissing classist idiocy. jungkook famously loves anything related to food with good reason and chose wisely! a guy who cooks is mature, respectful, and well-adjusted... the bar is truly down there. he damn well didn’t just stir some soup either... have you seen how elaborate, colorful, healthy, varied and demanding the south korean army’s dishes are? would you refuse if THE jungkook made your meal? cooks should top the priority list of the s’korean society and any other country, not megalomaniac monopoly companies and the fuckass [military] police apparatus (which is responsible for what i ask? remember 2020 especially)! and no, i am not shading jimin or tae for their ranks and tasks, they didn’t come up with all that coincidentally so shut up, every soldier is put through the meatgrinder and has to bust their ass. i just see everyone feeding into this ‘heehee haha authority and power over as many men as possible means high rank = hooray, so sexy! VS uh-oh men doing stuff historically assigned to women = low class homo lazy bum!’ mentality and i reject it. just like glorifying such exploitations is a bad idea, as in people saying “oh JK’s scars are the badge, sacrificing and hurting yourself is so heroic!” as if physical harm is a good thing and the military a worthwhile place to perpetuate and slave away for, especially in this very tense political climate with late stage capitalism on crack, which is especially horrendous in south “highest suicide rate in asia” korea as we all know. cooking also means being heavily responsible for many people all around the clock so it deserves accolades & rest! (and safety from any preventable work injuries... ffs) the bottom of any hierarchy is always the pillar holding it all in place... and if anything, the kitchen should be a more masculine field since it’s a mostly physical strength-based task (where are all the muscle kinksters now? show up! all biceps but no use for it? y’all move like MRAs and have 0 respect for essential workers + anyone cooking for their family), especially when entire units of people have to be served: have you produced full meals three times a day as jungkook did, for a gazillion hungry exhausted guys with pots a person could sit in and shovels for spoons in the burning heat? y’all need a reality check and stop fawning over that crap system.

[flawseer]

Ok, these time rate me the Jade WInglets

I've been sitting on this work-in-progress picture for so many months now. Maybe if I post it here, I'll finally sit down and finish it.

Very long post incoming.

Discussing the Jade Winglet

Okay. So, you want me to rate the Jade Winglet group. That’s going to be very easy: I love all of them.

It’s also going to be extraordinarily hard because... well... I love all of them. How am I supposed to put them into an ordered list? It can’t be done. So I guess what I’m going to do is: First I will put them into a tier list, and then I’m going to just talk about each of them individually for a bit.

But on account of aforementioned adoration I have for all of these guys, said tier list is going to be very lopsided. The tiers are going to be “I adore them with the intensity of seven suns”, “I really like them”, and “I very much like them, but...”. You’re going to have to imagine that there are five or so more unused tiers below that.

Let’s unceremoniously get that ranking out of the way first. From top to bottom, the tiers are:

I adore Turtle, Qibli, and Winter.

I really like Moonwatcher, Kinkajou, and Peril.

I very much like Umber and Carnelian.

As for more in-depth commentary, here is a disclaimer: When I think about these guys I mostly consider books 6 (Moon Rising) to 9 (Talons of Power) and the first half of 10 (Darkness of Dragons). The second half of 10... if I’m being honest, I didn’t really enjoy it. I don’t want to go into it too much here, if you really want me to talk about my misgivings with the second arc finale, put a message about it in my inbox (it’s not just the obvious thing; it actually mostly pertains to Winter and the absolute nightmare ending he got saddled with, and some very unfortunate character implications).

Some of my musings are also going to be a bit critical. I just want it to be clear that I make these observations as a fan of the series. It’s a good practice to think critically even about media that you like. It helps you better understand why you like it in the first place. Also, I make no demands to be agreed with. This is just how I see it.

Anyway, enough stalling, let’s get into it. Not in order:

Turtle

CW: Parental abuse

Turtle is the most wonderful thing to ever happen in the history of the universe. I wake up every morning and the first thought in my head is “Ugh, another day in this backwards reality where Turtle is not real! No thanks!!” Then I go right back to sleep disappointed until the next day. Okay, maybe that’s a bit hyperbolic. But I do think that everyone’s lives would be greatly improved if Turtle was real.

Turtle is a very vibrant and insightful character who, much like Winter, is unfortunately cursed with a pair of malicious and incompetent "parents". Some of his scenes really hurt to get through if you’re a parent yourself or have ever had parental feelings. The first scene he is in, when Moon observes him arriving at the academy, his mother makes a passing comment about how Turtle has no value because he cannot inherit the throne. Turtle is within earshot when she does this. And he has no overt reaction to it, which to me hints that Coral asserts this about her male children so frequently that he has accepted her line of thinking and internalized it. He just accepts it as the truth. That is heartbreaking.

And then there is his father, mild-mannered and ostensibly gentle Gill, who killed Turtle’s budding interest in writing as well as the entirety of his self-confidence back when he was a kid, by assigning a little boy a task that was well beyond him (and only to him, even though there were more people present who could have helped), and then made him believe he killed his unborn sister when Turtle inevitably couldn’t do what he was asked. The narrative really tries to make Gill sympathetic in that moment by insisting he’s speaking in anger and doesn’t really mean it, but um, no. I don’t buy it, dude. You just gave a little kid a lifelong guilt complex because you couldn’t think of asking more people for help. Or taking the egg with you while you left the hatchery. Or telling Turtle to take a message to the palace guard so someone who didn’t still have their milk teeth could mount a proper, organized search while interim guards were posted in the hatchery. Or literally any of the thousands of other options that didn’t require traumatizing your own son.

As a result, Turtle became emotionally reclusive. He registers to others as dull, placid, unpassionate, and boring, like he cares about nothing and is content to never strive for or achieve anything in his life. He himself explains that writing used to be something he was into at some point, but then lost interest in. But I don’t think he has. He still loves literature and thinking about stories, he's still doing it in his internal monologue. He just denies it because he subconsciously feels the need to punish himself. I imagine he still gets that drive sometimes, to sit down and start writing again. But every time he thinks about it, or catches himself wanting anything, his father’s voice resurfaces in his mind, telling him that he killed his sister and doesn’t deserve it. And then he self-punishes by depriving himself of everything he loves doing and every positive emotion associated with it. Because he is convinced he is guilty for failing his father, when in actuality, the opposite is true.

The tragedy is that, if Gill had known how much damage he caused and wasn’t in a situation where he needed a flowchart to keep his 30+ sons apart, he probably would have apologized. He doesn’t strike me as malicious, just horribly, horribly incompetent as a parent. But as things played out, Gill is no longer able to fix his mistake. The only person who can now grant Turtle the forgiveness he needs is himself. I hope he will be able to do it.

Turtle truly is an endearing character and a wonderful son undeserved by his parents. If I could adopt him right now I would. In fact, I’m gonna do it. Hold on while I get the papers. Wait, I have to finish? Uh... okay.

Moonwatcher

In a sense, Moonwatcher may be the most interesting character in the entire cast. She certainly had the potential to be my favorite character period. But there are a few points holding her back.

The thing about Moonwatcher is that, more than any other character, she requires meticulous care and attention to detail to be written well. The reason for this is that, when you’re writing for Moon, you also technically write for every character she interacts with. She is written brilliantly in her own book, since the narrative is allowed to focus on her; Moon Rising may thus actually be my favorite book of the second arc. It’s very enrapturing, seeing her navigate the academy’s social dynamics after growing up as, essentially, a feral jungle child, and battling with her own feelings of loneliness and inadequacy.

The thing is though... Wings of Fire has a bit of an odd quirk. Something I’ve noticed with regards to its writing is that, whenever a character is not particularly in focus during a scene, they often get reduced to their most basic traits and will rigidly act according to them regardless of prior context or external factors. I call this phenomenon “Auto-pilot”. If you’ve read my Mail Call #3, this is what I think happened to Tsunami during the second arc—Tsunami’s basic traits are that she is bossy, emotional, and blunt, so she spends the entirety of her page time as a deep-sea-themed wrecking ball who yells at everyone and dismisses everything as “ugh, nightwing powers” and “Peril was bad in book 1 once, I hate her forever”, despite having other, more pressing matters to prioritize.

Whenever Moonwatcher gets set to auto-pilot, it is very depressing. She needs careful, attentive writing to shine, and whenever she doesn’t get it she turns from the most interesting character into a dull brick that recites exposition and occasionally exists to be fawned after by boys. Tragically, the auto-pilot hits her bad after Winter’s book is done, and she never manages to escape it afterwards, save for maybe one or two scenes. There is a particularly egregious example in book 10 that, in my opinion, does permanent, irreversible damage to her character. It’s all a bit soul-crushing if dwelt on.

So yeah, I like Moonwatcher. I really do. I just wish the strong way she was written could have carried through the entire arc.

Winter

CW: Parental abuse

I initially didn’t really know what to make of Winter when I read Moon’s book. He seemed kind of like a buttface who was needlessly hostile and unapproachable. But he really comes into his own in his book, and looking back at his earlier scenes with that new context makes it all make sense. He became one of my stand-out favorites after that.

Winter really has a lot in common with Turtle, so much so that I wish those two actually had some deeper interactions with each other. Like, at one point Turtle saves his life, you’d think they would want to talk about that some time. Where Turtle’s parents are one half malicious, one half incompetent, Winter’s are pure malice AND incompetence. Blessed with three children, they managed to completely ruin one of them, almost ruin the other, and then the third one is kind of out of focus so I don’t know how he is faring, but I doubt there is a lot of love there either.

In a way, you can draw a lot of parallels between Winter and Icicle, and Zuko and Azula from Avatar: The Last Airbender—The unfavorite who tries to do right but constantly fails to live up to his father’s/parents' warped standards, and the prodigy who seemingly has her father’s/parents' approval but secretly suffers from the abusive parenting just as much, but in different ways. Hailstorm then tries to take on the role of Iroh, an older figure that acts as a source of positivity and genuine love, and offers a reprieve from the abuse. But where Iroh is an adult drawing from a lifetime of wisdom, Hailstorm is just the slightly older sibling who comes from the same abusive household battling the same demons, so his effectiveness in countering the toxicity is limited.

Where Zuko pursues honor, Winter strives to be strong. Both his parents and his sister perceive him as weak and label him irrelevant. While this hurts him deeply, I don’t think Winter fully surrendered to his inferiority complex until he heard his brother mirror the same sentiment at him. Winter is repressed and struggles with processing his emotions—Thus he heard the words Hailstorm only said to save his life and took them at face value. Even the person he loves the most, the only source of affection and affirmation in his life, thinks he is weak. This is what drives Winter to feverishly desire strength and thus adopt a persona of the strongest thing he knows: a stoic Icewing warrior.

This is why he acts the way he does in book 6: aloof, threatening, unapproachable, invincible. But all of these traits are diametrically opposed to his actual personality, which is warm, compassionate, and just wanting to be loved for who he is. So whenever Moon reads his mind, he comes across as a confused mess of conflicting emotions. Because he is pretending to be something he isn’t.

The interesting thing here is that Winter actually is genuinely strong. He is just unable to recognize his own worth, due to the toxic way royal Icewings are raised, warping his perception of what strength means. When he meets Foeslayer, who is said to be an ancient enemy of his people, his mind cuts through the veneer of tradition and old bullshit justifications and sees her imprisonment for the cruel injustice that it is. He then undoes that injustice and frees her. It takes an incomprehensible amount of personal integrity and willpower to just casually defy the will of your entire country like that. This is equivalent to treason; by aiding her, Winter risks becoming an enemy of his people on par with Foeslayer herself. And he does it anyway, because it is the right thing to do.

This dissonance in his perception of strength with regards to his Icewing upbringing, and the actual strength he embodies and has embodied all this time, is something I would have liked to see explored more in the finale or something. As it stands now, he got pressured into putting his life on the line in the battle for Jade Mountain, has sworn loyalty to a people that mistreated him and tried to ruin him from a young age, and then got saddled with an existential nightmare of an ending that leaves me baffled to this day.

In terms of personal misfortune, he certainly is the Starflight of his group.

Qibli

CW: Parental abuse

Qibli is a very charming and versatile character. It is easy to imagine him in a variety of different situations and the scenes almost write themselves, especially when there’s another person with him whom he can bounce off of (figuratively, though I wouldn’t put it past him to try to literally bounce off of someone too). The 10th book posits him as some kind of parallel to Darkstalker; the latter even overtly states this and tries to recruit him as a manner of apprentice. It’s interesting because I think they are actually pretty different.

Qibli excels in situations where his options are limited. He is great at thinking on his feet and coming up with solutions to problems within a restricted framework. He'd be great in an escape room. This ability of his is shown throughout the arc, but it is especially visible in Moon Rising, where his presence in a scene often makes Moon stronger, or more adept at solving problems, because his mind is breaking down the situation for her in a way she would be unable to see on her own.

The twist then comes in when you take Qibli out of that limited framework, by giving him power. His pronounced intellect is very peculiar; it needs limitation to be brilliant. When he has unhindered access to all-powerful magic (i.e. doesn’t have to clear his ideas with another person), he turns into a colossal idiot who buries cities in sand and almost blows up inhabited mountains.

It only follows that, if you were to give Qibli what he wants and make him an animus, it would absolutely ruin him. The great intellect he cultivated would wither and, unshackled from the limitations that forced him to think critically and be his most excellent self, he would end up destroying himself, and likely others too.

Another interesting facet of Qibli is how he works as a parallel to Winter and Turtle (and Peril to an extent). All of these characters come from broken homes and have suffered under abusive parental figures. Qibli’s case in particular is interesting because it showcases how your circumstances can make a difference in how well you handle that issue. Qibli suffered under a tyrannical mother and a pair of cruel siblings, but in contrast to his peers, someone from the outside noticed his suffering was able to intervene—Thorn saved him from his hell and became his rescue parent, restoring his confidence and sense of self-worth.

Because of this, when his turn comes to confront his demons, while it is still difficult and painful (because trauma always is), he is able to navigate the confrontation with comparatively more grace and control than the others. The contrast really shows how difficult it is to escape a toxic relationship if you are still mired deeply within it, and how you need to put some distance between yourself and it before you can see where you are and what needs to be done with improved clarity. That is the path to healing.

I could probably keep talking about Qibli for 15 more paragraphs, but I’ll spare you.

Kinkajou

Every protagonist (and a good deal of side characters) in Wings of Fire is broken, usually has some kind of gut-wrenching past (often due to terrible parents), and struggles to find their place in the world. Luckily here is a pink-and-yellow Rainwing who is just happy and everything is fantastic and wholesome, right?

CW: Forced starvation

Nah, Kinkajou had it pretty rough too. The story plays it like it’s a humorous quip when she finds out Moonwatcher is her roommate and bemoans that nobody is taking her “trauma” seriously, but... yeah, it actually is legitimate trauma. She was captured, bound, and trapped on a hell island without sunlight for several weeks. While there, she was not fed, and she helplessly watched people whom she knew from early childhood starve and die. Death by starvation is not pretty, she likely had to witness her friends slowly being driven mad by hunger until they withered away, and couldn’t do anything about it. Then she was rescued and returned to a home that didn’t believe her pain was real, that claimed she made it up for attention, and that some people who she thought of as friends didn’t even notice she was gone. The only one who believed her was a stranger whom she had met maybe a few hours ago.

Personally, if that happened to me and I came home to that, I’d likely have pulled a Chameleon and said “Screw the Rainwings, I’m moving to the desert.”

That Kinkajou is still able to be positive and full of energy after that is a testament to her immense mental fortitude. She might actually be one of the most stable and resilient characters in the story. Some things shake her up for a bit, but nothing can crush her.

Still, I imagine there are some times, after a really bad day maybe, where she wakes up in the middle of the night. And there, for just a moment, she is scared to open her eyes... because she might be back on the Nightwing island and has to watch someone else die.

Peril

Peril is a bit of an odd case in arc 2. She gets grouped with the protagonists of that arc and the ending implies she is integrated into the Jade Winglet as their new Skywing. I have no real problem with that, in fact it’s good on her that she’s made a little less isolated. But to me, Peril always felt like an awkward appendix to that group. Her only real friend in there is Turtle; for the rest of them they feel more like vague acquaintances, like she's tolerated for being Turtle's friend.

To be fair though, that friendship with Turtle is really strong; it’s an exciting and deep character dynamic. But if I was forced to tie Peril to a group of protagonists, my first instinct would be to associate her with the first arc protagonists instead.

This poor girl has been through it. Everyone seems to hate her and wants her to leave, sometimes for understandable reasons and sometimes it just seems bizarre. I already went into Tsunami’s disdain for her in an earlier post, but I also vaguely remember a point in Escaping Peril where she meets Qibli and he gives her a withering glare for some reason. That confused me, to be honest. I thought “What’s YOUR problem with her? Have you ever even met??” Like, I guess the Outclaws were in direct conflict with Burn since they lived in the same country, and Peril was an infamous elite combatant under the command of one of Burn’s allies, so maybe Peril killed people he knew? But then he gets over his disdain really quickly and with no comment, so whatever happened can’t have been a big deal after all.

My favorite part in her book is when everyone--after having learned about Turtle’s powers--chews him out for not having helped his country during the war, and Peril cuts through the tripe by saying something along the lines of “So if he uses the power he was born with to serve his Queen it is honorable, but when I do the same for my Queen I’m a murderer and deserve to have things thrown at me?” I love all of these guys, but they really deserved to be called out for their double standard and feel stupid for a bit.

But yeah, I really enjoy her friendship with Turtle in the end. And since he accidentally made himself virtually indestructible, it means Peril can now get all the friendly hugs she craves.

Umber

Umber is cool. He has a potentially interesting relationship with Turtle, which is implied in the latter’s book when it is mentioned that they sleep with their backs touching to comfort each other about their respective siblings not being there.

Unfortunately he gets written out of the story arc very quickly. I wish I knew more about him.

Carnelian

I like Carnelian. I feel like she had a lot of potential that gets wasted by her death, for not much gain. It is used to give Queen Ruby a reason to come to Jade Mountain and kickstart the events of Peril’s book, but the same could have been accomplished by having her learn that the Academy is housing Peril and going there to demand the extradition of a (in her eyes) dangerous and murderous fugitive.

