#hibernating in 3 minutes

[vulpescandy]

hellooo

sorry 4 being so dead n inactive on this acc im more active on my insta 😭 college making me workkkk BUT i have winter break so i win that’s all that matters

anyways silly art posting time before i go back to painting AGAIN

DSMIT AU by my lovely friend @thecultoflove i heart u so so much bestie

who up mouthwashing, teethbrushing even

[dogicrimsonofficial]

Howler Logs - #7, The Brewer's Beacon 💠

<== Previous -- Next ==>

Full Travel Log Catalogue Here!

The tower by the edge of the cliff was a new sight for Howler. Well, mostly new - they did have memory of about half of it - bleached, weathered, top gone and grumbled, back end sunken into the oceans below. Silas, another fellow clone, had commented about the state of it back then - calling it a miracle that there had been even partial shelter out here. 

Seeing the whole structure though… Howler suddenly understood why they were called ‘Lighthouses’. Certainly made more sense, for some reason Howler had been imagining a house made from literal light. 

Taking in a deeper breath, Howler enjoyed the fresher scent after the rain - salty, but not overly so compared to their last visit here. Refreshing, really. Circling to get behind the lighthouse - now that they could actually be there - Howler stretched their limbs, taking in the views better. Time to figure out why the horizon was bothering them so much! 

“If you were just here Silas…” Howler muttered under their breath, shaking head… before taking a look at the little bat who had decided to take flight from their hood, looking back at the elezen curiously. Maybe Howler was just getting a tad too lonely here, considering they were about to talk to a tiny animal of all things. A welcome change compared to talking to cold dead stone that would never respond... “A friend of mine, long gone now. They would’ve loved it here though.”

Moving on from the topic, Howler leaned against the fencing - old wood creaking under their weight, shifting only slightly… but not breaking. Good enough. Howler took in a deeper breath, and started to stare into the horizon, trying to figure out what was off. What was missing? 

Churning waves, rubble, the skies that shifted shades - in their days, it was more constant dark and grey, but it had more to do when they were moving. Blue had been seen a few times, but day time had never been safer than it was now. Unsettling, in its own way - but a welcome change. 

So what was missing? 

Or rather… what wasn’t missing. 

Howler took a step back upon realizing what had been bothering them the whole time - it was the tower in the distance, in the Isles of Umbra. It hadn’t been there during their time - struck down by the massive waves that had taken Limsa Lominsa. Turning around, they noticed it again - Limsa’s silhouette against the skylines. 

Both had been taken out before Howler had seen it back in their own time, leaving naught but rocky skeletons behind - and now that Howler had finally realized what the issue was, they couldn’t take their eyes off of it. 

Of course they hadn’t realized this was what was bothering them - both of these structures were massive, one of them was a literal city for crying out loud! Too big to really comprehend, even from a distance, and after visiting Limsa it was hard not to imagine the city to be exactly there. But their memories were not lying - the horizon was supposed to be empty.

“Oh that is going to bother me for the next few moons…” Howler muttered under their breath, before looking back at the little bat… who looked back at them. Still. If any stories were to go by, one of their fathers was rather fond of Limsa Lominsa, and shared their desire for freedom. 

And now that Howler had spent time there… They could understand it, at least partially. 

Just another disaster to prevent. No biggie, they could do this! 

[transmechanicus]

Woke up from my little power outage nap and couldn’t even manage to eat a full box of macked cheese, grad school will fuck you up for life kids, do it at your own risk.

[grantspectortrash]

fantasies & thin walls

Pairing: Rex Sloan/Rex Splode x F!Reader

Summary: post s3 (minus Rex’s relationship with Rae), but everyone is alive and well! nothing bad ever happened! I don’t know what you mean!

You’re apart of the ex-guardians superhero team that are staying at Teen Team’s base. Your room is next to Rex’s, and he can’t ignore the noises he can hear through the wall.

Warnings/tags: Minors DNI, 18+ pls and thank you this is smut. Unknown mutual masturbation, porn reference, smut but no physical contact

Word count: 1.2k

A/N: for all my Rex girlies, because there simply aren’t enough fics so I’m coming out of hibernation after 3 years off.

___

Long days, intense fights, and constant training meant that when you finally crawled into bed way after the sun had gone down, you were knackered.

Your suit was discarded in a heap on the floor and you had told Cecil if there was another emergency tonight he could find someone else. You’d been through too much lately.

All you craved was some time to relax, and nothing seemed to be working.

None of your favourite shows were hitting the spot, you didn’t have the energy to read a book, and the thought of doomscrolling on your phone made your nose wrinkle.

There was only one thing that would help.

You weren’t even sure if you wanted it, but you knew you wanted that release, that blissful chilled out feeling only one thing could give you.

“Fuck it.” You sighed into the darkness, shimmying off your pyjamas and leaving those on the floor beside your suit.

Once you were naked, you loaded up the default porn site you always used in moments like these, and began scrolling.

Your actions started slowly, a hand tracing down your stomach to your folds, where two fingers traced lazily around your clit in circles.

You knew you were doing this just to feel something, anything, that wasn’t to do with fighting or training. Something that didn’t require losing any blood or killing anyone. You just wanted that release.

You just didn’t know the walls were so fucking thin.

For the third time in two weeks, Rex led in bed, wide awake and staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the noises he could hear coming from your room.

He had no idea why the walls were so thin, or why it seemed as if your beds were pressed up against each other, or why he couldn’t bring himself to plug his ears.

He knew he shouldn’t listen in. It was invasive and wrong. But it wasn’t like he was doing it on purpose.

Rex was a good guy now, and he respected you. It just wasn’t his fault that your soft moans made his cock twitch.

He had restrained himself the first time, only allowing himself to listen for the first five minutes while he felt his cock get hard, before shoving headphones on to drown out the noise.

The second time he had truly behaved himself. He had listened to you all the way through, telling himself it was only because he was only curious to see how long it took for you to get there.

And once you had, he had forced himself to sleep while his dick fought against the restraints of his bed covers.

He had woken up in the morning with a wet patch on his sheets, and heat had flushed to his cheeks.

He wasn’t an asshole fuckboy anymore, so why had his dream-self done that to him?

The day after he had punished himself by training extra hard, only taking a break when Rudy demanded Rex had gone beyond the point of exhaustion.

But deep down he knew it wasn’t youthful impulses or ex-fuckboy tendencies that had made him feel that way about you.

Rex thought you were gorgeous.

You had everything he wanted in a woman. The perfect eyes, perfect figure - hell if he had still been the previous him, he probably would’ve saddled up to you the first day you joined the guardians with a “hey sexy mama” and would’ve tried to seduce you into bed.

And while half of him was still tempted to try that, he was different now. He admired you for your powers and skillset, and knew how much you cared about saving people. You inspired him, and in Rex’s eyes that added another level to your beauty.

So while he heard you, moaning and panting, he couldn’t help the reaction his body had.

He couldn’t help it either when he heard his name tumble out of your mouth.

Rex shot up from his bed immediately, his head slamming against the shelves above.

“Fuck.” Rex whispered angrily, a hand coming up to rub the back of his head.

He listened to see if you had heard, but you only paused for a second before the soft moans continued.

Maybe he had heard you wrong. Maybe he was going mad, the sounds of you driving him wild enough that he had reached delirium.

But there it was again.

The faint “Rex” slipping out of your mouth while you touched yourself, your phone and the porn you were watching discarded while thoughts of what you really wanted took over your mind.

You didn’t even know when you had started fantasising about Rex - probably when he dropped the full throttle dickhead vibe and became an endearing asshole instead. Probably before.

You’d fought beside the guy. You lived with him. You’d seen him in just a towel wrapped around his waist after a shower, and you’d seen him beaten and bloody, which shouldn’t have been attractive but absolutely was.

Each and every time you caught a glimpse of his hard abs, or each time the light hit his green eyes just right, you’d felt something stir deep within you.

And now you were wishing Rex was deep within you.

Your legs were spread wide, your hands desperately moving while one fingered your hole with unyielding intent and the other teased your clit.

It wasn’t enough, you wanted Rex, even if you wouldn’t admit it to yourself or to him - ever.

But it was more than enough for Rex. He wanted you, and he didn’t want to hold back any longer.

Rex rested his head against the wall, and took his hard cock into his hand, pre cum already glistening at his tip in the low light.

He took one slow stroke, and bucked into his hand involuntarily. And as your sounds got louder, Rex matched your pace.

He moved his hand at the tempo of your rhythm, straining to control his breathing so he could concentrate on your own.

“Rex”, his name came again, this time a little louder and more like a whimper.

It sent a shiver across his naked body, and a silent “oh baby” crossed his lips.

He could hear your pace quickening, knew that soon you would be feeling that familiar tight cord across your stomach, knew that soon it would be all over and he would have to deal with the consequences of his actions.

But as he fisted his cock in his hand, he didn’t care about what would come after. He only cared about coming now. Coming to the thought of you, coming to the sounds of your pleasure, moaning for him.

He got faster as your panting got more erratic, and suddenly he couldn’t stop himself,

“Fuckkk, come on mama.” Rex whispered low, his voice trembling slightly.

And then the band snapped, and you let out a long, breathy moan as Rex’s rhythm faltered and his dick released long, hot cords of cum across his stomach.

All he could imagine was pumping his seed into you, and his head felt dizzy from the high.

For a full minute, all he could hear was his own panting, his breath hitching in his throat.

His dark red hair was uncharacteristically messy, taken out of his usual bun, framing his face as he breathed hard. He blew a strand away.

“Fuck.” Was all he could manage to say.

He cleaned himself up and sunk back down into his bed, mind wild and heart racing.

He hoped you hadn’t heard him, but couldn’t help but wonder what might happen if you had.

And you hoped Rex hadn’t heard you, but as that sweet release enveloped you in a state of peace, and you started to drift off to sleep, you wondered what might happen if he had…

___

__

-

guys I am so nervous about posting this bc I haven’t written any fics in yonks and this is my first Rex and first smut fic ever. God it feels good to get back in the game. Love ya, Leigh x

[tldrthor]

five more minutes | steve rogers

Summary: Steve marvels at his sleepy girl // established relationship fluff, fem!reader, no use of (y/n) // word count: 1k

enjoyed? please like/reblog! you can find my masterlist here <3

Steve Rogers had never been a man who slept easily. It hadn’t been that way since he was a baby, keeping his poor mother awake through all hours of the night. As he grew, sleep never came easily — too many battles, too many scars, and the weight of the world on his shoulders from the moment he learned that to exist was to fight.

These days, the losses of everyone and everything pressed on him like a boulder, something he could never outrun. No, to sleep was to confront — and Steve had done enough confronting for a lifetime.

Most of his fellow Avengers knew the sting of restless nights. They understood that sleep, with its blank slate, was a risky thing — a place where the cruelest parts of their minds could take hold. Steve’s dreams were never kind. He often dreamed of Bucky falling from the train, of his mother lying on her deathbed, or of you — you, lying in a pool of crimson blood.

He flinched as that particular memory resurfaced. The day he thought he’d lose you. His eyes flicked to your sleeping form, cocooned in the duvet like a hibernating creature. Sometimes, he wondered if this was all real or if it was just a dream — a dream he was overdue to wake from.

You were so serene, so untouched by the world’s cruelty. It struck him again, how remarkable it was that after all you’d been through, sleep was still a sanctuary for you. He felt a pang of envy. You were able to rest in ways he couldn’t. Your face was peaceful, your breath slow and steady, while his thoughts raced like an out-of-control train.

Watching you fall asleep each night was like witnessing a miracle. You had this routine, a rhythm he had come to cherish. It was small, simple things — filling your water bottle, turning off the lights, and whispering “I love you, sleep well” before you sank into the comforting embrace of the night.

You had once asked him, “Does it bother you that I sleep so much when you don’t? Do you wish I joined you in the early hours of the morning?”

Even now, that question made him smile. He remembered you, stumbling out of bed hours after him, his oversized pajamas swallowing you whole. It made his chest swell with pride — this little thing with messy hair and a habit of stealing his clothes was his. He got to be there with you, cradling you while you slept, listening to your soft snores.

He could still feel the gentle pressure of his hands on your sleepy face, rubbing the exhaustion from your barely open eyes. He’d kissed the top of your messy hair, holding you close as he whispered, “I love you as you are, my sleepy girl.”

He was the luckiest man alive, and he knew it.

But sometimes, when the sun was just starting to rise, and he had to wake you up, that luck felt like a curse. He couldn’t help it. You were so peaceful, so content in your little cocoon of warmth and softness. The moment he dared disturb that tranquility, you became a beast to tame — his beast, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, kneeling beside the bed. His fingers gently stroked your hair, watching you stir. “It’s time to wake up. We’ve got training in an hour.”

A soft, incoherent noise escaped you as you buried your face deeper into the pillow. “Five more minutes…”

He couldn’t help but laugh. Same script, same lines. “Angel,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You’ve already had five more minutes than I should’ve given you.”

You leaned into his touch but didn’t open your eyes.

“I don’t want to go,” you groaned, wrapping yourself tighter in the duvet.

He sighed but grinned, moving to open the blinds. Sunlight poured into the room, bathing the bed in a warm, golden glow. You, of course, immediately buried your face deeper into the covers, a little mound of resistance.

He sat back down on the edge of the bed, gently pulling the duvet away from your eyes. “Come on, sweet girl. You know you have to get up.”

And then — the bargain. He saw it coming a mile away, heard the seductive lull of your voice as it lured him in.

“Come back to bed,” you coaxed, your voice thick with sleep. “We can cuddle.”

Damn you.

“Can’t, baby. You know how much I’d love to,” he whispered, trying to keep his voice strong as he planted soft kisses on your forehead, your temple, your cheek. “Come on, time to get up.”

A dramatic sigh came from beneath the covers. “You’re so mean.”

Ah, the anger phase. His least favourite.

“I know, sleepy girl,” he replied in a mock-somber tone, unable to resist the playful tease. “Open those pretty eyes for me. Let me see them.”

One eye cracked open, barely a slit. Success. “There she is.”

Before he could celebrate, that eye shut again. Of course. He checked the time—training was fast approaching, and he had promised you he’d give you enough time to get ready. But what could he do? The sleepy beauty before him was winning the fight — again.

He checked his phone, his impulsive fingers moving quicker than his rational, captain brain could stop them -- a quick text to Sam and an instant response:

Can you cover training this morning?

Sure thing. I’ll put them through their paces ;)

With a satisfied smile, Steve kicked off his boots and climbed over you, slipping back under the covers. You stirred slightly, one eye cracking open to assess the disruption.

“What doing?” you mumbled groggily.

“Shh, my sleepy girl,” he whispered, fitting himself into your warm space. You immediately relaxed, a grin spreading across your face at your unexpected victory. He pressed a kiss to your neck, pulling you closer. “Just five more minutes.”

This fic came to me suddenly even though it wasn't on my radar at all! Hope you all enjoy. Reminder you can join my taglist via the google form here <3

Masterlist

[zevrra]

—𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫 [⋆｡°✩]

syn: just some random sfw & nsfw hc’s i have for jayce and viktor from arcane!!

includes: gn!reader, 18(+) only, fluff, established relationships, mention of kïnks, mention of drinking/being drunk

extra(s): may flesh these out a little more at some point but these are just little thoughts i’ve had in my head recently AAA (check out my other arcane stuff if you enjoy <3)

JAYCE

a heavy sleeper!! can sleep through all 11 alarms he’s set(they’re all set 5 mins apart) but when he does finally wake up he’s somehow a morning person…wakes up full of energy and ready to start the day

drinks black coffee straight up. no sugar or cream and hates the taste but says it helps him “wake up”

sleeps in just boxers

a light WEIGHT!! it takes a total of 2 drinks before he’s buzzed. his max is probably 6 drinks before he’s almost black out drunk

takes 2 hour long showers

hums! he hums aaaalllll the time just anywhere and everywhere! is always humming some kind of tune

when he’s nervous he bites his lips

runs so so hot! like is a natural heater and is constantly warm so he prefers winter over summer

also packs on some weight during the winter like a bear getting ready to hibernate (he hates it, you LOVE IT)

i feel like he LOVES to swim

book smart not so much street smarts

is terrified of insects, specifically wasps (isn’t allergic he just thinks they’re the spawn of satan)

secretly dislikes most sweets. he doesn’t mind them but he wouldn’t reach for sweets over salty snacks if they’re offered

oh he looooooves spicy food!

pet name king. loves calling you everything but your name. especially enjoys calling you “baby” or “babe”

physical touch is 100% his love language!! keeps his hands on your waist or your back he just enjoys touching so much

clingy

clean and perfect handwriting

he’s also either a really good cook or a really bad one i can’t decide jshsjsjd

when he has a bad day he droops like a little rain cloud but is so easy to cheer up

has two left feet and dances for shit (does it anyway because he enjoys it)

is a whole ray of sunshine; laughs with his whole chest, smiles just as bright as the sun, always looking on the bright side of things

[—NSFW BELOW]

obedient asf!!

literally loves being told what to do and how good he makes you feel

is the definition of service top

THRIVES OFF PRAISE!

stamina goes CRAZY, takes some pretty good build up before he comes

100% is a munch

he loves coming home, shutting off his brain from being at the lab for too long, and sitting between your thighs while he makes you feel good

begs for you to sit on his face

begs in general all day every day for it though

“pleaseee pretty… let’s just sneak away…”

says please so much it’s incorporated in his everyday vocabulary

loves kissing too

wild rutting thrusts, fast and rough reaching the deepest parts of you with ease

list of kinks i think he would have; public outings, bareback, begging (receiving or giving), marking (hickies), püssy/cöck worshipping, size kink, breeding, exhibitionism, face sitting/fucking, somno (w/consent!), and sqüirtïng

is huge and he knows it

thick at the base, keeps his girth until the very tip, where he’s a light brownish-pink. veiny and girthy; 7.5 inches

VIKTOR

rarely EVER sleeps (at most he sleeps for prob 5 ish hours every night) but when he does it’s never in an actual bed; says sleeping anywhere else is more comfortable than a bed

a light sleeper for sure, he def wakes up at every little noise and it drives him nuts

is NOT a morning person. he wakes up groggy and irritated before he morning coffee

always asks for “five more minutes” when he needs to get up

either he sleeps in the clothes he wore the day before or when he actually changes he wears a t-shirt and swaps between shorts or actual sleep pants

sometimes needs to be reminded to eat because he gets so focused on working in the lab he forgets to eat a lot

is actually a decent cook! can make basic and simple dishes but nothing extraordinary

drinks very rarely and when he does it takes him chugging liquor to get drunk

messy but pretty handwriting (only he can read it)

a blanket HOG! he has to be fully wrapped up in at least 2 blankets before he can get comfortable enough to sleep

always runs cold and favors summer over winter!

it just gives you a nice excuse to hold his hand out in public

will drop something on purpose just so he can bend over and struggle to pick it up then act like you’re being mean to him jshshfk

will hit you with his cane if you ask him a stupid question

has the BIGGEST SWEET TOOTH

secretly snuck candy whenever he could growing up so now he constantly has it on him

says it helps him focus if he has a little bit of sugar

is actually packed full with sarcasm and makes so many sarcastic comments throughout the day

doodles when he’s trying to figure out an equation

his pet names for you consist more of “my love” or “darling”

his love language is quality time and gift giving (while he HATES receiving gifts)

writes you notes and leaves them around everywhere for you to accidentally stumble across and see

if you manage to get him to accept a gift, he uses/takes it everywhere with him

[—NSFW BELOW]

is a power bottom!

loves it when you dress up for him

SENSITIVE KING

oh he’s so sensitive, especially around his thighs

comes so so so easily (but can go several times in a row)

like a little handjob and some kissing could have him weak in the palm of your hand

well placed, slow, and methodical thrusts. never misses and it always leaves you breathless.

after a really good night spent together is about the only time he’ll ever sleep comfortably in a bed (next to you of course)

would try ANYTHING once

is not shy when it comes to telling you when he wants to fuck

will grab you by the waist with his cane and pull you closer to him just to tell you he wants you sitting in his lap right now

gives me a lil bit of a brat vibes

“why don’t you try asking nicely darling.”

list of kïnks i think he would be into: dacryphilia, edging, overstimulation, choking, blindfolds, biting/marking, degradation/praise, püssy/cöck worshipping, oral, cüm play, roleplay (secretly loves professor/teacher stuff)

not as thick as jayce but he makes up for it with length, pale until the tip where he’s a pretty pink. slightly curved upwards, 6 inches

[bearforcecaptions]

It started with a dumb wish. Not even a real wish — more like an irritated thought muttered into a cup of late-night ramen while I stood barefoot in the kitchen, trying to ignore my roommate’s latest rant about being single.

Kyle had been in a mood all week. Something about all his friends being coupled up, his Grindr dates flaking, and how “love just isn’t built for guys like me.” And I, being the caring, patient friend that I am, had finally snapped with, “God, I hope you find someone already. Maybe then you’ll shut up for five minutes.”

Yeah. That’s what I said. And I meant it with all the sincerity of someone yelling at a toaster.

Apparently, that was enough.

I woke up the next morning to the sound of a deep laugh in the kitchen. Not Kyle’s — Jonah’s. My brother. My straight brother. Or so I thought.

