#nevertheless I'm so excited!!

[yeba]

if any of you are witnessing the solar eclipse tomorrow, have fun!!

[the-priestess-of-dawn]

Been thinking about a postgame scenario that goes in a direction I don't think canon would ever take in a million years, but like... I think it could be really compelling...

And that's the idea of Chrom becoming Plegia's king after Grima's defeat. And specifically giving up his claim to Ylisse's throne to do it (leaving it to Lucina when she's old enough).

Because here's the thing... The game ends with Grima's defeat/Robin's return in the sacrifice ending. It doesn't address what happens to Plegia at all, and while I personally maintain that Aversa is the most qualified candidate to rule, her canon ending provides that she goes back to the village she was born in. So, fine. Let's give her that.

But SOMEONE has to do SOMETHING because realistically, Plegia is in dire straits. Validar, the king and the leader of the Grimleal, is dead. He gave, like, ALL of Plegia's resources to the Ylissean League (well, okay, we don't know how much, if any, he left in reserve, but... He really needed Walhart gone and it's not like he had any reason to think that anyone would need resources once Grima was running around, so... chances are good there's little to nothing left in the wake of the averted apocalypse). And the population has been utterly devastated, because not only did people (exactly how many is unclear, but presumably it took more than just a couple) have to sacrifice themselves to renew the fell dragon's power, but Grima was also spawning Grimleal onto their back at the final battle. Their losses are so immense...

So first of all, Chrom is definitely responsible for taking all their resources and setting half of them on fire (Now to be fair, Flavia and Basilio are also responsible, but... Idk, I kinda feel like they'd bicker with each other over who has to do the crappy parts of the job and then agree that they should just ask Chrom if he can do it. Like "Haha, if you didn't want to deal with thieves ambushing the Longfort to steal construction supplies, you shouldn't have gone and beaten me at the last tournament!" "Oh, shut up. Let's see if Chrom can send his thief friend over to talk these guys down. Or kill them, whichever." I mean, Chrom is always going to be their guy who knows a guy.) There's just no way Chrom would abandon the surviving Plegians who need help anyway, but especially not when he knows the war with Valm would've ended before it could begin without them.

Of course, there's the historical hostility between Ylisse and Plegia to consider, but... If anyone's protesting, it's probably the Ylisseans. Because the survivng Plegians, uh... probably were never Grima's most devoted followers in the first place (if you really wanted to give Grima your life, you'd rush to the front of the line at the Dragon's Table, right?) and even if they used to consider themselves true Grimleal, the religion's leadership is destroyed, and—for the purpose of this scenario, I'm considering it post-sacrifice ending—the fell dragon is gone and not coming back. These people narrowly avoided becoming Grima's breakfast or Grima's meat shields. They all almost certainly know someone who wasn't as lucky. And the one who saved them... Well, it was Chrom, wasn't it? Because he believed in humanity enough to challenge the concept of fate, a fate that the people of Plegia were surely taught was inescapable. Despite their history with Ylisse, it's hardly unreasonable for them to see Chrom as a savior to them specifically. The second coming of the Hero-King who ought for the lives of all humans, really.

And yeah, I'm going here... Chrom is Marth's descendant. Marth was Altean. Former Altea is is modern Plegia, so technically, the people can argue that he's actually theirs.

Doesn't it sort of make sense, even? Plegia is ruined, the god to whom the theocracy was devoted killed. "What we need is to restore the glory of ancient Altea!" And who better to help them than Chrom, Marth's successor in blood and in spirit?

But Chrom would frown and say no. Of course he's going to help them restore their country to prosperity—or at least to independent, peaceful functioning. But king? Sheesh, that's going too far. Come on guys, you don't really want that. Besides, he's already ruling Ylisse...

Except, he's not ruling it as Exalt. At least, not at first he's not. He forswore the title when he started his rule and in canon he is only official welcomed as Exalt after Grima's defeat. But what if he just... continued to not accept it. It's not like he ever wanted to be Exalt. He only has the right to rule because Emmeryn died—because he failed to protect her. It has nothing to do with any of his successes.

But if the Plegians made him their king, then it would be because of his own accomplishments.