Same as with Umber, really, I wish I knew more about her. I already said this during my Smaugust drawing session, but I like to pretend that she and Bigtail didn’t die, and instead had a mini arc about recovering from their injuries. It also has the side effect of averting some very unfortunate implications that come with Bigtail’s death.

~~~

I think that’s all of them. Good lord I talk too much. Please don’t throw crocodiles at my face for it. Tumblr is my queen, and--much like the Queen's former champion--I was made to do it.

[milkoomi]

a guide on becoming an academic weapon. ᥫ᭡

being an academic weapon is one of the top goals for a lot of us. we strive for excellence and hope to achieve top marks in all our classes so that we can continue to reach whatever it is that may be our final goal like getting into a top university, graduating as valedictorian, or getting into the career of our dreams. this guide will be about all the habits of an academic weapon and what tools & methods you can incorporate into your study/school routine!

let’s begin …

୨ৎ — lecture preperation

pre-reading chapters/lecture powerpoints

skim through chapters, make note of important headings, highlight key terms! if you can, look through any powerpoints that will be used for lecture notes as well!

jot down quick notes like vocab terms, key pieces of information, and/or any questions on topics you want to understand further!

read chapter summaries & highlight important headings

set up your notes

if you like to use different note-taking methods, try setting up your pages beforehand! this will take up less time while in class and you’ll come in already prepared to take any notes!

i have a post on note-taking here on my blog that you can refer to for a few different note-taking methods!

begin homework assignments

my professor will publish homework assignments on sunday mornings for each week that we’re learning new material, so if your teacher does something similar or you’re taking an all-online course, start by working ahead on those homework assignments!

getting a head start can …

help with having a better understanding of the material by the time of your lecture

help you apply the knowledge you learned from the assignments into your lecture

help you come up with questions for better comprehension of the topics

help you manage your time better

reduce your work load later on

start creating flashcards

if you’re required to know key terms/vocab, start creating flashcards ahead of time! this will help you get familiar with the vocabulary that’s related to the material and will jumpstart that increase in understanding of what’s to come in your lecture or any required readings!

୨ৎ — smart studying

we’re always told to “work smarter, not harder” and i believe that doing so can help you achieve success more quickly and efficiently! while it’s great to dedicate a lot of time to your studies, it’s not always optimal. spending hours upon hours working with no breaks in between and forgetting to take care of yourself can lead to burn out, so it’s important to find ways to study that not only help you study more efficiently but also work with your learning type!

trial periods

there are a plethora of study methods out there that you can try out to see which ones work the best for you!

posts with study methods ( + how-to’s ) …

how to study effectively - @milkoomi

non-basic study techniques - @glowettee [ this post is PHENOMENAL! mindy includes so many unique study methods— some that she created herself! — that give an entirely new way to study & learn material! 100/10 recommend reading through this! ]

take some time each week to try out a new study method while still incorporating techniques you’re used to! pick one study method for the week & test it out at the start of your study time slot.

trying out new methods/techniques also help with keeping your study routine fresh and it creates a bigger study arsenal for yourself! having multiple ways of studying just means having a variety of ways to learn the material! every method has its benefits, some will help with memorization while others can help with better comprehension!

pick your big 3

amongst all the different study methods out there, you should pick your top 3 techniques that help you the most! they’ll be your ultimate go-to study methods!

factors to think about for your big 3 …

how much time does the method/technique take?

what is your success rate with the method/technique?

how easy was it for you to incorporate the method/technique into your study routine?

your big 3 study methods should help with maximizing your productivity time, help you achieve your desired grades, & be within your limits while studying, meaning it shouldn’t make you feel like you’re stretching yourself thin because, again, we need to study smarter, not harder!

my personal big 3:

Feynman Technique - teaching others

active recall - practice questions & flashcards

knowledge application - making real life connections

textbook tests

i feel like a lot of us view textbooks as these giant, daunting bricks we’re forced to lug around, but they’re required material for a reason! they’re more than just a giant book of “boring” chapters!

a lot of textbooks have mini assessments at the end of every chapter, so take some time to do them! they’re just practice tests and they’ll be extremely useful for active recall (plus, you don’t have to worry about creating your own practice questions!)

୨ৎ — change your mindset

being an academic weapon means having the mindset of an academic weapon. the way you think and feel about your schooling plays a huge role in this!

“i have to” to “i get to”

treating your academics and studies as if they’re chores will make you lose your motivation and passion for learning. getting to have an education is a privilege and i feel like a lot of us forget that. be thankful that you get to pursue an academic career and get the chance to further your education! instead of “i have to study” say, “i get to study”!

getting an education is a beautiful opportunity in life, so practice gratitude when it comes to learning!

self care

i will always advocate for self care because you can’t do your best when you aren’t at your best. being an academic weapon doesn’t mean throwing your entire life away or setting your health to the side to solely focus on your studies. going to the extremes for your academics shouldn’t be normalized.

you don’t need to pull all-nighters every other day to study, you don’t need to work/study for 14 hours, you don’t need to harshly motivate yourself to get back to studying— you need to treat yourself kindly and shoe yourself gentle care.

get enough sleep

shower, do skincare, brush your teeth

keep yourself hydrated & well-fed

get your body moving

make time for your hobbies & things that make you happy

remember to take breaks when your mind & body needs them

don’t sacrifice your well-being to get ahead on your road to success. you’ll only bring yourself farther behind if you neglect your health.

final notes —

becoming an academic weapon is 60% mindset, 40% work ethic. you have to motivate yourself to give your best work, but! you have to take care of your mind and body before you even think about giving your best work. be kind to yourself, affirm yourself that you can do this! you are more than capable of achieving academic success!

the work you put in as an academic weapon has to be work you’re proud of. be sure that you’re using your time wisely, that you free yourself from distractions while studying, that you give yourself enough time to get work done (and take breaks & do something for yourself!), and that you always give it your all when you’re completing assignments, writing notes, or studying.

i know that you’ll be able to truly be an academic weapon! you have what it takes! you just have to remind yourself of your own potential.

with lots of love, faustina 🌷

[songsofadelaide]

"Hey, Platoon Leader, are you guys trying to be the next Shinomiyas?"

You looked up from your plate of food and gave Kafka an incredulous look from across your shared table. "...What?"

The older officer raised his hands in defence when he caught the strange look on your face. "O-Oh, you know! The Director General and his wife, the former Captain of the Second Division. They were a power couple. I just thought you guys were similar is all..."

"Kafka-san, you better clarify whatever it is you're saying," you chuckled at his statement. "Though I definitely do not mind being compared to the Second Division Captain Shinomiya Hikari, the gods rest her soul. She was brilliant, after all! A shining example to so many young women, myself included. We could have stood to learn a thing or two from her..."

It was a tragedy, you thought. The Director General had always been a serious man, but the unexpected death of his wife made him all the more. And now that Kafka mentioned it, the weight of the idea rested even heavier on your mind. The higher you two rise in the ranks, the more will be expected of you. The more numbered Kaiju appear, the more you will have to set out in their field.

The higher the danger risk, the more skilled personnel will have to be deployed. And seeing how the top brass acknowledged your fiancé's most recent accomplishment— subduing and neutralising Kaiju No. 10— the likelihood of him being assigned even more dangerous missions will only increase—

"You think the Vice Captain would consider growing out a beard too when he becomes Director General? Like Director General Shinomiya. I mean you did mention once that his old man was grizzled and all..." Kafka asked aloud as he helped himself to his lunch.

???

His question was so left-field that you couldn't help the laughter that escaped your stomach. "Pfft— What?! Kafka-san, wh— Hahaha!"

"I-I'm serious, though, Platoon Leader?! A beard would make him even more menacing!"

"Haha! N-No, okay, okay! I'm sorry! I'm sorry for bursting out laughing like that! I-It's just— Soshiro grows stubbles at an alarming rate and he always shaves because he hates being told he'd look like his father with a beard," you said, nearly breathless and tears prickling your eyes. You continued to speak as you calmed down, the seriousness of your expression prompting your lunchmate to pause his meal. "I might not be able to achieve Captain Shinomiya's legendary level of coolness or renown, but I think as long as I continue accomplishing orders, that's good enough for me."

Arriving at your table not long after your fit of laughter were the Vice Captain and another recruit— one who happened to hear your conversation right from the start.

"I—" Kikoru started, her plate slightly trembling in her hands as you met her earnest gaze. "I think you're just as cool as Captain Shinomiya, Platoon Leader! More importantly, I'd like f-for you and Vice Captain Hoshina to always be safe while in the battlefield so you can both live long and fulfilling lives! Th..."

The kind her mother never got to live.

Soshiro took his place next to you as Kafka gestured for them to sit at your shared table.

"Thank you, Kikoru-chan. I am honoured you think so highly of me. If there's anyone feels the loss our amazing Captain Shinomiya the most, that would be you," you said as you reached for the younger girl's shaking fist from across the table, giving her a gentle yet reassuring squeeze. "If Soshiro and I ever do become the Defense Force's next power couple, I can only hope we have a child as talented and dedicated as you are."

"That's assumin' we're actually still a couple," Soshiro quipped. "I could hear you laughin' at Kafka's joke from across the building. Whatever did he tell you that was so funny, sweetness?"

"Kafka-san here was just saying how cool you would look grizzled with a beard all over your handsome, handsome mug," you shot back at him as you gently gripped his chin to force him to face you. "But don't worry, sweetness, I like you just the way you are now."

Kikoru's hands flew to her mouth as her face suddenly flushed. H-How lovey-dovey of them!

"You're already plenty menacing with that sly look of yours," you continued, before slapping the table so hard that it surprised both Kafka and Kikoru, who were staring in awe at just how affectionate their superiors were being. "Now eat, eat, eat up, our little fledgelings! Eating right, getting enough sleep, and exercising are key to living long! Let's not miss out on even one of those!"

Soshiro smiled as you ate your fill along with your favourite new recruits, though he'd never hear you say that out loud. Being a power couple never appealed to him because all that mattered to him were saving lives and staying alive— to be able to live in the future you were all so earnestly fighting for.

I suppose having someone to proudly stand next to isn't such a bad idea.

[malereadermaniac]

૮ • ﻌ - ა Drinking games ~ Your Crush x Male Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Plot: Some cute sfw shit with your 'straight' male crush who has a secret soft spot for you!

Warnings: m!reader (no genitalia mentioned) / FDNI

The few private moments you had shared with (Y/c) were sweet, even romantic at a push if you sprinkle in some 'delusion'

The man would chat to you, seemingly remembering most details you had shared with him in previous conversations, his (e/c) eyes looking over your features gently as he throws in some jokey flirts; his charisma through the roof, his hand's in his pockets and a smirk on his face as he calls you cute or funny

Moments like those almost, just almost make you forget that (y/c) is in fact a straight man, very much heterosexual

(Y/c) is quite popular, and damn is he very different around his friends than when he's has a very rare moment alone with you

When with his friends, the (h/c) barely spares you a glance, acting all nonchalant around his friends and replying with a 'sup' after you say hi to him - his friends teasing him about his 'friendship with you'

But again, when the two of you have a brief moment alone things are different

The slightly (taller/shorter) man will subconsciously go out of his way to text you or to see you by using almost every excuse under the sun; he needs help with an assignment? Of course you'll help, he missed a lecture? You make time to tutor him!

But either way, you knew that you attempts at 'flirting' and your heart rate increasing anytime you saw (Y/c) was realistically futile - the man was straight, and he barely tolerated you too

When you thought about it, the (h/c)'s friends make fun of him for talking to you, and he only really hangs out with you to get shit out of it; you two weren't actually even friends

Or so that's what you thought...

It came as a real shock when you got a text at 6pm on a random Saturday from (Y/c) who was inviting you to a party he was hosting

Not only were you surprised that he was hosting the party but also that you were invited

"I thought you hated hosting? lmao" you reply almost instantly, good god get some self-respect bro

"I do"

"I want you there to make it more tolerable"

The way blood rushed to your face faster than ever before, my lord

"I suppose i can clear my very busy schedule for you 🙄 "

And that's how you ended up at your first ever party! Well, at least a huge house party, unlike the small functions you had gone to with friends

After being greeted with many drunk people, made nicer by the alcohol in their system, you aimed to make your way to (Y/c); that was until you got dragged away by a group of people greeting you and inviting you to drink

It was surprisingly chill, you were enjoying yourself in the kitchen as you sat on a counter-top, drink in hand as you chatted with the other people you were with - laughing and gossiping

Eventually, word made its way to (Y/c) that you had turned up, and immediately the man made his way towards his kitchen

He couldn't explain why his heart dropped when he saw you talking and laughing with other guys, but it did, and he made his way towards you with a face like stone, aiming to hide his emotions

"(Y/c)! I found youuu!" you chuckle out endearingly, clearly a little tipsy already

"Hey, was lookin' for you... Looks like you made yourself at home" The man teased, his body quite close to yours, the counter-top bringing you to his height

You mumble an 'oh shit, sorry' as you jump down from the food surface, you body pushing against (Y/c)'s as you do so

"Nah it's fine, enjoy yourself.... wanna come hangout with my friends? They're becoming unbearable" The handsome man chuckles, looking exhausted by his drunk friends

You, of course, agree and make your may towards his group of friends in the (h/c)'s living room

Even when drunk, (Y/c)'s friends teased him about having you around, but shockingly, once the (taller/shorter) man saw you expression sour, he told his mates to 'fuck off' - well that made your heart skip a couple of beats!

After hanging out with your handsome crush for an hour or so, more and more people joined the group, people drinking more and more - even (Y/c) feeling comfortable enough to drink with you around

However, a situation arose when someone suggested a game of 'spin the bottle' with a truth or dare twist...

Of course everyone agreed, the alcohol in their system making them much more excitable than usual, and if the activity didn't involve anything getting broke, (Y/c) was cool with it

After a couple of rounds of people being dared to kiss other, secrets being revealed and gross 'would you rather' questions, you were getting progressively more drunk - having opted out of back flipping off of the couch and revealing your fat crush on (Y/c) just to name a few scenarios

(Y/c) was a little worried for you, seeing how drunk you were getting was making him feel overprotective of you - but man did you also look fucking cute!

Your cheeks flushed and your eyes droopy from the liquor, leaning up against him with you warm body as you chuckle for no reason from time to time

Inevitably, the bottle had landed on you once more, causing you to sit up and give everyone a chuckle after whining loudly 'not againnnnnnn~'

But the crowd was definitely silenced when the spinner of the bottle dared you to kiss someone - specifically, some guy you were cozy-ing up with when you first arrived at (Y/c)'s

You chuckle lightly when you see the man blush, his desire for you to kiss him evident on his face - the man had been trying it on with you since you got here!

But as you struggle to get up, wobbling around from the drinking, (Y/c) had shocked everyone

You watch with a fat fuck-off blush on your face as (Y/c) stands up and grabs the bottle from the middle of the circle, downing the whole thing and saying with a nonchalant tone - 'what? he's too drunk to drink anymore'

This man just took a drink for you! HOW FUCKIN ROMANTIC IS THAT???

You hadn't noticed it, but the (h/c) man had drank a lot throughout the night, and he'd even taken that drink for you but seemed literally sober

(Y/c) must have a real high alcohol tolerance, the thought of the big, handsome man being able to handle his drink so well and even be willing to take a drink for you? You had fallen for him all over again then and there!

Some of the people in the circle boo and other hype (Y/c) up, to which he just chuckles and shakes his head as he slings an arm of yours over his shoulders and lifts you up with a hand around your waist

And after the difficult trip up three flights of stairs to the man's bedroom, he gently lays you down on his bed and brings you a bowl to throw up in

You two spend hours up in his room, talkin about many, many things - like his room being cool, you being cute drunk, him being handsome always, you feeling bad that he's missing the party, him professing that he'd rather spend his time with you, and your long conversation had ended with you professing your undying love to your two year ongoing crush

You blushed and slammed your hands against your mouth, shouting that you were dreaming and that 'this wasn't happening!', trying to trick yourself into thinking that the amused man would just forget about this in the morning

He didn't.

(Y/c) remembered every moment in vivid detail... and so did you

But what you didn't expect was for the man to in turn, the morning after, confess that he too had some affectionate, maybe even loving feelings towards you - and also that he was extremely impressed that you didn't even throw up after drinking as much as you did!

[neopuppy]

first, jeno with a mouth fixation. secondly, jeno with a fixation on your mouth but...well, you reject him each time he's made a move on you...that is...until you can't reject him anymore. how does that come to be? idk. but he knows how to get what he wants i'm sure. (you know how to make him get what he wants)

“Pay attention.”

Jeno blinks furiously, sitting up and wiping his chin of imaginary drool. It’s only about the fifth time you’ve scolded him, or maybe the sixth, who's counting. 

Right. Pay attention. 

“This final counts for half of your grade.” You remind him, peering up from behind your glasses. “Are you even listening?”

No. Jeno hasn’t listened once throughout the duration of this semester. He gave up the first day of class when he saw you chewing on the end of your pen, tapping it against your lips as you followed along with the professor’s introduction.

It seemed to only worsen from there, pens turned to your pinky finger, dragging the nail between your teeth. Hard candies that you’d suck on and hold between your teeth, lightly licking the sugar coating off to make the treat last longer. 

That gave him the idea to approach you, finally finding an excuse after receiving his first graded test, not even bothered by the bold ‘D’ circled at the top.

‘These are for you.’ He said flatly, setting a bag of caramel apple suckers on your desk. 

‘Huh? Wait, I love these..’ you mumbled, picking up the bag full of 60 suckers. ‘But how—‘

He shrugged, turning around to make way to his seat without another word. Not bothering to explain that he’d noticed the pattern in flavors you always seemed to have stockpiled inside your hidden candy drawer. 

Without fail one of those lollipops would end up in your mouth a few times per week as you took notes and graded assignments. Swapping between drinks of water from your overpriced adult sippy cup, biting on the straw attached to your iced coffee, scouring through your drawer after an hour of lectures to find a treat to wake yourself up. Somehow your lipgloss managed to stay intact through it all, making Jeno’s fingers twitch as he grasped onto the edges of his desk. 

It’s not only how perfectly juicy your lips look sucking around various objects, but how obscene they hang open when you’re thinking too hard, casually tucking your bottom lip in under your teeth. The meat filling your bottom lip sinking in as you bite down harder, raising the beat of his heart to pump faster through his veins.

At this point he looks forward to another disappointed frown dragging your pretty mouth down when you place another failed test on his desk. He shrugs and smiles, mentioning by the third fail that he may need extra help, assistance if you have the time for him.

Each time you coin up some excuse, too busy for study sessions. He needs to learn to study on his own, teacher assistants are not tutors.

But the day he presents you a gift card for your favorite coffee shop, you begin to relent, smiling softly as you refuse to accept bribery. He didn’t stop there of course, opting to learn your order and show up a few minutes earlier to have everything set out on your desk. Even throwing in a pastry that you munched on once getting halfway into your coffee, tearing off small pieces to chew on which he thoroughly enjoyed.

The next upside test you hand him had an extra note to meet after class.

Finally.

Only now that he’s alone with you, it’s even worse. Hyper fixated on your lips moving as you explain the subject he’d just failed, a big fat F on his test that he could really give a shit about right now.

“Jeno, it wasn’t easy to get this room at the last minute.” You sigh, waving a yawn away. “You seriously need to turn around your grade, at this rate you’ll never pass.”

He hums, agreeing with you, digging into his bag for a sucker. “I don’t work well like this, the pressure,” unwrapping the candy, he drags its dry coating across his lip, slowly blinking at you. “With no incentive—“

“The incentive is your grade.” You interrupt, snatching the lollipop away from him before he can pop it into his mouth. “You need to focus.”

“Make me then.” He shrugs, wrapping a firm hold on your retreating wrist. “That’s mine.”

“Fine.” You scowl, shaking him off. “Finish this practice quiz and I’ll give you your candy back.”

He has to hide a smirk when you raise it to your mouth, eyebrow cocked. “You get more than half wrong and it’ll be mine.”

“Keep it.” He says, leaning over the desk. “In fact.. I’d love to see you try and take it from me.” 

Quickly clutching your wrist, he draws your balled up fist back toward his mouth, the lollipop stuck between your fingers. “Get it back from me, and I’ll pass whatever test you throw my way.” He finishes, lips sucking around the candy, sleek gaze burning into yours.

“Want it?” He says between slow, long licks. Grip staying tight on you.

“Let go of me.” You grit, jerking away without budge. “This isn’t proper behavior between students and teachers.”

“You’re not my teacher.” He corrects, sucking the lollipop to one side. “But you want me to pass right? Because if I don’t..”

Trailing his free hand up your arm, he glides past your shoulder and throat, pinching your chin roughly. “I’ll have to repeat next semester when you take over. And I’ll make sure to show up everyday, miss every assignment, fail each and every test.”

“Why—“

“Because,” he tugs the lollipop free, pressing the saliva coated sucker to your pursed lips. “I want you to open up that pretty mouth.” Digging in his fingers, he forces your jaw to unhinge. Whimpering as he invades your tongue and drags the sucked on lollipop down the middle.

“So good at using your tongue, aren’t you?” He jeers, tapping the roof of your mouth with the lollipop until you gag around nothing. “Be good, push those pretty lips together.”

Shaking his ruthless grip on your jaw, he pulls harder until your neck cracks and you cough from the stimulation against your tongue. Lips wrapping shut around the stick.

“Very good.” But not enough. He stands abruptly, chair scraping nastily across the floor. Without losing any tension clenching your jaw and chin, he pulls the corners of your lips open. Thumbs piercing past the seam to watch your tongue struggle to not swallow down the lollipop. Saliva spurting out and running down your chin as he licks at his lips. 