I walked out, groggy, rubbing my eyes, and there they were. Kyle and Jonah. Shirtless. Cooking breakfast together. Jonah standing behind him, arms wrapped around Kyle’s thick middle, whispering something that made Kyle blush, and for some reason they were both barefoot and there were two coffee mugs with little cartoon bears on them on the counter.

I think I just blinked and walked back to my room.

Took me two whole weeks to realize this wasn’t a fling. They weren’t new. They’d been together for years. Years. I didn’t figure that out because anyone told me — oh no. It was little things. Their shared Spotify playlists labeled “Our Hikes <3.” The matching bear paw tattoos I spotted when they were horsing around in the living room. The blanket with their faces photoshopped onto two grinning cartoon lumberjacks that I found in the dryer.

The kicker? A Facebook post from four years ago that read: “Happy 1-year anniversary to the best damn man I’ve ever met. Here’s to many more, cub.” From Kyle. To Jonah. Liked by 176 people. Commented on by my mom with a heart emoji.

That was the moment I realized I was well and truly in a different reality.

And they are so in love. Loudly, shamelessly, constantly in love. It’s like living in a Hallmark movie directed by a bear bar owner. I’m not even sure they realize I’m in the room half the time. Or maybe they just don’t care.

I mean, look at them right now — no, really, look at them. They’re sprawled across our couch in the den, deep into one of their marathon make-out sessions. Kyle’s got his hand halfway under Jonah’s gut, and Jonah’s purring like some kind of fuzzy furnace. The TV’s on, but neither of them’s watching it. I am, though. Or trying to. Can’t exactly focus on Planet Earth with the grizzly bears mating next to me.

That’s my brother. That’s my roommate. I’m just the guy trapped between their chests, metaphorically speaking, screaming into a throw pillow.

They don’t just stop at cuddling on the couch, either. Oh no. They’re domestically obscene. I’ve walked in on bubble baths, shirtless apron cooking, a full-on bear massage chain on the back porch, and one time — one time — I came home to find them napping belly-to-belly on the living room rug with “Whale Sounds for Deep Lovers” playing on loop. There was incense. There were candles.

Every time I so much as sigh in their direction, they glance over like I’m the one being weird. Sorry, am I interrupting the pre-hibernation cuddle ritual? Should I come back in spring?

But here's the messed-up part: I can’t even leave. The rent’s too good. The house is big — three bedrooms, a finished basement, fenced yard, walking distance to everything. We split the bills three ways. Kyle and I had a great deal before the universe decided to rearrange my personal life like a Sims cheat code, and Jonah moved in after “their anniversary trip to Portland” (ugh), and now it’s just… this.

Also, he’s my brother. Jonah may be a hairy, handsy, loud-as-hell bear of a boyfriend now, but he’s still family. He still makes killer chili. Still beats me at Mario Kart and talks me down when I spiral. We’ve been through a lot. I can’t just walk away from that. Even if he now insists on calling Kyle “Cubby” in the mornings and I have to hear that term of endearment while brushing my teeth.

So I sit. I stew. I eat my microwaved mac and cheese while my brother and his boyfriend — my former roommate — turn the living room into a PG-13 nature documentary. I go to bed with headphones on. I’ve stopped using the shared laundry machine during the weekends because I kept pulling out towels that smelled like sandalwood and testosterone.

Sometimes I catch myself wishing it could go back to the way it was. Simple. Predictable. Quiet.

But then I look over and see them sharing a blanket, giggling over some dumb in-joke, Kyle planting a kiss on Jonah’s cheek like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I see the way Jonah glows when Kyle pulls him in for a hug. The way Kyle watches Jonah like he hung the stars.

They’re loud. They’re weird. They’re half-naked 80% of the time. But… they’re happy.

At least they’re happy.

[mistyshane30]

You Were Never Mine to Lose (Chapter 6)

Synopsis: The other night was a lot, and now here you are, at an amusement park. It’s supposed to be a distraction, but you can’t help but feel like something’s just… waiting to happen. Just not yet.

Word count: 6k

Warnings: Subtle angst, Lingering tension, Unresolved emotions

A/N: Just wanted to say a big thanks for all the awesome comments on my fic! Your support really means a lot to me. I love hearing what you think! I can’t wait for you to see what’s coming next♡

The sharp chime of the doorbell jolts you awake. Groaning, you reach for your phone, squinting at the screen as your eyes adjust to the bright light. 

12:07 PM 

Your heart nearly stops. Noon?! 

Your notifications are a mess—17 missed calls from Jen, 10 from Wanda, and an explosion of texts from the group chat. A sinking realization hits you: you must have accidentally muted your phone last night. Not surprising, considering you tossed and turned until at least 3 AM overanalyzing every moment with Agatha yesterday. 

Another impatient ring of the doorbell makes you groan. You drag yourself out of bed, feeling dizzy and a little off from the lack of sleep. You’re moving in slow motion as you head for the front door. When you open it, your friends are standing there, looking less than impressed. 

Jen’s arms are crossed over her chest, a mix of concern and irritation on her face. Alice, Wanda, and Lilia are behind her, all looking like they’ve been up for hours while you’ve just barely dragged yourself out of bed. Your eyes immediately flick to Agatha, naturally.  

She stands there effortlessly put together in a camel brown structured sleeveless top, black well-tailored wide-leg trousers, chunky dad sneakers, a Loewe crossbody bag, and black shades. It’s criminal how good she looks in something so simple. Your gaze lingers longer than it should before you snap back to reality. 

Jen crosses her arms. “Seriously? You’re just waking up?” 

Wanda huffs. “We thought you were dead.” 

“You guys are so dramatic,” you mumble, stepping aside to let them in. “I accidentally muted my phone last night.” 

“And?” Jen presses, still unimpressed. 

You scratch the back of your head. “Overslept. I had to check work emails before bed, so I ended up sleeping late.” 

Technically not a lie—you did check your emails. But the real reason? You couldn’t stop thinking about Agatha. Her lingering gazes. The way her breath hitched at the beach. The way she looked at you across the table at Nobu. 

Agatha hums, arms crossed over her chest. “That’s cute. Imagine taking a vacation just to work and look like shit in the morning.” 

You scoff. “Imagine going on vacation just to go from a hot tub to a sauna like you’re trying to get heatstroke.” 

She smirks. “Maybe I just like being warm. Unlike you, who apparently enjoys hibernating.” 

Jen pinches the bridge of her nose. “Can we not do this first thing in the afternoon? Y/N, go get ready. Now. We’re going to Pacific Park, and you have five minutes.” 

You hold up a hand in surrender. “Alright, alright. Ten minutes.” 

“Seven.” 

“Deal.” You turn to head upstairs. “Try not to miss me while I’m gone.” 

Agatha mutters under her breath. “Not possible.” 

You pretend not to hear it. 

Fifteen minutes later, you finally head downstairs, fully dressed and ready to go. Okay, maybe you took a little longer than planned. Sue you. 

You opted for a white fitted cashmere tank top, Hermès brown tailored high-waist shorts, Dior sneakers, a YSL Lou camera bag, and a deep olive green cap. A perfect balance of casual and effortless chic. 

Jen checks her watch. “Not bad. I expected worse.” 

You grin. “You have so little faith in me.” 

Wanda looks you up and down. “I mean, you still look like you just woke up, but at least you’re dressed.” 

You roll your eyes. “Can I at least eat something before we go?” 

Lilia waves a dismissive hand. “We’ll hit the McDonald’s drive-thru on the way.” 

You sigh. “Fine. But if my McMuffin gets cold, someone’s paying.” 

Alice smirks. “We’ll send the bill to Agatha. She’s the one who called you a hibernating bear.” 

Agatha scoffs, tilting her head at you. “Only because it’s true.” 

You roll your eyes and grab your bag. “Let’s go before I actually commit a crime today.” 

As you step out of the villa, the sun warming your skin as you make your way to the main entrance of the resort. The van is parked just a little ahead, waiting for you and the others. You’re the first one to get inside, claiming the back seat behind the driver. You sit down and pull out your phone, scrolling through social media to distract yourself from the anticipation of what’s ahead. 

Agatha slides in beside you a few moments later, as effortlessly composed as ever. She flashes you a smile, one that’s way too confident for your liking. You return the smile, but there’s something about it that feels a little too forced. You quickly avert your gaze, focusing on your phone like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. 

Wanda sits down beside Agatha, followed by the others, and the van slowly pulls off. The hum of the road is calming at first, but you can still feel Agatha’s presence beside you like an electric current you’re trying to ignore. You scroll through your feed, hoping to lose yourself in the digital noise. 

After about 45 minutes, you start to spot the signs of the amusement park from the van window—ferris wheels, roller coasters, the blur of bright colors that instantly reminds you of childhood summers. The excitement in the air is palpable, and soon, the van pulls up to the entrance. You step out into the warm air, your stomach doing a little flip at the thought of all the rides. 

Jen heads straight for the ticket booth and returns with wristbands. She hands them out to everyone—Unlimited Ride Wristbands. You stare at the plastic band in your hand, already dreading the rides ahead. 

Jen claps her hands together. “Alright, let’s get a photo first! You guys need to remember this moment.” 

You all gather together, everyone flashing smiles as Jen takes the photo. You try to smile, but something about the whole thing feels a little off. Maybe it’s the weight of the rides you know are coming. 

Alice, always the one to jump into the action, suggests the West Coaster as the first ride. 

Your heart drops at the mention of it. “How about we start easy? There’s the Sig EV Alert. It’s a little more chill, right?” You try to sound casual, but your stomach churns at the thought of a big roller coaster. You know yourself, dizziness is your worst enemy. 

Agatha shoots you a sideways glance, her lips curling into a smirk. “Oh, come on. What’s the matter? Are you scared?” 

You roll your eyes, trying to brush off the feeling of nerves creeping up on you. “I’m not scared, Agatha. Just think it’s better to ease into things.” 

She leans back with a challenge in her eyes. “Really? A vote’s been called, then.” 

The group eagerly agrees to start with the West Coaster, and you immediately regret your attempt to steer them away from it. You tell yourself you can handle it, though—you’re fine, you repeat like a mantra, even though you know it’s a lie. 

As you approach the roller coaster, Wanda nudges your elbow gently. “Hey,” she says softly, leaning in close. “Are you sure you want to do this? You know you get dizzy easily.” 

You force a smile. “I’m fine, Wanda. Really.” 

She doesn’t look convinced, her brow furrowing. “You can sit this one out. No shame in that.” 

But you shake your head, refusing to back down. “No way. I’m not letting Agatha think I’m backing out. I can handle it.” 

Wanda sighs, her concern still clear. “Alright, but if you pass out halfway, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

You give her a small smile and step forward with the group. But just as you’re about to sit down, something happens—you realize Agatha is sitting right next to you. Your stomach twists again. 

Her smirk is almost too much to handle. “I’m gonna enjoy this,” she murmurs, low enough for only you to hear. 

You roll your eyes but try to play it cool. “We’ll see about that.” 

The ride begins its slow ascent, the familiar clicking noise echoing through the air. You feel every inch of the climb, your heart thumping in your chest as the coaster makes its way higher. For a brief moment, everything is calm. Too calm. It’s the kind of calm that makes you realize just how much you don’t want to be here. You grip the safety bar tightly, knuckles turning white, your palms sweating against the cool metal. 

Your stomach flips, and you feel the weight of the height sinking in. You glance over at Agatha, sitting beside you with her usual cool, confident demeanor. She seems completely unfazed, her eyes glinting with something like amusement. You swallow hard, trying to keep your cool. This was your idea, right? You had to prove you weren’t scared. 

Then, the coaster pauses at the peak—that peak—the one where it feels like you’re teetering on the edge of the world. Everything below looks so far away, a blur of colors and tiny dots that might be people, but you can’t focus on that. The world seems to hold its breath, and so do you. 

Then—BAM! 

The coaster shoots forward with sudden, brutal speed, your stomach dropping out from under you. You don’t even have time to prepare before the wind rushes through your hair, and the shrill scream that escapes your throat is one you didn’t even know you had in you. Your hands instinctively shoot out to grab onto anything, everything. 

Your fingers latch onto something warm, soft, and surprisingly firm. You don’t realize what you’ve done at first. Your brain is too busy trying to process the chaos around you, the twisting and jerking of the ride, the air rushing by in a constant scream of its own. Your eyes squeeze shut for a moment as the coaster dips and turns, the ride's movements jarring, sending your stomach into an endless loop of flips. 

Oh God, what have I done? Why did I agree to this? 

The twists and turns keep coming, faster, harsher, as the ride whips you through the air. Your scream isn’t just fun now; it’s a primal, terrified sound. It feels like you’re falling forever, your body jerking this way and that. You feel the pressure in your chest, your breath coming out in shallow bursts, but through it all, your hand is still clenched around whatever is in front of you. 

That “whatever” is Agatha’s hand. 

It’s only when the coaster starts to slow down that you realize what’s happened. Your hand, still gripping Agatha’s, is now nearly crushed in your panic. Your face flushes red as you snap your eyes open, trying to catch your breath, the noise of the ride dying down around you. You feel disoriented—nauseous, even—and your heart is still racing. 

The ride finally halts, and your body slumps against the backrest, drenched in sweat. You feel like you’ve just run a marathon, your skin clammy and cold, your breath coming in gasps. You’re still dazed, but you suddenly become acutely aware of the hand you’re holding. You jerk your hand away from Agatha’s, mortified, hoping no one noticed the unintentional closeness you shared. 

You glance around quickly. Everyone else is laughing and talking excitedly, their voices a blur. They didn’t notice. Thank God. 

Except Agatha. She saw. Of course, she did. 

Her lips curl into that sly smirk, the one that makes you want to crawl under a rock. She looks over at you, that gleam of recognition in her eyes. “You look a little green there, Y/N,” she teases, her voice dripping with amusement. “Roller coasters not your thing?” 

You want to disappear. The heat creeping up your neck is nearly unbearable. You manage to cough out a nonchalant response, your voice a little higher than normal. “It was fine. Totally fine.” But even you can hear the lie in it. 

You don’t meet her gaze. You can’t. The thought of her knowing what just happened—of her knowing you—it’s too much. 

The group continues to tease you, laughing and poking fun at your reaction. You try to laugh along, but it comes out flat, forced. You wish you could just blend into the background, escape the spotlight that feels like it’s shining just a little too bright on you. 

Wanda, however, seems to sense that something’s wrong. She quietly steps up beside you, her voice low and concerned. “Y/N, are you sure you’re okay?” She looks at you with an almost protective gaze. “Like, really okay?” 

You manage a weak smile, brushing off her worry like it’s nothing. “I’m great. Totally great. Really.” You try to sound convincing, but Wanda doesn’t look entirely convinced. 

She doesn’t push further, though. Instead, she just pats your shoulder lightly and nods, though you can see she’s not buying your act. The others are still bickering amongst themselves about the next ride, oblivious to your inner turmoil. 

You don’t know how you make it through the rest of the day. You feel like you’re walking in a fog, each ride making your stomach churn more than the last. You’re so dizzy you could swear you’re going to pass out. But you keep pushing through it, knowing Agatha’s eyes are always on you, even when you try not to meet her gaze. 

Finally, you find a little relief on the Sig EV Alert ride. It’s simple. Fun, even. It’s a bumper car ride, something you can do without fear of your stomach trying to escape your body. It’s a tiny break in the chaos, but as you steer your bumper car, you can’t stop yourself from looking at her, and just like that, she catches you. Her eyes twinkle with amusement as she leans forward in her seat, an eyebrow arched in challenge. “What’s the matter, Y/N? I didn’t think bumper cars were so interesting.” 

Your heart thuds in your chest again, and you force yourself to look away, cheeks flushed. “It’s not,” you reply, but the corner of your mouth betrays you with a tiny, involuntary smile. 

After all the rides, your group decides to grab something to eat at Smashie’s Burger. You take the chance to slip away to the bathroom, needing a moment to catch your breath after all the chaos. You wash your face, trying to shake off the dizziness from the rides. You’re not sure if you’re more worn out from the rides or from trying to act like everything's fine in front of everyone. 

When you come back to the table, everyone’s chatting and laughing, already a little more energized from the food. You slide in, a little quieter than usual, and take your seat. Your eyes drift to Agatha—she’s got her phone in hand, typing something, looking all serious. You wonder for a second if she’s texting Ralph or maybe dealing with some work stuff. Either way, you can’t help but watch her. It’s like she’s in a world of her own, and it pulls you in even though you’re trying to look away. 

You start eating, trying to pretend like everything’s normal. It’s harder than it should be, but you make yourself focus on the food, even as you keep stealing glances at her. Her phone goes down, and she finally takes a bite of her burger. There’s something about the way she eats—so casually, so effortlessly—that makes you feel like you're standing just a bit too close to something you’re not sure how to handle. 

Before long, Jen’s done with her fries and is already looking around with that excited energy of hers. “Okay, who’s ready for the next round?” she asks, clearly buzzing. 

Wanda’s practically bouncing in her seat. “I’m heading to the Cat Rack. I need to win a stuffed animal.” 

Alice’s grinning, not to be outdone. “I’m hitting the Ring Toss. I’m definitely gonna win this time.” 

The group starts breaking up, everyone heading off in different directions. You’re left with Agatha, and for a split second, the silence feels a little too loud between you two. You can’t tell if it’s awkward or just... weird, but you feel it. 

You clear your throat, trying to make the best of it. “So... where do you want to go?” 

And, of course, you both speak at the same time. “Where do you want to go?” 

You both freeze for a moment, then laugh, but it’s not the easiest laugh. It’s more like you're both trying to fill the space that’s been left hanging. You smile, trying to ease the tension. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to—” 

Agatha shakes her head, cutting you off. “It’s fine. I was thinking Water Race. Let’s do that.” 

You give her a look. “Water Race? Really?” 

“Really,” she says with that grin you know is always a little too knowing. “I wanna see if you’re as good at this as you say you are.” 

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smirk that pulls at your lips. “Oh, I’m great at it. Just wait and see.” 

You pay for both of you, the two of you standing side by side, staring down at the game ahead. You tell yourself it’s just a game, but the competition is starting to feel a little more intense than it should. Agatha’s in the lane next to you, her water gun aimed perfectly, and you know this is it. Time to prove you’re better. 

The game starts, and the water blasts out from the guns, splashing against the targets. You’re both giving it your all, but after a few rounds, you realize it’s not just the two of you in this race. There are other players too. And none of you are winning. 

You try to stay casual, hiding the irritation that’s slowly creeping up on you. You keep buying new entries, trying to beat the other players, but every time, someone else wins. The frustration builds, and despite how much you want to pretend it doesn’t bother you, it does. It really does. 

Agatha notices. “You okay there?” she teases, her voice light but that hint of amusement in her eyes. 

You force a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just warming up.” 

But after another round, when you lose again, you can’t hold back the annoyance anymore. You feel it in your chest, tight and heavy, and you can’t shake it. The other player keeps winning, and you just want to win something. Anything. 

Finally, after what feels like a hundred tries, it happens. You hit the target, and the bell rings, signaling that you’ve won. You almost can’t believe it, the rush of victory flooding you as you hold the water gun in triumph. Your heart’s pounding, but there’s something about it that feels better than all the other wins you’ve seen. 

The prize is a stuffed bunny. It’s not the biggest or most impressive thing, but to you, it’s everything. You hold it up in the air, your face lighting up in the purest, most unfiltered joy. 

Agatha’s standing next to you, eyes wide with surprise at how over the top your reaction is. “Really? That’s how excited you are about a stuffed bunny?” 

You can’t stop grinning, bouncing on your feet. “I won! I really won! This is the best thing ever!” 

You hold the bunny to your chest like it’s the greatest prize you’ve ever gotten. It’s ridiculous, but it feels like you’ve just won the lottery, and for once, you don’t care how silly it looks. 

Agatha snorts, clearly amused. “You’re kind of ridiculous, you know that?” 

You just shrug, still holding your prize. “I don’t care.” 

She shakes her head, smiling despite herself. “Alright, alright. You win. I won’t argue with you and your little bunny.” 

You stand there for a second, still buzzing from the win, when you glance at Agatha again. She’s looking at you in that quiet, knowing way, like she’s seeing you in a way she hasn’t before. For a brief moment, everything feels lighter, like maybe, just maybe, there’s something else here between you two. 

After your victory at the Water Race, you’re still holding your prize, that stupidly adorable bunny stuffed toy, when the mystery player who had kept winning approaches you. She has a confident smile on her face, and there’s something about her that catches your attention. Maybe it’s the way she walks up to you without hesitation, or how she looks like she knows exactly what she’s doing. 

“Hey,” she says, her voice smooth and warm. “That was some impressive shooting. No one’s ever beaten me at this game before.” 

You glance at her in surprise, a little thrown off by the compliment. “Thanks,” you reply, trying to keep your cool, but there’s a flutter of nerves in your stomach. 

She grins, her gaze lingering on you just a bit too long. “I’m Rio Vidal, by the way,” she adds, extending her hand. “Nice to meet you.” 

You shake her hand, still feeling a bit off balance. “I’m Y/N, and this is Agatha.” 

Agatha, standing nearby, doesn’t seem to react much, but you can feel her attention shift, just slightly. Rio doesn’t seem to notice. She’s too busy smiling at you, her eyes sparkling with something that feels... too intentional. 