And in a way I also can't help but find it heartwarming, because it was the Plegian people who got him to truly understand Emmeryn's ideals. He wanted peace, he wanted to follow her path, but it wasn't until the Plegians took her sacrifice for the peace offer it was and refused to continue fighting Ylisse that Chrom was finally able to comprehend what it meant that Emmeryn believed that all people wanted the same thing, that peace is something for everyone and not just purehearted saints like her who would never hurt a fly. So wouldn't it be sweet to expand on that existing connection? For the people who once bore a grudge against him and his nation to say, actually, our home is your home and you belong with us... For Chrom to reach back and decide that these are his people and that he will protect them...

Especially because that's what he's always done for Robin. Your father doesn't get to determine your path for you, your past doesn't dictate your future, you always have a place beside me because we are two halves of a greater whole. This AU is definitely a chrobin AU, because when Robin gets back I want them to rule at his side (after all, I do have feelings about Grima's loyalty to a people who have been praying to them to end their suffering for a thousand years).

Now, I do think that Chrom would never leave Ylisse while little Lucina was still growing up, but... Honestly it would probably take quite some time to establish a castle for Plegia's new ruler anyway (especially if they go super hard on the Altean revival theme and want it to be IN former Altean territory, which has become the "border wastes" and undoubtedly needs some help... But EVERYWHERE in Plegia needs help, so what better time to give the land some attention?) So when Lucina is an adult she can take over as Ylisse's true Exalt, and Chrom can focus his efforts on the other side of the border. I think he'd still be awkward about the whole thing, approaching it like "Well, I guess I'm here if you all still want me..." but Robin's there to give him confidence and the people there are SO excited for their hero to come and live with them and together they all usher in a new era of peace and prosperity as Ylisse and Plegia themselves become like two halves of a greater whole.

[doctorbrown]

DOCTOBER '23 ⸺ 「 23 / 31 * NOSTALGIA 」

December 7, 1985

❝Can you believe it's been twenty-seven years already since we got married, George?❞ Lorraine says, smiling as George wraps his arms around her from behind. He leans in and whispers something in her ear that paints her face a bright shade of red and has her giggling like a schoolgirl. Lorraine swats at George's hand half-heartedly, but her eyes are twinkling with the knowledge passed between them in their silent conversation.

Marty quickly looks away from his parents to look at Dave, at Linda, at the faint coffee stain on the couch—anywhere but there. Linda rolls her eyes, shrugs at Marty, and leans in toward her little brother to whisper, ❝You and Jennifer better not be this bad when you get to be Mom and Dad's age.❞

❝How time flies,❞ George says wistfully, ❝but these have been the best years of my life. I married the woman of my dreams, I have my family... You know, I was actually looking through some of our old stuff and you'll never guess what I found tossed in with the photo albums—our old yearbooks!❞

❝Our yearbooks? Oh, I haven't thought about those things in years.❞ Lorraine sighs, leaning back into George. ❝Speaking of high school, George, you remember Calvin?❞

Marty snaps straight to attention as Lorraine makes a noise he can't quite place. At his sides, Linda and Dave both groan in preparation for a story they've heard so many times they could recite it verbatim.

A lump the size of a baseball forms in Marty's throat and he feels the tension mounting in his shoulders as he pulls them tighter, willing to the powers-that-be that his parents change the topic or the power goes out. The lights don't even flicker and his silent pleas once again go unanswered.

He grabs his soda from the table.

❝Calvin. Now there's a name I haven't heard in a while. I wonder what happened to him. He disappeared after the dance; didn't his uncle say he went back to New York?❞

They talked to Doc? Marty chokes on his drink and Linda whips her head around, her face scrunched up in a mix of concern and annoyance. ❝You forget how to drink?❞ He waves a hand at the four pairs of eyes now trained on him to say I'm fine, ignore me. Dave pats him gently on the knee.

❝He must have been one of the strangest people I ever met,❞ George continues, humming softly. ❝Always saying weird things, didn't quite fit in—❞

❝But he was so handsome,❞ Lorraine muses, and Marty feels his stomach flip. This is all still too fresh in his mind for them to be talking about this and he fights the urge to cover his mouth when he starts feeling nauseous for fear that they'll somehow put two-and-two together.

Dave's brows furrows as he asks if Marty's feeling alright and he diverts the question with a hurried nod.

❝Mm, he was an attractive guy, wasn't he?❞ Marty's eyes widen as the realisation sets in.