Yes. Very good.

“But I want more.” He whispers, thumbs deeping in to push your cheeks open from inside out. 

“Pl-please.” You gurgle, moist eyes blinking up at him. 

Ignoring your pleads, his fingers drag out, smearing drool down your cheeks and chin. The lollipop stem hangs between your pouty abused lip, covered in slick spit. “This won’t do.” He chuckles, dragging it free from your lips and returning the lollipop to his mouth. 

Fingers dig back into your cheeks to keep your head in place, dragging a thick rubbery plastic from his bag. “You can do better.”

[paymechildsupport]

JJK men x ftm!reader // how they help with gender dysphoria

-!! CW: dysphoria (obviously) , depression , slight body worship, body horror

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ✦

s. gojo

(the entire care package)

ᯓ★ really does not care about your body or whether or not it aligns with the traditional 'male' or 'female'

ᯓ★ as for dysphoria, he's pretty quick to pick up on a shift in your mood. gojo is far from stupid, and being around you so much has made it easy for him to recognize changes in behavior

ᯓ★ ESPECIALLY after geto, gojo absolutely despises watching you spiral. the way you avoid reflective surfaces, the way you seem to fold in on yourself, how you begin to become adamant about bathing, the way you continue to keep layering clothing, hoodie after hoodie, even in the summer heat.

ᯓ★ after geto, gojo is determined to never stand aside and witness the mental decay of someone he cares about. he can't do this again. maybe if he had been more insistent with geto he would have stayed, maybe if he was more insistent with your health things would be different

ᯓ★ and he was, -- he'd notice and immediately check in with you if he saw things going south. you will not be able to get this man off of you, he will be attached 24/7.

ᯓ★he would NOT let you neglect your physical health: he'd make sure you ate, that you were sleeping properly. if he'd notice you'd been in the bathroom for a while, or were stuck looking at your reflection, he'd check on you, hold you, snap you out of whatever mental spiral was occurring

ᯓ★ he'd be on top of binder breaks: gojo would make sure you give your ribs time to breathe. he hates watching you destroy yourself just to feel like you belong in your own body :(( he'd also be more than happy to give you some of his clothes, -- access to his whole wardrobe in fact. he looooves seeing you all cozy and swallowed up in his big baggy clothing and he's so freakishly large that all his clothing would instantly obscure your figure in the folds. the fact that its his clothing that brings you a sense of comfort makes him so unbelievably happy

ᯓ★ man's is rich rich, like pay rate through the roof. you'd have full access to any medical gender-affirming care and gojo would be more than happy to pay for it. he'd throw money at you anyway, he loves spending on you <3

ᯓ★ periods: he finally has an excuse to buy extra sweets. sugar makes everything better, right?? he'd go out and buy an unholy amount of candy and other sweet thing. chocolates, pastries, everything. they're all for you, and if you won't eat them then he certainly will

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s. geto

(body worship)

𐙚˖° he'd deify you in his cult, his darling lover

𐙚˖° he loves you and nothing changes that, -- at least you're not a jujutsu-less monkey (right?)

𐙚˖° geto would eternalize you forever in his worshippers, you were their god, -- and a god transcended the planes of gender and sex. your body is his temple

𐙚˖° he'd make you, and everyone else, see the beauty of your body, -- regardless of how horrible your skin made you felt. there was beauty in this suffering. he'd commission paintings and statues and tapestries and a bunch of other stuff, all depicting you for what you truly were-- heavenly.

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f. toji

(non-sexual showering)

‧₊ ᵎᵎ ✮ toji loves to take showers with you.

‧₊ ᵎᵎ ✮ he loves how physically intimate it is, how vulnerable both parties are

‧₊ ᵎᵎ ✮ early in the morning before work, late at night when he comes back. especially after a particularily hard assignment, -- he'd trudge back home at the stroke of midnight, shivering, and coated in blood,-- a majority of it not his. he can't wait to just strip off those wet, tight clothes and hop into the nice warm shower. he loves the rhythmic fall of the water, how it feels hitting his back, flowing over his countless scars. loves the way you softly trace his muscles, drawing intricate shapes into his skin as you massage his scalp with shampoo.

‧₊ ᵎᵎ ✮ helps momentously if you struggle with personal hygiene. never once does he let you feel anything short of handsome :3

‧₊ ᵎᵎ ✮ he especially loves it when you let him scrub you with soap. he's so gentle, running his large, warm hands over every inch of your body, cooing how beautiful, -- how perfect you are:

"My beautiful baby"

"There's my boy, my gorgeous boy"

"Look at you, so handsome..."

"My babyboy..."

(+ there's a 90% chance he has bigger boobs than you--)

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mahito

(he tried)

𝗓 𐰁˚𖦹 he'd meld your flesh into a nice big meatball and birth a curse -- don't gotta worry about dysphoria then :3

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r. sukuna

(the surgeon)

౨ৎ ⋆ ˚ he'd re-arrange your guts <3 (literally)

౨ৎ ⋆ ˚ like he'll actually lay you on a table and just start tearing into your flesh, splash around in your blood and other bodily fluids, and give you a nice live bisection

౨ৎ ⋆ ˚ he'll dig around in there for a while, maybe move some things around, just to mess with you, -- reversing your intestines, turning your living inside out, overall having the time of his life, -- like a lil' kid playing in the dirt and digging up rocks and worms. except, - the dirt is your flesh and the rocks are your organs

౨ৎ ⋆ ˚ most importantly, he'd rip your uterus out (romantically)

౨ৎ ⋆ ˚ that's right, he'll eliminate the source of all your problems, no more period cramps for you! (because he's just a nice guy like that)

౨ৎ ⋆ ˚ then, after he digs it out from the layers of meat and skin, pulling it out and feeling it around in his hand, -- he'll eat it :3

౨ৎ ⋆ ˚ nom nom

+ diy free bottom surgery

++ free top surgery if he uses cleave / dismantle

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[iniquitousyearning]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Two. Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Thèos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, PURE SMUT, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Oral Sex (M Rec), Throat Fucking, Toxic Behaviour, Blackmail, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, DubCon, CNC.

****Find the rest of the chapters HERE.

"You're fifteen minutes late."

Mattheo rolled his eyes, slumping down in the creaky wooden chair with an exasperated huff, running his tongue over the split-open cut on his lip as he fiddled with the gauze wrapped around his battered knuckles--the fresh blood seeping through the material told you that he had ever-so-shockingly taken part in yet another degenerate fight, this time coincidentally directly before your once-a-week tutor session.

"I'm fine, by the way." He said, not bothering to look at you. "Thanks for asking."

"Why should I?" You tilted your head, already feeling the heat of his suffocating arrogance filling your lungs. "It's not like you've ever cared about my well-being, or as you've so clearly proven today; my time."

Riddle scoffed, rolling his eyes yet again as he ran a hand through his hair. "You sound entitled, princess."

"I sound entitled?" Gods, he was doing it again. He was absolutely getting you fucking going with little to no effort spent. "My dearest apologies, Riddle...I was under the impression that entitlement was believing you can treat people however you like without consequences...silly me."

At your retort, he glimpsed you, pausing all his movements as a sly grin crawled across his face.

"Giving me attitude already, Raven?" He purred, dark eyes slithering down to your lips, before falling lower to your chest, lingering there for far-too-long before they slowly travelled back up to meet your sight.

Throughout all of that, you weren't sure if you'd blinked once--your pulse increasing to a rate so fast you were certain your heart was about to burst from your chest.

Mattheo moistened his lips, his tongue darting out to remove the blood from the split in his lower one.

"...I'd have thought that after our little agreement last week, you'd have come to your senses..."

He leaned forward in his chair, long fingers curling in on his palms and forming tight fists as he rested his hands on top of the desk--eyes darker than the midnight sky as he studied your tensing reaction.

"Would you like to start over? Or perhaps, that filthy fucking mouth of yours needs to be taught a lesson?"

You swallowed, something in your lower abdomen tingling at this words. You shook your head, dropping your eyes to your lap. "I'm sorry."

His eyes lit up. "What was that?" The sadistic arrogance in his tone made you want to scream. "I didn't quite catch what you said."

Your jaw clenched, teeth gritting--Gods, how you wanted to tell him to goto hell; to kick rocks and get the fuck out and never come near you again--but you knew you would never, and could never do such a thing. Instead, you inhaled a sharp breath in through your nose, before slowly releasing it, shooting him the best fake smile you could possibly muster.

"I said, I'm sorry." Your voice was tight, tone as sharp as glass. "Now, can we begin? You're already-"

"No." He said flatly, cutting you off. "I don't accept your apology. I think you need to get on your knees-"

Your jaw dropped at his words, and you involuntarily slammed your hands down on the wooden surface in front of you as you stood up, leaning across the desk towards him. After all these months of sticking your neck out for him, going out of your way to tutor him and attempt to teach him some form of educational material to at least help him fucking graduate on time--he's really going to sit there and degrade you like a piece of shit under his shoe just because you retaliated against his arrogant attitude?

Not going to fucking happen.

"Cut the shit, Riddle." You hissed, leaning down to meet his dark, intoxicating eyes. "You may be in charge here, and I may need you in ways that are entirely taxing to my mental state...but just as much as I need you--you need me, too...so how about you show me some fucking respect?"

At your words, Mattheo's confident facade wavered, only-slightly, his dark eyes widening with surprise as your words pierced through his stoic composure. Blinking, he considered your defiance for a fleeting moment before abruptly standing up, as well--his face, which was usually a mask of calculated control, portrayed a mix of curiosity and smug arrogance.

As he rounded the desk and approached you, his eyes locked onto yours; unyielding and intense--making your entire body freeze in place. The room seemed to hold its breath, the charged silence amplifying the tension between your bodies, as if the very air crackled with anticipation of what would unfold next, your shoulders slouching as he stopped in front of you, tall frame towering over you.

And then, his perfect fucking lips curled into a sly smile.

"Respect? Oh, I respect your desperation, Raven...that's about it..." his voice was slow, calculated, and of course; sadistic. "It would do you well to remember that in this little alliance of ours, I hold the key to your entire fucking future...so, perhaps a little lesson in humility is what you truly need, hm?"

He brought a battered hand up to your face, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his head tilting as his dark eyes studied the movement of his fingers.

"How about you show me just how much you respect me...and maybe, just maybe, I'll consider playing nice, yeah?" He paused, his fingers lingering against your skin. "Until then...it seems as though you're at my mercy, little girl."

Your fingers quivered at your sides, your heart pounding in your throat, but you were resolute in not allowing him to win so easily. Despite his immense power over you, giving in without a fight wasn't an option you were willing to entertain. It was times like these where your brash, unyielding nature was both a curse and a source of strength, propelling you toward your demise.

"Not if I goto Dumbledore first..." you whispered, glimpsing his lips. "Not if I tell him that you were entirely uncooperative...defiant...wouldn't be that hard to believe, considering your troublesome track record..."

He huffed, fingers trailing from behind your ear and running along your jawline, his lips parting as he stared, lost entirely in his own little world--until he blinked, meeting your eyes.

"And how would that look on you, Raven? As a future Professor..." he murmured, leaning closer. "Don't you think it would look rather...perturbing, that you weren't able to get me under control? That you weren't able to find some sort of compromise to ensure my cooperation?"

His rugged fingers trailed along the contour of your jaw, finding a firm hold at your chin and sliding underneath it, his thumb caressing your cheek with a touch that held both tenderness and threat. A lump formed in your throat, your lips parting in sheer exasperation as his eyes darkened, their intensity sending shivers down your spine. Your entire body quivered under his grasp as he leaned in, his lips barely grazing your temple.

"You're shaking, Raven..." he purred, hot breath washing over your face as he used his grip on your chin to tug you closer. "Why so nervous, hm? What happened to all that fire you had?"

Your voice faltered, barely a whisper, as you tried to find words under the weight of Mattheo's power.

"I...I'm just..."

You hesitated, unable to meet his intense gaze, your words trailing off into a nervous silence. The sheer dominance he exuded left you speechless, your heart racing, and you struggled to articulate your thoughts, feeling completely overwhelmed and out of your depth.

Mattheo's lips curled into a subtle, self-assured smile as he sensed your growing vulnerability. His eyes, dark and smoldering, held a predatory gleam, and he leaned in closer, his face mere inches from yours, his breath grazing your skin as he revelled in the palpable effect he had on you.

"This vulnerability...it suits you, I must admit..." his voice was a low, seductive murmur, pulling back to meet your eyes. "Don't worry, little Raven...I won't bite...unless you ask me to, of course..."

With an amused huff, he shifted, his lips brushing over your ear, and you pulled your lip between your teeth to restrain a whimper as you felt his free hand move, long fingers ghosting over the fabric of your skirt as he grazed your hip.

"Mattheo, I-" your body reacted in a way you hadn't anticipated, utterly frozen under Mattheo's commanding presence. Desire coursed through your veins, a mixture of fear and a thrilling, unfamiliar attraction, and you struggled to string together a sentence. "I've never-"

"Never what, princess?" He purred, voice reverberating as a deep hum, the seductive pitch doing inexplicable things to your body. "Don't be shy..."

As his grip on your hip tightened, your lungs stalled, a small gasp slipping past your lips; and as though you'd somehow snapped Mattheo out of a hypnotic trance, he pulled back--his widened obsidian eyes meeting yours.

"Holy fuck, Raven, are you a fucking virgin?" His voice was barely above a whisper, the husk of it sparking fire through your veins. "You haven't even kissed someone, have you?"

Embarrassment flooded you, a heat hot enough to melt the Arctic. When you nodded, almost impenetrably; his stare intensified, the excitement practically radiating from his flesh.

"Shit...I'm going to fucking ruin you..." Mattheo's fingers tightened around your jaw, once again tugging you closer--your heart stalled as he crouched down slightly, bringing himself eye-to-eye with you, his face mere centimeters from yours. "That's what you want though, isn't it? I see the way you look at me...I feel the way your body responds to me...even when you fucking despise me..."

Mules of power coursed through Mattheo's fingers as his hand left your hip, snaking around your waist as his eyes scanned your features--watching every single ministration of your face as though he was afraid you'd disappear; as though he'd miss something if he blinked.

"You want this," he whispered, his breath hot against your face. "You've been aching for it ever since we first met...admit it."

Your adrenaline surged. You knew you were playing with fire here, but you couldn't control yourself.

"Don't flatter yourself, Riddle..." you murmured, voice unsteady. "Unlike you I actually harbour a modicum of self control."

Upon your utterance, Mattheo's entire demeanor shifted abruptly--something dark and unsettling creeping behind his eyes. His grip tightened aggressively, applying force with enough intensity to leave bruises.

"There's that mouth again." He growled, his tone dark and rough. "You just can't fucking help yourself, can you?"

You snuffed a gasp as his fingernails dug into your skin, the intensity radiating off his flesh.

"You think you're so fucking smart, hm? Little good girl, top of the class, never stepping out of the lines..." he tilted his head, leaning closer, mouth so close to yours you could practically taste the blood seeping from the cut on his lip. "I'm going to have so much fucking fun with you, Raven...we'll see just how smart you are when you’re on your fucking knees for me like a dumb little whore..."

Your breath was hardly filtering, lungs sputtering. "Mattheo-"

He shifted your body, shoving your ass back against the desk as he pressed himself against you, one hand behind your neck with the other tightly gripping your hip; eyes drunk on a dark hunger--one that intoxicated you without effort.

"That's what I want, Raven...I want you on your knees for me every single week...and in exchange, I'll pay attention to your dumb lessons and make sure I pass...the second I fail to do just that, it all stops, okay?" His voice was tight, focused, but serious--as serious as you've ever fucking heard him. "I won't tell a fucking soul about any of this, and I know you won't either...both of our reputations depend on it..."

Gods, you fucking loved this, even though admitting it felt like peeling away layers of denial--but deep down, you knew the truth, even though it clashed with your feelings of utter disgust and irritation towards Mattheo Riddle. Something about the images swirling inside your mind as you thought about it, thought about the mere prospect of having him at your mercy, his pleasure intertwined with your control, stirred a complex mix of emotions within you.

It was as if a forbidden fascination had taken root, coaxing an unexpected excitement from the depths of your being. If surrendering to this unconventional desire meant he would finally invest effort in your tutor sessions, you found yourself reluctantly willing to explore this uncharted territory.

But not before teasing him a little.

"Don't you have enough girls on their knees for you, Riddle?" You whispered, fingers clutching the desk for dear life. "Do you really need that from me?"

He huffed, amused. "Sure, but those girls expect something from me in return...with you, it'll be all about me and what I fucking want..." he purred, wetting his lips as he glimpsed yours. "I have no interest in taking your virginity, Raven...you can save that for your wedding night, or whatever the fuck it is you're waiting for...I just want those pretty fucking lips...I just want to finally put that annoying mouth of yours to good use..."

Your entire body was vibrating, every word from his mouth did something foreign to you lower abdomen--something you'd never felt nor experienced before. There were so many emotions pummelling through your veins right now; from desire to irritation to defiance to submission--every one melding inside your mind and rendering your mouth utterly mute. You had no idea what to fucking say.

Until Riddle leaned in, closer, his lips brushing over yours. "Do we have a deal?"

You swallowed, your sight flickering from his lips to his eyes and back to his lips, examining all the small cuts and bruises and scars he had peppering his skin. When you nodded, he tightened the grip on the back of your neck, forcing a squeal from deep in your throat.

"Words, Raven," he said sharply. "Use them. I want to hear you say it."

You weren't breathing, you wondered how the fuck you were even conscious. "Yes," you whispered. "We have a deal."

Mattheo exhaled. "Fuck..."

In the span of a single breath, his lips found yours, soft and yielding--conveying a desperate, yet gentle craving. You became a candle, his touch a flame, liquefying you from the core, heat spreading through your every fiber, reaching down to your very toes. He pulled you closer, deepening the kiss, immersing you in a passionate embrace that seemed to defy time itself.

Your mind spun in a whirlwind of realization: this was your first kiss, an intimate moment shared with a boy you openly despised. His lips bore the remnants of alcohol and cigarettes, a taste accentuated by the faint hint of blood. He desired you for a singular purpose, and you saw him merely as a means to solidify your post-graduate fate. Despite the inherent wrongness of the situation, you couldn't summon the care to stop it, succumbing to the inexplicable pull between you two.

His low growl echoed in the charged air as his tongue danced with yours, emboldening you. Your fingers threaded through his thick, curly hair, exploring the contours of his mouth. Meanwhile, his hand roamed up your thigh, tracing your curves until it found the top of your uniform. With a firm grip, he pulled at the fabric, and then, shifted his hand to your wrist, directing it toward the insistent bulge in his pants.

As your fingers grazed it, something surged through you; something suffocating, something intoxicating--and involuntarily, you moaned into his mouth.

"Shit..." he breathed, grip on the back of your neck intensifying. "You feel that, Raven? That's all for you..."

Your breath was shaking, your lungs on fire. You had no idea what was happening to you, you had no idea what you were even thinking, let alone saying--a haze of pleasure and adrenaline and arousal was clouding your cognitive capacity, words spilling from your lips without thought as you squeezed the outline of his dick.

"You're so big..." your voice was a whisper, lesser even. "I-I don't think I'll-"

"You will," his voice cracked, cutting you off, already knowing what you were about to say.

With a smirk, he stepped back slightly, using the hand behind your head to gently guide you toward the floor, a silent yet compelling command. When you met his eyes, a clear nervousness in your expressions, he smirked.

"Don't worry Raven, I'll go easy on you for your first time..." he whispered. "Unlike you, I'm actually a patient teacher."

When you finally landed on your knees in front of him, his fervent fingers moved to his belt, swiftly undoing the latch and tugging his trousers mid-way down his thighs. His eyes never once left yours, his bottom lip pulled tightly between his teeth as he moved to his boxers next; finally freeing his thick, throbbing length, the veins in his hand tensing as he wrapped his fist around its girth, his mouth falling open in relief.

Your stomach twisted, your entire body fucking screaming at the sight. "Holy fu-"

Your words were cut short as his hand thrust through your hair, fingers entangling through your soft strands, cranking your neck back slightly to meet his eyes again, slowly fucking into his fist as he watched you; examined you.

"What would your friends think of this, huh?" His voice was hoarse, arrogant, and of course, sadistic, like always. "Little good girl Ravenclaw on her knees for the big bad Slytherin fuck up...it's almost poetic, isn't it?"

Your fingers trembled, and you clutched the fabric of your skirt for dear life. "Are you going to let me suck it or are you going to hold me here all day instead?"

"Eager little thing you are," he huffed, smirking; jaw tensing and throat bobbing as he swallowed. "Drop your jaw, princess."

As you did what he said, he hummed in satisfaction, directing the head of his throbbing cock past your lips, hissing through his teeth as the wet warmth of your mouth enveloped his shaft, involuntarily gagging as he continued to push into throat until your hands shot up to his thighs, silently pleading for a mere second to adjust to his size.

"Use your hands then, Raven..." his voice was a breathless whisper, fingers tightening their hold on your hair. "Unless you want me to fuck that filthy throat of yours."

You glanced up at him, his appearance doing inexplicable things to your cunt, undeniably at this point--and you wrapped your hands around the base of his shaft, twisting and stroking as you moved your mouth against the remaining length--suctioning your lips around him, eyes watering and cunt clenching as he groaned, head falling back and lids fluttering shut.

"Mm...that's it..." he muttered, using your hair like reigns to direct your head. "Your mouth feels so fucking good when you're not using it to be an uptight little bitch..."

You hummed in assent, pressing your wet tongue against the throbbing underside of his cock. Your heart was beating out of your chest, thighs clamping in lust--even though he was being a sadistic asshole per usual, and there was not one part of this you should be enjoying--you couldn't deny the heat that was pooling between your legs, the unfamiliar desire that was growing in your lungs only intensified with every deep, breathless groan that left Mattheo's lips.

You dropped your hands, taking more of him now, slowly but surely, and you tried your best to ignore the pain that Riddle was inflicting on your scalp; his cock twitching more insistently between your lips with each passing second. Cranking your neck back, he slowly started fucking into your throat, groaning as he'd almost entirely pulled out, and you tightened your lips around his girth, wanting to trap him.

"So fucking good, Raven..." he huffed, and eased in again, holding your head in place, watching as his length disappeared into your mouth. "Are you sure this is your first time? Shit-"