“So,” Rio continues, her tone teasing, “What brings you to the Water Race? You definitely look like a woman who’s up for a challenge.” She leans a little closer, voice lowering in a way that makes you blink in surprise. “I like that.” 

You catch yourself before you do something weird, like laugh too loud or look confused. Instead, you go with it. “Well, I’m actually on a bachelorette vacation with my friends,” you say with a playful shrug. “It’s all about letting loose and having some fun.” 

Rio raises an eyebrow. “A bachelorette? That’s interesting... you’re clearly not shy about winning.” She holds out a business card. “If your friend is still looking for flowers for her wedding, I’m your girl. I’m a florist, you know. I’d be happy to help out.” 

You take the card from her, half-smiling. “I’ll let her know. Thanks, Rio.” 

She lingers a little longer, her eyes not leaving you. “No problem. It was nice meeting you... maybe I’ll see you around, yeah?” 

You’re pretty sure she means something more than just “seeing you around,” but you just smile and nod. “For sure. Take care.” 

As she walks away, you glance at Agatha, who’s giving you a look that’s almost... incredulous. “What the hell was that?” she asks, her voice thick with something you can’t quite pinpoint. 

You give her a confused look. “What do you mean?” 

Agatha huffs, crossing her arms, still staring at you. “That lady was literally flirting with you.” 

You shrug, trying to act like it’s no big deal, even though a little part of you feels flustered. “Nah. She’s just being friendly. Nothing more to it.” 

Before Agatha can respond, you quickly hold out the stuffed bunny toy you just won. You catch Agatha off guard with it, her eyes widening for a second as she stares at the toy in your hands. 

She looks at you, confused. “What’s this for?” 

You try to keep it casual, but your heart’s thumping in your chest. “You can have it,” you say, your voice casual even though the butterflies are going wild in your stomach. “I’m not really into stuffed toys. I just liked the idea of winning. You can take it home with you, though. Maybe give it to your kids after the trip.” 

Agatha blinks, clearly taken aback by your sudden generosity. “You... want me to take it?” 

You nod, trying not to let the heat on your cheeks show. “Yeah. I mean, I’m not really gonna keep it. And I figure you could use it.” 

She looks at the bunny again, then back at you. For a moment, there’s this unreadable look in her eyes, and for a second, you think she might turn it down. But then, she sighs and takes the bunny from your hands. 

“Thanks,” she says softly, her tone warmer than you expected. “I’ll... keep it safe.” 

You smile at her, feeling the rush of your little exchange with Rio slowly fade away, replaced by this new, quieter moment with Agatha. As much as you try to convince yourself it’s no big deal, something about the way she accepts the bunny... it feels a little more personal than it should. And for once, you’re okay with that. 

You and Agatha were lost in the competitive spirit of the games, going from Whac-A-Mole to Balloon Bust to Roll-A-Ball, each one more ridiculous than the last. Neither of you were willing to back down, constantly teasing each other over every small win and every tiny defeat. The laughter and playful banter between you two felt natural, easy... but it wasn’t until you realized the sun was starting to set that you looked around and noticed how dark it had gotten. 

"Whoa," you muttered, glancing at your phone. "It’s already six?" 

Agatha glanced up, eyebrow raised. "Guess we’ve been here longer than we thought." 

You shrugged, your competitive streak still burning. "Well, I’m not done yet." 

"Maybe I’m done." Agatha smirked, a mischievous glint in her eyes, but you could tell she wasn’t serious. 

"Alright, break time," you said, stretching your arms out. "Pretzels. I’m starving." 

You headed to Wetzel’s Pretzels, the smell of warm dough and salt filling the air. As you placed your order and grabbed the food, you got a text from the group chat. 

Jen: Meet us at the Pacific Wheel when you’re done! 

Taking the pretzel and frozen lemonade, you turned to look around for Agatha, but she wasn’t there. Confused, you glanced over the park, but she was nowhere to be found. You started walking around, trying to find her amidst the crowd. Finally, you spotted her in the quieter part of the park, her back turned toward you. She was on the phone, and her voice was sharp, like she was holding something back. 

Your steps slowed, and you stopped a few feet away, not wanting to intrude. But you heard it. The tension in her voice, the way it wavered when she spoke. 

“I can’t keep doing this, Ralph.” Her words were clipped, cold, and there was something raw underneath them that made you pause, your heart sinking. 

She didn’t notice you at first, so you lingered quietly, unsure if you should stay or leave. It didn’t feel right, intruding on whatever this was. From the bits and pieces of her conversation, you pieced together that whatever she was dealing with—whatever was going on between her and Ralph—was more serious than you expected. 

The call ended abruptly, and Agatha’s shoulders tensed, her hand slipping to her side as she hung up, visibly angry. She didn’t turn around right away, but when she did, her eyes met yours—frozen, wide, like a deer caught in headlights. 

You opened your mouth to speak, but before you could find the words, you cleared your throat awkwardly, pretending you hadn’t overheard anything. “The group is at the Pacific Wheel,” you said lightly, your voice casual, even though your heart was pounding. “Jen texted in the group chat.” 

Agatha stared at you for a beat longer than necessary, her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t comment on the phone call. Instead, she sighed, walking toward you. You handed her the pretzel and frozen lemonade. She took them wordlessly, her fingers brushing yours for just a second. 

The two of you walked in silence, the air between you thick with unsaid things. You could feel the tension radiating from Agatha, the way her usual confidence had shrunk a little, replaced by something... quieter. You wanted to ask her if she was okay, but every time you opened your mouth, the words felt wrong. 

When you finally reached the group by the Pacific Wheel, they immediately teased you both, noticing the awkward atmosphere. 

"Look at you two," Jen grinned, winking at you. "Looks like you’re back to your old bickering." 

But you didn’t hear her. Agatha hadn’t smiled in hours, not since that phone call. She was quieter than usual, her sharp edges dulled by something you couldn’t touch, something heavy weighing her down. You could tell it wasn’t just the usual gruffness, this was something different. The way she seemed distant, as if she were carrying an invisible burden. It was the same look you’d seen before, back when she thought she could keep everything together, even if her world was on fire. 

You opened your mouth to say something, to ask if she was okay... but Jen beat you to it. 

“Alright, we all need to ride the Pacific Wheel now,” she announced, grinning. “It’s the last ride for tonight.” 

Agatha barely even glanced up. “Pass,” she said flatly, a tiredness in her tone that wasn’t usual for her. 

“You’re on vacation, Governor,” Lilia teased, emphasizing the title just to see her roll her eyes. “One last ride won’t kill you.” 

Jennifer caught on and nudged Agatha toward the line. “Yeah, come on. This’ll be the last ride of the night. Just do it for the fun of it.” 

Agatha didn’t have a choice anymore. She was trapped. 

The group made their way to the gondola, Jen and Wanda taking the first one. Then Agatha climbed into the second gondola, and without thinking, you sat beside her. She didn’t even try to protest—just gave you a look, her eyes soft and a little tired, but she didn’t say anything. You could feel the weight of her silence next to you. 

The gondola slowly began to ascend, the lights of the amusement park flickering below, casting a soft glow on the quiet faces around you. But the stillness between you and Agatha felt louder than the sounds of the park. 

The ferris wheel spun gently, and for a moment, you thought about reaching out to her—asking if she was okay, if she wanted to talk. But she was already looking ahead, her eyes fixed on the horizon. It was clear she wasn’t ready to talk. 

The quiet stretched on, thick and heavy, as you watched the city lights twinkle below. You couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever Agatha was dealing with... it was more than just a phone call. More than just a bad moment. But for now, all you could do was sit there beside her, the awkward silence wrapping around you both like a heavy cloak. 

The gondola rocks gently as the Pacific Wheel lifts you both higher, the amusement park shrinking below. Neon lights flicker across Agatha’s face, reflecting in her stormy blue eyes. The silence is thick, heavier than the humid air, but you’re the one who finally breaks it. 

"Wanna talk about it?" Your voice is quiet, unintrusive. You’re not pushing, but the door is open if she wants to walk through it. 

Agatha doesn’t respond right away. She exhales slowly, eyes fixed on the horizon, and when she finally speaks, her voice is measured. "How much did you hear?" 

"Enough." You don’t elaborate. You don’t need to. 

Another beat of silence. Agatha’s fingers drum against the metal bar in front of her, and when she finally looks at you, her expression is guarded, like she’s waiting for a hit to land. 

"You’re gonna scold me, aren’t you? Tease me? Tell me how I should’ve seen this coming? Go ahead, get it over with." 

It’s defensive, a preemptive strike. The kind of thing she says when she’s bracing for a fight. When she wants to keep you at arm’s length. But you don’t take the bait. 

Instead, you just look at her—really look at her. And when you speak, it’s only one word, "No." 

Agatha stills. Maybe she expected you to gloat, to mock, to treat this like another battle in your endless war of words. But you don’t. And that makes her pause. 

You soften, let your voice dip into something almost gentle. "I just think... you deserve better than this." 

Then, without thinking too much about it, you reach out, fingers brushing against hers. It’s not a grand gesture, just a quiet reassurance. But Agatha, who has spent years pretending she doesn’t need anyone, doesn’t pull away. 

She looks away instead, scoffing like she can deflect the weight of this moment. "God, you’re such a sap." 

But the bite isn’t there. And for the first time, you see it—that flicker of doubt, the crack in the foundation she’s built so carefully around herself. 

The Ferris wheel slows at the top, leaving you both suspended in midair. Agatha exhales, tipping her head back against the cool metal. 

"It’s Ralph," she admits finally. "He’s... not doing well. And I’m the one keeping everything together." Her voice is bitter, laced with exhaustion. "I work my ass off, and he just—he doesn’t even try anymore. And I don’t have time to fix him." 

You don’t say anything right away. You don’t mock. You don’t lecture. You just watch her carefully before offering something she doesn’t expect, "That sounds exhausting." 

Agatha tenses at first, then exhales shakily. No one has ever acknowledged that before. 

The Ferris wheel lurches, the descent beginning. 

You lean in slightly, tilting your head. "So... are you gonna keep pretending everything’s fine?" 

Agatha lets out a dry laugh, one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. "Of course. It’s what I do." 

You shake your head, smirking a little. "Classic Agatha Harkness." 

There’s a beat. And then, unexpectedly, she teases back. The words are soft, almost... fond. 

"Shut up." 

You only grin, but there’s something lingering between you both now—something unspoken, something fragile. 

The Ferris wheel reaches the bottom. The moment is over. 

As you step off together, you murmur, "You should tell them. The others. They’d understand." 

Agatha scoffs, rolling her eyes. "You give them too much credit." 

You shrug. "Or maybe you don’t give them enough." 

That makes her pause. She turns to you fully then, studying you in a way that makes your chest feel tight. 

"And you?" Her voice is quieter now, layered with something deeper. "Do you understand?" 

You swallow. There’s something vulnerable beneath her usual sarcasm, something you’re not sure what to do with. 

"I’m trying to," you admit. 

For a second, it looks like she might say something else. But before she can, the moment is gone. 

Agatha exhales sharply, straightening like she’s shaking something off. Then, without another word, running a hand through her hair, then moves toward where the group has gathered. You follow, watching as she exhales and schools her face back into something neutral. 

Then she smirks, sliding back into her usual armor. "Well, if this was your way of trying to comfort me, you’re terrible at it." 

You roll your eyes, falling into step beside her. "And yet, you didn’t push me away." 

She glances at you from the corner of her eye. "Maybe I’m slipping." 

Maybe she was. 

Or maybe—just maybe—she was finally letting you in. 

The group gathers for a final photo of the night, all smiling. Just as the camera clicks, fireworks explode behind you, painting the sky in golds and blues. 

Agatha is standing beside you. And for the first time in forever, she feels a little lighter. 

You feel her gaze linger longer than it should. But when you glance her way, she looks away fast, pretending she wasn’t staring at all. 

You pretend you don’t notice. 

And then, just like that, the night is over. 

You all head back to the resort, splitting off into your separate villas. But even as you close the door behind you, the weight of the night lingers, something unspoken settling deep in your chest. 

Agatha Harkness is slipping. 

And maybe... so are you. 

Taglist:@6stolenangel9 @charlottelinlin1 @milflovers4 @claramelooo @loveshineslikethesky @kaymariesworld @marcelinaceciliarose @misskassycollins @greyella @theothersideofthescreen @whitelotus00 @agathaallalongg @psychickryptonitebouquet @sweetmidnights @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @filmedbyharkness @brekker157 @rizzlesregal13 @starbucks-06

[jamneuromain]

Stalker Lady pt. 3

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (You)

Word Count: ~1.5k

Warning: Mean!Simon Riley, Voice (PORN) actor!Simon Riley, patron!reader, neighbor!AU, description of audio porn. NON-CON/DUB-CON, pussy spanking, PIV, creampie.

Summary: You meet Simon unexpectedly. Unfortunately, he thinks you are a stalker.

A/N: This fic is my rehab-going-back-into-writing fic. And it's the first time I'm writing for "Ghost" I've honestly never played COD. But here's my idea of the scary (not really lol) simon ghost riley :3

You haven’t spoke for twenty-three days, sixteen hours, and approximately twenty minutes so far.

You avoid looking in his direction or saying anything to him. Anything, really, even when he forces himself in your way – a dick move, he knows, and he’s probably using up all the quota of being a dick and then some when he was around you – bumps into you deliberately, and not a word, not a noise would come from you. You just … carry on with your life.

You have decided to treat him like someone invisible. Or air. Air is probably more similar to the reactions (more like no actions) he’s getting out of you.

“Have ye tried apologizing? Actual apologizin’?” Soap slaps his large palm over Simon’s shoulder when they are having a drink together, all of them in 141, slurring in alcohol as Simon rolls his eyes because of the pain that booms over his bones, “Coz yer being a massive dick. Dickest-dick, I’ll give yer ‘at.”

“I’ve tried.” Simon groans in half misery and half reluctance.

John Price, otherwise known as “Captain”, clears his throat in amusement, “Riley, chasing after her back and shouting out your apology doesn’t count. Apology, as in, say it in her face and she’d accept it. With flowers. It’s probably for the best.”

Simon Riley has known his team, his brother-like porn-producing family for a little over five years now. And every now and then something they say still gets under his skin because they are right. They are often right and never wrong in life and war.

Still, Simon kept that bit where his newfound love interest is his patron from the rest of his founded family. Something is best hidden, he supposes, not quite sure why he did so.

“Wha’ ‘bout your porn career, eh? Did lil’ missy find out?” Soap laughs loudly. It is clear that now seventy-five percent of his body runs on rum and tequila shots – whatever the brand they were just drinking – instead of water.

“Jesus Christ, Johnny boy.” Simon punches Soap on the shoulder, “Jus’ shut up ‘bout it.”

“Nooope. Not a chance.” Soap grins from ear to ear, “Yer in love, matey. Yer in luuuuv-”

“Yeah, and yer out of love, you doofus.” Simon growls like a bear woken up during hibernation, all pissed and agitated, “Your ex dumped your sorry arse -”

Price stops their childish mocking and punching with a glance before this could very well turn into a bar fight. He is well aware of what would happen when he puts two grown men with a pile of drinks together; he knows them like the back of his hand.

Price decides to change the topic for now: “On a happier note, our team’s Pornhub account has reached ten thousand subscribers, and our website patron number is heading steadily towards five thousand. I think the stats look promising.”

He might be wrong, but Simon seems gloomier on the changed topic. More sullen. And Simon’s mood doesn’t get better even when Price announces the next round is on him.

Twenty-three days, sixteen hours, and approximately fifty-five minutes.

That’s how long before the bloody silence between you finally crumbles into dust.

Thirty minutes after the get-together with his pals, Simon makes up his mind to take up the suggestions his friends kindly offered - an actual apology.

But his stupid brain hesitates. It’s almost the middle of the night. He is drunk. Hazy. They don’t have some flower shops around here because many people tend to grow the flowers in their front yards. And what would he even say to you? That he’s sorry? That sounds pathetic and weak.

“Sorry I think you were a stalker. Just my friend Johnny had this experience and I have to be cautious.”

“Sorry I’m mean towards you. I didn’t mean it. I want us to fuck … to be friends.”

“Sorry I kissed you. But then you slapped me so I’d call it even.”

No. No. And no.

How on earth are the apologies he comes up with filled with layers of phony and pretentiousness?

He walks up to your door, while knowing perfectly that his house is a few feet away.

Right. Apology.

“Sorry, I think you look like someone. My future girlfriend, I mean.”

The hand he lifts to knock freezes in mid-air.

Certainly not this bloody apology.

Maybe another day then? Another day when he’s more sober.

Simon pulls a few steps back from your porch. On another thought, he advances, and lifts his hand again to pound – he means, knock on your door.

He knocks, twice.

The streets shiver under the crispy autumn wind. It’s approaching midnight, driving Simon’s thought back to the comfort of his residence, with some warm tea and nice buttery biscuits.

Faint rustling of leaves rings everywhere. The cackling of someone’s fence someplace alerts him for a brief second, but that is what it is, iron bars clatter. There is not a living soul on the street in this godforsaken hour.

Right. Another day.

He makes up his mind to leave when the door opens. Your door opens. You drape a thick bathrobe over your shoulders, frowning, “Simon? What are you … What is it?”

The part of his mind that has slightly less alcohol invasion takes you in carefully. Your watery eyes, the lower lip you unconsciously chew on, and the leg bouncing border lining on impatient.

Simon sighs heavily, "Hey, listen … I'm sorry, okay? I was an idiot. I shouldn't have said ’ose things about you being a stalk’r. I’m a dick – That’s … not an excuse, but I didn't think … I'm very sorry …"

You let out an exhausted exhale. Honestly? It’s almost relieving to hear the apology coming out of his lips. But he couldn’t have found a worse time to deliver this speech. You thought his house was on fire or something.

A strange, but not unpleasant smell hits the tip of his nose. He sniffs. Then sniffs again. Simon narrows his eyes. He hasn’t deciphered what the smell is, to be exact, but it is certainly unusual, and his mouth waters simply on cue.

“Look, I appreciate we can work this misunderstanding out. But can we discuss this another time, please?” You rub your temple to ease the tension thumping in your brain. Your mind is just as tired as the rest of your body. Even though your body, your traitorous body gets turned on the minute you see this big hunk of a man at your door; frankly, the last thing you want to do right now is to deal with him.

Somehow, Simon’s eyes travel down. Below your thick white bathrobe, a small trail of creamy substance slowly makes its way down your left calf. Despite the dwindling of the clogs of his mind falling in place, he is able to put two and two together: your arousal is leaking down your thighs.

You can’t help but hug your bathrobe tighter under his scrutinizing gaze, “Well? If there’s nothing else, I’d -”

He interrupts you mid-sentence by swiping his fingers between your thighs, gathering some of the creamy arousal at the tip of his fingers.

“Christ.” He murmurs. “Leaking.”

You let out a shriek. Your instinct is to jump back into your house and slam the door right in his face, but the truth is, you raise your hand to smack him, and he captures your wrist in the air before it swoops down on his cheekbone, and brings it to his nose.

Sniff. Sniff.

Fucking bloodhound.

“You dirty little thing.” He muses, takes his massive body as an advantage, forces himself into your house, and pins you onto the wall, invading your personal space like he owns this place, “Playing with yourself for one second and coming to answer the door at the next? Tell me, do you use toys? Or your fingers alone could do the trick?”

You can smell alcohol in his breath, which makes you glare at him: “You’re drunk. Get out of my place before I scream for help.”

Simon nudges the door open with a kick of his boot. His eyes dart to the opened door before focusing on you, “By all means, scream.”

Your scream thrives for only two seconds, barely making its way out of your throat before his other hand circles your throat. A shallow hold. A forceless grip. Your mind somehow drifts to the toy upstairs. Stained with your juices. Lying cold on your towel.

These fingers are much bigger than your toy. Your mind helpfully supplies.

“I’m gonna take that up as an offer, sweet’art.” Simon runs the tip of his nose over your jawline, murmuring as if you were lovers instead of enemies over the past month, “Either you tell me to back off, or-” darkened desires swirl beneath his chocolate-brown eyes, “or you are goin’ to let me do every-fuckin’-thing I want to do to you. You’re not leaving your bed until I’m done with you and I’m gonn’ stuff you so good that ’ose pathetic audios will never be enough. All you gotta do is to say ‘Thank you, Simon’. ’at sound like a deal to you?”

Your brain has already gone mush at this point, the voice coming out of his hoarse throat seems to have pulled the bones out of your knees and below, rendering them weak, soft, unable to support your body.

“Say ‘Yes, Simon’.” His lips hover above yours, whispering like a man in love.

“Yes, Simon.”

Honestly, you have no idea what you have signed up for, but the fire itching in your core would do whatever he wanted to relieve you of this misery.

He sinks his fingers into your plush thighs, hoisting your thigh up to circle his waist on hearing the confirmation, lips crashing into yours, while carrying you like a bag of feathers to your bedroom.

Your toy swept to the floor with a throaty snigger. Your phone falls out of your pocket when you are put – more like pressed into your own bed.

Must have touched your skin or his, because the next thing you know, the goddamn Bluetooth speaker by the bed starts playing one of his audios.