❝I'll never forget his advice to me: you can accomplish anything if you put your mind to it. It's what I've been teaching you kids since you were little. It's all because of him I had the courage to stand up to Biff that night.❞

Lorraine smiles. ❝You were amazing, George. It was the most heroic thing anyone had ever done for me.❞

Linda groans. ❝We know, Mom, we know. And then Calvin Klein played at the Enchantment Under the Sea dance where you kissed for the first time and fell madly in love, Dad became super popular at school and became class president, and you lived happily ever after.❞

❝Why don't I go grab one of them? I think there's even a picture or two of Calvin in there. Have we ever shown you those photos, kids?❞

Marty shoots up off the couch like a rocket as his heart slams into his ribcage. ❝Shit, uh, I just remembered I was supposed to help Doc with something; I gotta go!❞

[besiegedhunter]

Siracusa's She-Wolf of Sette Colli and the Signore dei Lupi brainstorming

Second post of tonight! And it's one I've debated on making this post but if you're a fan of Red and excited for her to finally get the spotlight or just a fan of Siracusa I hope you enjoy.

Now this post is exploring the possibility that the Signore dei Lupi from Il Siracusano could be connected to the She-Wolf of Sette Colli, the founder of Siracusa and what that means.

Under the cut.

So the She-Wolf is first mentioned in the"Rewinding Breeze" event's "Stories from the Sky" wherein Suzuran, Shamare, Popukar and Mousse tell stories.

And the story that Shamare tells is of the She-Wolf of Sette Colli. The story goes that there was a tribe in what would become Siracusa. The She-Wolf was the leader and had six children who each made their own Tribes and fought amongst each other until one tried to steal from the She-Wolf and she leapt to the Moon to become it's shadow.

After that the other children came to their senses, exiled the worst one and their Tribes became the mafia families. Which fyi the Saluzzo's were called by Signora Sicily "the oldest family" so likely Lappland is descended from one of these Tribes.

Now, on the surface the Signore dei Lupi are not involved in this but I've always had my doubts.

See, take a look at that image. It's a play from Integrated Strategies 2 and the She-Wolf's children are depicted as actual Wolves and as the story goes: the children fought over food and one tried stealing from the She-Wolf.

And assuming her children are Wolves then sentient wolves capable of leading humans sound like the Signore dei Lupi.

And if they use humans to fight each other, well that sound like the Signore dei Lupi. And to this day the Signore dei Lupi and the Mafia families each, separately fight amongst themselves, in the wilderness and in the cities respectively. And it was a big theme of Il Siracusano that Siracusa still retains it's wild nature, it's violence from the wilderness.

But that's more or less coincidental evidence. So here's some things that are a tad more concrete.

Starting off with some basic information:

This is straight from Zaaro's mouth and I'll admit that a lot of it would go to disprove any connection

He doesn't mention the She-Wolf

He says the Signore dei Lupi have been around since time immemorial

That they fight amongst themselves per their nature

They can't destroy the other and so they use Fangs

Now, if this is completely true than that is fair and do keep this in mind but also that this is information given by Zaaro who is arrogant and easy to trick himself with his pride.

But there is a strong possibility that this situation is more complicated.

See, there's more than six Signore dei Lupi:

That's five but there's at least four Signore dei Lupi outside of them:

Zaaro

Grandma (Red's)

Agnese (Lunacub's)

Maybe Crownslayer's Mentor's depending on when Red killed said Mentor

One more mentioned by Bernado (Bernado who is Zaaro's Fang)

(Those Signore dei Lupi mentioned above are the important ones btw)

But, there are as I see it, three possibilities with this:

Shamare's story is based upon events thousands of years ago. It's probable that it's inaccurate. Maybe they assume it's six families due to the six hills but there's more. After all there's more cities and more families than six.

That there is a divide in the She-Wolf's children, with some going off to become the Signore dei Lupis and continue their game while six stay behind to nurture the six Tribes.

Similar to that, the child that was exiled found another group of Lupine Beast Lords and became their first Packleader, making infighting tradition to uphold the fighting of it's family.

Depending on which it's very possible that Zaaro just wasn't there for the events that unfolded but putting that aside.