His voice was heavy with pleasure, igniting a thunderstorm of arousal on your skin, growing more intense with each second his eyes were on you--his breathing grew heavier as your lips and tongue worked in unison, the sheer hunger in his gaze nearly palpable.

"Look at me," he muttered, cranking your neck back further, thrusting deeper. When you met his eyes, your thighs screamed in need. "Good girl...just like that..."

Mattheo's hips moved quicker, his groans of pleasure filling the room. Sparks were buzzing over your skin, air squeaking into your nose, tears welling in your eyes as he thrust into your throat again and again. His gaze was trained on you, his breath coming in shorter bursts the faster he moved.

"Fuck..." he sputtered, fingers bruising your scalp. "Far better use for that filthy mouth..."

You gagged, swallowing against him, and he yanked your head back further; entirely losing himself and any ounce of his self control in the heat of your throat as he neared his peak. You worked your tongue along the underside of his dick, pulling your lips in over your teeth, a quiet groan leaving him as you hollowed your cheeks and sucked him.

"You look so good taking my cock..." he said. "You don't know how many times I've imagined doing this to you-fuck...every time you gave me attitude...shit..."

A moan rumbled through you, spurred on by his words, and his head fell back, breath sputtering in his lungs as he squeezed his eyes shut; fingernails digging into your scalp as he held you in place, hot jets of his release shooting down your throat without warning. You panted against his dick, swallowing every last drop of his cum without complaint, and when he finally released you--slowly tucking himself away, he stared at you with an astounded expression on his face, chest heaving.

As you wiped the drool off your chin with your sleeve, you slowly peeled yourself off the floor, meeting his intense eyes--which were still staring at you as he did up his belt.

"What?" You said, anxiously. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

He blinked, throat knocking as he swallowed. "I'm just trying to figure you the fuck out." He said. "You took my cock and swallowed my cum better than some of the sluttiest whores in this school have..."

Your face burned, entire body tingling as you readjusted your uniform. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Not at all, Raven." He huffed, throwing himself into the chair next to yours. "Think you just needed a bad boy like me to give you permission to finally let loose, yeah?"

"Permission?" You cocked an eyebrow, taking a seat next to him. "I'd think not, Riddle."

"Denial is a river in Egypt, princess." He sneered, that devilish smirk teasing his lips per usual. "You have no idea what you've just gotten yourself into. Better hope you don't get attached...I promise, I'm nothing but bad news..."

Your rolled your eyes, straightening out in the chair and flipping open the textbook to the appropriate chapter.

"Believe me, I won't."

——————

Chapter three->

[hederasgarden]

Sweet Surrender

Summary: Jake’s given and taken orders a hundred times throughout his career but nothing compares to the moment he realizes you liked it.  Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x F!Reader Word Count: 2.1K Rating: 18+ only. Sexual content. Authority and sir kink, praise kink and Hangman being a cocky asshole. A/N: Thank you @wildbornsiren and @whatblogisthis216 for beta'ing and @blue-aconite for the beautiful graphic. In the future I may write part 2 if my muses cooperate. Reblogs and comments feed the muse.

Masterlist ♡ Top Gun Masterlist

Jake doesn’t pay much attention when you’re first introduced with the rest of the eggheads from the Office of Naval Research. Another one of many civilian engineers working on the new plane he’s been assigned to test. You keep things professional and polite although he can tell you find him attractive. It’s written all over your face and demeanor. You’re not the only one, several of the other engineers can’t seem to string together a full sentence around him. 

You’re pretty, he can admit that much to himself, but a sweet face has never been enough on its own to hold his interest. Especially when he’s here to do a job, one he takes very seriously. The chance to be the first to fly the latest prototype jet isn’t an opportunity that comes up often. He volunteered immediately for the assignment when it came up, beating out most of his Top Gun class for the honor.

What he doesn’t bank on is having to sit through mind numbingly boring briefings and listen to the engineers argue anytime the tiniest adjustment is made. Most of his exposure to you is during these meetings but the first time you talk to him one on one is four weeks into the project.

That’s when he notices your particular….quirk. You’re following him out after the morning briefing, yammering away about the new wing design specs. He’s read your report in detail and already familiarized himself with the changes. 

All Jake wants is a moment of silence to mentally prepare himself for today's test but you keep talking. It doesn’t help that he’s got the beginning of a headache forming behind his eyes and you’re oblivious to his attempts to cut the conversation short.  

“I got it. I know how to fly a plane,” he tells you. 

“Lieutenant Seresin,” you start but he cuts you off with a look. 

“I’ve read your briefing packet, top to bottom. It was extremely thorough. If I have questions you’ll be the first person I ask. Scout’s honor,” he adds, giving you a sloppy half salute that seems to confuse you for a moment before you start talking again. 

“I just want to make sure-“ you begin and Jake sighs, annoyed.

“I got it.  Now go sit down,” he tells you curtly. 

You step back back, brows raised. Jake almost misses the way your pupils dilate and your lips part just so. 

"I'm sorry, Sir," you reply. "I..."You stammer and tug at the hem of your shirt before hurrying to take a seat. 

You watch him from behind the computer bank as he climbs into the cockpit and fiddles with the controls. He can feel you watching him as he puts his helmet on. It’s clear to him that you want his approval, even if you don’t realize it.

Fuck, that paired with the ‘sir’ and the delicious little waver in your voice spikes his interest. He waits until you’re practically squirming in your chair before he gives you a nod. Your response is immediate, shoulders dropping and the tense lines on your face easing. 

It’s not just that he makes you nervous, he’s seen that plenty of times before. No, this is different. Special. You liked it when he barked an order at you. 

–

Over the next few weeks, he watches you closely, taking note of your responses to everyone you interact with. It’s clear you crave praise from others, perking up under any compliment you receive and deflating under criticism. However, it’s your response to authority that interests him most. You’ve got a natural inclination to listen to orders but as far as Jake can tell he’s the only one who elicits that type of reaction from you.

Each encounter he has with you is a chance to test the theory he has. He catalogs the difference in your responses; when he’s softer in his requests versus an outright order. Jake sees how quickly you obey a demand to sit next to him at the next briefing, just so he can be close to you. The speed you produce a new report just for him is a powerful thing. He especially loves the way you blossom under his praise when he compliments changes you've made to improve performance.

You’re smart, undeterred when the men in the room try to speak over you. Even though you’re quiet-natured, you’re no pushover either.  He respects your determination and hard work.

The most telling moment is one afternoon when you’re loitering on the edge of the hanger as he finishes up his conversation with the flight chief. It’s clear you need to speak to him. The fact that you won’t interrupt him is just a bonus– something he knows from experience will translate well in the bedroom. 

“Come here,” he commands, crooking a finger at you. He doesn’t even have to raise his voice to have you scurrying to him. You touch your chest and fiddle with the locket you wear, twisting the thin gold chair around your index finger. Jake’s not sure if he’s just gotten better at clocking your reactions or you’re extra affected today but whatever the reason, he’s enjoying the show. 

“What do you need?” He asks. 

“For you to sign the report,” you tell him, opening the folder and pointing to the highlighted portion. 

When he takes the pen from you he makes sure to drag his fingertips over the back of your hand, watching for your reaction behind his aviators. The soft sound that passes your lips doesn't disappoint him. He thinks about what other sounds he could drag out of you. How he could get you desperate enough to beg him to fuck you. The way you’d sigh his name and -

“Sir?” Your soft voice snaps him out of his little daydream. You’re staring up at him expectantly. “I need my pen back, please.”

When he hands it back, you smile. It makes him long to pull you against him and kiss you breathless. To test out the limits of how well you’d listen to him but he knows he has to wait until the project is over. He’s not about to jeopardize either of your careers though as the weeks drag on he certainly finds himself fantasizing about that. 

You’ve caught him staring at during the morning briefings once or twice, his chin resting on steepled fingers. It’s always the same response from you, the double blink and glance away. Sometimes you’ll bite your lips and fiddle with the pencil, tapping it in rapid succession against the table. He can feel your eyes on him too and he has to repress a smirk. These morning briefings are starting to become his favorite part of the day. 

—

Two torturous months pass before the admiral visits and the project gets wrapped up. He has some innocent fun with you during that time, nothing overly mean, just enough to get you flustered and stoke the flame. His favorite form of foreplay.

The team celebrates at the Hard Deck. Alcohol flows freely and spirits are high. It turns out engineers partied harder than pilots. You only have a drink which bodes well for Jake. He needs you sober for this and wants a clear head of his own, nursing a single beer most of the night.

While he waits for an opportunity to get you alone he formulates how he wants to approach this. He doesn’t doubt his assessment. He’s rarely wrong about these things but it’s always possible you’re not completely aware of your quirk. If he embarrassed or frightened you all his waiting would be for nothing. 

After another hour or so he senses his chance. You head outside to take a quick call and Jake follows. He waits at a safe distance to give you some privacy but once you slide the phone back into your jacket he makes his presence known. 

“Lieutenant Seresin,” you greet. You look surprised to see him but pleased too. 

“It’s Jake,” he corrects, stepping toward you. 

When he presses into your space you take a half step back and then another, letting him herd you into a little alcove out of sight. You watch him curiously, maybe even a little confused. You’re not scared to be alone with him —you trust him.  

“What’s up?” You’re trying for casual but failing adorably. 

Jake’s close enough to touch you, but refrains from it. He won’t until he has your permission and understanding. He smirks and tits his head. A direct approach might be quicker but he’s curious if you’ll figure it out on your own.

 “I know your secret, sweetheart,” he whispers. 

That gets you going. You don’t seem to know where to put your hands. Nervous laughter comes next but Jake stays quiet, letting you squirm a little longer. 

“My secret?” You question. 

“It’s compatible with mine,” he hints. 

You frown, forehead wrinkling. He recognizes the expression from countless morning briefings when you were contemplating a problem. It’s cute watching your brain work in real-time to put the pieces together.  A full minute passes before your eyes dart back to his face, surprised.

He nods encouragingly and then very hesitantly you say, “Is that so, sir?”

There’s a heavy emphasis on the last word. 

“Smart girl,” he praises. 

You grin and rock back on your heels. “Well, I did design the aircraft you’ve been flying the last four months,” you shoot back. 

He can see the struggle it is for you not to smile. You’re proud of your work and should be but he can’t have you mouthing off already. 

“Don’t get smart with me,” he warns playfully, loving the way you immediately duck your head. 

“Sorry, sir.” 

You sound appropriately contrite and he smirks. 

“Look at me.” Two fingers under your chin encourage you to meet his gaze. “I want you to be honest,” he begins, watching carefully for any sign you’re not on the same page as him. “Do you want to do this?”

“Do you mean…you mean sex, right?” You ask, looking a little unsure. 

You’re so sweet that Jake slips character briefly to give you the soft smile you deserve. “Sex and more,” he confirms. “I can help you explore this side of yourself.”

“Yeah. I want that,” you tell him shyly. 

“That’s good to hear, but that’s not how you talk to me, and I think you know it.”

“I want you to teach me, sir,” you respond. 

“Better,” he praises.

He slides a hand up your jaw to grasp the back of your neck and angle your face upward so he can crush his lips against yours. He closes the distance between your bodies, pressing you back into the wall with a groan. You make a desperate little sound that goes right to his dick and grasp his biceps tightly. 

You part your lips and fuck, he’s finally tasting you fully like he’s been imagining. He loves how soft and warm you are in his arms and the way his lips slide against yours. All of his pent-up desire is out now. The hand at your hip slides down the curve of your ass to grasp your thigh so he can grind shamelessly against you. You whimper, nails pressing into his skin. He rocks his half-hard cock into the warmest part of you, needing more friction. He wants to hear you make that little sound again too. 

“Oh, please,” you gasp when you finally part. 

You sound wrecked and he thinks you look it too.The skin of your face is warm to the touch and your eyes are a little glassy. Jake's half convinced you might let him have you here and for a moment he actually considers it. He knows how good that kind of messy, quick fuck can be but tonight he wants to see all of you. To spend his time taking you apart until you’re incoherent and at his mercy. He can’t do that here. 

“Easy,” Jake whispers, running a hand down your back. “Look at me,” he instructs, smiling when you do. You’re trembling all over and he rubs his thumb over your swollen lips as he gazes down at you. “Catch your breath.”

Once you’re calm he lets go of you and runs a hand through his hair. You’re watching him, waiting to be told what to do. “Go inside, say goodbye to your friends. Then I want you to meet me out front. Got it?”

You nod and he surges forward to kiss you one more time before stepping back to let you past him. 

Fuck, tonight is going to be good he thought. 

♡

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[obs3ssedd]

－𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐒. 𝐆𝐈𝐘𝐔𝐔 𝐓. 𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐍 𝐔. 𝐇𝐂

⇨⚠︎︎ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 !¡⚠︎︎⇦ smut, perverted thoughts, jacking off, missionary, doggy, ass!kink, thigh!kink, ass slapping, choking, cussing, black!reader

𝐀𝐍. In honor of demon slayer coming back out In two months I decided to write a smut of my three favorite characters, If you guys like this mini smut story give me more characters to write about! enjoy my lovely’s.

- 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦.

— 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈

you were all he could think about.

hot and bothered with thoughts clouding his mind from moments ago. you had him pinned to the ground straddling his waist, with your sword pressed against his neck.. and skirt slid up to your upper thigh. he didn’t know how you were even fast enough to pin him down like that but once you did that’s when it started. feeling your ass right on top of his dick and thighs being exposed sent pleasure throughout his body, making these thoughts cloud his mind. he threw down his sword by his futon slamming the door in frustration leaning against it clenching his fists together.

this was your fault..all your fault for making him feel like this. he cussed under his breath hearing his thoughts get louder and needier by the second for you. thinking about how perfectly your ass was ontop of him made him think..how good would you be? sliding his whole length into you as you clenched around him trying to take all of him whimpering and begging for him to take It out..fuck. he groaned to himself feeling his pants get tight, it was just begging to get released he was needy, he was desperate. he trailed his hand down to his belt tugging it off in one go seeing how hard his dick had gotten, “shit..” he mumbled pulling off his boxers grabbing ahold of his dick slowly starting to stroke himself.

the pre cum that was already leaking from his tip, dripped along his fingers as his imagination got deeper into detail. he imagined it was your pussy instead of his hand stroking up and down at a steady pace. he threw his head against the door closing his eyes with a groan picking up the pace more. his thoughts got louder and more realistic as he kept a steady pace, he was fucking you, missionary style with his hand wrapped around your throat as soppy tears ran down your face, begging for him to stop. your legs thrown over his shoulder as his hips bucked deeper inside your needy little cunt ignoring your pleads, focusing on your orgasm and his. he couldn’t stop thinking about it, he wanted to be inside you, he wanted to cum inside you. you’re driving him insane and you don’t even know it. he growled under his breath feeling that familiar knot fill his stomach, keeping up the same pace, “fucking shit y/n.” he whispered with a small moan feeling wet liquid run down his hand along his thigh, onto his floor, his heart rate went up and down as he stroked slow letting himself calm down from his orgasm. he opened his eyes, half lidded as he stared at nothing but the wall in his room with a sigh but chuckled after looking at the mess he made. he couldn’t believe he got horny just by the practice fight you guys had, but did he regret it?

“nah.”

— 𝐆𝐈𝐘𝐔

poor guy couldn’t help himself.

It was like any other day but today was more different, you and Tomioka had a mission together after awhile of being assigned solo missions. you guys had a task of finding a demon that was terrorizing a small village in the mountains, when the fight occurred you were left with your uniform torn and ruined. the pants that you normally wore and was apart of your uniform, had been cut low almost like a skirt showing off the lower half. it didn’t seem like a big deal to you because it was just your thighs showing but unfortunately for Tomioka..his minds had other plans. after the whole mission all he could think about was your thighs..how perfect they were..how big they were, imagining the marks and kisses on them. shit. he shouldn’t be thinking about you in that way, you were his friend— but he couldn’t help himself, the thoughts about you got louder and louder by the second it was driving him mad.

his hand clenched and unclenched trying to think about something completely different but your thighs kept coming to his mind, his eyes were squeezed shut trying to stop think about you but it wasn’t working. the more dirty thoughts he was having the more his pants were tightening, his eyes shot wide open staring at the dark ceiling with a fast heart rate, “I shouldn’t be thinking about her..” he murmured to himself feeling like a pervert for thinking about you like this but he couldn’t help himself. he didn’t even think just by your thighs showing he would become a mess but he was always Into that..even if he doesn’t wanna admit, he would always steal glances anytime you decided to wear something short with your uniform. he just wanted to leave hickeys all over those gorgeous thighs..he wanted them wrapped around his waist pulling him tighter as he fucked you. tomioka sucked in a breath trailing his hand through the covers towards his pants, tugging them off. he bit his lip already feeling the pre cum drip down his hand with a small blush on his cheeks starting to slowly stroke himself. his eyes fluttered closed leaning more into his pillow with a small whimper escaping his lips, he continued to stroke himself to the thought of you..your thighs.

he wondered what it would feel like if he fucked them. his cock being rubbed against your thighs as he chased his orgasm wanting to paint them with his cum, thinking about the idea only made him pick up the pace having more moans and desperate whines being heard he kept going and going feeling cum start to leak out. “f-fuck y/n” he choked feeling himself all over his hand, breaths getting faster as his heart race got faster letting his orgasm take over. he twitched in his hand, still stroking at a small pace riding out his orgasm onto his bed sheets feeling himself calm down. his eyes opened lifting the blankets up to see the mess he made, he sighed dropping the blanket back on-top of him starting to feel guilty.

but..It felt so damn good It was worth It.

— 𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐍

he didn’t feel ashame.

you were clouding his mind that day. due to shortage of hashira’s taking solo missions you and tengen assigned a duo mission. It was like any other mission, you guys go together, fight the demons, and come back to headquarters. but for this case it was a four day mission, the mission took place at the fast side of Japan, most likely east to find a small village that was being terrorized by multiple demons. you and tengen had to find out what has been terrorizing the village and how to stop it, it took some time to complete the mission but you guys managed and completed your duties. on the final night of the mission was the night it changed it all. since the village was small and not that many places to sleep you and Uzui had to share a bed together. It was weird at first but you knew he wasn’t gonna do anything- he was your friend after all.

Or so you thought.

the one thing he did not know was that In your sleep you moved a lot. to the point it happens every hour, Uzui was laid behind you as you were laid infront of him sound asleep with small snores leaving your mouth. you were lucky you could even sleep, for him…you kept backing up against it kept him awake for the past two hours. the feeling of your ass rubbing against his dick felt too fucking good, to pass it up. he had to hold back the urge to grip your hips in place to make you stop but..did he really want this feeling to go away?. he groaned lowly feeling your ass grind up against him for the 50th time that night making him gain a boner. It was aching to be touched..he cussed under his breath feeling his dick throb in his pants the more you kept moving, “shit..” he mumbled, he couldn’t take it anymore. he lifted the blankets up removing himself from the bed making his way to the bathroom closing the door. In a matter of seconds he pulled his pants down taking his throbbing sick into his hands hissing from the feeling. “oh fuck..” He moaned leaning his head against the door stroking himself slow with his eyes closed. the thought of him fucking you doggy style made his strokes go faster, ass slapping against him, fucking you deep and hard slapping your ass every once in awhile just to see it move had him grinding into his hand.

his imagination was running wild. he wondered how tight your pussy would feel around him when he fucks you rough, gripping your ass with his bigger hand, just wanting to rub and feel it. heavy breathes and groans were being heard behind the door as you were still sound asleep, he chanted small fucks feeling his climax reach his peak. he kept going and going till he released all over his hand, stomach and the floor. he breathed heavily trying to calm himself down from his climax continuing to stroke himself feeling more come out. he chuckled lowly looking down at the mess he made with a grin,

“fucking hell.”

[emry-stars-oc]

Now that mermay is over. I have more mermay content. Much thanks to my buddy silvermasquerade who I wanted to talk about a mermaid au with (specifically their twin oc girlies who feature heavily here) and who had a hundred good ideas because now I’m terminally obsessed

So what if there were merfolk dolphins and they lived in an aquarium that does shows and stuff and most of them have an assigned human “handler” to help manage things and maybe to perform with. I think the merfolk are mostly like rescues or relocations?? At any rate the current set up of humans they work with are largely tolerable and even likeable so that’s a plus 🙏 and yes I’m unlearning embarrassment so you get to see my whole sketchbook layouts

(In this specific au the list of names and animals on the top left (above) are the merms, the right side list is the reverse timeline but we’ll get to that later)

Anyway I’ll put some ‘who’s who’ + rambles under the cut, for now @silvermasquerade GET OVER HERE I HAVE YOUR CHILDREN AND SECRET OTHER ART

Ok so. The merfolk are: silvermasquerade’s girls Adaline and Alyssa, the two black haired dusky dolphins

Alyssa (ponytail)’s human is Bo, Adaline won’t take an assigned handler but if she needs an assistant for her performances she’ll borrow someone (usually also Bo). They’re beautiful and so much fun to play dolls with and I love them. I also love forcing Bo and Alyssa to get through the initial absolute refusal to cooperate bc once they figure each other out they are so funny to me

(The rest of these aren’t going to have pics accompanying them because I’m hitting image limit smh)

My contributions to the merms are Quinton, the spotted dolphin who’s (current) human is a yet un-designed and completely un-introduced dude named Rhydian (annoying, sometimes pretends that the merfolk aren’t as sentient as they are bc it’s ‘convenient for him’). Luckily I’m thinking Q eventually gets put with Kallistos instead, who’s one of his besties in canon. He’s also mercilessly, lovingly teased for not being overly subtle by merfolk standards with how intrigued he is by Alyssa’s handler