He spares a glance, disabling the poor thing in seconds. And by disabling it, you actually mean slamming his fist on it.

“Jus’ a pathetic cock slut f’r me, hmm?” He smirks.

That cools your skin, dissolves the thirst you had.

You knit your brows into a tight knot, “Why’d you always do that?”

“Wot?” Stripping, he is soon down to his boxers.

“Be mean.”

He snorts. “Bollocks.”

“There’s a big difference between sounding mean and being mean.” You shove his shoulders out of your way, attempting to sit up, “I like you better when you are behind that screen.”

Simon does not waiver.

Warm skin blooms under your palm, soft muscles and hard plain. Some hard as rocks, some incredibly soft.

“Let me go, Simon.” You push his shoulder, but he doesn’t speak, nor does he react. Dark brown eyes bore into yours, like you spoke Klingon instead of English.

He flips the Bluetooth on again.

“Wha – Si -”

Ghost’s voice booms by your ear almost painfully and heart-strikingly.

Careful, sweetheart, sharp knife.

His hand brushes at the side of your breasts, down your abdomen, circling near your navel.

It is different from your own hands, your own arms, your own fingers.

Foreign. Alien. Wet.

Sweat from the heel of his hand.

Shivers buzzing your exposed skin.

You know everything, every word, every second by heart. The content of the audio. The dozens if not hundreds of times you’ve listened to it.

What scares you and excites you at the same time, is that he’s following every word of it.

The Mr. and Mrs. Ghost script. Two spies making hate more than love when they confront each other after trying to wring the life out of each other.

Trouble thinking? Answer me, sweetheart. Ghost laughs almost coldly.

“What are you doing, Simon – Simon!” Your nails bite into the back of his neck as he descends and licks a stripe between the valley of your breasts.

He gives you a wordless look. But you think you read his silent reply.

They just look so … perfect.

Simon pinches your nipple mercilessly, slapping on it simultaneously as the voice of a crisp slapping echoes in the speaker.

So perfect that I want to make it. Ghost whispers. Hurt.

You scream. Or you think you did. Your pussy clenches on its own.

Traitor.

A gleam flickers behind his eyes.

But that’s not a problem, though, is it? Ghost chuckles. Pain slut. Dripping. Leaking. Already.

Two fingers plunge inside your folds. Filthy squelch rings in your ears and your body. One more authentic than the other.

Oh no, oh fuck –

You widen your eyes, not out of horror, but out of your knowledge of what comes next.

A gentle rub on your long-ignored clit.

The fuck? Did you just slap me?

“Simon!” You cry out, “Simon don’t you dare-”

Two more crisp, swift slaps from the speaker.

Ghost curses.

Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea what you’ve landed. Ghost chuckles darkly after being slapped, three times. It’s only fair if I return the flavor.

A slap.

White hot pain and pleasure shoot through your core. Sprawling over your stomach. Paralyzing your spine. His palm comes in contact with your clit. Hard. Fast. Takes all the breath out of your lungs.

Your slick runs down your thighs, running over the dried-up trails, running into his palm.

A slap for a slap. Fair, no? No? You fuckin’ don’t think so?

“Simon!” You scream, “Fuck you, Si-”

He smears your cream around your poor abused clit, before striking down again.

Your hips buck up violently.

Come on, sweetheart. Just one more. Won’t hurt. Ghost announces, which sounds like your death sentence.

Much.

You think you just died. Squirt on your thigh. His thigh. Tears down the corner of your eyes. Your cheek. You have never cummed so hard so fast.

Sorry? Ghost pauses. Sensitive?

You whimper.

Huh? Didn’t quite hear you, sweetheart. Ghost mocks condescendingly.

“It’s sensitive.” You sob as Simon traces his fingers on your pussy lips.

Ghost huffs out a laugh.

Afraid you have to be louder, sweetheart. My ears are still half deaf from that bullet you shot at me half an hour ago. But I can see this pretty pussy begging me to fill ‘er up. That what you want, sweetheart? To be my personal little whore?

“Fuck me”? That’s part of the ‘slut’ job description, if you insist.

Simon’s lips curl into an amused smile.

You feel his smile on your lips as he kisses you deeply. Licks over the roof of your mouth. Nips your lower lip. Unlike Ghost. Unlike what’s in the audio. Unlike his sharp teeth and tongue.

The sound of the zipper being pulled down.

Uh-huh. This is me fucking you like I mean it.

One deep plunge.

Not so snarky now, are you?

Reaches your cervix.

He moans unabashedly. Grunts. Breathes.

You owe me so much than you can count, sweetheart. I’m tryna’ make up for our lost time.

Slapping. Skin on skin. Panting. Kissing.

Bottoms to the end. Draws out.

That. Ghost grunts. Was for the time you tried to poison my drink in Moscow.

Simon follows every instruction. Every pause. Every comma. Every time the breath becomes heavy in the speaker, he bullies your pussy just as hard.

That. For the time - when you bought out the corrupt police – Christ, stop squirming, sweetheart - and locked me up in a Guatemalan jail.

How. Pants.

Could. Breathes.

I. Fuckin’. Forget. A low groan.

That. Time. You. Nearly. Put. A. Bloody. Bullet. Through. My. Skull. Loud and rushed and wet slapping noise.

Reaches the depth you didn’t know of. Rearrange your organs that felt out of place more than anything. Hitting all the spots you weren’t aware of until now.

I’m being petty? Ghost retorts. Guess I am, then. Huffs. Oh, you want to cum? You can cum as many times, as you bloody please, sweet’art. His Manchester accent slips out in all the anger. Go on, make a mess on my cock. Ah fuckin’ ‘ell, missed this tight lil’ pussy.

Pause. A scream from your lips fills the void.

Stop? You can’t cum anymore? He bullies his cock into your clenching hole again. And again. And again.

Let me make one thing clear- Ghost purrs by your ear. I’ll stop when I cum, sweet’art. ‘Til then, not gonn’ stop shaggin’ you. Coz ‘at wot slut is for, bein’ my personal fuck doll an’ all …

Thick, long fingers find your clit again.

C’mon, sweet’art. Know you’ve got one more in you.

Your nails dig into his wrist. Having just cummed twice, the pressure he puts on your clit felt like scorching flames. Stung and overstimulated.

Jus’ one more. Ghost coos. One more. Jus’ one more.

He rubs with precision. Slow yet undeniable. Even though your legs kicking. Your nails leaving bruises on his skin. Your breath ragged, shallow, broken.

“Can’t … I can’t, Simon … ”

Gonn’ be a good girl f’r me and cum, won’t you?

“Si-”

Right ‘ere, sweet’art. Good fuckin’ girl. Empty yer pretty lil’ head for me.

‘s bett’r when all you could think ‘bout is my name.

His voice becomes strained, tensed. Almost rambling.

Fuckin’ hell, I’mma fill you with my seed. Gonna put a plug in you so it’ll take root. My personal cumdump. Take it, baby, take it. Fuck, fuck –

Stripes of cum coat your insides. Making your whimper and your eyes water in sensitivity.

He collapses on top of your trembling body, covering you up like a thick warm blanket. Soft, delicate kisses bloom over your forehead. Rough pads of his fingers run up and down the side of your arm. It is a harsh fall, after your pleasure skyrocketed, but you find yourself caught by the web he weaved. A dark web with a white skull mask knitted in the middle.

You lift your arms to hug his broad shoulders so that his heart might beat right next to you above the thin layer of skin and flesh. He has yet to pull out, and somehow … you are not in a hurry to remind him of it.

“Hope this is as good as an apology.” He – Simon – says.

A small fit of laughter bursts out of you, some giggles, then he joins as well, rumbling chuckles that vibrate on your chest. It is silly and comes out of nowhere, but this laugh turns out to be just the trick in resolving the tension you have had for days.

“I’ll give it an eight out of ten.” You bite your lower lip from smiling too hard.

“Eight?!” He pushes himself up, staring at you in disbelief, as if deeply offended, “That was at least nine for effort.”

“If you say so…”

Noticing your twitching cheek and the corner of your lips, he exhales out of relief, burying his head in the crook of your neck, grumbling, “You cheeky little … eight?!”

You giggle, “The sound effects of Ghost are a little over the top, don’t you think?”

He muffles your words with a deep, searing kiss, when you feel his cock throb in the confines of your walls. The sight of his sweating forehead and thin lips pushes your heart beat faster.

“Brought this on yourself, swee’art.” A lop-sided grin makes its way over his face, as he surges forward all of a sudden and adds pressure to your already-sensitive clit, forcing a moan out of your throat and his cum gushing out of your abused hole. “Let’s see if we can have a nine, should we try hard … enough.”

Taglist (also tagging the ones who may be interested): @vnknowcrow @splaterparty0-0 @prettygirleli @ksa01 @laciaheavenm

@mrs-marc-spector @msilwrites @kawaiisugarinjectionattack @eccentricallygothic @mothex

@aishidunno @gluttonybiscuits @bittyslxt @cersei-phoenix-thorn @girl-of-multi-fandoms

@reader-1290 @ohdrey89 @brittney-121

Part 1 Part 2

[thebibliosphere]

If you feel like talking about it — what’s the *aftermath* of anaphylaxis like? I know that an epipen is just step one, and further treatment and observation follows at a hospital, but I’m curious about what the subjective experience is like in the longer term; whether one can bounce back fairly well or whether there’s lingering unpleasantness.

So with the caveat that everyone experiences things differently (and putting this under a cut because I don't want to trigger anyone):

After epi is administered, you're usually put on a cocktail of drugs ranging from several different IV antihistamines (typically a mix of h1 and h2 histamine blockers and a giant whack of benadryl), anti-nausea meds, a beta-agonist to assist with breathing, and a shit-whack of steroids.

Once you've been stable for a few hours and discharged, you'll be told to watch for symptoms for up to 72 hours, which is the period in which a biphasic reaction can happen. (For me, it's always within 20 minutes to 8 hours after rescue medication is administered if I'm going to slip back into an allergic response, but everyone is different.)

Depending on your symptoms, you'll sometimes be told to take an antihistamine for up to 72 hours (if you're not already taking one daily), but the one thing they always send you home with is a steroid like prednisone. I usually need a 5-7 day dose because I need to taper off it or my adrenals crash, but some people get a 3-day dose and come off it with no problems.

Body-wise, it's a draining experience, and the medications often leave you both tired and wired. It's an odd sensation.

Mentally and emotionally, it takes me a lot longer to recover because I've just been smacked with a proverbial mallet of stress hormones and adrenaline, and that can often lead to depressive moods and even rage for some people. The prednisone also heightens emotions, so it's not unusual to be having some of the wildest mood swings of your life while also processing the stress of what just happened.

It takes me a while to bounce back, typically about a week on full rest, but I know some people who claim to feel fine in a couple of days. Couldn't be me, haha. My body goes into hibernation mode for quite a while, and I'll be lying in bed exhausted and jittering like I've had ten espressos, but I don't know how much of that is general anaphylaxis or how much of that is specific to my mast cell disorder.

So, for me, it's a desperate need to sleep, jitteriness, depression, and rapid mood swings from the prednisone followed by a general feeling of blegh. It also takes me about 72 hours to be able to eat solid foods again because of the effect anaphylaxis has on the digestive tract (the esophagus is lined with histamine receptors; that's why some heartburn meds are actually antihistamines.), but I suspect that's my MCAS.

It's basically just a bit shit, lol.

[saintsugu]

PLAY TIME; KINKTOBER DAY 5

rating: mature; mdni

pairing; yuuji itadori / ryomen sukuna x fem!reader

word count: 5.6k

content warnings: explicit sexual content, 18+, apocalypse au, vague horror (aka it’s kind of creepy), vaginal penetration, all of the explicit sex is with sukuna, manhandling, true-form sukuna, monster fucking (two cocks // four arms), non con, sadomasochism, slight dacryphilia, dvp, usage of pet, bellybulge, unprotected sex, cumflation, alluding to cucking

Author’s note: super unedited. i’m really proud of this fic + the idea as a whole, but i’m really proud of the fact that I got the last 2/3k done in about 1.5 hrs. please enjoy the last piece of 2023’s Kinktober!<3

Today, the forest is ominously quiet—even more so than usual. Dead leaves crunch underneath your boot with every step and it makes your skin crawl; not to mention how freezing cold it is. How did you even end up out here alone to begin with? 

Letting out a shaky breath, which is painfully visible, you try to tug your sleeves down to cover your numb hands. As you’re in the process of doing so, the frightening noise of a twig snapping has your hand instead finding your knife on instinct. 

It could be an animal, but it’s not likely. Given the time of year, most are hibernating, and those that aren’t have already been skinned and cooked. 

You turn around yet are met with nothing except the forest from which you came. With the trees being as crowded together as they are, it’s easy for someone to hide, so your guard isn’t exactly down just yet. 

After many excruciating minutes of silence, a voice speaks and you’re too terrified to realize who it is. Unsheathing your blade, you take a step behind you and are ready to hit whoever may be in front of you. 

“Hey, stop, it’s me!”

Yuuji catches your wrist within moments of impact. Despite his desire to always be gentle with you, the current predicament required a bit of force from his end and you couldn’t help but wince before releasing the knife. The blade clatters against the stones below you and you sigh so loud in relief that you’re sure the entire forest could hear it. 

Your eyes soften and you press your head against his chest. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was you.” The statement is fairly obvious, yet you still feel the need to clarify that you didn’t mean to try and stab your boyfriend, rather than the stalker you figured he was. 

“Don’t be,” you can feel his hand intertwining with yours and it makes you feel safe. “Let’s go home. I already carved out a path for us, I was just looking for you.”

The trek back to the cabin is short but a bit steep. Yuuji’s holding onto you tightly the entire trip. The grip on your hand aids in making you feel a little more at peace despite the eerie crawl of the woods.  

The cold weather has been well appreciated. Both you and Yuuji find it much easier to layer up and use blankets, rather than deal with turning the generator on fully to keep cool. The way you have it now, you’re able to keep it on for a few hours at a time—just enough for you to shower and do whatever else requires electricity, before shutting it off. There are only a few downsides to the chilling temperatures; one of which, being the fog that occupies the forest. 

It completely limits visibility; that’s nice if you’re holed up in the cabin, but when you’re out scavenging? Horrible. You can’t even see two feet in front of you.  

“Be careful. Step over,” he carefully directs you, quiet as he grips your hand a little tighter. It’s how you know you’ve arrived home. You’re careful to raise your feet and make sure you don’t bump against the fence that Yuuji had staked into the ground. 

The wiring itself isn’t awfully thick, but it keeps most animals away; not to mention that it’s main function is sound purposes. Along the wires, there are different cans and bells that will rattle if the fence is at all bumped or tugged. It’s a good method to keep you and Yuuji up worrying all night. 

It’s so cold. Your words are barely above a  whisper, hands shivering slightly as the cabin comes into view. You can nearly hear the frown in Yuuji’s voice when he tells you that you’re almost there. He’s been very….overprotective of you, to say the least. It’s not like you can blame him, though. The world is scary now. 

“Close it a little softer next time.” You can’t help but teasingly scold your partner as you step into the warm home. 

“But I wanted to shut it before the wind picked up.” It’s cute, the way he snickers at you before moving towards the fireplace. “You should change into something clean while I start the fire.” 

You had planned to already, so you have no issue bouncing towards your shared room to change your clothes. When you return back, Yuuji has busied himself with the fireplace.

Moments like this are nice. Those times, no matter how brief they may be, where you get to watch your boyfriend clumsily set the logs on fire. The simplicity of it all nearly makes you forget the world right outside of your door that has gone to hell. 

It’s just you and the boy occupying the cabin. At different points, people have come and gone, but it’s been a long time since you’ve met eyes with anyone other than Yuuji. A man by the name Megumi stayed with you for a bit, nearly six months, actually, before taking his leave in search of his father. The rest, you’ve long forgotten their names. It’s quite…sad, actually. You spend a lot of nights wondering about their whereabouts. 

“You like what you see?” He teases. His palms are pressed against the floor behind him, lanky limbs spread out a bit as he uses his locked out arms to hold him up. 

“Oh always,” you nearly giggle. He never fails at finding a way to cheer you up. 

Eventually, he stands up to help you make some food. It’s nothing special, really. You just boil rice over the fire and cook it with some canned chicken that Yuuji managed to find on a run last week. 

Food has been getting harder to manage as of late. Thankfully, when this started, there was already a large pantry full of non-perishable food inside the cabin. Even with that being said, it’s been years and supplies are depleting rapidly. Between the two of you, you surprisingly don’t eat much, so it’s easier to ration better, but with less than half of the supplies left, you can’t help but worry. 

“It’s good,” he says, taking a bite. He’s leaned against the wall across from you—you’re both still keeping warm near the fireplace. 

If it weren’t for the bitter temperatures, you would’ve probably sat at the large, oak table in the dining room— a table that’s much too big for only the two of you —but with the crisp and cold air, you opted to eat on the floor in favor of the warmth. 

It’s sweet but it makes you laugh a little. He always tries to make you feel better, no matter what the topic at hand is; he’s like a man consoling his wife. “If it wasn’t, I’d be worried. Takes a lot of work to fuck up rice and chicken,” you say playfully. 

“Better than I could do.” His laughter is contagious. It fills the air the same as it fills your lungs. The pure joy you feel when hearing it, spreads through your entire being as your lips curl into a smile of their own. “I’m serious!” He grins even wider. “Gramps used to make all my meals for the most part.”

“‘Dunno how you got this far like that.” You’re laying on your stomach while you tease him. Your body is nearly perpendicular with the wall, but the side of your head rests against a pillow. Having already finished your meal, you have nothing better to do than shamelessly stare at your lover. 

The sound of the fire crackling mixes with the boy’s voice and fills the room. It all feels so cozy that it makes you forget what awaits you outside of that small wire fence. He makes it easy to forget—or to ignore, for better lack of words. 

When you’re staring into his eyes, it’s easy to pretend like you’re unaware of the storm raging outside. As if you don’t know the world is burning the same way the shriveled firewood has. 

Once he finishes his bowl, you find it as a perfect chance to straddle his lap. With your legs spread, your knees press into the plush carpeting. The moment can only be described as intimate as your foreheads touch. 

“I love you.” It’s a quiet affirmation that you both repeat at the same time. The repetition causes you both to laugh, before he silences you with a soft kiss. “My girl,” he whispers. 

Slow kisses begin to get more desperate as his hands roam your body. He’s in nothing more than a black tank top, and a pair of thin pajama pants that are too baggy for him. It gives you easy access as you kiss his neck, uncaring of how you do so; it’s not like anyone will see. 

For the rest of the night, Yuji conveys just how much he loves you. Your time spent together consists of limbs messily intertwining as he has his way with you on the floor. Despite having full control over a willing partner, Yuuji is still so sweet and kind to you. He may accidentally overestimate his strength and manhandle you slightly, but he always tries his hardest to not hurt you in any way. 

He brings you to the edge more times than you would have ever imagined and he’s a bit more…clingy than usual—not that you mind, of course. You just hadn’t realized how scared he had gotten when you got seperated in the forest. He definitely did a good job of hiding it from you. 

After cleaning up and triple-checking that the doors are locked and the windows are still boarded up, you make your way into the bedroom. You feel extremely safe and secure as you lay beside him. An arm draped over your side as he pulls you close into his chest. 

“Goodnight,” he whispers softly. You swear that your name has never sounded sweeter than when it’s dripping off his tongue. 

Thanks to his comforting touch, you’re asleep within minutes. 

— three years ago. 

Run. Keep running. Don’t stop. 

Those words repeat through your head on a loop. They got louder and louder the more you felt your body start to slow. You’re running out of energy. As much as you wish it could, even your sudden burst of adrenaline isn’t enough to combat your starvation and dehydration. 

You feel like you’ve been running for days—like some wild animal that’s being hunted down. Every time you try to take a breath, they’re on your heels again. 

Nearly 3 weeks ago, you had stumbled upon a small group. They offered you food and shelter, in return for manual labor. Due to your starved state, you didn’t think to ask many questions before taking the water they offered you and mindlessly agreeing. 

Unfortunately, what you had hoped to be a new companionship, turned out to be psychopaths trying to force you to kill unsuspecting people. They would track down homes and kill whoever resided in them. You tried to sneak out, but they caught on and were quick to chase after you. 

It’s been over a week of this little chase, and you can barely stand. You’re beginning to wonder if running is even worth it, at this point. 

Despite seeing it, your brain doesn’t fully process the branch in the path until after you’ve tripped over it. You have absolutely no time to recover as you fall straight towards the dirt. 

“Shit,” you curse, feeling thorns poking against you. As you lie on the ground, exhaustion setting in even more so now than before, your inner monologue morphs. 

Get up. 

You’re nearly screaming at yourself. Every part of your body feels heavy. No matter how hard you will yourself to get back on your feet, you’re rendered incapable. 

The approach sound of footsteps confirms that this is the end. Once they find you, they’ll kill you without a second thought. At least I tried. It’s the last thought that runs through your brain as the footsteps get louder and everything goes dark. 

It’s quiet. You like it. 

It’s been a long time since you’ve felt so…at peace. 

“You’re awake.” The voice sounds panicked but…happy? 