Now for the actual evidence and on Emperor, he knows the Signore dei Lupi from three thousand years ago when he was in Leithania and Siracusa was a part of Leithania. And he refers to Zaaro and the other Signore dei Lupi as siblings multiple times:

And as Zaaro doesn't correct him, it can be said that the Signore dei Lupi do have a sort of familial connection tying into the "children of the She-Wolf"

Then and for the one that I feel is possibly the most concrete is of the nature of both the She-Wolf and the Signore dei Lupi. You see, they're connected by shadows:

Throughout Il Siracusano the Signore dei Lupi exhibit control over shadows. We're introduced to them via shadows. Zaaro summons other wolves through shadows. It is what they are at their core.

And the She-Wolf is the "Moonshadow" with a natural phenomenon attached to that fact.

Which I just feel is too much of a connection to be a mere coincidence.

So to go over the points for:

The She-Wolf and her children are usually depicted as Wolves.

The She-Wolf children's infighting mirrors the Signore dei Lupi's.

Both the She-Wolf's children and the Signore dei Lupi have a sibling relationship

The She-Wolf is known as the "Moonshadow" for being the moon's shadow while the Signore dei Lupi are made from and manipulate shadows

I also have another point however I want to make that it's own post as it pertains moreso to Red and a question about her.

But on that note this is all the evidence for that. Maybe it helps if you consider the She-Wolf to be a Feranmut, which is it's own thing but to briefly go over that:

It's been shown before by Kjeragandr that Feranmut have founded nations or otherwise taken in a group of people.

It is unordinary even for Beast Lords to disappear to the moon.

She is revered at least by Lupos with seemingly a holiday for when the "Moonshadow" appears.

I can't find a source but I remember somewhere that Kjeragandr went to the heavens in a similar manner to the She-Wolf

And these three are both under the assumption the Signore dei Lupi are in fact her children or that her children could be Beast Lords:

To put yourself in a Senior position over Beast Lords likely means she is a more powerful being (although it's possible there's high versions of Beast Lords)

To create Beast Lords it's likely she'd have to be a more powerful being (again: possibility Beast Lords could do this) (But also, a less powerful Ya can create Di Beasts so likely a Feranmut ability)

There may be a canon connection between Feranmut and Beast Lords based upon the "Fairies of the Plains" from the Aslan backstory, wherein they make a weapon so powerful to repel catastrophies and Beast Lords in Gawain and have a connection with the sword. Likely joining the Aslan Padishah at that point.

But a lot of that is speculation and depends on your interpretation of different events. Ultimately there's not a lot of information regarding the Signore dei Lupi or Beast Lords in general.

It's also possible, in general, that Beast Lords are lesser Feranmuts as in Vernal Winds, Ya remarks that they (Feranmuts) were born from a void before any other being. And likely with more power than Beast Lords but a similar form. Maybe meaning they have similar make ups?

It's early in the morning.

So one last point and it's: what does it mean if the She-Wolf is connected to the Signore dei Lupi?

The answer is that Siracusa is a wild country without their god but the Tribes of her children who fought amongst each other. This fact trickling down into the families and the very core of Siracusa.

And also Sette Colli city could likely be the setting of a Red centric event as Sette Colli is dedicated to the She-Wolf, based off her Tribe's name and it runs independently from the rest of Siracusa, having it's own council and that.

Also the "Moonshadow" may be an event we see and be triggered by the Signore dei Lupi. As Red is set to kill the last fang and make Grandma the new Packleader, that could mean a "Moonshadow" might happen as a result.

Fun food for thought. And I desperately want to see the She-Wolf one of these days. As well as Sette Colli. Just, so interesting, alongside Siracusa's lore in general.

[viktortittiforov]

the 2010s sure were a time in my life

[doesntseeyourbeauty]

had a gyno appointment and got a pap smear today so ya girl got herself hot cocoa to make the horrors better

but in other news, i was finally given a referral for a surgery consult that i've needed for years (they said i was too young to know what i actually wanted) today so it's not too bad considering it all!

[krshush]

We have a new person in our dept today and while we were talking abt the timing of breaks and I was trying to put up my hair, she was just like "you're pretty!"