Estes, a nondescript seal who doesn’t perform atm but ended up taking to one of the employees (Lolo) who was therefore given defacto responsibility of Estes bc she’s so snappy with anyone else. Lolo also happens to be someone that frequently helps train new employees so when Taorna is hired, he also accidentally gets on Estes’ good side. Oops 💕

Mercer, the unreasonably large orca that was brought in who also doesn’t yet perform because they have no one to work with him on it. He’s not quite built for the elegant types of shows they put on anyway, if they ever do a pirate drama he’d make a great sea monster tho.

And Liana, the common dolphin with the yellow ribbon in her hair. Her handler is Ambrose (eyepatch guy) which means she’s almost immediately teased/razzed by the other merfolk for how well the two of them get along. “He’s handsome and kind and -“ “girl please. he’s a HUMAN” but you best believe they are the media darlings and look so cute in their matching costumes

One day I’ll draw them with their humans bc you absolutely have not seen the last of them, I’m obsessed almost to the point of concern, I also need to figure out how to get Betony in here fr. If you thought Mercer towered over them before oh boy

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

IV ║ Notch

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Part III: Edgestitch | Behind the Seams: Part IV | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E, but not that explicit

Summary: While Ellie works her first shift at the Outfitters, Joel drops by yours to return the blouse you left behind at the baby shower. Turns out, there's plenty around the house to keep him occupied until the teenager clocks off.

Warnings: Sexual tension, body insecurity, some language, inaccurate descriptions of gardening, gratuitous descriptions of the male body, undervest supremacy, flirting, dry humping, shy!reader, reader has a nickname related to her job, soft!domestic!Joel, no use of Y/N

Word count: 8.9k

Notes: Once I started writing this chapter in earnest, it came together a bit more quickly than I expected! It's extremely self-indulgent, with plenty of white undervest and belly action because you guys deserve all of that goodness for being the most patient, loving readers a writer could hope for 🥹 Thank you, I love you all! ❤️

Notch – diamond shaped marks that stick out beyond the edge of the pattern to line up all the pieces when sewing the garment. They come in pairs to be matched up.

Joel is sleeping - which is not something that could be said until a couple of months ago.

After the outbreak, sleep as a concept ceased to exist. What took its place is literal ‘shuteye’, either engineered by pills knocked back with moonshine, or a preventative shutdown by his body to avoid total failure, having pushed his physical form to the living limit.

It’s the kind of sleep that is destitute and provides no relief. It keeps the cogs turning just enough that he doesn’t expire, standing in his boots - which, on most days, are not the only things held together by duct tape.

But after the hospital, even that turned out to be too much to ask for. Some nights, the itch for chemical-induced relief got so bad that Joel entertained the thought of asking Tommy for illicit pills, ready to crawl on all fours to his brother’s house two streets down because he was shaking so hard he couldn’t lock his knees. But he didn’t trust him not to tell Maria, and with Ellie in the picture, he wasn’t about to tempt fate.

So instead, he asked Maria to assign him to night patrols. She hmmm’d at his request like she knew something he didn’t, but she humoured him, letting him take the graveyard shift for a couple of weeks straight. She didn’t have to tell him that she could see the way he tripped over his own feet and hear the slur in his voice. She’s too sharp not to notice.

But she didn’t say anything.

What she did do though, was not so subtly wean him off the late-night patrols. It started with a couple of random, last-minute changes, and then the next thing he knew, he was working morning shifts exclusively. When he tried covertly swapping stints with another guy, he showed up at the guard tower at midnight to find his sister-in-law standing in the doorway, arms crossed over her pregnant belly. 

As he trudged home begrudgingly with his head down and her stern reprimand in his ears, he couldn’t help a chuckle. Gotta hand it to her. 

Banished back to his bed, Joel went back to staring owlishly at the ceiling, watching the moonlight slide across the plaster until he knew all the cracks in it with his eyes closed (metaphorically). He’d listen to Ellie snoring away two doors down and marvel at the fact that she somehow still slept like the dead, even after… all that.

And then, one night, it happened for him too.

Admittedly, he ate a bit too much at Tommy and Maria’s - on top of running the town like a well-oiled machine, she makes a mean chicken fried steak - and Ellie had not so subtly plonked a second helping on his plate without asking. He was lying in bed, steeling himself for another long night, when his eyes drooped. The motion was so alien that it jolted him wide awake, but he couldn’t shake the weight that clung to the seams of his lashes. The next time he opened his eyes, it was morning.

Turns out you can teach an old dog new tricks. 

It’s nowhere near consistent, and more often than not he wakes up in a cold sweat in the small hours, but in between, he’s sleeping. For once, he’s feeling rested. And it’s a nice fucking break from the relentless exhaustion that he’s convinced is fused into his bones.

He always wakes up earlier than Ellie though. She never stomps down the stairs until he’s already had breakfast, and hers has gone cold.

So on the Saturday morning following the baby shower, with his face plastered into the mattress, body curled around a pillow - old habits die hard - Joel nearly falls out of bed at the banging on his door.

‘Joel! Get the fuck up!’

For one disconcerting moment between sleep and wake, he’s in his bedroom back in Texas. He half expects to look up to see the posters on the wall and the perpetually overflowing laundry basket at the foot of his bed.

Blinking through the urge to close his eyes, the colours fade and he stares blearily at the digital clock on his bedside table. 

7:30.

What the fuck? More often than not he has to drag the teenager out of bed by the ankles, kicking and swearing, at 7:50 to get to school at 8:00.

His knees groan as he staggers onto his feet, grabbing yesterday’s jeans from the floor and pulling them on. He finds a passably clean shirt about five deep on a chair, which he shrugs on over his white undervest. With a grunt, he yanks open the door and heads downstairs on bare feet, frowning at unfamiliar sounds coming from the kitchen.

Joel pauses in the doorway, hands on hips. ‘What do you think you’re doin’?’

Deeming his question unworthy of a response, Ellie tosses him a roll of her eyes over her shoulder and resolutely ignores him.

Shuffling closer, he asks, ‘Are you - cookin’?’

Brandishing the spatula at him, she snarls, ‘What does it look like I’m doing?’

He goads her with a smirk. ‘To be honest, it looks like you threw up in the pan.’

Ellie elbows him hard in the stomach. ‘Fuck you, man!’

He grins. There’s nothing like winding her up first thing in the morning. Grabbing the pan, he bins the ruined eggs, scraping off the burnt bits stuck to the bottom. ‘Crack some more eggs, I’ll make ‘em.’

Ten minutes later, in their usual seats at the kitchen table, they tuck into scrambled eggs and buttered toast.

‘Slow down,’ warns Joel as Ellie wolfs down hers. ‘You’re gonna choke.’

‘You hurry up! Can’t be late for my first day,’ she garbles through a mouthful of food.

‘Why can’t you be like this about school?’ he grumbles, then he winces as his teeth catch something crunchy. Picking it out, he gives her a pointed look. ‘Eggshell.’

‘Calcium,’ she shoots back without even looking up, too busy shoving the rest of her breakfast into her mouth, stuffing her cheeks like a chipmunk.

That one word stops Joel in his tracks and hurls him twenty years back in time.

But then Ellie is jumping up and practically throwing her empty plate into the sink, sneakers squeaking on the tiled floor as she dashes out of the kitchen. ‘C’mon, old man!’

Joel smiles, the memory warm like sun on his face. 

He shakes his head, slowly finishing his breakfast - like he wishes he did that day.

They turn out to be fifteen minutes early. 

To his chagrin, Ellie admits freely that she lied about the time so they wouldn’t be late. He’s a punctual guy, thank you very much. He certainly doesn’t need to be schooled by the little brat. 

Joel sits on the stairs, while Ellie has her face squished up against the door, unabashedly leaving smudges on the glass panels as she keeps up an uninterrupted running commentary on every last piece of clothing she can see.

He tunes her out easily, shifting in his seat so that his right ear is to the door. In his hands is the blouse that you left behind at Tommy and Maria’s at the baby shower. He’s been meaning to return it to you, but the week got away from him, and there’s no time like the present.

Considering the state of his knees, he impresses himself with the speed at which he stands at the sound of footsteps on the otherwise quiet main street. Squaring his shoulders, he discreetly pulls on his shirt, suddenly seeing wrinkles everywhere in the fabric, and runs his fingers through his hair, wishing he’d taken another look in the mirror before he left the house -

But it’s Lucy who appears at the bottom of the stairs with her unfailingly sunny smile.

‘Hi, you must be Ellie,’ she chirps.

She eyes Lucy cautiously, lips pinched to one side. ‘Where’s Pin?’

Joel growls. ‘Manners.’

Ellie puts her hands up in surrender. ‘Sorry. I meant - nice to meet you, where’s Pin?’

Lucy beams good-naturedly and fiddles with the lock. ‘She’s off today, and it’s all my fault because I made her work three weekends in a row. You’ll be helping me in the front anyway, so I’ll show you the ropes.’ Stepping aside and swinging the door open, she prompts, ‘In you go now, hon.’

Ellie doesn’t even look back at him, rushing into the shop like a thoroughbred fresh out of the starting gates.

Pocketing the keys, Lucy smiles. ‘Hi Joel.’

‘Hey,’ he nods back. ‘Sorry about Ellie.’

‘Don’t be, I was exactly like her when I was younger. Still am sometimes,’ she jokes. Then with a sly side eye, she remarks, ‘And honestly, you look more disappointed that I showed up than she does.’

He splutters, ‘Dunno what you’re talkin’ about.’ 

She smirks knowingly, gesturing at the blouse clutched tightly in his left fist. ‘I can pass that to Pin for ya.’

Joel hesitates for just a second, and Lucy bursts into laughter, elbowing him teasingly. ‘The way your face fell! I’m joking, Miller. Relax.’

He shakes his head. ‘It’s fine, guess I’ll give it to her next time she’s ‘round.’

Just then, from the depths of the shop, Ellie gasps dramatically and yells at the top of her lungs, ‘I want thissssssss one!’ 

Meeting Lucy’s eyes, Joel asks, ‘Sure you gonna be ok left alone with her?’

She shrugs. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’

He flashes her a thumbs up. ‘I’ll pick her up at three then.’

He’s about to walk away from the Outfitters when Lucy’s voice stops him. ‘Hey, Joel!’

Looking up at the wraparound porch, he raises an eyebrow in a silent question.

‘She lives in the yellow cottage on the same street as the shoe shop. Keep going north, you can’t miss it,’ she says with a two-finger salute and a parting line that he’s heard before. ‘Say hi to Pin for me!’

You’ve always had a soft spot for the turn of the season, when late spring blooms graciously give way to summer buds. The grass smells greener, and the air is pregnant with pollen and nectar. It’s not overly warm yet, but you can feel the intensity in the sunlight, muted only by the early hour. Good thing you’re starting early.

It’s unseasonably warm for June, and the vegetable patch on the far end of your garden has suddenly burst into life. The cauliflower has finally come through after two failed crops in a row, and both the tomato vines and pepper plants are thriving. Closer to the ground, the onion and garlic shoots are patiently waiting to be pulled, and asparagus shoots spear through the earth in tidy lines one after another.

Pulling on a hat and gloves, you get to work.

You’re halfway through the second row of onions when there’s a faint knock on the front door. Even though you’ve only been in the sun for a little while, the coolness inside the house feels like a balm to your skin as you pad inside, peeling off your gloves before reaching for the door. 

Swinging it open, you’re stumped by the sight of Joel Miller on your doorstep.

You haven’t seen him since the party, where you’d agreed on a start date and time for Ellie’s first shift, and -

Since the kiss. 

You’ve felt his absence keenly. You’ve caught yourself loitering on street corners, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, knowing you’ll be able to spot him just by the way his shoulders swing with his long strides. You’ve kept an ear out for the southern lilt that has chased goosebumps across your skin, or any mention of his name, but all in vain.

Jackson has a habit of growing in size, usually in direct proportion to one’s desperation.

Now that he’s somehow here, you’re aware you’re gaping at him, so broad that his shoulders are blocking out the daylight. Too many years out of practice to count, you have no idea what the protocol is when you next see the man who literally made your knees buckle with just his lips and nothing else.

‘Mornin’, he finally says with a small smile. 

You stammer. ‘H-hello. What, um, I mean, how -’

‘I dropped off Ellie at the shop and Lucy told me where you live,’ he explains, shaking out the blouse in his hands. ‘Thought I’d come ‘round and return this.’

Your palm twitches with the urge to smack yourself on the forehead. Of course that’s why he’s here. 

Taking the top from him, you smile back gratefully. ‘Thank you. And of course, it’s Ellie’s first day. I’m sorry I can’t be there, but I’ve been subbing for Lucy on the weekends for a month straight and I needed a break.’

He waves away your apology. ‘Count yourself lucky. She was just ‘bout bouncin’ off the walls.’

‘Bless her heart,’ you chuckle, breaking off when his eyes flicker over you, as if he’s just registered your very minimalist ensemble of a white cotton tank top and denim cut-offs. Your skin prickles under his scrutiny, flattery winning out against self-consciousness at the deliberate drag of his gaze over you, a thoughtful weight behind it. 

That is until something catches his attention, and you flinch when he peers under the brim of your hat. ‘What -’

Before you can even articulate your question, he’s taken one step towards you, his work boots heavy on your creaky wooden porch. His voice is low but rough around the edges, just the way you like it. 

‘You got some dirt -’ he swipes his index finger firmly on the end of your nose. ‘Right here.’

Your jaw hangs open, then clamps shut, in quick succession, the shell of your ears burning hot at his fleeting touch. Throat suddenly dry, you barely manage to squeak, ‘Thanks.’ 

One day, you will at least try and keep your cool around this man. But alas, it is not this day.

Rearranging himself, Joel leans on the doorframe with his arms crossed and remarks conversationally, ‘You look outdoorsy this mornin’.’

Flashing the soil-stained gloves at him, you try to keep your voice steady. ‘I’m just doing some gardening out back. The vegetable patch needs harvesting.’

He purses his lips at that. ‘Didn’t peg you as the gardenin’ type.’

You don’t know where the bravado comes from, but you swat him on the arm with the gloves and quip, ‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me.’

‘You got me there,’ he huffs a laugh and gestures towards the back of the house. ‘Anythin’ I can do to help?’

The refusal is on the tip of your tongue. You don’t say yes to a whole lot nowadays, other than when Lucy makes you. But then you hear yourself ask, a challenge in your voice that you didn’t know you had. ‘I don’t know. Are you any good with your hands, Joel Miller?’

At the boldness in your words, which you don’t take back, Joel’s eyebrows reach for his hairline. Biting your lip but standing your ground, you watch him grind his jaw as he considers his response. 

‘Why don’t you try me, sweetheart?’

‘Like this?’

‘Wait - slow down.’

A shuffle of hands. ‘How about now?’

‘That’s it. Yes, that’s good. Keep going.’

A raspy grunt. ‘I think I’m almost there.’

‘Yeah, that’s right, don’t stop -’

‘Alright, you ready?’

‘Come on, Joel -’

With one last flick, the knife slices clean through the base of the stalk, and Joel plucks the cauliflower head out of its leafy cradle with a triumphant grin.

‘How’s that for good hands, huh?’ he crows. 

‘I’ll get back to you in the fall when we see if the cauliflower grows back,’ you tease. 

He huffs, squinting up at you through the sun. ‘You’re hard to please, sweetheart.’

You preen at the playful turn of the conversation. If you were a little braver, you’d give him a mischievous wink - but for now, you gesture at the patch. ‘Can you handle the rest? I’ll get started on the peppers.’

He nods. ‘Leave ‘em with me.’

The pepper plants are having a great season, standing at four feet tall and heaving with fruits. You’ve left them alone on the vine for the last three weeks to sweeten, and they have dutifully ripened into a beautiful red. Settling onto your knees, you methodologically comb through the peppers from top to bottom, cutting off each one by the stalks.

It’s a big harvest, half of which you plan on giving away to your neighbours in exchange for their berries and lemons. Some you will cook. Lucy is due to come over for dinner, and she loves your stuffed pepper recipe. The rest you’ll have to find time to roast, skin, deseed and preserve in oil, which will last the rest of the year -

A shadow falls over you, stilling your hands and drawing your eyes upwards.

The sight is familiar - feet planted shoulder-wide by your knees, chin tucked in as he stares down at you, your nose level with the front of the jeans that you picked out for him - you’ve seen it all before, except for one small detail.

Joel is sweating. A lot.

His thin plaid shirt - you’re not sure if you’ve seen him in anything else yet - is sticking to him like a second skin, clinging to the solid outline of his biceps as he holds onto the basket full of cauliflower heads. The sunlight glances off the perspiration dotting his hairline, and the wispy grays that normally curl away from his face have wilted in the humidity. 

There’s a flush under his skin as he swipes at his forehead with his shirt sleeve, and your gaze follows a bead of sweat dripping down the prominent vein on the side of his neck, and into the deep V of his shirt - wait, is that the outline of an undervest that you can just make out underneath -

‘Should I take the cauliflower in?’

‘Um -’ you stammer to a halt, eyes still plastered to the front of his chest, just like his shirt.

He clearly mistakes your gawking for something else, flashing you an apologetic smile at his state. ‘Sorry, I work up a sweat real easy.’

Oh, come on. Now all you’re thinking about is how else he works up a sweat -

Seized by the sudden need to get out of the heat in more than one sense of the word, you rip the basket from his grasp and turn on your heels to sprint into the house with a choked, ‘I’ll be right back!’

You nearly trip over your own feet running into the kitchen, your heart thumping so loudly in its ribcage it feels like the whole house is shaking to the beat. 

And all that man has done is sweat in front of you.

‘Pull yourself together, Pin,’ you mutter to yourself as you tip the cauliflower heads onto the kitchen table. Grabbing a jug from the cupboard, you put it in the sink and turn on the faucet. Watching the trickle of water, you make yourself take three deep breaths. 

Joel’s kind enough to do you a favour, you could at least have the courtesy to not perv on him while he helps you out.

Nodding determinedly to yourself, you pluck two glasses from the drying rack, putting them inside the empty basket that you hook on your elbow, and march back outside -

Only to almost swallow your tongue and drop the full jug of water right at your feet.

Joel’s sweat-soaked shirt is now hanging on your washing line like a white flag, having surrendered to the heat. And just like that, the very image that has been inconveniently seared into the back of your eyes since the party is suddenly before you in all its glory, in the morning sun, out in the open air.

The white undervest stretches over the breadth of him, and if he didn’t look so good in it, you would’ve laughed at the comical way the flimsy straps are clinging onto his shoulders for dear life. Then he bends over to inspect the tomato vines, the bottom of his vest riding up with the movement, teasing a flash of skin above the waistline of the jeans pulled tight over his behind. One big hand reaches out, the outline of his arm flexing as he does, and he palms the bottom of one tomato, testing if it’s ripe for the picking. 

Except in your head, it’s something else he’s cupping with such rapturous attention. 

He doesn’t notice you until he stands up with a low grunt of effort. Pointing an apologetic finger at his shirt, he says, ‘I hope you don’t mind, I’m sweatin’ right through it like nobody’s business.’

You make a noise in your throat that you pass off as an answer, and with shaky hands, pour him a full glass of water which you shove in his direction.

‘Appreciate it, sweetheart.’ He salutes you and takes a long drag, tipping his head back. You watch, transfixed, as the sunlight bounces off the lines of sweat criss-crossing down the strong column of his neck, and the hard bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.

Suddenly, you’re parched. But you don’t trust yourself to stay upright, let alone pour yourself a drink.

‘It’s hot today,’ Joel breaks the loaded silence, though it’s possible that it’s unilaterally so on your side.

‘Uh-huh,’ you croak, still holding onto the water jug like a shield.

He peers at you with a touch of mischief. ‘You ain’t gonna swoon or anythin’ are you?’

Probably. And definitely not for the reason he has in mind. 

You attempt a weak smile that may have come off as a grimace. ‘I’ll try not to.’

Reassured, he nods towards the garlic patch. ‘C’mon. Let’s get our hands dirty, sweetheart.’

By the time the vegetable patch has been thoroughly picked and the baskets crammed full, the sun is high in the sky, the morning clouds burned off with the heat.

Joel isn’t the only one who’s sweating through his clothes - your light cotton top is now clinging uncomfortably to your skin, sweat dripping down your sternum and dampening the cups of your bra. You heave a sigh of relief when he helps you move the haul to a shaded corner near the porch where you have an outdoor sink and wheel hose installed.

Emptying the root vegetables into the sink, Joel steps back and casts a critical eye over the rain gutters that line the eaves of your house. Fingers spread over one jutting hip, he leans his weight on his right leg, the stance creating all kinds of angles that are completely unnecessary in this kind of heat.

He points at the leaves and branches that are clearly sticking out from the channels, but you’re only really interested in studying his large hands. The bumps and veins on the back of them, the watch with the broken face on his left wrist, the dirt coating his thick fingers, pushed under tidily trimmed nails. The logical thought that follows is how he would leave dark streaks on your white top when he pulls you in by the waist - 

‘Looks like the gutters need cleanin’,’ Joel declares. 

Well, the gutter your head is currently dunked in can certainly do with a good scrub.

‘Rainy season doesn’t start for another few months, they can wait.’

He uh-uh's sternly. ‘I’ve heard that before. Do you have a ladder?’

‘You really don’t have to -’ you protest, but he won’t hear it.

‘It’s no big deal, I’m sweaty anyway,’ he replies. ‘Besides, you’ll be doing me a favour keepin’ me occupied. I don’t pick Ellie up till three.’

You bite your lip. ‘But I feel bad working you so hard.’

Without skipping a beat, he winks. ‘Don’t worry your pretty head, sweetheart - I like workin’ for it.’

Jesus Christ. This man needs to be locked up and the key thrown to a colony of clickers.

The inner contractor in Joel comes out to play as he climbs deftly up the extension ladder propped up against the eaves, gloves on and a tarp bag tied to the top rung for collecting the debris. Discreetly, you shuffle around the freestanding sink so that you have a clear view of him as you turn on the water and start washing the dirt off the onions.

He’s starting close by, just a couple of feet away from you, patiently scooping out the dead leaves and twigs by the handful. Up on the ladder with his side to you, you’re eye level with the swell of his belly, which stretches the seams of the vest, and the underside of it peeks out every time he reaches up for the gutters. Your cheeks warm with the memory of how the soft folds felt against you, so warm and solid that you ache to reach out, push the flimsy vest up and nuzzle the tender skin with your nose -

It takes you a couple of minutes to realise that you’re not even pretending to be washing the onions anymore, the hose running in your idle grasp as you stare, head cocked to one side.

You don’t hear him when he turns to you. ‘Can pass me the hose?’

You stare dumbly back at him. ‘Huh?’

‘The hose, Pin,’ he repeats, a playful condescension in his smirk, like he knows exactly what you’ve been looking at. ‘That onion looks sparkly clean.’

You’re not sure what happened. One second you’re holding onto the hose with the intention of turning off the water before passing it to Joel, but your brain skips that crucial first step, and the next thing you know, you’re pointing it straight at him, spraying him in water from face to chest.

As he splutters, you shove the hose into the sink and screech, mortified. ‘Oh my god! I’m so sorry!’

You watch in horror as the water trickles from his hair, down his stubbled chin and onto his chest - okay, that’s a lie. It’s definitely not horror that’s twisting in your tummy and then much, much lower between your thighs.

And if you thought this man looked good sweaty, well - you’ve seen nothing yet.