You’re quick to shoot up, but you’re surprised when your hands move freely. If they didn’t kill you, you had at least expected them to restrain you somehow. Yet, when you look around the room, it’s so unfamiliar. 

“…who are you? A-are you with them?” You feel weak at the stammer in your voice, but it can’t be helped. Despite his soft features, you’re terrified of the man sitting across from you. 

It’s clear that he’s confused, but you still aren’t convinced. “With who? When I found you, you were unconscious in the dirt.”

That doesn’t make sense. Did they…stop looking for me?

You nearly ask again, but you’d rather not be questioned about why you were running. If he wanted to kill you he would’ve done it when you were knocked out cold. There’s no reasonable explanation for him to bring you back to his home and do it there. 

“I’m Yuuji,” he says and you can tell that he’s worried he’ll upset you. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

It didn’t take long for you to warm up to him after that. You truly had nowhere else to go, so you slept in the guest room of his cabin for months, until one day, things took a bit of a…different route. 

“How’d you find this cabin anyways, Yu’?” Your voice is a bit higher than usual as you lean against the plush couch. On his latest supply run, the boy brought back a good amount of alcohol and you both agreed that it’d be a shame to let it go to waste. 

“I didn’t,” he shakes his head, words a bit slurred. “It was my Gramps’. Been in the family since before I was born. It was my family’s designated rendezvous place—we all kind of picked it as a joke but,” he pauses. The silence is deafening as you hang on his words. “I was the only one who made it here.”

Your expression drops. Neither of you had attempted to ask about the other’s families in the months you’ve known each other, finding it a bit of a personal topic to bring up at random, but now, considering you’re both tipping over the edge from the alcohol…your filters are a little less engaged. 

“It’s okay, though,” he takes a sip of his beer as he plasters a fake grin onto his face. He pauses, before his face turns sour. Initially, you believe that he’s about to open up, add on to what he said, but you quickly stand corrected when he bolts up and starts to walk— no, run off. 

“Yuuji?” You call after him as he disappears from your view. Due to the drinks, your reaction time is a bit sluggish, so it takes a minute before you’re up and following him. Once you finally follow him into the open bathroom, you find him hunched over the toilet and it suddenly makes sense. 

His beer can is on the floor, its contents pooling around the base of the toilet as Yuuji uses his forearms to keep himself stable. He doesn’t throw up much, mostly just coughing and gagging— Still, the sight brings up a few…unpleasant memories and the sounds alone make a melancholic feeling settle in your chest. 

“Do you want some water?” You offer, but he shakes his head.

“Stay here.” It’s a simple request. His words are slurred, but the look in his droopy eyes tells you he means it. He rests his head against his right forearm, staring directly at you as he tries to regain his strength. 

Eventually, you settle onto the floor a few feet away from him. With your back against the door, you curl your knees up to your chest and just wait for him to feel better. A few minutes pass, neither of you would really be able to count how many, but he finds himself leaning against the bathtub rather than the toilet. 

“’m glad I found you,” he says quietly, voice hoarse from coughing so much. “I was kind of going crazy all by myself. I swore I started hearing things,” he chuckles, trying to lighten the mood. 

It’s so peculiar to you how Yuuji is so…positive. Even now, drunk and hunched over a toilet bowl, he finds it in him to laugh. You don’t have it in you to tell him that you’re happy to— cause that would require admitting that you care about him. 

“What were you doing before all this?” You ask him curiously, trying to change the subject. It’s something you’ve wondered for a long time yet never found a way to bring it up. 

“I was just a college student,” he laughs a bit, the skin of his eyes creasing at the thought. “I delivered pizzas when I could. Did some odd jobs, too. Like…landscaping for my grandpa’s neighbors and shit. What about you?”

“Just bartending,” you nod, thinking back to those simple times. “It was good money.”

The two of you sit and talk like that for a little longer, until Yuuji eventually starts to doze off. As cute as he looks as his eyes flutter shut, you know better than to let him sleep there. “C’mon, let's get you to bed,” you say softly, helping him stand up. 

“You’re so sweet,” he murmurs, half asleep and still inebriated as he leans against you. You’re practically dragging him towards the bedroom with his arm around your shoulder. “And pretty too. ‘M so happy we found you…”

That night and in that moment, you were too hung up on him calling you pretty to acknowledge the we in his words; or maybe you did notice, but it was subconsciously easier to just…chalk it off as a slip of the tongue. 

—

You’re drenched in sweat as you suddenly wake up, body practically launching away from the bed. You press your palm to your chest, feeling the way your heart is beating at an inhumane rate. 

For the past few weeks, you’ve been having vivid nightmares. Usually, they’re all similar; all having to do with you being taken or something of the sort. Tonight’s dream was a bit different. 

You were in the cabin, but nothing was working. The boards were off the windows, the fireplace wouldn’t light, and the generator wouldn’t work. Thankfully, you woke up before anything bad could truly happen, but waking up was bad in and of itself, considering the bed is empty with Yuuji nowhere to be found.  

“…Baby?” You call out nervously, leaning over to turn your bedside lamp on. You were hoping that he was just in the bathroom, but that hope is quickly squashed when he doesn’t call back. 

With a stuttered sigh, your legs swing over the side of the bed as you prepare to search for your lover.  Shaking hands sift through your drawer, pushing around objects you forgot existed, before landing on a thick flashlight. It illuminates the room, making your eyes widen in a weak attempt to adjust to the light. 

Your footsteps are light and cautious against the creaking wood and it’s a scene straight from a horror movie. Once on the stairs, you can hear something creaking— a door or a window— but when you get in the kitchen, you can’t seem to find anything.

Timid as a mouse, your voice is quiet as you call out for Yuuji. There’s no response, of course not, but as you begin to speak again, you’re very quickly disrupted. 

A thick hand wraps around your face, easily covering your lips and practically suffocating you as his fingertips dig into your cheekbones. Panic bubbles out of your throat, eyes wide with adrenaline, yet as you go to scream, another hand finds its place around your throat. 

“Don’t scream.” A dark and eerily familiar sound pierces your ear. It’s a contorted and dark version of a voice you hear every day. “Or you could, but who’ll find you?” He mocks sadistically. 

Your head is yanked back, nearly giving you whiplash as it makes contact with the man’s chest. You feel as though you’re about to hurl. The panic is presenting itself clear in the form of bile in your throat, and the fear in the form of tears. 

“I’ve sat on the sidelines for too fucking long.”

Another hand begins to tug at your flimsy pajama shorts— wait, another hand…?

Looking down in absolute horror, you’re greeted by a third arm tussling at your clothes. You’re convinced you’re going insane, but it’s so real. At this point, with dead people walking around, nothing should surprise you, but even so, you can’t help the way your eyes widen in horror at the side of multiple sets of arms. 

You’re far too distraught to even register the way the fabric tears at your thigh, completely ripping apart with a flick of his hand. The lump in your throat grows, making your mouth dry as you struggle to speak. 

“W-who are you?” 

The man behind you just laughs— a deeply disturbing sound as it vibrates throughout the kitchen. He doesn’t say anything, just grabs your waist with one of four hands and begins to drag you; where exactly, you aren’t sure.

Amongst the laughter, he covers your eyes as he manhandles you away. He’s keeping your sight obscured until you can ‘properly see me’, as if it’s some sort of game. It’s terrifying.

It feels like the wind is knocked out of you with how roughly he’s shoving you against a hard surface— your table, you soon realize. He maneuvers you as if you’re some kind of doll and gets you laying onto the table before your vision is finally returned. He retracts two out of four hands; keeping them only on your waist and throat. 

Your heart drops when you finally see the man in front of you. It’s Yuuji— your Yuuji, but his body is deformed. He’s much taller and stockier for starters. He’s missing the lean figure that you’ve grown to adore. Instead, he’s towering over you ever more, with an extra pair of arms sprouting from his midsection. One of the most disturbing parts, though, are the second and third eyes. They’re placed directly under his regular eyes, but they’re half the size. It makes you want to throw up. 

“What? You don’t like seeing your baby Yuuji?” he imitates you with a sadistic grin.

You’re shuddering in fear, throat constricted just enough to let you speak. “You are not my Y-Yuuji,” you stammer, shaking like a goddamn leaf. 

He just laughs, tugging at your panties. Even with you desperately squeezing your thighs together, he rips them apart with ease. “You’re right, I’m not. Yuuji couldn’t fuck you properly even if someone was telling him how.”

What is he talking about? Who is this?

“And trust me, I tried,” he says, like he’s exasperated as he rips your panties off. “Every time I talk to him, he just ignores me. Little brat.” He’s muttering to himself as thick hands pry your legs apart.

“Please, don’t,” your voice shakes, resorting to your seemingly last option of begging whoever this imposter is. “I-I’ll give you anything else just don’t…” you can’t even speak it out loud. You know what he wants to do to you— what he’s about to do. 

Your pleading is met with a loud, and mocking laugh. “You look so cute like that; all helpless and crying. You humans have always looked best like that.” It makes sense. You would’ve never described him as human. You don’t know where he’s going with this tangent, but his voice soon drops an octave and answers your question. 

“Do you really think I’m gonna pass up the chance to get what I’ve been craving for so long? Why, because of a few tears?” You hadn’t even realized you were crying until then, but now that you know, the dams are releasing. 

“W-who are you?” Sure, he’s claimed to be Yuuji, but it’s clear that you aren’t falling for that. His eyes zero on your cunt as thick fingers begin to prod at your folds. None of the movements make sense and it’s clearly not for your pleasure. It feels more as if he’s just inspecting it.

It’s been a long time since he’s been let out to play, after all.

“Call me Sukuna, Doll.” His words are eerily dark before he roughly shoves a finger into your cunt. For the most part, you’re fairly dry, but he knows that he can change that; and he knows that it won’t take him long, either. Humans are simple creatures. 

Tears slip out of your eyes faster, only fueling him on even more as he starts to finger fuck you. His fingers are a lot thicker than the slender digits that you’ve gotten used to. It hurts but it also..feels good? You hate even thinking that, but you can’t deny the physical pleasure you’re experiencing despite the mental anguish alongside it. 

“You’re wet,” he obnoxiously observes, uncaring of the way it makes you squirm. “Do my fingers feel that good? Or are you just used to Yuuji treating you like glass?” You don’t respond, instead opting to turn your head away. 

A third finger slips in and you swear that it’s already the equivalent of your boyfriend’s cock. “I always told him that he needed to be rougher. The little brat wouldn’t listen but I knew better; I know that girls like you just want to be treated like whores.”

As the pad of his fingers press into your g-spot, you finally let out a moan. It’s whiney and high pitched and out of fucking nowhere. In all of the times he’s listened in on you and Yuuji having sex— which has been every time — he’s never heard a noise like that leave your lips. It has his ego inflating even further. 

Immediately, you’re trying to bring a hand to your lips, trying so hard to muffle the noises that keep seeping out like a waterfall. Still, it’s no use once Sukuna catches onto what you’re doing. A large hand overpowers your own as he pins it against the hard table. 

“Don’t do that,” he demands, a sick grin on his face. “I want him to hear.” Him? Yuuji can hear?

You’ve been far too scared to put together all of Sukuna’s implications. Too riddled with fear to even think about if Yuuji knew that this demon was living inside of him. Even so, from everything he’s said, it wouldn’t take a genius to figure it out. 

It doesn’t take much longer for his patience to break. With one hand still buried inside of your cunt, two others are undoing his sweats. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the sight you see next. 

Not only is his cock considerably bigger than Yuuji’s, but there’s two of them. 

With panic spreading through your body, you’re very quickly trying to scramble away. “T-those can’t—“ you’re stammering, body attempting to crawl away from him and up the table. Even with you slipping away, he’s trying to line one of his cocks up. “Those can’t go inside of me. Y-you’re fucking crazy,” you curse, mind reeling just at the thought of him trying to jam just one of those things inside of you. 

“Stay fucking still,” he barks, yanking you back down and right onto his dick. Your mouth opens in a silent scream, and your eyes begin to roll back. With your lips parted in an O, he finds himself groaning at the feeling of your tight heat and the sight of your oh so beautiful face twisted up in both pleasure and pain. 

With a deep groan vibrating his entire chest, he bottoms out inside of you. He feels impossibly deep as he nestles inside of you. Your nails scrape against the wooden surface, and your back arches. Your entire body is being overwhelmed by the intense pain he’s causing, yet you can’t deny the element of pleasure that’s mixed in. 

You would’ve never mentioned it to him, but Yuuji did always treat you like glass. He was always a bit too kind and a bit too gentle. It felt good, just not…intense.

“Sukuna,” you nearly scream the name, hips stuttering as you try to not cum right then. He’s pushing your knees up to your chest, leaning forward to get a good look at the pathetic puddle he’s turned you into, as he fucks you roughly. 

“You sound good saying my name, pet,” he laughs, thrusting deep into you as his second  cock rests above your stomach. “I always knew you would.”

The two of you stay like that for awhile— Sukuna fucking you within an inch of your life, and you taking it like some sort of rag doll. It doesn’t take much longer for you to cum. With the length of his second cock rubbing against your clit, you’re easily overstimulated until you're squirting all over him. 

That’s another thing you’ve never done with Yuuji. It feels so dirty and twisted, but fuck, you can’t deny how good this monster is making you feel. His cock is reaching places you didn’t think possible and it’s driving you insane. 

After what feels like forever, Sukuna’s finally starting to pull out. You’re practically half-conscious at this point. Your body is lolled out on the table, limply laying there as you stare up at him with lidded eyes. 

You watch as his, seemingly permanent, grin widens, and you don’t fully understand why it is, until you feel something else prodding at your hole. He’s not…is he?

For the nth time tonight, your eyes widen at the sight of him trying to push his other cock into your pussy beside the one that’s already there. 

“S-Sukuna it won’t fit, it won't—“

“Will you ever learn to shut up?” He snarls, starting to push in. Thankfully for him, two cocks is a quick way to get you to quiet down. You’re far too preoccupied with getting stretched beyond your limits to worry about talking back. 

It feels like you’re going to explode at any given time. It’s just too much. You could barely fit what was in you before, let alone double. Your eyes twitch due to how hard they’re rolling. 

Finally, as you begin to regain some semblance of control over your body, you try to refocus your vision. Your eyes land on Sukuna once more, studying how he begins to look less like Yuuji the longer this goes on. He’s beginning to morph into his own self. It’s weird and creepy and you want it to stop.

Drifting away in search of something else to latch onto, your eyes find another thing to focus on. This one, though, is much more alarming. 

A thick bulge can be seen poking through your skin in the shape of his cock. You watch in absolute horror as it moves in tandem with his hips. 

“You little humans,” he purrs. “All so fragile. Look at that…” once his hand goes to trace the bulge and you finally see just how large his hands really are. “Look how deep inside of you I am. C’mon,” he taps your cheek, trying to pull you from your dazed state. “You can’t fall asleep yet.”

He doesn’t even give you the chance to say something in response. Instead, he begins to fuck you at a rough pace. Not as fast as earlier, but a lot deeper. With each stroke, you find yourself crying out his name and reeling from the pleasure he’s providing. It’s sick and insane that you’re finding any aspect of this enjoyable, let alone all of it. Every single movement has you one step closer to cumming. 

 By the time Sukuna’s emptying both of his cocks inside of you and filling you to the brim with cum, you’ve already hit your climax two additional times. You’re completely dazed over at this point, barely even conscious, and definitely not aware enough to notice how swollen your tummy is due to the copious amount of cum he dumped inside of you. 

He hasn’t even pulled out yet, but he’s letting out a deep sigh. The deal he and Yuuji made was that he got to fuck you once and only until he came. He has a feeling Yuuji won’t allow him any other fun than that, especially since it’s going to be hard enough trying to convince you this was a nightmare or whatever other bullshit he’ll try to feed you. 

“Okay, brat,” he mutters, pressing down lightly on the bulge and watching you haphazardly squirm. “I’m done now. Let’s go.”

One. Two. Three. 

Nothing comes. No one switches. 

A devilish grin finds Sukuna’s face once more. 

“God, you’re such a little pervert,” he laughs. “You want to watch me fuck her brains out again, don’t you, Yuuji?” Even with no response, he knows he’s right. 

His hand strokes your cheek gently, before roughly grabbing your jaw, scaring you but not enough to jolt you awake.

“Seems like we get to have some more fun, Doll.”

tagging: @enchantedforest-network , @themovingcastlez , @hannzai , @pussydrunkfyodor , @chaoticmoonave , @kkittycries , @dilfhos , @saintriots , @suyacho , @princess-okkotsu

[thegnomelord]

me very patiently waiting for that mothussy :3

oh and here’s another wittle thing i thought…i tend to hc price as a bear hybrid or other so i think he would go into hibernations,, since hes still on duty he wouldnt go into a long-term one like other bears, but simply sleep a LOT of the day…i would wanna cuddle big bear price so bad awaawaewfgwh 🥺 hes really hairy but instead of it being coarse hair, its more fluffy cause its the winter!! so his facial hair puffs up a bit…and his chest hair…and the happy trail…you get the idea :3 idk i just like bear price i want him to pound me into the mattress and suck my cock until it falls off hug me!!

-❀

Give me like a couple more days lol, I got ghost and soap more or less done in a rough draft format, just need to write out price and gaz then a quick rewrite to clean up the draft. Cause rn all mini drafts are about 1k and very rough so when I clean it up they're probs gonna be bumped up to like 2k? Just knowing me and how my drafts end up doubling in size lol.

Also duuude you are a treasure trove of ideas lol. I want bear price now and now I'm horny so here's a bunch of bear price

Help a Bear Out

CW:NSFW, MDNI, daddy kink, dom/sub, oral, somno, edging, foodplay, cockwarming. Bear Price x Top Male reader Ao3

Imagine Bear Price who is by no means a small man any time of the year, bear genetics + having to be physically fit to take down terrorists leads to him having a very strong and imposing build befitting a Kodiak bear. The fur only adds to the striking image, making him look larger and his arms appear thicker, letting him scare many young boars from trying to tussle with him lest he crack their skulls.

But he turns massive in winter.

He can't help it; There's no escaping the iron clad control nature has over his body as his dark fur thickens and gains a fluffy golden color. No evading the instinct telling him to eat and rest and grow fat for winter until his hard earned muscles disappear beneath the cloak of fat. No ignoring sweet lull of sleep's song when he's yawning every five minutes and the words on the report swim in his blurry eyes.

Imagine Bear Price who, in his younger days, used to be self conscious about the changes his body went through. Growing up surrounded by humans was tough, dread would start building in his heart the moment the first leaf from the trees would fall. He's lost count how many times the kids would laugh at him when he'd show up to school after winter break with a chubby face and barely able to run a lap with how tired he was.

As he grew and started being curious about sex, it only got worse. He'd snatch the porn mags his sisters would buy behind their parents back, spending hours looking in the mirror and comparing his pudgy belly and fat thighs to the chiseled abs and lean muscles of the models. He'd spend hours exercising and trying to loose the weight he'd gain, but it would be all for naught.

And it didn't stop when he graduated and went into the military. His superiors may have tolerated the extra sleep and rations Price needed because he was a monster on the field, but they by no means were happy about it. He'd end up with thrice the amount of work and run ragged in training until he returned to his pre-winter weight.

Imagine Bear Price who doesn't give a shit about how he looks like now. Why would he, when he sees how you look at him? How you touch him? How you worship him?

Your hands wind around his waist and the groan you let out when you realize the space between your fingertips has gotten bigger is hungry. Your face burrows into his chest, his soft fluffy fur tickling your face as you nuzzle his pecks. The way his pudgy belly and love handles jiggle under your wandering hands makes you wish you had more arms so you could feel every part of him.

A content growl rumbles from the bottom of his chest, eyelids open just enough to watch you. "My boy's forgotten his manners." He chuckles, but there's no way to hide the wagging of his little bear tail. The reverent way you touch him makes him feel like a king.

"Sorry sir." There's absolutely no shame in your voice or your actions, not when your mind is held captive by the soft fluffy fur and the warmth of his skin. Without thinking you slide your hands up to grope his chest and you groan — the squishy fat covering his muscles and makes his pecs so large they don't fit in your hands anymore, fat plumping up between your fingers and his flesh jiggling as you press his pecs against your head and motorboat him.

The surprised laugh you earn is like ambrosia to sweeten the heaven you're drowning in.

Imagine Bear Price who gets so sleepy as the nights get longer and colder. While he still gets the work done, and for the most part doesn't mind the 'old man' jokes his boys make, it's obvious how irritated he gets when he's forced to stay awake longer than he needs to; each extra second spent explaining to a muppet how to do his job makes his eyes darker and voice rougher until he's passively growling like a construction engine.

Luckily you're there to calm down the beast.

Groping his ass or scratching the base of his tail to distract him so you can kiss along his jaw and rub your cheek against his beard. "You're doing it again sir." You mutter, voice smooth and low enough to soothe his prickled mind. Kissing him sweet and slow so you can tug his lazy body back into his room, into his den, where you can give him what his mind and body craves the most — sweet sweet sleep. . . and you.

Imagine Bear Price who's chest rumbles with a purr without stopping the second you settle into his den, his clawed fingers sliding over and groping your naked skin with just as much love and adoration as you show him.