And I got the classic Stunned By Compliment before remembering to say thank you and continuing the training lesson, but Faster

[wild-bill-hiccup]

a little tidbit from my next nrb fanfic! (who knows when it'll be done—the whole thing currently sits at about 8600 words)

~~~

The moon gently rises from the sea, casting Ravenswood Bluff in an eerie glow. The houses are dark and the streets silent; not a soul moves within the town. Plumes of smoke spewing from chimneys and the soft flicker of street lights are the only indicator of life. Crooked trees sway in the autumn breeze, their leaves rustling and slowly falling to the cobblestone streets below.

A clocktower stands in the middle of town square, giant and imposing among the wooden houses surrounding it. A metal cross atop the spire glints in the moonlight, bringing comfort to those who live in the town—townsfolk stare up at it in the hopes that their isolated town has enough food for the winter, wood for the fire, and money in the pouch. The cogs and wheels inside the clock were meticulously created by a hand no longer remembered, a creator blinked out of existence. The stone tower is rumoured to have been a glistening white, rivaling that of the moon. But years of weather has worn the ancient tower to a sickly grey where browning vines climb to reach their way to the face.

[devotion-between-the-wheat]

I just know lucifer is going to be last in the "get consumed by the sin you represent idiot" arc, after all he's always like this, and legit I'm excited for the mess to come.

[wrap-bucky-in-a-blanket]

i haven't seen the new marvel tv shows but i feel like the first four episodes of loki were the peak

[hoshigray]

𝐇𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐝 | satoru gojō

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Is it possible to wish to be in the embrace of someone who makes you want to throw them off a cliff? You seem to think so, and the same goes for Gojo. But alas, good things always come to an end, even when not meant to be...

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Gojo x fem/afab! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern + college AU - frenemies to lovers + mutual pining - Gojo and reader are at least age 20 - implied fwb relationship - catching/awakening feelings - oral (m! receiving) - ball massaging + sucking - sex in a shared room; college dorms (alone) - cowgirl position on a chair - breast fondling + sucking + nipple play - protected sex (psa: wrap it up, or get tf up) - pet names (baby, cutie, pretty, princess) - heavy depiction of a blowjob - cameos: Haibara and Ijichi - fluff + angst; misunderstandings - humor bc i'm [not] funny.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.6k

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: second part, let's goooo!! i loved ur support and comments from the first story, so hope y'all are excited for this part :DDD and ty so so so MUCH for 5.5k like??? i kiss you on cheek, every single on of you, hehehe~

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“If you’re not gonna help, then leave my dorm!”

“Ehhhh, hell no! It’s cold as fuck outside; you want me to freeze to death?”

“They’re…still going at it.”

“Yeah…give it a minute, and we’ll just go to the library without them?”

It’s coming down to the last week of January; university students are finally settling in with their new schedules and getting used to the groove of the spring semester. Or some run around trying to keep up with the new semesters and the change of weather already getting on people’s nerves, wanting nothing more than spring to come quickly.

Three weeks in, and you already have stuff to do, one of them being an argumentative presentation assigned by Professor Yaga in your Contemporary Issues class. You and three other people are tasked to find sources for a topic issue you find interesting and then present a discussion-based presentation on two sides of the topic (two people in favor and two people against).

Unfortunately, the groups were to be randomly assigned. Luckily, two friends you knew in the class, Haibara and Ijichi, were picked to work alongside you! However, the bad part was that another person you knew was assigned to work with you, and he happens to be the guy getting on your last nerves right now, sitting on your couch while clicking through the television channels with the remote. 

Your roommates weren’t home today. The club fair was occurring at the quad, so Mei Mei and Utahime had to go out and represent their clubs for the afternoon. Shoko is having an intense study session with Geto for an exam on the first of February, so they’re at the library now. 

That leaves you alone at your dorm, using this as a perfect opportunity to invite your group over to work on the project. 

“You can freeze your nuts off and become the next Jack Frost for all I care; if you’re not going to do your part of the work, get out!”

Well, minus you yelling at your partner, who clicks his teeth before turning to you. His round sunglasses shone from the light reflected from the living room windows.