He might as well put you out of your misery and take off his undervest right about now. It’s completely see-through, pebbled nipples and the firm ridges of his pecs showing through the wet fabric, rounded out by the endearing soft pouch of his belly. 

He wears the early summer tan so well, and for the first time since the outbreak, you think about the swim club in your old neighbourhood. Watching the water drip off his skin, it’s not a stretch to imagine this man pulling himself out of the pool after a quick dip to cool down, before stretching out on a sunlounger to dry in the sun - all in slow motion, set to the track of a corny sax riff.

‘I’m sorry,’ you say on reflex, but the apology rings hollow with the way your gaze lingers over his chest, and he notices.

He chuckles, carding one hand through his wet hair to slick it back, standing taller under your eyes. ‘As I said - never a dull moment with you, sweetheart.’ 

Joel takes his time, clearing out all the blockages and hosing the gutters clean so that you don’t have to worry about them for another six months. He dumps the leaves and sticks in the compost post, rinses the soiled gloves and his hands clean, before taking his shirt off the washing line and heading into the blessed shade.

He finds you in the kitchen, back to the door, putting away clean plates and cutlery from the drying rack, porcelain knocking together and metal clanging.

This is the most he’s seen of you, in a tank top and shorts, bathed in light spilling in from the large windows that open out into the backyard. He sees touches of your workshop right here in the kitchen - dried herbs and seasoning in mismatched but tidy boxes on the shelves, knives organised by size on a magnetic knife block, plates and bowls arranged in neat stacks behind glass cabinets.

Not wanting to alarm you, he deliberately scrapes his shoe on the tiled floor to make his presence known.

Whipping around - and just a touch startled - you smile with a quiet hey, and Joel’s not sure if he’ll ever get over how the sweet shyness still clings to the curve of your lips despite the fact that he’s kissed you right there.

He stays by the door for now and says, ‘I put the ladder back, and the gutters are all done, but I spotted some shingles missing on the roof while I was up there. I’ll come back to fix ‘em some other time.’

‘Thank you so much Joel, but really, don’t worry about the roof. You’ve done enough.’

‘You basically got Ellie outta my hair every Saturday for the next few months, so I’ll have plenty of time to kill,’ he half-jokes.

A comfortable lull sets in, and he looks up at the ticking clock, surprised that it’s almost noon. Shifting his feet, he opens his mouth and is about to excuse himself when you blurt out, ‘I’m sorry I soaked you.’

The jury's out on who's more taken aback by your phrasing. Exasperated, you groan, ‘I did not mean to say that.’

Joel’s kept a respectful distance since he arrived at the house, the pliant weight of you in his arms and your taste on his tongue kept firmly at bay in the back of his mind, not wanting to bring up anything that would make you uncomfortable in the light of day. But now, he pushes himself off the threshold of the door and crosses the cosy kitchen, pleased that you stay put when he plants himself in front of you, toe to toe.

Brushing a finger under your chin so that you’re staring up at him, he deliberately pitches his voice low and gruff, the double entendre almost crude in its delivery. ‘Just so we’re clear, you can soak me any time, sweetheart, in any way you want.’

Your lips part and your gaze darkens, and he feels his body instinctively react, invisible threads reeling him bodily into you. When you speak, your voice quivers, his name at once a single-worded reprimand and a needy whine that takes him right back to his brother’s spare bedroom. ‘Joel -’

‘Yes, Pin?’ he baits you playfully, just like he did that night, taking one last step so that you’re crowded against the countertop, bookending you with his palms planted on the wooden surface.

Finally shedding that last bit of shyness holding you back, you retort with no real bite, ‘You’re such a tease, Miller.’

‘Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it,’ he quips easily, his attention on your mouth. He hears your shaky intake of air, the whole moment suspended on tenterhooks as you skirt each other on the brink -

Just then, a breeze drifts in from the open window above the sink, providing instant relief from the humidity that hangs heavy in the air. All of a sudden, he’s acutely aware of the fact that he’s sweaty all over, so much so that he might actually smell. 

Self-conscious, he clears his throat and murmurs ‘I should probably go, I need a shower and a change of clothes -’

‘You can shower here,’ you interrupt, stumbling over your words in your haste. ‘I have a spare shirt somewhere.’

You don’t need to ask him twice. 

He smiles. ‘Sounds good, sweetheart.’

Your ensuite bathroom, like what he has seen of your house, is clean and organised. There’s a neat stockpile of soap bars in the cupboard, and he spots the familiar bottles of regulation shampoo and toothpaste that the town mass produces.

The water is plenty hot as he efficiently lathers himself top to bottom and front to back, but the pressure is a bit weak for his liking and can be easily fixed. Something else to add to the list.

The towel you left on the rack is soft and smells like the sun. Patting himself dry and rubbing it through his hair, he wipes away the condensation off the mirror above the sink. He peers at his reflection, ruminating that it’s time for a shave, and pushes back his wet hair so the strands don’t get in his eyes.

Out of his clothes, only his jeans are passably dry, so he forgoes his boxers and pulls them on, carefully doing up the zipper. Using his shirt as a sling, he bundles up all the dirty clothes and opens the bathroom door.

He catches you coming into the bedroom as he steps out, and your jaw drops at the sight of him in just his jeans before you slap your palms dramatically over your eyes, the tshirt you’re holding onto covering your whole face and muffling your voice. ‘I’m so sorry! I should’ve knocked!’

Joel chuckles at your reaction. ‘Sweetheart, it's your house. And I’m not exactly naked.’

Lowering your hands sheepishly, you still clutch the tshirt to your chest like a security blanket, admitting, ‘Sorry, I just - I just realised I’ve never had a man in here before.’

Something wraps itself around his stomach and pulls, and it takes him a beat to put a name to it because it’s been so long. It’s possessiveness that rushes through his veins and goes straight to his head, and he has to bite the inside of his mouth to keep his voice from wavering. He demands, ‘Never?’

‘Never.’

He lets the word wash over him, appeasing the beast in him for now. With a slow nod, he takes three measured steps towards you, stopping just an arm’s length away. Gently coaxing you to let go of the purple tshirt, he snorts at the huge Lakers logo blazoned across the front. 

He quips, ‘I’m more of a Longhorns fan myself, actually.’

The tension cracks, and you grin back, ‘Well, not anymore.’

After your confession, it’s probably redundant, but he wants to hear you say it. Flashing the tshirt at you, he asks, ‘Old boyfriend’s?’

It’s the most personal question that’s been exchanged between you so far by a mile, and it’s probably none of his business, but you can’t explain why your pulse spikes at the way his normally warm gaze hardens with something unfamiliar.

‘No,’ you answer. ‘I keep some of the stock here when there’s not enough room at the shop, that’s all.’

Joel rasps, ‘Good.’

With that one syllable, his shoulders visibly relax, suddenly drawing your attention to his topless form, which you’ve been too mortified to actually look at. It’s a lot to take in, and even though you’ve seen most of him already, there is one conspicuous part that you haven’t yet -

But before your eyes can trail that low, Joel turns. ‘Thanks, I appreciate it. I’ll just -’

You’re slow to catch onto why he trails off in the middle of the sentence, still far too distracted by his general state of undress to notice until he’s already made his way to the top of your neatly made bed. And then you see it…

The flannel peeking out from underneath the duvet.

Oh. Fuck.

With an almost flippant flick of his wrist, Joel peels back the corner of the bedspread. Wordlessly, he stares down at the red plaid shirt he lent you at the baby shower, tucked snugly in your bed, buried half under your pillow. 

He stares at it for so long that you interrupt the silence for once.

‘I’ve been meaning to return it,’ you squeak, hands flailing awkwardly, desperately wanting something to hold onto. ‘I just - forgot.’

Joel half-turns to you, arching an eyebrow. ‘You’ve been keepin’ it in your bed?’

Backed into a corner - and you’re not proud of it - you lie. Outrageously. ‘I don’t know how it got in there.'

He picks up the shirt by the collar. It’s wrinkled all over and obviously worn in. He smirks, ‘I’m not so sure about that.’

You’re this close to swivelling around and making a break for it, but as soon as your axis of balance tilts backwards, Joel grabs you by the wrist and pulls you in, hauling you firmly into his bare chest.

‘You’ve been wearin’ it to sleep, haven’t you?’ he asks in a tone that brooks no argument. 

Your fingers curl into his chest, his skin blazing warm under your palms. There’s no point fibbing anymore, and you admit, ‘Yes.’

His voice is hoarse when he asks, ‘You wear anythin’ underneath it, sweetheart?’

You hold your breath for one long moment, the tension in the room swelling so quickly that your ears pop. Eventually, under his patient yet heated stare, you shake your head, lips sealed.

His pupils dilate and his nostrils flare, and you feel his grip on your hips tighten.

‘No bra?’ he prompts.

‘No bra,’ you parrot back.

His jaw clenches so tightly that you’re surprised he manages to articulate his next question. ‘No panties?’

‘No panties -’

You barely get the word out before Joel is kissing you, pushing the syllables right back into your mouth until you swallow them with a whimper.

And then he’s pulling back, growling against yours, ‘And what do you do naked in my shirt, hmm?’

You stutter, ‘I - I think about you -’

An undignified squeal escapes you when he suddenly spins you around, your back hitting the bed, denying you the chance to catch your breath. The ceiling fan turns directly above you, but it does nothing to quell the heat between your bodies as Joel clambers over you on his hands and knees, sliding his mouth over yours again in a hard kiss.

You always thought your bed was a decent size, but now, with the bulk of this man hovering over you, you’re not so sure anymore. His ridiculously wide shoulders fill your entire field of vision, and even though he’s holding himself up with his forearms by your ears, you can almost feel the full weight of him through sheer anticipation of his touch. 

His heated words brush by your ear, making you shudder. ‘Tell me what you think about, sweetheart.’

‘Your arms, your shoulders -’ you hesitate, dropping your voice shyly. ‘Your belly.’

Joel looks taken aback. ‘My belly?’

You duck your head almost guiltily. ‘Yes.’

His brows draw together in an endearingly confused frown. ‘Why?’

‘That time in the workshop, when we met, you were sucking it in so hard you could hardly breathe - but you don’t anymore.’

The dots connect, and his lips part in an oh. ‘I didn’t even realise.’

‘I know. That’s why it’s sexy,’ you point out.

He looks at you incredulously, as if you’ve lost your mind. ‘My belly is sexy?’

You grin. ‘Yes, and your confidence. You walk differently now, you know.’

He makes a noise at the back of his throat, a self-satisfied smirk tilting his lips upwards. ‘You been watchin’ me?’

‘Maybe,’ you tease.

You exhale long and heavy through your nose when he sucks delicately on your bottom lip, opening you up so that he can dip inside, stealing a taste of your tongue with his. 

‘Been thinkin’ about you all week, sweetheart,’ he whispers, trailing fire across your cheek and the hollow behind your ear. 

‘I haven’t seen you around at all,’ you whine, tipping your head back as he nudges the tip of his proud nose down your throat.

‘I know, it took three fuckin’ days to clean up after the party,’ he complains, his disgruntled tone prompting a giggle from you. ‘Never again.’

‘I’m not so sure about that. There will be plenty of birthday parties to look forward to, Uncle Joel -’

An open-mouthed kiss on the side of your neck catches you off guard, the unfamiliar texture of the wet suction and scrape of his teeth jolts you clean off the mattress, sending you body slamming into his ribcage.

Joel hums, pleased at your reaction. ‘So sensitive. I’ve barely touched you yet, sweetheart.’

It’s immediate, the shame that burns under your skin at his remark despite knowing he doesn’t mean anything by it, and Joel frowns at the way you stiffen under him. Regret colours his words as he cups your cheek. ‘Pin, I’m sorry, that came out wrong -’

‘No, that’s the thing. You’re not wrong,’ you interrupt with a shake of your head. There’s no point denying it - you’re a grown woman, and there’s something fundamentally embarrassing about losing touch with that part of yourself over the years. ‘I - it’s been so long, I don’t even know my own body anymore.’

His eyes dip downwards and slowly, over the curve of your breasts and the arch of your back. With an encouraging smile, he argues, ‘I’m not sure about that. Looks like your body’s reactin’ perfectly to me.’

Your lips twitch despite yourself. ‘You’re just saying that to get into my pants.’

He takes the unexpected turn in the conversation in stride and runs with it. ‘Trust me, sweetheart, if I were tryin’, I’d already be in them.’

‘You’re such an ass, Joel Miller.’

His roguish grin has you squirming and fisting the sheets underneath you. ‘I dunno. Somethin’ tells me you like it.’

Wrapping one palm on the back of his neck, you drag him into you again, relishing in the weight of him as he pins you to the bed with the broad frame of his shoulders. He moans into your mouth, claiming it with deep strokes of his tongue, while his calloused palms sneak under the hem of your shirt and pull you into him by the small of your back.

Even as your hips buck, begging for friction, Joel holds back, propping himself up on his knees to keep a tenuous grip on his self-control. Pulling back from your lips with a wet pop, he assures you through heavy breaths, ‘We can stop any time, sweetheart. Just say the word.’

Your response comes fast and sure, but he can read the hesitance between the lines, ‘I - I don’t want to stop.’

He presses a patient kiss to your lips, but backs away before you can deepen it. ‘How about this - we’ll flip you over so that you’re on top, and you decide what you want to do. Is that ok?’

You pause to consider his proposal, sliding your tongue over your bottom lip - he’s this close to kissing you right there and then. You ask shyly, ‘And it’s ok if we - you know, just make out?’

He smiles. ‘I can do with some good old-fashioned neckin’.’

‘Ok then -’

You yelp when Joel turns you over without warning, the sudden movement making your head spin. Sitting up against the headboard, he drags you in his lap and asks, ‘Alright?’

You nod with a nervous smile. It’s intimidating, being so close to him that there’s nowhere else to look but into his thoughtful eyes that are watching you for any signs of discomfort. Catching your breath, you settle into the moment and realise that you’re straddling him, hands clinging onto his shoulders, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. His belly is warm and soft where he’s pressed up against you, but lower, nudging insistently between your legs -

Joel is hard.

The revelation robs you of air, want and need rushing like blood to your head, and you stiffen, not knowing what to do.

Joel catches on - you’re beginning to think that nothing ever escapes him - and he reminds you, ‘Just kissin’, ok, sweetheart?’

Snapping out of your freeze frame, you nod, ‘Yes. Ok.’

Giving you somewhere to start, he prompts, ‘Where do you want my hands?’

Tugging on his wrists, you watch his jaw go slack when you place his palms squarely on your ass, where your denim shorts hardly cover the top of your thighs. He lets out a lewd moan at the way your soft curves fill his hands, fingers squeezing and kneading greedily, and you push your hips back into his contact. 

‘Not so shy after all, hmm?’ he rasps.

You preen at his praise, and riding the wave of boldness, you tip forward and press your lips to Joel’s before you could overthink it. Over the roar of blood in your ears, you hear him suck in a shaky breath, and you feel the deep groan in his throat taper into a whimper when you swipe your tongue into his mouth.

You’re completely unprepared for the power the sound unleashes in you.

Somewhere in your consciousness, a door is cracked open, and memory crackles at the edges of your mind. Each shuddered breath shared, every slide of skin on skin, brings to the surface what you thought you’d forgotten. 

Your fingers burrow into the still wet locks at his nape, earning a loud moan from Joel when you pull on the grays that have distracted you on more than one occasion. He nips his way sloppily down your neck, trailing spit and beard burn as he goes, while your palms skate over his chest and down, down, down until your fingernails drag over the pliant folds of his tummy, hanging over the waistband of his jeans.

‘Sweetheart,’ he groans brokenly at the contact, forehead knocking into yours.

Spreading your fingers over soft flesh, you choke on an inhale when he bodily rocks into your palms. Your thumb catches the hollow of his belly button, fingers tenderly squeezing the creases and dimples of his belly. His eyes crack open under tightly knitted eyebrows, vulnerability etched in every line on his face.

Something shifts - something that neither of you can take back. And suddenly, it’s not just kissing anymore.

Caught somewhere between writhing instinctively under his touch and a deliberate pursuit of friction, your hips find a rhythm that has the seat of your panties quickly twisting and dampening as you grind on the erection straining against the zipper of his jeans.

Blunt nails bite into your thighs as Joel growls, ‘Shit, sweetheart. That’s it.’

You want to bury your face in his neck, feeling too wanton in the way you’re panting in needy whimpers, but he preempts that on no uncertain terms. ‘I want to see everythin’. Look at me.’

You do just that - you can’t deny this man even if you tried - watching him watch you with his pupils blown wide and wild, wetting his bottom lip the same time his eyes drop to your tits, as if he can see right through the thin fabric. He doesn’t touch you anywhere else though, his hands staying where you put them. You can feel his grip dig harder and harder into the swell of your ass, but he doesn’t try to change your rhythm, giving you free rein to ride him any way you need.

When your peripheral vision starts to go, you know it’s not a coincidence that your thoroughly soaked panties shift and strain against your clit, pinching it just so that you cry out, hips faltering.

Joel bares his teeth, and you feel his hips rut upwards into you, his restraint slipping. ‘There you go. You’re close, aren’t you?’

You can only nod, frantically grinding into him now, your whole mind narrowing until the only thought that remains is chasing that high that you can almost taste. Everything swells, electricity fills the air, his name a sacred chant on your tongue as you claw at his back, teetering precariously on the brink of something that promises to devastate you.

‘Joel, Joel, Joel -’

He catches you when you break - you fling yourself at him, knocking into him so hard that the back of his head hits the wall, but he doesn’t even flinch. Tucked safely into the crook of his neck, you whine and wail as you thrash in his hold, and his nostrils flare at your scent. He can smell you, he can smell the slick leaking from your pussy, humid and heady in the air between you, making his mouth water as he aches to taste you - all of you. 

One day.

Right now, the hinge of his jaw almost cracks as you milk the last remnants of your orgasm with a needy swivel of your hips, rubbing against his cock at an angle that makes his vision swim, and he knows he’s too far gone. His control slips like shifting sands, and a primal instinct takes over as he bucks roughly into you, fingertips leaving imprints in your skin that you will feel for days after.

‘Oh fuck, sweetheart, wait, I’m - shit, I’m gonna -’

When it hits him, it’s fucking relentless - he cums and cums until his voice goes hoarse with your name, until it feels like his abdomen would cave in and collapse, spurting and spilling until it feels like he’s turned inside out. It goes everywhere, thick, milky strands filling the gaps in his jeans and sliding down his legs in a sticky mess, and he slumps bonelessly into the headboard, panting against your lips as he catches his breath.

Sweetly, gently, he tilts his chin up just enough to kiss you, his nose nudging your cheek intimately when he pulls away, his lungs too deprived of air to keep going. He winces when you shift above him, knowing that you can feel the wet spot pooling under your bare thighs.

Joel breaks the sluggish silence first, cracking a grin. ‘So much for just makin’ out.’

You clumsily climb off his lap and crash land sideways onto the mattress. ‘Is that a complaint, Joel Miller?’

He drapes a heavy arm over you and pulls back you flush into him. ‘Well, these jeans are fuckin’ ruined. I want a refund.’

‘I’m afraid we don’t accept cum-stained returns. Store policy.’

He pffts. ‘Damnit. Should’ve read the fine print.’

You grin. ‘Well, at least there's something deeply poetic about cumming in the jeans that I picked out for you.’

‘Touché, sweetheart,’ he grunts and presses a kiss to your forehead. Glancing down at the unmistakable wet patch on the denim, he asks hopefully, ‘Any chance you got some pants I can borrow?’

Ellie bounces her leg irritably, hunched over on the stairs exactly where Joel was sitting this morning. Where the fuck is he? He’s twenty minutes late, and he had the nerve to get all huffy when she lied about the start time today. Unbelievable.

Moodily looking left and right, there’s still no sign of him. She’s about to give up and wait for him at home when something conspicuously purple comes to a stop in front of her. 

Her jaw hits the floor.

‘Oh. My. God.’

She’s never been high before, but she’s pretty sure this is the stuff hallucinations are made of.

This being Joel Miller in a purple tshirt with a tacky logo she doesn’t recognise printed on the front and khaki cargo shorts that cut off at the knees, holding a basket of vegetables that she’s pretty sure he doesn’t eat.

With a roll of his eyes, he snaps, ‘Shut your mouth, you’re trappin’ flies.’

Pasting on the most obnoxious grin she can muster, Ellie croons, ‘Man, don’t you look pretty.’

Turning on his heel, Joel starts walking without looking back. ‘Shut up.’

Jogging to keep up, she cackles, ‘Hey, did you fall into a wormhole and went shopping at a farmer’s market in 1999?’

‘Shut up.’

‘You really should wear shorts more often, y’know, show off those knees. And purple really is your colour, Barney!’

Joel frowns, shooting her a sidelong glare. ‘How the hell do you know who Barney is?’

Ellie shrugs. ‘What do you think they teach us at school?’

He’s the one who starts it. The quake in his shoulders would have been imperceptible to anyone else, but nowadays, there’s not much that he can hide from her. As usual, she giggles first, which trails into a squeal when Joel gives her a shove on the back, sending her stumbling over her shoes.

‘Fuck you, man!’ she snickers and basically rugby tackles him, but he barely budges, lips pulling back into a toothy grin. 

Across the street, unbeknownst to the pair, Tommy smiles to himself as he watches his big brother laugh, really laugh - the kind that has him doubling over and gasping for air through watery eyes. For the first time since the world ended, he looks up at the sky with a reassuring nod, and he knows deep down - Joel will be just fine.

Notes: You guys continue to blow me away with your support - I cannot be more grateful for all the reblogs, asks and interaction with my silly Behind the Seams posts and random updates. Thank you so so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I can't wait to hear what you think ❤️

I will be having a think over the next few weeks about where Seams will go from here. This chapter wraps up the first mini story arc, and I'll be dedicating August to wrapping up my Palomino series, so it will give me some time and distance to mull over what's next for Joel and Pin. I'm also a few followers away from a big milestone, so I might have something fun planned! 🥰

[marysdonuts]

Tom and Jerry

school clown!Hoshi x top student!reader

Synopsis: After transferring schools the attention seeker Soonyoung keeps getting on your nerves. Fortunately it is way too easy to make fun of his somewhat lacking intellect. One day you take your snarky comments too far and Hoshi is all fun and games, until he wasn't

Warnings: smut, enemies to lovers, high IQ (f.) x low IQ (m.), slight angst, school setting, classmates, public sex, revenge sex, dirty talk, crack, spanking, fingering, penetration, inferiority complex, questionable fashion choices

WC: 1.4K

Status: part 1 (ongoing), part 2

a/n: join my taglist to get notified about new chapters

Changing schools was easier than you thought it would be. You were halfway through your senior year of high school at the crisp age of 17. The family had to move to different city for work. Making new friends was effortless - you were intelligent, good looking and fun to be around. Of course, big part of your popularity was thanks to the charm of the next new thing which always attracted many admirers. You were getting straight A's, enjoyed busy social life, everything seemed perfect.

Well, almost perfect.

If it wasn't for Hoshi Kwon. The school's appointed clown, now pushing 19 years old, he failed his senior year twice. Pathetic, how could somebody be so stupid? You hated him the moment he showed up on the first day of school - in purple suit, tiger print on the collar with matching hat. Cane in hand. Kicking the door open while singing Sherlock from Shinee he danced can-can. His legs flying up to the rhythm of - I'm so curious yeah! Everybody loved the performance. Everybody except you. The fuck? Where did he even get that ugly ass outfit and apparently his real name was not Hoshi but Soonyoung. Who the hell calls themselves Hoshi? Does he think he is a celebrity? Stupid ass name.