Wrapped in so many layers of blankets and furs, engulfed by his bulk and his own fur, you are so so warm that neither one of you need clothes. Price's favorite position is to hug you like a Teddy bear. Despite the irony, it lets him wrap his body around you so you're safe and protected, practically suffocating in his fur. Not that you mind, especially when Price can nuzzle his nose into your hair or skin, to breathe in your scent to his heart's content and purr low praises into your ear: "Good boy,"

And, if you're especially good, he lets you use his ass as a pillow. He'll growl and grumble about not being able to scent you or hold you, but he'll soon be sleeping peacefully with you slumbering on his large ass.

Imagine Bear Price who, between the long stretches of sleep, get's horny. It's a natural reaction from sleeping next to his naked mate, wanting to feel you and hear your moans, but he doesn't have the energy to actually fuck. His lethargy turns the feeling of languid arousal into Hell.

Both of you try to initiate a couple of times; fumbling beneath the sheets, wandering hands roaming and groping as far as they can reach, his teeth nibbling on your neck and your hungry lips laying hickeys on his thick neck. Not wanting to undo the tangle of limbs you two end up grinding against each other, breathing the same air between kisses as sweet pleasure burns in your belies.

Then you stop just long enough to grab the lube, and Price's mind, still half way in lala land, only needs a couple of seconds of inaction to pull him back into deep sleep. By the time you return to him he's already snoring, limbs reaching out to grip you tightly and pull you close, but all thoughts of sex are forgotten.

And Price is so, so, angry with himself when he wakes up and realizes he left you high and dry again, shame eating away at his stomach because what kind of bear leaves his mate unsatisfied? The unworthy kind.

Imagine Bear Price who's mind is blown when you suggest cockwarming. Hibernation is about sleeping and relaxing, not strenuous sex, so the thought of being able to feel you while still fulfilling his body's need to rest? Oh it gets him hard.

It takes a while to figure out the perfect position, Price is too big and heavy to lay on top of you without crushing you, and his fingers earn to grip and hold you close so spooning him viable either.

Finally you end up with him laying on his back, legs spread with you laying on top of him and oh, it's perfect. You can feel him purr as you slide inside his blistering hot hole, his strong arms wrapping around you and claws scrapping along your spine. "That's my boy, perfect f' daddy." He mumbles through the fog of sleep, throwing one heavy leg over yours to keep you close.

You can't help the shudder that races down your spine, his musky earthy scent curling in your nose and making your cock throb inside him. You only stretching him long enough to be able to take you without tearing something, and Price relishes the slight sting of pain nibbling on his nerves when your cock hardens.

You don't try to fuck him, by the time you're fully settled inside him he's already snoozing. A slow roll of your hips and the resulting tightening of his hole is enough to sate your lust when it arises, enough to keep you half hard and stretching him out. His pecs make such a good pillow, thick fluffy fur and chest hair tickling your skin, the slow and calm beating of his heart lulling you to sleep before you know it.

Imagine Bear Price who gets an insatiable sweet tooth. There’s not a single secret stash in his room that doesn’t have his favorite bottle of honey in it. Hell, there’s more honey hidden in his room than cigars.

And his lazy mind decides to combine his hunger with honey with his hunger for you.

"Hold still for daddy, baby boy." Price mumbles against your abdomen, big hand gripping your hip to keep you still so not a drop of the honey he drizzles on your cock goes to waste. "Good." He purrs, wide tongue lolling out of his mouth to lap at your tip, claws massaging the skin beneath them.

He can spend hours laying between your legs, lazily lavishing your cock with attention while satisfying his craving for sweets. Whine and moan as much as you want, uselessly buck your hips as best you can against his unfair strength, nothing will make him rush — with his energy drained he'll spend meticulous minutes following every vein on your cock with his tongue before he even thinks of gently suckling on your tip. "Relax my boy, just enjoy this." He mutters, lips pressed against the sticky flesh of your shaft.

And when he does take you into his mouth, it's just as slow. His mouth hangs open so you can see your tip resting on his tongue before he laps at your slit, drool and honey running down his chin and sticking the strands of his beard together. When all the honey is in his stomach he just drizzles more, nibbling on your thighs or stomach to keep his mouth and mind occupied with you before starting the torturous process all over again.

The slow torturous pleasure is easy to endure just so you can see his eyes light up when you start leaking precum.

Imagine Bear Price absolutely loves loves loves the salty tang your cum adds to the sweet honey, the delicate combination of flavor dancing on tongue and only fueling his gluttonous mind to demand more.

The distinct taste is the only way to cut through the fog of lazy pleasure in his mind, turning him greedy. Price mumbles and growls incoherent words around your cock as he swallows you down to the root, swallowing around you and holding you down when you try to buck up. "My boy tastes so good." He mumbles as he rises up, nuzzling his cheek against your weeping tip, looking up at you with hungry blue eyes. "Just for daddy, yeah?"

"Ye-yes sir." You whimper through your clenched teeth, your head lolling back against the pillows when he swallows you whole again, your tip bumping against the back of his throat. "Just fo- fuck, fuck,- just for you." You don't know how he doesn't choke on you but you don't have the mental faculties to even think about that when your brains are leaking through your cock.

Price smiles around your cock, the purr rattling his chest and making his throat vibrate around you. "Smart boy," He praises after he pulls off, precum and honey swirling on his tongue as he takes the moment to savor the taste. He knows how close you are, he can feel the cum churning your balls when he rolls them in his rough palm. "You can give daddy a bit more, can't you?"

You honestly don't know how long you will last.

Imagine Bear Price who can get so insatiable he growls like a tractor when you try to weakly push him off your cock, so aroused that you think even the slightest gust of wind will make you pop.

Price bites your thigh enough to hurt and only his hand squeezing down on the base of your cock keeps you from cumming. "And where do you think you're going boy?" He demands, claws digging into your skin to pull your hips closer, little kitten licks of his tongue driving you to the brink of madness.

"S-Sir!" You moan before you can stop yourself, your hips twitching uselessly against his hands, thighs shaking. "'m sorry, I'm fuck, I'm so close." You whimper, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. Every nerve in your system is on fire, pleasure so strong it's turned to pain along your body.

Price huffs, but his tight hold lessens. "It's alright sweet boy," He hums, placing a sweet kiss on your cock head. "I know how you can make it up to daddy."

Imagine Bear Price who's only placated when you slide your cock back inside him. Your muscles ache from the strength it takes you to hoist his heavy legs over your shoulders and keep them there, but your rewarded with the tightening of his sweet hole, a pleased rumble leaving his throat.

“G-good boy-.” He growls, long claws scratching down your back as you pound into him. Your thrusts are slow but deep, making his toes curl every time you bottom out, tip scraping his prostate and making his cock spurt a dollop of precum with every thrust. “Fucking daddy so deep. I taught you well, yeah?”

"Yes, yes, yes!" You agree to everything he says without hearing any of his words, your body moving automatically to bully your dick into him. Every thrust is heaven and every second spent pulling out from his tight heat is hell, the sensitive veins of your cock scraping against his walls.

He moans when you manage to clip his prostate with your thrusts, one clawed hand sliding down to grip your hip hard enough to bruise. "Harder boy," He demands, rolling his hips to meet you half way, other hand raising up to scruff you. "You can go har-hm!- harder. . . don't you wan- fuck, want to make daddy feel good?"

Clenching your eyes shut you slam into him as hard as you can, feeling the fat widening his frame jiggle with every hard thrust. Without thinking Price pulls your head down to smother you in his pecs, soft fluffy fur tickling your face as the ample flesh suffocates you. The sweet scent of honey mixed with his musk erases any vestiges of sentient thought in your head, leaving your animal brain to pick up the pieces — Pin him down harder and mate him, rut into him until he's roaring with his full chest, his hard cock slapping against your stomach.

Price reacts to the change in your behavior by pressing your face even harder against his chest, his walls clenching around your cock like a vice so you have to try harder to push into him. Price’s lips brush against your ear, voice low and rumbly. “My boy, come in daddy.” He urges you on, both legs now tightly wound around your waist so you can only hump your aching cock into him. “Co-mh!- cum, cum in me son, you want to be good for daddy right?”

That's all it takes to drive you over the edge, mind going black like a piece of paper as your orgasm rocks through you with the intensity of lighting. The sensation of your hot cum spilling into his hole triggers his own orgasm and he cums with a thunderous roar, sticky seed shooting across your abdomen.

You collapse on top of him, his legs keeping your softening cock inside him, not that you have even a single functioning muscle to try to pull out. His big hand cradles your skull, honey flavored lips placing soothing kisses on your temple. "That's my boy." Price murmurs, his chest rumbling with a soft purr. "Did so well for me." He yawns, eyelids fluttering as that fog of lethargy settles over both of you. "Now rest," The order is spoken in the softest voice he's ever used, and it works like a horse tranquilizer on you.

As you drift off to sleep, you feel his hole clench around your soft cock, the cum inside him squelching as his body unconsciously tries to persuade yours into filling him up just a bit more.

It's gonna be a long winter.

[yujibooty]

Cant sleep

pairings: yuji x fem!reader

tags: fluff but freaky twist idk

(THEY’RE LEGAL/ AGED UP)

!!: My first time posting..idk how to work tumblr so bear with me

Your phone vibrates on the counter

“Coming home late <3”

you glance at the message and go back to brushing your teeth. Swift with every move, you swish your mouthwash around before spitting into the running sink. The day couldn’t get any longer, and you’re yearning to get some sleep. Putting the cap back on, you glance at the red toothbrush sitting next to your dark blue one in a cup.

You two bickered nonstop for the red one, resolving to a game of rock paper scissors.

You won. But of course, it’s Yuji. You let him have it anyway, before he went to the store and bought you all the toothbrushes you could ask for. Opening the bathroom door, the cold air hits your body. You grip the damp towel covering your bare figure while tossing through your boyfriend's dresser to steal a hoodie. After covering up, you jump in your boyfriend’s sheets and wrap yourself up like there’s no tomorrow. Savoring the feeling of his mattress you sigh deeply, whiling tossing around to find the perfect spot to hibernate in. Eventually you give it a rest and try to get some sleep. Your eyes fluttering, the ambience of the pink haired boy's apartment starts to fade out.

You open your eyes again. Did you even sleep? You check your phone. 3 minutes have passed. You close your eyes again.

For about 4 minutes.

You toss over groaning. Of course the one thing you’ve been yearning for thee entire day decides to ditch you the second you’ve earned it. Before you can even whine you hear the front door open. You usually get a shout from the living room but nothing but shuffling around can be heard. Maybe he thinks you’re asleep? You hear him walk into the bathroom.

20 minutes later you hear the door open and his footsteps grow closer. You quickly face away from the door and close your eyes. The light from the rest of the house shines through the door, his figure standing there for a moment. Catching on to your scheme he quietly chuckles, “Can’t sleep?” Walking over to the bed, he kneels down to the mattresses level waiting on me to crack. Eventually you reluctantly turn around, the covers muffling your mouth to hide your smile. “What’re you doing up Y/N?” You groan tiredly and lazily in response. You watch him as you two sit in a long but comforting silence.

His pink messy hair was damp, some curls sitting to his forehead and in his face. He had a white tank top on and the cheap necklace you made for him. You glance back up to his face noticing his hazel eyes observing you too. You immediately grew self conscious. You probably look exhausted. The thought makes you curious.

“Wh-..what do you do when you can’t sleep?”

The question catches him off guard but he takes it into consideration. “When I can’t sleep, huh?” He mumbles to himself, his hand rubbing his neck. “Well..I’ve actually never had trouble sleeping.” You scoff. Course he didn’t. It’s Yuji we’re talking about after all. Seeing your reaction to his bore of a response, he laughs while pulling the covers off your face. Before you could retaliate he pushes his lips against yours. You don’t push him away but you whine. He lifts away from your face slowly to look down at you, his eyes pleading. You shove down whatever complaint you were about to spit out. Yuji never likes talking about his ‘work’ but you know it’s serious. It’s become often that he comes back just wanting- needing, your embrace. Your like the black cat to his golden retriever.

Accepting your dire fate to you needy boyfriend, he shows mercy by ending it with pecks on your lips.

Then covering your face in them.

“Kay, m’ done now.” He mumbles wiping your now glossed lip with his thumb. You regret submitting to him. And to make that clear, you turn over the second he’s finished. He doesn’t care though, happily hopping into bed, his weight making the mattress sink a little. (Didn’t feel like a little.)

you feel his hands hold you waist almost hesitantly, like you were made of glass.

That quickly changed as he pulled you into his embrace. As if he was merely testing the waters just then. His cold nose seeking warmth into your neck. Deeply inhaling like a dog who’s forgotten its owners scent. Unfazed by your loving boyfriend, you try to prepare yourself for the night,….again.

“Goodnight Yuji.” He lays his head back on his pillow. “Goodnight Y/N.”

With his slow breaths and heavy warmth over you, you finally feel your self drifting off to sleep.

“Y/N..?”

You open your eyes, but flutter them back close realizing you woke up again. Luckily, Yuji’s embrace made it much easier to drift off-

“y/n?” A low voice breaks the silence.

Yuji’s..awake? “Yes Yuji?” His body relaxes realizing you were awake.

“Can’t sleep..” He says, his tone almost ashamed, squeezing your waist and pulling you closer. Before you could ask him what was wrong you felt something press against your lower back, gently but desperately.

probably first and last time I’ll write. . .

[magic-shop-stories]

Hello! Hope you're doing well. Love your work! Can I request something slightly.. Maybe confusing?

Idk why but I've always felt that Yoongi and Namjoon have the potential to be attracted to similar people, given their ideologies and personalities. So what happens when they meet reader organically and feel drawn towards them?

I am not envisioning a love triangle per se, but only the illusion of one. Where both grow closer to reader but with namjoon, it indeed is just a solid friendship. Lovestruck but in denial Yoongi doesn't see it that way necessarily. At least initially. Maybe some angst there.

Therefore despite the reader showing interest back, it takes our honey boy a minute to get there, and finally it's all sorted. Yoongi and reader end up together and all their friends are happy for them!

Cold Storage: An Archive of Imperfect Notes

Pairings: Min Yoongi x Archivist!Reader (slow burn), Platonic Kim Namjoon x Reader Rating: R (M) Genre: angst, romance, hurt/comfort, fluff Warnings: alcohol use (whiskey), emotional confrontations (themes of self-doubt, fear of artistic irrelevance), mild language, jealousy, kissing (non-explicit) Word Count: ~ 3k

Description: As HYBE’s archivist, you’re a keeper of ghosts - demos, coffee-stained lyrics, and the jagged edges of artists’ past selves. But when Min Yoongi starts haunting the archives to resurrect his old mixtapes, his obsession with the boy he used to be collides with the man he’s become. Between debates about Rilke, Camus, and the stains on his notebooks, you’ll learn that some wounds outlive the knife… and some hearts only thaw in the cold.

💌 Reply:

Hi love! 💜 First off - THANK YOU for this brilliant request (and your kind words, my heart 🥹). I hope you don’t mind that I spun this into a full imagine/fic — your concept of Yoongi and Joon’s parallel pulls and the “illusion” of a triangle hit me like a TRUCK. As a Yoongi ult (he’s my first/last/always 🐱) and Namjoon bias-wrecker, I vibrated at the idea of their dynamic clashing over someone who challenges them - god, I wish I could thank you enough (you scratched my brain) I kept your vision sacred: no real triangle, just Yoongi’s honey-coated denial, Joon’s platonic muse vibes, and the angst of two artists fearing too much vulnerability (at least in my mind). Also, the others teasing Yoongi? I couldn't NOT do it If this isn’t what you pictured, I’ll happily tweak, but I hope it gives you that slow-burn, you deserved. Thank you for trusting me with this gem. Now go feed your brainrot, legend. 🖤 – c – 💜

Cold Storage: An Archive of Imperfect Notes

Cold Storage: An Archive of Imperfect Notes

Prologue: The Quiet Before the Storm

The archives room at HYBE was a cathedral of silence, if silence could hum.

You liked it that way; the steady whir of climate-controlled servers, the faint tang of aged paper clinging to your fingertips, the way dust motes drifted like static in the blue-tinted dark. Here, in the belly of the iconic building where music went to hibernate, you were more archaeologist than archivist. Unearthing demos from 2013 felt like brushing silt from fossils, each lyric sheet was a bone fragment of who BTS used to be.

You’d taken the job for the anonymity. Artists came to you as ghosts, through track lists scrawled in Sharpie, voice memos buried in hard drives, the occasional coffee ring staining a producer’s notes. They rarely came in person.

Until today.

The Catalyst

The door hissed open at 3:47 PM. You didn’t look up, fingers skating over the spine of a 2014 lyric journal. “If you’re here for the Dark & Wild masters, they’re digitizing in Bay 6.”

“Not here for Bang PD’s old angst,” a voice drawled. Dry, low, lacquered with a Daegu rasp. “Looking for mine.”

Your head snapped up.

Min Yoongi leaned against the doorframe, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His face was all angles under the archival LEDs. his sharp jaw, sharper eyes. You’d seen him before, of course. In hallways. Through the frosted glass of Studio 4, in the practice rooms... Never here, where the past was kept under lock and humidity controls.

“Am producing D-3,” he said, pushing off the frame. “Ten-year reissue. Need the raw stems. And the notebook I used back then. The black one.”

You blinked. “The one where you wrote ‘I want to scream but my throat is a cemetery’?”

His eyebrow twitched, he seemed impressed for a second. “…Yeah.”

You stood, chair screeching. “Physical copies are in Cold Storage. Digital’s accessible if you...”

“Want the physical.” He crossed his arms. “Need to see the… stains.”

Ah. The coffee spills, crossed out words - rewritten a hundred times, whatever sins of sentimentality survived a decade. You nodded, turning toward the steel vault door.

The archives chose that moment to spit out Kim Namjoon.

He materialized between shelves like a philosopher-king misplaced by time, hair tousled, glasses smudged. “Hyung? What’re you...”

“My mixtape’s getting a facelift,” Yoongi said, not taking his eyes off you. “You?”

Namjoon hefted a dog-eared copy of The Myth of Sisyphus. “Preparing speech on art as resilience. Need more Camus. And… something that doesn’t sound like a TED Talk.” He grinned, dimples cratering. “Help?”

You snorted. “Camus is a TED Talk. 1942 edition.”

Namjoon’s grin widened. “Then give me the director’s cut.”

Yoongi cleared his throat. Loudly. “Cold Storage?”

“Right.” You led them deeper into the archives, fluorescent lights flickering like a heartbeat monitor. Yoongi’s shadow loomed over your shoulder; Namjoon’s fingers trailed the shelves, dislodging years of dust.

The vault door groaned open. Yoongi stepped into the 12°C chill like a soldier entering a trench.

“Box S-13,” you said, gloved hands lifting a battered container. Inside lay the notebook, the pages warped, edges singed. “Handle with care. Literally.”

He took it like a relic. For a moment, his mask slipped, lips parted, eyes soft and startled, as if meeting a ghost. Then he sniffed. “Nostalgia’s a scam. This…” He flicked a page. “Kid was an idiot.”

You tilted your head. “Or you’re scared he’s smarter than you now.”

Yoongi froze.

Namjoon coughed; badly hiding a laugh.

“Growth isn’t a diss to who you were,” you continued, pulling a crate of Camus essays for Namjoon. “Just proof you survived.”

Yoongi’s gaze cut to you, calculating. “You psychoanalyze all the artists, or just the ones who peaked in 2014?”

“Only the ones who leave burn marks on their notebooks.” You nodded at the charcoal smudges on his thumb.

Namjoon burst out laughing. “Oh, I like her.”

Yoongi didn’t laugh. But his lips quirked, brief and begrudging. “Whatever. Thanks.” He turned to leave, then paused. “…Kid me. You think he’d hate me now?”

The question hung in the frozen air.

You considered the man clutching his past like a grenade. “He’d pity you.”

Yoongi’s brow furrowed.

“For thinking you had to choose between him and who you are now.”

For a heartbeat, the vault hummed with unsaid things. Then Yoongi huffed, tucking the notebook under his arm. “Tell Cold Storage to chill less. It’s fucking arctic in here.”

He left.

Namjoon lingered, thumbing through Camus. “‘The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart,’” he read aloud. Then, softer: “You believe that? That art outlives the artist?”

You handed him a first-edition Rebel. “Depends. What if the artist wants to fade? To let the work breathe without their shadow?”

He stilled, eyes narrowing behind smudged lenses. “…Are you always this dangerous?”

“Only to philosophers who quote dead Frenchmen at me.”

Namjoon’s laugh echoed off the vault walls. “Noted. But fair warning...” He leaned in, mock-conspiratorial. “Yoongi-hyung’s gonna be back. He hates losing debates.”

“Not a debate. A fact.”

“Even worse.” He winked, tucking the book under his arm. “Thanks, archivist.”

You watched him leave, unaware of the eyes burning into your back from the security feed in Studio 4... Yoongi, rewinding the footage, pausing on your smirk.

On the desk, his old notebook lay open to a scribbled line: I want to die - I want to live.

He hit replay.