Satoru Gojo was your number one nemesis within these campus grounds; this was a known fact to everyone, especially the other group members who nervously examined you two bicker. Being in the same space as him is enough to make you wish you could pull your hair out or put him in the nastiest headlock you could do. Worse, being assigned to the same group as him for your project almost made you want to rip your ears off. 

But you had to suck it up; at least you were the first group to start a presentation. Better now than worry about it later, right? 

“Pssh, fine, I’ll get up and—Oh! Wait, you guys have Digimon on Hulu? Ahhh, sick!” 

Nevertheless, you can’t say that when your supposed partner acts like a child glued to your TV screen instead of doing the work he promised to do. You grit your teeth with a twitching brow, “Why you…”

Across from the common area was the kitchen, where Haibara and Ijichi sat at the dining table. The two sophomores could do nothing but feel the tension between you and Gojo grow with every passing second, suffocating the younger duo. Haibara eyes Ijichi from across the table and whispers, “Wanna make a run for it now?”

The black-haired second-year didn’t reply, only a hurried nod before the two grabbed their coats and stuffed their laptops back into their backpacks. The sound of their zippers alerts your ears, turning to them to question, “Huh? Where are you two going?” 

Haibara takes it upon himself to deliver a half-lie as he zips up his jacket. “On second thought, Ijichi and I are thinking of taking the shuttle to the library to work instead.”

Huh? The library? Were they leaving because of the belligerence between you and Gojo? God, you hoped not. “Wait, you guys don’t have to do that. I already made you guys walk all this way here; it’d be rough to have you leave for somewhere else…”

Ijichi comes with the assist after putting the sling of his messenger bag around his shoulder. “It’s okay, Y/n. We found material from the library we could use as sources, so we’re heading up there to take some notes while they’re there.” 

“Yup!” Haibara exclaims in agreement, and the two walk past you to put on their shoes by the front door. “Maybe you guys can find sources of your own while we’re gone, and then we can converse and share what we found when we come back. Sounds good?” 

“I suppose so…” you couldn’t shake the feeling that they were leaving to avoid being in the same room as you and Gojo. The guilt is hard to endure since you didn’t mean to make the younger boys uncomfortable. “See you guys, then.”

“Cya!” And with that, the door closes on their way out, leaving you and Gojo alone in your apartment. 

Well, this is just great; you’ve driven your group members and friends away and are now stuck with the nuisance of a partner who still keeps his attention on the television. It takes everything in your power not to pop a vein. But with one calm breath, you steady yourself and stand tall. 

You walk in front of the TV, blocking it from Gojo’s view. The white-haired boy throws his hands up in exasperation, but you couldn’t care less. “What’s the big idea?” He questions you as if he has a right to at this moment. 

You cross your arms across your chest with narrow eyes. “Haibara and Ijichi just left.”

“Uhh, yeah, I heard the door,” he maneuvers his body to try and see the children’s show blocked by your figure. “Doesn’t have to do with me—“

“It does have to do with you.” You interrupt him, taking two steps and bending to stare him down. Your face is a foot away from his. “You’re supposed to be here to work with Haibara on the ’no’ part of the argument while me and Ijichi do our part. You’ve only been here for thirty minutes, and the only thing you’ve done successfully is take off your shoes at the door and read your manga books on the couch. 

Gojo chuckles – oh, how you hated his laugh – as he puts his hands behind his head, spreading his long legs from their crossed form. “You heard them, no? They’re going to research on their own and then come back. Besides, you know I’m not one to start stuff right away. I’m a procrastinator, remember?”

“You’re annoying; that’s what you are.” You straighten up with a heavy sigh.  God, I wish Utahime and Shoko were here. They’d help me out with this white garbage…

“Ahhh, lighten up, Y/n. It’s not like the presentation is on Monday; we got until Friday to come up with everything.”

“Yeah, I’m aware of that, smartass. And you’re right: I do know you. And I know you tend to do things at the last fucking minute. But not this time!” You watch him try to put his feet up on the coffee table, and you quickly intervene by kicking them off. 

“Tch. Look, you knew what you were getting into being partnered with me. And relax; those two said they’ll be back to discuss the material later. They already left – nothing I can do about it.”

Your hands rest at your hips, tapping your foot with visible frustration. “Oh? And I wonder why they left in the first place, Gojo. Mind telling me how?”

He quirks up a brow with a smug grin — a telling sign that you’d get ticked off with whatever he’s about to say. “I don’t know, Y/n. Why not ask the nagging control freak talking to me right now, huh? Maybe their short height and angry temper are affecting the mood of those around them to be miserable like them.” 