After the teacher assigned him as your desk-mate he made it his mission to annoy you. Teacher's reasoning being - he might calm down sitting next to the top student. Such a nonsense. Isn't it their job to know how to control the kids? You weren't getting paid enough for this. In fact, weren't getting paid at all!!

//

On Friday he arrived to class more excited than usual.

"Look at my fit!" kicking his foot proudly on the wooden desk in front of you. Before you had time to push him off he continued

"Do you like my new shoes?" expecting compliments

"I haven't seen uglier shoes in my entire life." you responded with no emotions what so ever

"What do you mean ugly" his already small eyes squinting into straight lines, eyebrows frowning comically

You couldn't help but laugh. He looked like cartoon character

"Now you laughing at me too?!" Stomping the foot that was still resting on your desk " They are Balenciaga!" still stomping

"They look like boats," lazily resting your chin on the top of you hand "if refugees used these," pointing at the monstrosity "instead of those tiny motor boats, their survival rate would be 100%"

You could hear an audible *gasp* leaving his mouth and muffled laughs from the classmates sitting behind you.

"You are the worst!" he cried out "Do you even know how expensive they were.." tear forming at the corner of his cartoony eyes

"Probably as expensive as the donations your parents must be sending to the school each year to keep you studying here" your voice full of disdain

"wow a kick under the belt now, huh?" you could see the wheels in his little hamster brain spinning at full speed

"You will regret this" was all he could come up with in the moment

"I don't think so" smirk on your face beamed with satisfaction but the sudden dark shadow crossing Soonyoung's usually friendly face put a knot in your stomach

//

Much later that day, after your extra-curricular classes finished, you are standing in the dimly lit locker room reorganising the mess compiled after busy week. School was already empty and you loved the silence. The long halls full of lockers did look a bit spooky now but it wasn't your first time being there alone.

Squeeky steps approaching from behind you. Sounded like one of those Crocs.

"Anybody there?" you were sure it was just your imagination, simply asking the ghosts a rhetorical question

"What if there is.." vibrations of low growl echoed thru your ear sending shivers down the spine

"The hell..?" catching a glimpse of Hoshi in your peripheral vision. Why is he here this late? You knew damn well he ain't taking any extra classes.

"I was waiting for you..." his voice even closer now, hot breath touching the exposed skin of your neck. He was so close to you. You could hear his heart beating. Du dum. Du dum. Du dum. Stable. Confident. In control. Yours on the other hand reaching high frequency of dudududududum.

"What do you think you are doing, Kwon?" forced annoyance in your tone trying to mask something that was hiding a bit deeper. Panic perhaps?

"You tell me," he laughed but it sounded more like a threat "aren't you the one who knows it all?" Pressing the weight of his athletic body on yours, something hard forcing itself against your bottom made you gasp

"h-hey what's your problem.." you tried to sound intimidating, voice betraying you suddenly, only producing shattered whine

"You" not waisting one more second Soonyoung licked the curve of your neck completely sandwiching you between his throbbing heat and your cold locker. Kissing your sensitive skin as if he was waiting for it for so long. Wet kisses quickly becoming possessive bites leaving marks as his signature.

"oh fu-" was all that managed to escape your quivering lips as his hand spanked your ass with such force, it took your breathe away. You didn't want to admit it, but this situation? It was making you so incredibly wet.

Yes, you did hate him. Yes, he was annoying and loud. Always wanting to be the centre of attention. Apart from that you couldn't deny how good looking he actually was. Only person in school who could pull off blond hair and those horrendous outfits.Oh and how the lean muscles played on his body during P.E. class..? Except for his personality, he was 10/10

"You don't have any smart comeback now, do you?" Slapping you once more. Making you loose your breath - again.

"You look much nicer like this" the hand on your bottom started to move lower. Pushing your legs apart with his knee, making a way for his long fingers. Lightly tracing the center of your soaked panties

"stupid uniform-" you cursed. Why the hell did boys wear trousers but they made girls wear skirts? The last line of defence has been crossed.

"Oh?" rubbing the wet fabric "you are dripping all over your pretty panties" the strokes becoming spirals, combining your folds and the textile into unified mess

"I-I'm not..!" knees weakening into his skilful movements

"Mmm, I thought top students are not allowed to lie" forcing two fingers inside of you without warning. Deliciously thrusting into your pool of need.

"shut up-" already moaning. What the fuck am I doing? Now pushing your ass to meet his motion.

"If you are going to fuck me, at least do it right" another push against him "or are you too stupid even for that?" you mocked him, taking at least a bit of your power back

All you could hear was Hoshi's sinful laugh and clinking of metal as his jeans came undone collapsing on the tiled floor. His throbbing member now on your clit soaking in the wetness you produced. Gliding teasingly over it

"What if I don't want to?" rubbing in painfully slow rhythm, making you see stars

Hoshi was very much enjoying this moment. Moment of having upper hand on somebody he couldn't challenge intellectually, on somebody who always knew what to say, somebody who was making him feel and look small. Crushing his ego on everyday basis. Fortunately you were just his type.

"P-please..?" heard yourself saying. Almost as surprised as he was. But fuck it, his dick felt so good on you pussy and it was long time since you had any intimacy. It made you uncharacteristically needy. What's wrong with little steamy sex in the locker room? Nothing. Yeah.

"Please Soonyoung, I want to feel you inside of me. I can't take it anymore. You win."

Grin from ear to ear Hoshi finally entered you with such an enthusiasm like a kid getting the toy he really wanted.

Holding you by the wrists you were hanging off in empty air. Slapping the balls against your needy pussy he was pounding you mercilessly. Waves of pleasure running thru every inch of your body. You didn't notice it before but now you could feel it clearly. His dick had a curve to it and it felt fucking good. On every thrust the tip hitting you exactly where you wanted. You were full of him.

Why is it always these good for nothing guys who fuck the best? Or maybe you were just too harsh on him? You pondered as the following thrust almost took you over the edge, making your head fall forward.

And down there between your trembling legs pair of hideous Balenciaga sneakers

[ihavethedreamiesx]

Versace Royal | Hyunjin [NSFW]

Hwang Hyunjin - Stray Kids

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~4.2k

Pairing: Idol! Hyunjin x Idol! Older! AFAB! Reader

Genre: Request, Idolverse, Reader-Insert, Fluff, Smut

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Swearing, Kissing, Oral (M! Receiving), Shower Sex, Unprotected Sex (Not Recommended)

Summary: Hyunjin and you are both international ambassadors for Versace and the rumors are put to rest when you announce you are both officially dating at a Versace event.

Author's Note: Got a request for this! I'm so happy that one of you liked my stuff enough to want me to write something for you!

Also I am working on the historical AU still, but I'm low-key working for my uncle doing something so...

P.S. I would have had this done and up earlier today, but I had to watch the Chiefs game even though I only watch for Pacheco (#10) and he got a broken leg.

Also, Winwin is in this! Just briefly, I like to wiggle him in where I can.

Revised (1/31/25) - I forgot to change the name to (Y/N), so I fixed it!

I am cross-posting this on Archive. Please reblog! Share, even if its to the other sites! Let me know if you want to be on the taglist!

"Shit," you grumble to yourself, looking in the mirror and scrubbing over your tooth with your finger to get the lipstick stain off.

"Here." Your stylist shuffles over to fix the error and as you hold still for her, your eyes flit over to Hyunjin. He is sitting in an armchair of the dressing room you two had been assigned, scribbling on his tablet. He doesn't have the jacket of his outfit on yet, sitting in just his tank top. Your eyes can't help but trace over his exposed arms, then back up to the slight furrow of his brow, the frown marring his beautiful face. Your stylist pulls back, and she helps you get the dress you are to wear over the full-piece shapewear you have on.

"You don't need this you know," your stylist whispers and you shrug.

"I just wear it like a slip, I can't risk someone else trying to shoot up my skirt again." You look at yourself in the mirror, not really loving your hair. It’s pulled back into a tight low ponytail, and it makes your facial features look too harsh.

"Sorry," the other woman whispers as she touches up your makeup. Your eyes flit to Hyunjin again, his hair slicked back in a similar manner, but it looks good on him.

"Uh." His voice brings your attention back to him from your reflection in the mirror, a ding coming from his tablet.

"What?" You don't bother hiding the apprehension in your voice.

"People already know we're here together." He sighs and you roll your eyes, so hard you worry you messed up your mascara.

"Not too surprising, we were on the same plane." You shake your head and when it’s determined you are ready, the stylist moves on to Hyunjin.

"I don't wanna~" He whines, begrudgingly getting up from the armchair to sit at the vanity. As he shuffles toward you, you smile at his bored look.

"Hold on." He pauses you and so you halt, and he brushes something off the shoulders of your dress, then runs his hand over your smoothed hair.

"Careful, someone might think we're dating." You try to hide your smile.

"We are dating." His deadpan tone nearly makes you ruin your lipstick, but you halt your mouth before you stick your tongue out like you had planned. Taking his place in the armchair, you can't help but glance at his still-on tablet. The article is open, and the title makes you sigh.

"The Prince and Princess of Versace?" It seems the name has left the K-Fanbase and spread to the international fashion press. It makes you two seem more like brother and sister if you are the 'heirs' of Versace though. The article is topped with a picture of both of you with Donatella, but you two aren't in matching clothes in that one like you will be today. Clicking your tongue, you grab the device and are about to look and see if there are any more articles, but you notice his drawing app open. Looking up at him glaring at himself in the mirror, setting his intense expression for the night, you open it, the image making you coo.

"You're drawing me?" You laugh at the glare he sends to you then.

"I always draw you." Hyunjin huffs and you giggle, wiggling in your chair and continuing to look at the news. Finding another article along the same lines, you drift down to the comments, and your heart falls. Not only are there a bunch of his fans bashing you for what seems like just standing next to him, even your fans are being mean too.

'He doesn't deserve her. She should date an actor.'

'He's the tallest in SKZ, but she still doesn't have to wear heels with him.'

'There's tons of other celebs and models there she could get, why go for another idol? Take some steps up girl.'

"I'm suing." You sneer.

"Stop reading comments." Your boyfriend scolds and you sniff but relent.

"Don't wrinkle that, please, (Y/N)." The stylist then scolds you as well and you adjust your posture. A knock on the door prompts a grunt from the man and a hum from you and his manager pokes his head in the room.

"Donatella wants a photoshoot before the event." He announces and you sigh. Makes sense. Your stylist hurries up her task and you help her adjust and tweak Hyunjin's outfit once he gets it on.

"Careful, people might think you like me or something." He teases you and you pinch him through the fabric of his tank top, and he yelps, making you giggle.

"Well, maybe I do…"

"Don't kiss him!" the stylist snaps and you halt. Yeah, red on his mouth would be a little too obvious, and she would have to fix both of yours makeup as well.

"If some influencer tries to flirt with you, I'm going to scream," he grumbles, his face still close to yours, also a bit cranky he can't kiss you.

"Same. But we just pretend I don't know English," you shrug playfully.

"You spoke with Donatella in English in the last video, good luck with that." You swear under your breath, finally letting go of his jacket, its gold and black fabric matching your dress. Moving to go around him and start to leave the dressing room, he grabs your wrist, pulling you back to him.

"No, no, come here one sec." He hauls you even closer, pressing you to him, nose barely grazing yours. His eyes meet yours and the sharp look makes you swallow hard, and the corner of his mouth twitches before he controls it.

"Don't fucking wrinkle it!" The stylist more or less pulls him away from you and runs her hands over both of your garments to make sure they are fine.

"Go, and don't stop in a closet on the way!" She shoves you both out to be led away by your managers.

~θωθ~

"Can you put and rest your arm on her shoulder, like with your elbow bent?" The shoot director motions and Hyunjin follows suit, his forearm laying on your shoulder.

"Good!" You’re glad that modeling shoots don't want you to smile like all the pictures your mother takes when you go home for Chuseok. Having him lean a bit on you makes it harder to balance your own pose, legs crossed, all weight laying on one leg. You are in short heels, but they are still thin, and it makes it harder to stay steady.

"Careful." Hyunjin whispers in your ear, feeling your body shake a bit and he relaxes the pressure he is putting on you. You both follow the prompts of the director while the photographer continues shooting.

"What if we go with the prince and princess idea?" Your eyes flit to Donatella, urging her with your gaze to shut up. She smiles playfully and your nose twitches.

"Like?"

"Get that chair, no, the fancy one!" The designer herself motions, and some staff start to move in a black velvet chair, and she comes onto the set. She sits in the chair and then the director gets the hint. You’re both directed to stand behind and to the side of the chair, your hands on the back, postures straight. Just like the heirs to a queen.

"You saw that article?" You ask her when the shoot is done, and she smiles.

"Let's get going to the event now, I can be late but you two can't." She leaves to attend to who-knows-what and you give Hyunjin a look and he huffs a laugh.

"(Y/N), Hyunjin." Your manager waves you over, his is on the phone.

"What?" He spoke in a hushed tone, so you do too.

"The company wants you to announce your relationship tonight. They want to get ahead of the rumors."

"Tonight?" You hiss. There is no time to prepare, and the comments are already tearing both of you to shreds. The older man shrugs and finally Hyunjin's manager gets off the phone.

"We're going to work with a few reporters that are here for Korean magazines, and they'll do a more or less scripted interview quickly and that'll be it." The other manager informs, and you nod, feeling a bit less nervous. You look at your boyfriend then and he doesn't look fazed.

"What?" You are still whispering.

"Maybe then guys will leave you be?" He is obviously still upset about the influencer that was flirting with you at the last event.

"Are you intimidated by a TikTok model?"

"No, but that doesn't mean I like them trying to get you back to their hotel room." He is talking a little louder than you really wish for him to be, but he is using Korean so…

“You’re getting me back to your hotel room, though~?” You send him a coy look and he rolls his eyes.

“No, we’re going separately, then using the little door that’s in between them.” He wiggles his finger back and forth and you exhale a laugh.

“Let’s just go to the red carpet…shoot…place.” What do you call a red carpet that has no carpet, let alone a red one?

~ò3ó~

You wait to go up to get your photo taken at the Versace logo wall set up outside the runway hall, taking the chance to look around at who else is there. You recognize only a few people, and your heart sinks a little not seeing a very familiar face.

"I thought Sicheng said he's done Versace shows before…" You click your tongue crankily, thinking a group of three is better than just you two. Especially since Winwin is already a friend.

"(Y/N)." Hyunjin's voice catches your attention, and you stride forward to join him at the logo. The official and press photographers take a few pics and then Hyunjin moves on so you can do the solo shots.

"They could've put her in something shorter…" You hear a voice murmur from the next spot in line and you shoot a side glance over to look. Some guys with too-chiseled features and too-greasy hair. Just pretend you don't know English… Just because your last interview with the designer herself was in English doesn't mean everyone has seen it. They’re probably famous or something, but they aren't even in Versace, so they are just guests or the like. After the photographers thank you, you nod a bow and move on, trying not to dash over to your boyfriend.

"Stupid dudebros." You huff, adjusting your ponytail back behind you instead of over your shoulder.

"How old are you, noona?" Hyunjin teases, and you shoot him a look that makes him laugh.

"I'm only a few years older, shut up." You told him not to call you that after you started dating since the other boys, but Chan and Minho, do as well.

"What'd they say?"

"They thought my dress could be shorter."

"Surprised they weren't wanting to see your tits."

"What tits?" You huff, starting to lead him toward the actual runway hall, and he scoffs.

"Just cuz' you're not stacked like Jihyo-noona doesn't mean you have no boobs." He sniffs and you shake your head, finding your designated seats at the side of the runway and sitting down. You adjust your dress and set the bag they gave you along with it in your lap, crossing your ankles to the side. Every time you sit like that you think of the Princess Diaries movie.

"You would know."

"I would know."

"Do you have any idea what the reporters will ask?" You move on, still speaking quietly despite using a language most people likely do not know.

"No." He shoots you a soft glance, "don't worry, we'll handle it together."

Through the fashion show, you try to look genuinely interested, brain still looping on the press interview later.

"Stop looping." Hyunjin bumps you with his elbow as there is a gap between models. You take a deep breath and then let it out, genuinely noting the fabric of the purple dress the next model has on.

~σ×σ~

"You're shaking." Hyunjin wants to just wrap his arm around you, or hug you, he can tell you’re getting anxious. Normally press interviews are fine, but you’re normally with your group, and you aren't the leader, just the eldest…

"I know." You desperately want to bite your thumbnail, that at least eases the strain on your teeth of your clenched jaw. But you have fake nails on and can't ruin them. You two are waiting for the specified reporters to show up and you want to bury and hide in his chest but can't. Even after the announcement you can't, it is too brazen of an act. Like it is muscle memory, when the press shows up, your shaking stops, and you adopt a more even facial expression.

"(Y/N), how do you feel about being called the Versace Princess?" First question. Of course. Your manager gets a look, and he shrinks a bit, and you put on a practiced smile.

"I can't complain being called a Princess." Good.

"Hyunjin?" Same thing.

"Not the first time I've been called a prince."

"You two are matching today, did you know you would be?" The reporter is still looking at him.

"Yes, but I think five other people have the same pattern on." He jokes.

“(Y/N), what is your favorite piece in the show?" A new reporter. You both answer a few more fashion-focused questions for the fashion magazine reporters, then you finally get the first nail-biter.

"There have been rumors going around for a while that you two are dating. Is there any merit?" You look at your manager and he nods.

"Well…maybe," you smile softly, looking down as Hyunjin steps a bit closer.

"We think coming with matching outfits makes that a bit obvious," your boyfriend adds, and the flashes from the cameras increase, drawing even more eyes toward you.

"So, you two are dating?" Deep breaths.

"Yes." The reporters start murmuring, and you believed they knew beforehand, but they clearly didn't. Some are already typing on their phones, and you swallow hard.

"Okay, if there are any more questions, they can be referred to JYP Entertainment." Your managers step in and motion for you two to sneak off and head toward the after party that is in the next building over.

~@u@~

"Oh, thank you." You gratefully take the glass of champagne from the waiter who immediately comes over as you both enter the building for the after party. Hyunjin takes one as well, and you take a sip, then grimace at the taste.

"You've never liked wine." Hyunjin huffs a laugh, and you sneer at him before downing the rest. You set the empty glass on another waiter's tray as he passes and head straight for the food.

"These portions are too small." You grumble, not even knowing what most of the little appetizers are.

"Don't eat that one." Hyunjin stops you, mouth full of something, before you grab what looks like a little sandwich.

"Why?"

"It's not good." He shakes his head, and you end up just grabbing what you hope is a cookie. It tastes like one anyway.

"There you two are!" Donatella's voice catches both of your attention, and you feel immediately calmer with her there.

"So, it’s official? Everyone knows now?"

"You knew we were dating before?" Hyunjin asks her, and she gives him a bored look.

"I just wish we didn't have to be the ones to announce it." You shake your head, looking around nervously.

"Keep an eye on her, some of the guests have been saying some…unsavory things." The designer warns, and you shake your head as she moves on to mingle more. At the last event, there were a bunch of horny internet celebrities, and it seems they are present today as well.

"Hyunjin!" Your boyfriend's manager calls to him, waving for him to come over.

"(Y/N), stay there, it would be suspicious if you both went missing." He tells you and you freeze in place. Watching them leave with wide eyes, you huddle closer to the food table, hoping to appear invisible.

"So, you're a K-pop girl or something right?" You flinch, turning to look at who approached. You can't place his accent, and you have no idea who he is to go off of that.

"Uh, yes. You are…?" You really want a drink but there is only champagne and wine. He tells you his name and when no recognition passes over your face, he scoffs slightly but readopts his ‘charming’ expression.

"So, you know Blackpink?" You try not to roll your eyes, watching him pick something to eat. His suit looks too small for him, and he has an arrogant aura. He crooks an eyebrow with a smolder, and you force a smile.

"Um, no. I don't."

"BTS though, right?"

"Um, no."

"Isn't your friend in BTS?" He motions vaguely to the side and your brow twitches in annoyance.

"No, he's in the group Stray Kids."

"They were at Coachella." He points to you like he figures it out, smirking around his sip of champagne.

"No. That was ATEEZ." You hate dealing with people like him and it seems he is mixing his ignorance with arrogance.

"Were they the ones that had Ryan Reynolds in their music video?"

"Yes." You smile a bit more; actually glad he figured it out.

"What is your group called?" You begrudgingly tell him.

"So, you like sing and dance and stuff."

"Well, um, yes." You look around you, hoping and praying that anyone would come, but mostly Hyunjin or your manager.

"You the leader?"

"No, the eldest."

"How old are you?" He looks you up and down and you wince, feeling nauseated. You feel a familiar presence behind you, and you relax some feeling them. He doesn't say anything, and you turn, slightly surprised to see Sicheng and not Hyunjin.

"I didn't know you were here?" You ask in Korean then and he is staring the guy down. For being so cute and pretty he is good at looking mad.

"We didn't make the runway." He tells you and the other man huffs.

"This your boyfriend then?" He looks at Winwin patronizingly. You roll your eyes.

"No, I am." Both you and Sicheng relax, and the annoying man turns, taking a step away when Hyunjin shoves past him.

"Thanks, hyung." He whispers to Sicheng who nods and takes a few steps away to grab something to eat.

"Is Ningning here?" You turn to him then, letting Hyunjin block you from the jerk.

"No, sorry. Who is that?" He nods at the offender, wrinkling his nose at the food options. You tell him and he shakes his head, having no idea either.

"If you ever want to know what it feels like to really be treated like a woman, Miss (Y/N), I'm always available." He calls around Hyunjin and you hate hearing your name come from him.

“Fuck off.” You hardly ever hear your boyfriend sound this angry; he must’ve learned the tone from Minho.

~

"Excuse me!" A girl's voice draws everyone's attention and a few younger women who are probably beauty influencers shuffle up with pads of paper.

"Can we get you threes’ autographs?" You’re grateful for the distraction and you each take turns signing for the three girls. The jerky man tries to take the pen next from Hyunjin and one of the fans shoots him a look.

"Who are you?" This puts a hard blow on his ego, and you hold back a laugh, thanking the girls as they trot away.

"He left." Hyunjin sighs, stepping closer to you, pressing his chest to your shoulder.

"You okay?"

"Yes. Thank you, oppa." You smile at Winwin, and he smiles back.

For the rest of the after-party, you are able to avoid any more assholes; they seem not to want to come over with both of the K-pop boys with you.