The Dance

The HYBE cafeteria at midnight was a liminal space, flickering vending machines, the scent of stale coffee, and the ghost of Jungkook’s laughter echoing from a meme video left playing on a tablet. You sat hunched over a dog-eared Rilke collection, blue-light glasses slipping down your nose as Namjoon paced, reciting draft lines like incantations.

“Art as… a rebellion against entropy,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. “No, too clinical. Art as... shit, what’s the equivalent for ‘intergenerational dialogue’?”

You tossed him a chocolate bar from your bag. “Try 유산 (legacy). Or 대화 (conversation). Depends if you want your audience to weep or nap.”

He caught it, dimples flashing. “Why not both?” Collapsing into the chair across from you, he ripped the wrapper with his teeth. “Help me murder this paragraph. It’s got three metaphors and zero soul.”

You leaned over his notebook, red pen slashing through a convoluted analogy about “sculpting time.” “Camus would disown you. Keep it raw. Like your ‘My heart was filled with straight lines only’ line in Trivia: Love.”

Namjoon’s eyes lit up. “You know that song?”

“I archive your old journals. You wrote that lyric after spilling green tea on Hegel.”

He barked a laugh, loud enough to startle a passing cleaner. “Okay, archivist. What’s raw but profound?”

You scribbled in the margin: “Art isn’t a relic... it’s the wound that outlives the knife.”

Namjoon stared, then slowly grinned. “…I’m stealing that.”

Yoongi found you two days later, arguing over the pronunciation of “Schwere” (heaviness) in Rilke’s “Archaic Torso of Apollo.”

“It’s sh-veh-reh,” you insisted, slamming a German dictionary on the archives desk. “Not shuh-wear. You’re butchering the Schmerz (pain).”

Namjoon leaned back, smug. “Hyung, back me up. It’s about feeling, not grammar.”

Yoongi hovered in the doorway, a box of 2015 demos under his arm. His black sweater rode up slightly as he shifted, frowning. “Why’s Rilke in my studio?”

“Speech,” you said, not looking up. “He’s romanticizing existentialism again.”

Namjoon tossed a crumpled post-it at Yoongi. “They’re ruthless. Tell them schwere (heaviness) is subjective.”

Yoongi caught it, squinting at the scribbled lines. Art isn’t a relic - it’s the wound that outlives the knife. His jaw twitched. “Sounds like a  D-2 B-side.” He dropped the demos on your desk. “Need these scanned. And the notebook from last week.”

You frowned. “You’ve requested that notebook three times.”

He met your gaze, unblinking. “I like the stains.”

His visits became clockwork.

Tuesdays at 4 PM

“The 2016 tour schedules. For… chronology.”

Thursdays at 7 PM

“Original First Love lyrics. The ones with the coffee rings.”

Each time, he lingered; arguing over tracklists, scoffing at your critiques, circling back to debates about his old self.

“Reissue Track 5 should be The Last pt.2 ,” you said one evening, sliding the old demo across the desk.

Yoongi stiffened. “Too raw. People won’t get it.”

“Or you’re scared they will.”

He leaned forward, palms flat on the desk. The small 7 on his shoulder peeked out, a silent confession. “You think you know me because you’ve digitized my angst?”

“I think The Last saved someone once. Maybe you.”

He held your stare, the air thickening like storm clouds. Then he snatched the demo. “Track 5 stays Agust D - WHO?.”

But the next day, the tracklist update included The Last pt.2.

It was Namjoon who shattered the détente.

You’d met him in the cafeteria again, debating the ethics of AI-generated art. His laugh, warm and booming, carried across the room as you mocked his “algorithms can’t cry” argument.

Yoongi walked in just as you tossed a sugar packet at Namjoon’s chest.

“ So if a robot writes a love song,” you said, grinning, “...is it plagiarism or progress?”

Namjoon caught the packet, eyes crinkling. “Depends if it’s got soul. Like your Rilke edits., but probably not.”

Yoongi froze, tray in hand. His knuckles whitened around a cup of bitter black coffee.

Of course it’s Joon.

He left without a word.

That night, Yoongi stormed the archives.

“Seesaw,” he demanded, slamming a hand on your desk. “The original first-demo. Now.”

You didn’t flinch. “...it’s 11 PM.”

“And?”

“You’ve listened to Seesaw a thousand times. Why now?”

His throat bobbed. “Need to remember why I wrote it.”

You swiveled to the server, pulling up the file. The demo played, raw, unpolished, Yoongi’s voice cracking on “I’m afraid I’ll get used to this pain,” - a line that didn't make it too the final track.

He stood rigid, back to you.

“You wrote it because you were tired of balancing pride and regret,” you said softly. “Because vulnerability felt like failure.”

Yoongi spun, eyes blazing. “You don’t...”

“Know you?” You stood, meeting his glare. “I know the boy who scribbled ‘I need u’ in margins. Who still comes here to argue with his ghost when noone is looking, but I see.”

He stepped closer, heat radiating off him. “And what do you get from this? Playing therapist to fucked-up artists?”

“Maybe I like the company.”

A beat. His gaze dropped to your lips.

The door creaked.

Namjoon poked his head in, blissfully oblivious. “Archivist! Need your take on Nietzsche’s ‘eternal recurrence’ for the speech... Oh. Am I interrupting?”

Yoongi jerked back, cheeks flushed. “No.”

“Yes,” you said.

Namjoon glanced between you, smirk blooming. “I’ll… come back.”

Yoongi left without another word, but not before you spotted the tremor in his hands; the same tremor from the day he’d first held his old notebook.

The Fracture

The air in Studio 4 was always sterile, a vacuum sealed against the outside world. But tonight, it felt like a tomb.

Yoongi had been playing his  The Last pt.2 draft on loop for hours, the demo’s jagged bassline gnawing at the soundproof walls. His fingers hovered over the mixing board, tweaking the same three-second clip - “I built my pride from broken glass”, until the words lost meaning.

He didn’t hear the door open. You were one of the few people in the company with keys to almost every room.

“You’re avoiding me.”

Your voice cut through the noise. Yoongi’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t turn. “Busy.”

“Bullshit.” You stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind you. “You haven’t answered a single text. Skipped the archives all week. What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong. The track pulsed, raw and unpolished. “The Last pt.2” was supposed to be a sequel, closure for the boy who wrote “I want to die” in smudged ink years ago. Instead, it felt like a relapse.

“MIN YOONGI.”

He spun, chair screeching. “Why’re you here? Shouldn’t you be helping Joon craft his precious speech?”

The venom startled you. “He asked me to rehearse. That’s all.”

Yoongi scoffed, jabbing a finger at the screen. “Saw you. Foreheads touching, hands all... whatever. Looked cozy.”

You blinked. “I was stopping him from clicking his pen. He does it when he’s nervous. You know that.”

“Do I?” He stood abruptly, knocking over a half-empty glass of whiskey. The liquid seeped into his notebook, blurring the notes as he shoved past you. “Doesn’t matter. Got a producer meeting.”

“At midnight?”

“Yes.”

You blocked the door. “Talk to me.”

His laugh was brittle. “About what? How you’ve got Joon wrapped around your finger? How he looks at you like you’re his damn muse?”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” He stepped closer, the whiskey on his breath sharp and sour. “You quote his lyrics, fix his speeches, laugh at his jokes... fuck, you even know how he takes his coffee. What’s next? Translating his diary?”

You flinched. “It’s not like that. Also you only drink decaf, iced...”

“Sure.” He yanked the door open. “Have fun crafting legacies.”

Rooftop, 1:14 AM

The wind bit through Yoongi’s sweater as Namjoon found him slumped against the guardrail, whiskey glass dangling from his fingers.

“You look like hell,” Namjoon said, settling beside him.

“Feel like it.”

A beat. The city below hummed, indifferent.

“They quoted The Last in my speech today,” Namjoon said quietly.

Yoongi stiffened.

“Not the lyrics. The… feeling. Said it reminded them that art isn’t about permanence. It’s about…” He paused. “'The courage to shatter what you’ve built.'”

Yoongi’s throat tightened.His line, from the 2016 notebook, unreleased.

Namjoon turned, gaze piercing. “They’ve been stealing your words to fix mine this whole time. Not because they’re mine... because they’re yours.”

The glass trembled in Yoongi’s hand. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you’re an idiot.” Namjoon’s voice softened. “They’re not my muse, hyung. They’re yours. Always have been.”

Yoongi stared at the amber liquid, the reflection of his own fractured face staring back.

“You gonna keep hiding in demos?” Namjoon stood, clapping his shoulder. “Or write a new verse?”

Studio 4, 2:03 AM

The door creaked open again.

You froze, breath catching.

Yoongi stood in the threshold, The Last pt.2 still looping. His eyes were red-rimmed, hair a mess, but his voice steadied the storm.

“I’m… shit at this.”

“At what?”

“Talking. Feeling. All of it.” He stepped inside, the door shutting with a soft click. “But I’m worse at pretending I don’t.”

The track swelled - “I built my pride from broken glass” - as he closed the distance.

“Joon’s right,” he muttered, gaze dropping to your lips. “I’m an idiot.”

The space between you crackled.

“Prove it,” you whispered.

He didn't, not yet...

 The Harmony

The archives hummed with the static of a thousand dormant stories, the air thick with the scent of ink and longing.

Yoongi stood in the center of the room, his back to you, shoulders tense as he rifled through a box of 2018 demos. The small 7 on his shoulder peeked out beneath his tank top, a silent testament to loyalty, and fear.

“You left this in Studio 4.”

He froze at your voice.

You held up his old notebook, the one with the warped pages and coffee-stained edges. It fell open to “I need u”, the words circled in red, your own scribble bleeding into the margin: “I need you too.”

Yoongi didn’t turn. “Thought you’d be with Joon.”

“Stop.” Your voice cracked. “Stop pretending you don’t see me.”

He spun, eyes dark and stormy. “See what? You quoting my lyrics to fix his speeches? Laughing at his jokes? Holding his damn hand...”

“To stop him from clicking his pen!” You repeated and stepped closer, the notebook trembling in your grip. “You think I care about his speeches? About legacies? I’ve been here every night, waiting for you to look up from your damn demos and see me!”

Yoongi’s breath hitched.

You thrust the notebook at him. “You want to know why I memorized The Last notes? Why I stayed late every time you asked for another mixtape? It wasn’t for the music, you idiot. It was for you.”

The archives fell silent, save for the whir of servers.

Yoongi stared at the notebook, your confession etched beside his oldest wound. When he finally spoke, his voice was raw. “I thought… I was just another track to you. Something to analyze and shelve.”

“You were never just anything.”

He looked up, vulnerability stripping him bare. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?”

“This.” He gestured between you, the air crackling. “Wanting someone who… who knows all the broken parts.”

You closed the distance, your fingers brushing his. “Then stop hiding in your demos.”

His gaze dropped to your lips. “What if I ruin it?”

“You won’t.”

The kiss was a crescendo; slow at first, tentative, then desperate. Yoongi’s hands cradled your face like you were the last fragile tape in the archives, his lips soft but insistent, tasting of whiskey and unsung verses. The shelves pressed into your back, demos scattering like imperfect notes around your feet. His fingers tangled in your hair, tugging gently as he deepened the kiss, a silent plea for more, more, more...

“Took you long enough,” a voice drawled.

You broke apart, breathless. Namjoon leaned against the doorway, tossing a USB drive at Yoongi. It landed at your table, labeled “Hyung’s Love Song (Finally)” in Sharpie.

Yoongi glared, cheeks flushed. “How long were you...?”

“Long enough to know you owe me 50,000 won.” Namjoon smirked. “Jin-hyung bet on tonight. I said you’d chicken out till dawn.”

Yoongi flipped him off, but his arm stayed wrapped around your waist, anchoring you to his side.

[Bonus] Epilogue: One Month Later

The OT7 group chat exploded at 8 PM.

Jin: [photo of Yoongi feeding you kimchi jjigae in the cafeteria] “Grandpa’s first date since 2014!!! Transfer payments, children.”

Jungkook: “WAIT THEY'RE REAL???”

Hobi: “I TOLD YOU ALL IT WAS THE ARCHIVES. PAY UP!!!”

Taehyung: [Screenshots of Yoongi’s Spotify wrapped] “Since when does hyung listen to Rilke ASMR??”

Yoongi: “Fuck off.”

You: [photo of the USB plugged into Yoongi’s laptop, titled “Love Song (Draft)”] “Track 1: ”Not Yet” 👀”

Namjoon: “Finally.”

END

[runningincircl3s]

Who Are You?

Kickboxer!Noah x Reader

Chapter Four

chapter warnings: i wrote the majority of this at 2am so reading it back i was like wtf. just the usual warnings, reader and her friends being too real, quick aaron taylor johnson mention (love of my life <3) gets a little nsfw at the end!

sorry for the wait for this one! i was debating whether or not to rewrite the ending as i wasn't sure if it was too soon for this to happen, but it's kinda important for the rest of the story so i kept it in!

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

A few days later...

You hadn't been able to focus on anything, you've been ignoring messages from your friends, not getting dressed for days at a time, oversleeping or not sleeping at all... basically just spiralling.

Just because of Noah? Not really. That certainly played a part in it. It was also because of work... The mistake you made had a major impact, and management hadn’t been subtle in their response. You’d been given a formal warning and told to work from home “until further notice.” Apparently, showing up to the office looking like you were about to cry wasn't inspiring.

But being stuck at home had only made things worse.

You barely left your home since, you'd just been sat on the couch, on your laptop, half working half pretending to be okay. The TV played constantly in the background, something just to make you feel like you weren't entirely alone. Laughter tracks and show intros constantly filled the room, but none of it touched you. You haven't laughed since the last time you were with Noah.

You kept glancing at the clock.

11:51.

Nine minutes until lunch.

You decided today you would finally go out. Just for some air. Maybe if you were feeling up to it you'd grab a coffee, maybe a pastry, anything that might lift your mood. You told yourself you’d feel better once you were walking. Once you had the cool air on your face, and something warm in your hands.

The clock ticked slow, but eventually, mercifully, it hit 12:00.

You stood with a quiet sigh and shuffled toward the door, throwing a hoodie over your tank top- which had a curious stain- and pulling your hair into a loose clip without bothering to check a mirror.

You didn't care if you saw anyone. There was only one person you wanted to see, and you were convinced you and your friends had scared him into moving to the other side of the country.

As you stepped outside, the sun hit your face, and you took your first deep breath in days. It was warmer out than you’d expected. The breeze was nice and gentle. You blinked up at the sunlight like someone just waking from hibernation.

Maybe this would help. Maybe this was all you needed.

You decided to go to your usual café, the one just down the street from you. You passed by a couple people you knew, but didn't stop to chat, just offered them a polite smile as you walked on.

But maybe you needed somebody else's company.

Because you were still thinking about him. You were always thinking about him.

Still replaying your last conversation.

Still wondering why he hadn’t come back. Wondering if it'd even be worth showing up to the class tomorrow.

So you told yourself not to care.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. It was bound to happen at some point, he would surely miss classes. Noah had his own life.

Maybe he was seeing someone. A girlfriend, or a boyfriend- James had been very convinced about that theory. Or maybe he’d just gotten bored. Maybe he found a better gym. One without a girl who clearly only came to flirt and couldn't do a proper roundhouse kicks!

You told yourself all of that, and it only made things worse. You only got further and further stuck in your brain.

Not knowing was just the worst part. Not getting to ask. Not even getting the chance to be let down properly. Not knowing truly why he didn't come.

With a frown, you pushed open the café door, the little bell above it chiming softly as you stepped inside.

You were greeted by the smell of roasted coffee beans and fresh pastry, but it barely registered in your brain. You were simply moving on autopilot, shoulders hunched in your hoodie, eyes glued to your phone. The line was short, only two people ahead, so you barely looked up.

When they called, “Next!” you shuffled forward, mumbled your order, your usual drink and a pastry you probably wouldn’t even eat, and reached into your pocket for your card.

But just as your fingers brushed the edge of it, the payment machine beeped.

You froze, quickly glancing up.

A part of you felt warm, a kind gesture from a stranger who may have seen you looked like you were having a rough time. Maybe it would blossom into a romance, and you'd tell your grandkids about this exact moment...

But then you saw it. A familair looking hand... long tattooed fingers, that belonged to a large tattooed hand hovering near the card reader.

And then your eyes slowly travelled up the length of his arm, past the dark hoodie sleeve, the curve of his shoulder, the tattoo on his throat, until you met his eyes.

Holy shit.

Noah.

Standing right beside you.

A small, soft smile played on his lips, like he hadn't just ruined your life. Oh fuck, what you were just imagining him here. What if you've missed him so much that your brain-

“Thought I recognised you,” he said, like he hadn’t just vanished from your life. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

You blinked once. Twice. Opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

He handed you your receipt like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like you hadn’t spent the past week convincing yourself he was gone forever.

“I... thank you." You finally managed, voice a little shaky.

He tilted his head slightly, watching you (and probably the stain on your hoodie.)

“You okay?” He asked carefully.

“Yeah." You nodded too quickly, "I just… I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Noah’s smile deepened, just a little.

“Yeah, I was just thinking the same thing.”

"I... I only live down the street from here. I come here pretty often."

"Really?" He raised an eyebrow, "I've never seen you in here before."

You chuckled softly, standing to the side to wait for your order.

"You come here often?" You asked, looking up at him.

"Sometimes," he shrugged, "I don't really drink coffee anymore, but I like the tea here."

"Oh," you smiled, "I've never tried their tea before, but I like their lattes."

He held his cup out for you, with a look that said try some.

You hesitated for a moment before taking it gently from his hand, your fingers brushing his for the briefest moment, yet it still made your tummy feel fuzzy.

You lifted the cup to your lips and took a sip, your eyes never quite leaving his. It was slightly sweet, a little floral and calming in a way you hadn’t felt in days.

“That’s really nice." You murmured, surprised.

“Told you.” He said with a little proud grin, taking the cup back from you.

And then your drink was called, your name echoing across the café, pulling you back to reality again. You stepped forward to grab it, feeling the heat of Noah still close beside you.

You turned back to him with both hands around your cup, unsure of what to say next. Unsure of what this even was. But he beat you to it.

“I'm sorry for missing the last class,” he said gently, as if reading your mind, “I had to go out of town for a few days... work stuff. I didn’t mean to vanish. I was supposed to let Tasha know, to tell you, but I kinda forgot.”

You tried not to show how relieving that felt to hear.

“I thought maybe I’d scared you off.” You said, only half joking.

“Because of your friends?” He laughed softly.

"They can get a little too much sometimes... I'm sorry-"

“No,” he said, still smiling. “I liked them.”

“You… liked them?” You blinked, perplexed.

“I thought they were funny,” he admitted with a nod, “But they clearly care about you a lot. That’s cool.”

You stared at him, warmth creeping into your cheeks.

"I felt a little lost without you there," you confessed, taking the conversation back to the class, "I had no one to laugh at me when I tripped!"

That made him chuckle, and the two of you began to move away from the counter, realising you were getting in the way.

"Well," he began, a small smirk playing on his lips, "If I get your number, I can let you know if I ever have to miss a day again..."

"Really?" Your eyes widened in shock, finally realising that maybe your friends were right...

Noah reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out his phone, offering it over to you.

"Really." He nodded.

You looked down at the device like it was something sacred, then up at him again.

“You sure?”

"Yes." He laughed, the sound warming your heart, "Unless you want to keep living in suspense every week."

You playfully rolled your eyes, trying to disguise the way your cheeks were burning and thumbs a little shaky as you typed in your number, and your name, followed by a heart emoji, which you regretted the moment you handed it back.

Why the fuck would you put a heart next to your name?

“There,” you said, “Now you can’t disappear without warning.”

He glanced at the screen, reading your name and the little heart emoji you’d added without thinking. The corners of his lips tugging up into a grin.

“A heart?” He teased, one brow lifting.

“Shut up. I panicked.” You waved a hand, trying to play it off, but your cheeks betrayed you, warming fast.

Noah laughed again, pocketing his phone.

“No complaints. It suits you.”

You took a sip of your coffee to hide the way your lips curved, suddenly hyperaware of how close he was stood, how normal it felt to be talking like this again, like the week of silence hadn’t been eating you alive.

He tilted his head slightly, watching you like he was about to say something else, and then your phone buzzed rather violently in your pocket.

You pulled it out and groaned. Your work app flashing a very unwelcome notification: “Where are you? Meeting started 3 mins ago!!!”

“Shit,” you muttered. “I’ve gotta run... I'm working from home and I'm supposed to be on a meeting... my boss is going to kill me.”

Noah stepped aside, letting you pass.

“Go. Save your job. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nodded quickly, already halfway to the door.

“Yeah. Tomorrow. Same time?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” He smiled.

You paused only once as you pushed open the café door, glancing back over your shoulder.

He was still standing there, watching you. And when your eyes met, he gave you the tiniest wink.

You would be replaying that in your mind all day.

...

You burst through your apartment door like a woman possessed, nearly dropping your coffee as you kicked it shut behind you.

Laptop. Where the fuck was your laptop

“Shit shit shit…” You muttered, searching the room.

You spotted it on the couch, still open on your email inbox. You threw yourself down, loaded up the meeting app and clicked join with audio off, camera off, and tried to sit still as your heart pounded through your ribcage…

Because Noah had just paid for your coffee. Because Noah had smiled at you. Because Noah had just asked for your number!!!!