~~~

"I'm so fucking tired." You groan, tapping your keycard against the lock of your hotel room and your boyfriend hums in agreement, entering his own room. The door between the rooms is already open and he ends up just coming to your side and flopping on the bed.

“You’ll wrinkle it.” You warn, and he whines, getting off the bed and immediately strips down to his underwear.

“Jinnie.” You huff in amusement, picking up the garments and when you stand back up from crouching, he’s already wiggled under the blankets. He hadn’t even untucked them from under the mattress. You shake your head, hanging up his clothes in the garment bag, then remove your own piece and add it.

“I’m showering.” You tell him and he doesn’t respond.

“I’m leaving the door unlocked~!” You call and you can hear him wrestle to get out from under the comforter as you laugh. You’ve just let your shapewear fall before he shoves the door open and your back hits the sink counter when he pins you to it. His lips quickly swallow yours, no longer needing to care about the transfer of lipstick. You whine, fingers cascading over the skin of his bare torso, tongue trying to keep up with his. When he pulls away, you take the chance to spin him around and pin him to the counter, laying kisses over his neck and chest, leaving red lip marks all over his skin.

“Wait, (Y/N), you don’t-“ He sighs as you sink to your knees, leaving fainter marks on his tummy. His cock is half-hard, and you palm over it through his boxer briefs, and he grunts. You kiss over the fabric making him nearly whimper, and you whine yourself when you pull his undergarment down, his fully hard cock springing out. You hum, licking your lips, then eagerly suck the tip into your mouth.

“Shit.” Sweat’s already broken on his forehead, and he leans further back to steady himself, the cold marble of the sink making him shiver. When the tip of his dick hits the back of your throat, you use your hands to hold the other half of his cock, bobbing your head. Hyunjin reaches out, managing to find the shower knob and turn the water on, getting it warm. His hand pets over your hair, then tightens, pulling you back. The sting at your scalp makes you shudder in delight, your dazed eyes meeting his sharp ones.

"Get in, face the wall." He pulls you up and you’re glad the shower’s a walk-in. You sigh as the hot water meets your tense shoulders, but you squeak when he joins, pressing his chest to your back. Your breasts press to the still cold wall of the shower, and you squeak as his fingers meet your cunt.

"What got you so wet?" Hyunjin hums in your ear, and you swallow, trying to think of how to get words out.

"W-when you told that guy to fuck off."

"So long ago?" He chuckles, removing his fingers too soon, making you huff. Before you can even think of complaining or pleading for him, he bucks his hips, burying his fat cock in one thrust all the way. Your breath leaves your lungs, the burning sting sending shocks of pleasure up your spine and down your legs. There’s almost no room between you two as he presses even closer, arms wrapping around your middle and holding your hip. He lets you take a few breaths to adjust, kissing your neck, the heat of the water and his cock inside you sets your blood on fire. One of hands moves to cup your breast, kneading the flesh and you whimper.

“These are perfect.” He pinches your nipple, and you squeak, then whimper.

"M-move." You’re nearly up on your tip toes, body wound so tight.

"Oh, fuck!" You gasp as Hyunjin begins fucking you in earnest, not building, battering his cock deep inside you. Your cunt spasms as you gasp for air, fingers not able to find anything to hold onto on the slick wall, cheek pressed to the cold tile.

"You're just perfect, (Y/N). Your pussy was made for me, no one else can have it." His hand splays over your lower tummy, the sensitive skin there twitching under his palm.

"I don't want anyone else to anyway." You manage to get out, his cock kissing your cervix with each roll of his hips.

"Cum for me (Y/N), yeah?" He hums as he feels the familiar clenching of your gummy walls, his fingers rolling over your clit, sending you over the edge. Hyunjin fills you as deep as he can, grinding into you to help you ride your high, trying to fight his own.

"Fuck, please Hyunjin!" You whimper, your orgasm seeming to last for hours.

"Well," he chuckles breathily, "if you insist." He bucks his hips a few more times and you both sigh as his hot cum paints your core white. Panting, you can't tell whether his skin is slick from the water or his sweat, but either way you both needed to actually shower.

~

"You know, I don't mind being the Prince and Princess of Versace." He tells you softly as you lay in bed together, bundled up in your pajamas. Round two and probably three would occur otherwise and you both need to be up early for your flight.

"No?"

"It's more like Prince William and Princess Kate than us being siblings."

"We're not married, Hyunjin." You huff and he nods sleepily.

"For now..."

Master-List