You’d barely got through the last week thinking you’d scared him off, or your friends had, and now he was letting you sip his tea and winked at you like you were in some cheesy romance movie.

You had to tell your friends.

You: GUYS HOLY SHIT

You: NOAH ALERT NOAH ALERT

James: girl we thought you died where have you been??

Kylie: WE HAVENT HEARD FROM YOU ALL WEEK WHAT THR FUCK HAPPENED

You: ok so he didn’t turn up to the last class so i kinda assumed he fled the country BUT I JUST SAW HIM AND HE ASKED FOR MY NUMBER

James: you saw him at work???

Kylie: no dumbass she’s been working from home

Kylie: wait… where did you see him then?

You: THE CAFE

You: THE ONE I ALWAYS GO TO!!!

James: hold up HE ASKED FOR YOUR NUMBER????

James: DID YOU GIVE IT TO HIM

You: DUH!!!!

James: is that all you gave to him😏

You: shut up

Kylie: girl get the fuck back to work before you lose your job for good and save the story for later!!!

James: hell yeah!!

You: okay fine

You put your phone down with a sigh and tried to pay attention to the meeting, though it was boring you to death. You weren’t even sure what you were supposed to be doing.

Then your phone buzzed again.

Annoyed, you picked it up, ready to tell your friends they had just told you to get back to work…

But then you saw it was from an unknown number

Unknown: Hey it’s Noah :)

Unknown: Good luck with that meeting

You nearly choked on your own breath.

You quickly saved his contact, then your thumbs just hovered above your screen, wondering what the fuck to say to that.

You: thanks :)

You: and thank you for the coffee!

You put your phone back down, a grin still plastered across your face as you turned back to your laptop…

Wait…

Why were you still staring at the ‘join’ screen?

You clicked over to your work chat, heart already hammering. And there you found a long, irritated message from your boss.

You scanned it quickly, eyes darting past the passive aggressive “hope everything’s alright” and “you’ve been very unfocused this month” stuff until you hit the final line.

“…And I’m working late tomorrow, so I would like to see you in my office. 5pm. No excuses this time.”

You felt your heart sink straight to your toes.

You slumped back in your chair, dragging your hands down your face. Why did the universe always have to throw something at you the second things started finally going right again?

FUCK.

You sent a polite reply to your boss, saying how you had tried to join the meeting but you were having some internet issues. And next, you had to tell Noah you’d be missing tomorrow’s class.

What the hell were you supposed to say?

You typed out six different messages, but hesitated after each one, deleting it and typing again. Eventually, you settled on:

You: okay so i’ve just been called into the office tomorrow at 5, so i’ll have to miss class 🥲

Noah: Oh shit

Noah: Well I was thinking about staying late at the gym tomorrow to make up for last week. If you let me know what time you’re back maybe I'll stay and we could have a private session…

Internally, you were screaming.

You: but i don’t think i’ll be back until pretty late :(

Noah: The gym shuts at 8??

You: fuck i won’t make it back in time…

Noah: Then maybe we could do it at your place?

You: yeah sure!

Noah: Great :) Let me know when you’re home and I’ll come over

Noah: Get ready to sweat😏

You stared at your screen, heart jackhammering in your chest.

Okay. Okay. So he’s coming over.

Noah is coming over.

To your apartment.

You let out a soft, panicked laugh and flung your phone face down on the couch. Then immediately flipped it back over and reread the messages. Twice.

Get ready to sweat😏

He was definitely talking about the workout... Probably.

But even right now you could feel yourself sweating, just at the thought alone.

You were spiralling, again.

You leapt up, did a frantic 360 spin in your living room, then made a mental checklist.

And it began with cleaninb the place. There was rubbish all over the place, the floors needed vacuuming, and for some reason you had odd socks in the most random places, some with holes in- and they definitely needed washing.

You looked around and immediately hated everything about the place.

The kitchen was a mess, the cushions on your couch never looked right, the whole place was cluttered and you hadn’t showered in days.

And now Noah was going to see all of this…

You quickly texted your group chat.

You: NOAH ALERT NOAH ALERT CODE RED!!!!

You: [sent a screenshot of your texts with noah]

You: GIYS HES COMING TO MY PLACE TOMORROW

You: FOR A PRIVATE SESSION????? WHAT THE HELL???????

Kylie: OH HOLY SHIT

James: bitch what about US???

James: or are we invited too…

You: NO!!!!

You: we’ll have to reschedule sorry guys

Kylie: usually i’d be pissed but i’m actually really happy for you

Kylie: girl get that dick!!!

You: 😟

You: excuse me.

Kylie: oh c’mon. “get ready to sweat” ??????

You: yeah. you haven’t seen me after a round with him. i’m dripping by the end.

James: OKAY IM NOT SAYING ANYTHING!!!!!!

You: guys you aren’t helping :(

You: be honest with me do you think he’ll think my place is nice

Kylie: yes!!!

James: just don’t let him see aaron.

Ah, yes. The mini Aaron Taylor Johnson cardboard cutout you kept by your tv, the one James gave you for your birthday last year, which you maybe got a little too excited about. You dress him up for the holidays, and he currently had a pair of pumpkin sunglasses on, though halloween had long gone. You quickly got up and threw him in a cupboard.

You: ok aaron’s been dealt with.

Kylie: honestly honey i don’t think you need to worry so much. he clearly likes you, and the state of your apartment won’t change anything :)

James: unless he’s an interior designer and he sees your mismatched kitchen chairs.

Kylie: IGNORE HIM I THINK THEYRE CUTE!!!

…

The meeting dragged on for almost an hour.

Your boss had been calm, which somehow made it all worse. There was no yelling, no grand confrontation. Just quiet disappointment and polite professionalism, words like “inconsistent,” “final warning,” and “you need to be more focused.”

By the time you made it to the train station, your face hurt from forcing composure. The train was packed, so you stood the whole way.

The thought of going home and seeing Noah was the only thing that had got you through the meeting, but he didn’t have to know that. You didn’t want to inflate his ego anymore after he found out he was the Hot Gym Guy.

You got off at your stop at 7:48. And then you had to walk home.

Your legs ached. Your bag dug into your shoulder. Your chest still felt tight from everything you didn’t say, but wanted to.

When you turned the corner onto your street, there he was.

Noah was leaning casually against the wall next to your front door of your apartment building, hood up, phone in hand. He was wearing a hoodie with a some band name you vaguely recognised on it, and a pair of black shorts.

He looked up the moment he saw you.

“Hey, you made it.” He said, straightening. His voice was soft, and the sound of it alone made your day a little better.

“Barely. I’m so sorry,” you blurted, breathless from the walk. “That meeting ran way over, and then the train was hell, and I-”

“Hey.” He smiled. “It's fine.”

You stopped in front of him, staring up at him like he wasn’t real, which you still had your doubts about.

He held up a bottle of water.

“Brought this. Figured you’d need it after all that.”

“Thank you,” you said, reaching for the bottle, your fingers brushing his, “Wanna come up?”

“Lead the way!” He smiled, holding the door open for you.

…

The elevator ride to your floor was quiet, maybe even a little awkward. You were just tired, still feeling deflated from the meeting and exhausted from the commute.

When the doors opened, you led the way down the hall to your place. Your keys fumbled once in your fingers, but you managed to get the door open without dropping them- a miracle, honestly.

You stepped inside and kicked off your shoes, brushing your hair off your face with a soft sigh.

“Sorry it’s a little messy, I tried to tidy but I didn’t have much time…”

Noah followed you in, calm as ever, water bottle tucked under his arm, gym bag slung over his shoulder.

“Looks fine to me,” he said, glancing around. “It's very cute, cosy even."

You dumped your bag by the couch and turned to face him, only to find him tugging at the bottom of his hoodie.

“I should probably warn you,” he said, giving you a slight, crooked grin. “I don’t have a shirt on under this. I was working out earlier with Matt and Davis, the shirt got gross so I took it off and threw it in my car… figured you wouldn’t want me stinking your place out before we even got started.”

You blinked. So he was wearing nothing beneath his hoodie?

You had seen slithers of his stomach before, and his back, but you never thought you’d get to see it all.

“Oh,” you said, already feeling slightly flustered. “Right. That’s… yeah, fair.”

“Cool if I take this off?”

Your brain was short circuiting. But you managed a nod.

“Yeah. Totally fine... I don’t want you overheating or anything…”

He raised an eyebrow like he was trying not to laugh, then pulled the hoodie off over his head in one smooth motion.

And just like that, he was shirtless in your living room.

Your mouth went dry, but between your thighs was another story.

He wasn’t showing off, and that was the worst part. He just tossed the hoodie onto the couch like it was no big deal and then reached for his water bottle.

Meanwhile, you were suddenly aware of every inch of him, his chest, his arms, his stomach… he was covered in tattoos, and as he turned around you felt your knees go weak.

Never had you found someone’s back attractive before, but holy fuck.

Sorry, Jesus.

“You okay?” He asked, his voice casual like he hadn’t just turned your entire brain into mush.

You nodded, forcing a laugh.

“Yeah. Just… um. Still recovering.”

“From your meeting?”

You stared at him.

“…Yeah.”

He smirked but didn’t press.

“You wanna go and get changed, then we can start?”

You nodded, quickly heading into your bedroom, changing into the gym set you had left on the edge of your bed before you left for your meeting.

Once you had gotten changed, put some deodorant and your favourite perfume, then you stepped back out of your bedroom, finding Noah stood in the middle of your living room like he belonged there, relaxed, arms crossed loosely over his chest, glancing around like he was assessing floor space- which you didn’t have that much of.

“I should probably move the couch.” You muttered, half to yourself, stepping forward and bracing your hands against the armrest. You gave it a push.

Nothing happened.

You pushed harder.

The couch barely budged.

Noah stepped up behind you, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Need help?”

“No,” you said, still pushing. “…Okay, maybe.”

He laughed quietly and moved beside you, pressing his hands to the back of the couch next to yours.

“On three?”

You barely had time to say “wait-“ before he shifted his weight and moved the whole damn thing like it was made of feathers.

“Okay, no one likes a show off.” You teased.

He shrugged like he hadn’t just casually embarrassed you in your own home. To hide the blush on your cheeks, you turned back around, opening the cupboard under the TV unit and dragging out two rolled up yoga mats, ones you had bought many years ago from your short lived new years resolution where you told yourself you'd finally start getting your life together. (You used them once with Kylie, pulled a muscle and never got them out again.)

“They’re a little dusty.” You warned, handing him one.

“That's fine.” He chuckled, already unrolling his onto the floor with a soft flap.

You tried to copy him, but the mat curled back in on itself. You had to step on one end to keep it flat.

Noah didn’t comment, but his grin said enough.

You knelt down to adjust it, tucking one corner under your coffee table to hold it in place.

When you straightened, he was already stretching, his arms over his head, back arching slightly, muscles flexing. Completely unaware, or pretending to be unaware, that you were watching.

You looked away fast, dropping to the mat and forcing yourself to focus.

“Okay,” you said, clapping your hands together like this was a totally normal event. “What are we starting with?”

“Let’s warm up your shoulders and legs,” he said, kneeling beside you. “We’ll go light today, so nothing too intense.”

You nodded, following his lead as he shifted into a forward lunge. He glanced over to watch your form, and you immediately forgot how legs worked.

Then he moved behind you.

“Just gonna check your stance.” He said, one hand brushing your hip, the other on your upper back.

You nearly tipped over.

“Loosen up. You’re stiff.” His voice was right by your ear now, calm and warm.

“Sorry, I've just... had a really bad day.” You mumbled.

“I can tell.” He said, not unkindly.

You exhaled, tried to relax your shoulders.

His hands lingered just a second longer than necessary. Then he stepped away.

“You’ll feel better after this, though.” He said, standing back in his place again, like nothing happened.

…

You were already flushed, hot and sweating by the time you finished warming up, and as usual, he looked untouched.

Whilst you were taking a quick water break, opening more windows to let some air in, he threw his spare wraps at you.

“Wrap up,” he said simply, winding his own. “We’ll do a few light rounds, I don’t have any pads or gloves though.”

You caught them clumsily, still breathless as you sat down beside him on the couch.

“We’re sparring?”

He nodded, already securing the wrap.

“You got some steam to let off. Better to do it with me than your boss.”

“You just want to laugh at me.” You said with a smirk.

“Why would I do that?” He asked, voice almost too casual, but there was something teasing behind it. A glint in his eyes that made your hands fumble with the wraps.

“Because I still suck at this,” you mumbled, trying to loop the fabric over your wrist the right way. “And I know you enjoy watching me suffer, especially when it comes to the roundhouse kicks.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“That’s not true.” He said, and you gave him a look. “I don’t enjoy it,” he continued, standing slowly. “But it is cute.”

Your breath caught. Cute.

You opened your mouth to fire back something, anything! But then he stepped toward you, holding out his hands.

“Give me them.” He said.

“What?”

“The wraps.”

You hesitated. Then handed them over.

He took them without another word, his fingers brushing yours briefly before he crouched in front of you, dropping to one knee. He took your wrist gently and began rewrapping that hand.

“You always pull too tight." He murmured, not looking up.

“I like it tight.”

His lips twitched.

“Yeah?”

You flushed, immediately regretting your choice of words. He briefly looked up and you swore he was biting back a laugh.

“Shut up.” You glared at him.

“I didn’t say anything.” He finished the wrap and ran his thumb over the back of your hand once, just softly, before starting on the other.

When he finally stood, he didn’t step back, just looked down at you and offered his hand.

“You ready?”

You nodded, even though you weren’t. Not really.

“Remember,” he said, guiding you into position. “Focus on control. You don’t need to prove anything to me, or show off.”

You exhaled. Tried to settle your stance. His hands came down on your hips lightly, just adjusting you.

“Widen your base,” he murmured. “There, that’s perfect… Good girl.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You weren’t even sure he meant to say it, it came out softly, quiet, but it landed like a sucker punch to your stomach.

You looked up at him sharply.

“What?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing.”

You shook it off. Focus!

…

You weren’t sure when the sparring became funny, but somewhere between the fourth time Noah made you miss on purpose and the second time he caught your punch mid-air just to spin you and tickle your sides, you were losing your composure.

“Noah!” You half shouted, half laughed as his fingers found your ribs again, wriggling at your sides.

"It's conditioning," he said, smug, biting back his own laugh, "If you don't want me to tickle you, don't be predictable."

"You're the worst." You gasped, breathless as you wiped the sweat from your brow and staggered back, still a little giddy.

He just stood there, hands on hips, calm as ever.

"You'll thank me when you become untouchable."

You shook your head, pacing in a slow circle around him, catching your breath.

“Okay,” you muttered. “How’s this for predictable?”

Before he could answer, you launched.

A roundhouse kick, not perfect but it had power. Noah’s eyes widened just enough to let you know you’d surprised him.

Except… your foot didn’t quite land how you wanted it to, and you lost balance.

“Shit-”

Noah moved to steady you, but too late. Everything spiralled out of control in a blur of limbs...

And the two of you tumbled backwards, straight onto the couch.

With a heavy thud, he landed on his back with a soft grunt, arms instinctively around your waist, making you land on top of him with a soft, shocked oof. You tried to process what just happened, as you pushed yourself up, your hands on his chest, your legs either side of his.

“Shit-“ you gasped, “I… didn’t mean to do that.”

Noah wheezed a laugh.

“You okay?” He asked gently.

“Yeah- yeah, I just… oh my god, I wasn’t trying to kill you.”

“You sure?” He chuckled.

You shifted your weight a little, trying to find a better position as to not fall off the couch completely… and accidentally rolled your hips right over his.

Noah sucked in a sharp breath, and you froze.

Because you felt it.

Oh.

“Oh...” You whispered, eyes going wide.

His jaw flexed, his eyes screwing shut.

“Dont… Don’t move.”

And of course, you immediately moved again, flustered and clumsy, trying to do the right thing, your hips moving again as you tried to roll off of him.

And that only made it worse.

Noah exhaled hard through his nose, grabbing your hips to still you completely.

“I said don’t.”

Your cheeks burned.

“Sorry!" You quickly apologised, now breathless, "I didn’t mean-“

“I know,” he said, voice tight. “It’s fine. Just… don’t panic-“

So you didn’t. You didn’t move. Didn’t dare look at him…

But then you did. And your breath caught in your throat, and you felt that pulse between your thighs.

He was already looking at you, his eyes dark, lips parted, bare chest rising and falling beneath you. His jaw clenched, the muscles in his arms flexing as he fought to hold you still. And yet… his grip wasn’t forceful, or rough.

You didn’t move, he did. Just a little. His thumbs shifted along your hips, guiding you forward slowly, as if to test. You followed the motion instinctively, and your body rocked against him.

The friction made your thighs tremble.

Noah inhaled sharply, his hands tightening just enough to tell you he felt it too.

“Fuck.” He breathed, his head thrown back.

Your palms braced against his chest, but you didn’t pull back. You stayed there. Hearts pounding. Lips parting.

He looked up at you.

His eyes lingered on your lips, before dragging back up to your eyes, as you continued to gently rock against him.

Neither of you said anything, but neither of you stopped either.

He moved your hips again, just once, and this time you whined, gasping as your forehead dropped to his shoulder.

Then, slowly, the front door opened...

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

the next chapter is already pretty much finished btw so i might post it in a couple days :)

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[fushipurro]

Comforting Presence

☆ Synopsis: You're having a bad day, but luckily you have Sukuna there to help.

☆ Content: soft!sukuna, gn!reader, hurt/comfort, fluff, established relationship

☆ Notes: had a lot on my mind and couldn't sleep so i wrote this up really fast to put me at ease. hopefully it brings you all comfort as well <3

You awake to a familiar, delicious scent that overwhelms your senses all at once.

Momentarily you’re confused ─ disoriented from your nap. Sukuna shouldn’t be home from work yet, you had only shut your eyes a few minutes ago. You thought so at least, but judging by the darkened state of your bedroom, that early afternoon nap became more than just that.

You rub the sleep from your eyes, stretching out of the bed and onto your feet. The smell calls to you, and you aimlessly follow it to its source.

In the kitchen, you spot Sukuna with his back turned to you, a utensil in hand over the hot stove top. You step closer without another thought, snaking your arms around to his front and pressing your cheek to his back.

He laughs quietly, with that husky tone that never fails to raise goosebumps across your skin. “Morning, sleepyhead,” he greets, continuing to cook while you continue clinging to him.

“When did you get home?” you ask, your voice thick with sleep.

He hums, “Around an hour ago. I thought it was a little too quiet around here until I found your drooling face.” You can hear the smirk between his words.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I was going to, but then I remembered how grumpy you get when you’re disturbed.”

“Am not,” you argue, flaring your cheeks as you pout.

Sukuna laughs again, and you know in your heart he’s right. He’s always found amusement in comparing you to a hibernating bear when you’re sleeping, but this is also the same man that revels in danger wherever.

“I also know you only nap when you’re sick or something’s upsetting you, and you’re definitely not sick,” he adds while turning the knob to shut the stove off. “So, what’s wrong?”

You tense, caught off guard by how well he’s read the situation from something as simple as a nap ─ something everyone does. It shouldn’t surprise you though; he’s always been good at it, and only got better once you started living together full-time.

“…had a bad day.” You tighten your arms slightly, pushing your face deeper against his body. It’s a reminder that he’s really here, that all of this is real. “I missed you.”

The palm of his hand settles over the both of yours, fingers mingling to hold yours, his thumb smoothing shapes across your skin.

“Had I known, I would’ve come home sooner, but someone must not be checking their phone.”

“Sorry…” you say, sounding defeated as you do. You know he’s only teasing, but the thought of ignoring him ─ even if it was an accident ─ bothers you greatly.

Sukuna may display faux annoyance at your calls, but he’s always said that if you need him, call him. He could never truly be mad at you, but after the day you had, and being tired and hungry on top of it all, your emotions are a dangerous tide to swim with.

He sighs, breaking away from your grasp only to turn and face you properly. His hand still holds one of yours, the other landing against your face. It’s only natural that you angle yourself to seek his touch.

“Go sit up, and I’ll bring you your plate,” he says, leaning down until his lips meet yours with a ginger touch, atypical from his usual roughness.

You nod, stepping away to do as he asked, and a minute later he comes in with dishes for you and him. As he gets comfortable in his seat, he pulls your chair closer with his foot after deciding you’re too far from his side.

“After we eat, you’re going to tell me what’s on your mind.” Sukuna uses a stern tone to address you, and while it makes you want to shrink, or deflect that you’re fine and a bad day was all it was, but then you remember that this is Sukuna.

He loves you, even if he doesn’t say it as often as he should. You know more than anyone that he would let the world burn, watching with popcorn in his hand if only for you. You have always trusted him more than yourself at times. He knows you well enough after all, and just how to make you smile when all you’re able to do is drown in yourself. Just like how he knew from a simple nap that making you one of your favorite comfort meals would be exactly what you needed.

It's thanks to Sukuna that you never have to suffer again on your own. He’s all you’ve ever needed to feel better about life, and you love him with all of yours and the next ones combined.

“Now eat before it gets cold, brat.” He smiles, and you can feel your troubles already beginning to slip away with the tide.

You’ll get through this with Sukuna here at your side.