You almost did it — your hands nearly gave into your intrusive thoughts and were about to lunge at the snow-haired guy’s neck to wring around like a rag doll. But you played it off with a clap, rubbing the palms together to distract your temporary violent thoughts.

You sucked your teeth and turned on your heel. “Forget it. I’m gonna go take a nap.”

He scoffs, “Good, maybe your tiny brain needs it to calm down.”

“Choke and die, Gojo!” You say down the hall, already at the door of your shared bedroom. Before slamming the door shut, Gojo’s patronizing laughter can be heard to your dismay. With gritted teeth, you march to your bed to throw yourself on the mattress. 

“Ughhh. That Satoru Gojo,” you curse his name under your breath as if he’d hear you through the walls. “So unserious…”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

To be quite honest with himself, Gojo doesn’t necessarily hate you.

The white-haired boy lies on his side on Utahime’s bed, watching you nap. He did knock on the door – believe him, he did. He even gave you the good old ten-second rule, waiting for your response. But then you didn’t, which gave him the initiative to waltz in and see you in your slumber.

You slept so peacefully; your face at peace, and your faint snores were the only things his ears picked up on. It was as if your little nagging show from earlier was hard to comprehend when seeing your tranquil state in front of him. It used to be rare to see you like this. Keywords: used to be.

For the past two to three weeks, your relationship with Gojo has become more…intimate. Ever since he took your first kiss and drew your virgin curtains, the two of you have gotten a little closer than before — both platonically and physically. Something that Gojo never thought he’d experience with you, his tiny, cute frenemy. 

Gojo has known you since freshman year; you were two in the same enrichment group to prepare you to transition into college life. Personally, he wasn’t much for the program; he found it a waste of time, a mandatory prerequisite that he felt he didn’t need. He’s all about experience, wanting nothing more than to get on with his day, go to classes, hang with friends, and repeat. 

“Hello, my name is Y/n. It’s nice to meet you all!”

And then came you, the person sitting across from him at the round table your group would always meet at. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t enamored by you the second he saw you. Gojo rarely finds someone who could easily pull his eyes to them — not saying the girls who’d usually crowd and admire him weren’t pretty. There was something about you that kept him wanting to know more – to engage more – about you. 

One thing he knew from you was that you carried your character with pride. Your achievements, your personality, your kindness, and your mannerisms — all of which were displayed elegantly and were a breath of fresh air to look at. You stood out to him more than all the other kids in the group, his eyes always finding a way to steer from the professor’s advice to your alluring, listening face. 

Another thing Gojo liked about you was that you weren’t afraid to stand your ground, especially when discussing with your peers or him. Sure, you were always respectful and would respect other people’s arguments. But, God, the way you said things so constructed and nuanced, it had the tall other glued to you whenever you spoke.

He’s not going to lie; he’ll admit that he’d try to tick you off and get you to get a little angry with him when it came to arguing. He couldn’t help it. He just liked the thought of you layering out of your poised appearance to the point you’d glare at him whenever you saw him in the halls. And it had him giddy knowing he’s the one that made you angry because you looked cute. 

And that was the other thing he really liked about you. The more you two interacted, argued, hung out with his friends, or attended classes together, the more Gojo’s fascination for you turned into that of a school-boy crush. He wouldn’t admit to anyone of this (minus Geto and Shoko if his life depended on it) because it certainly wasn’t something to be known. He was okay with what you two had right now, being the friend who loves to push your buttons to see you nag at him. 

That was until you two started sleeping together. Because holy fuck, the past weeks you two have been sneaking time to have each other’s bodies close made Gojo’s mind go crazy. So fucking crazy like the feeling of you on him is borderline addicting. Your whiny cries calling out to him when he scrapes your sweet spots, your nails scrape on his chest, your half-lidded eyes when you look at him, or how you whisper his name only for him to hear.

This was the kind of relationship you two brewed, a secret thing only between you two. And Gojo was satisfied keeping it like this because it was what you wanted. No need to flaunt it around; it was no one’s business. Besides, he likes having you to himself, seeing a side of you that only he could imagine and experience.

The sensations of your body under his touch, the various tunes of your voice, and the beauty exhibited in your gaze. It was all addicting. You were addicting.

“Who told you to lie on my roommate’s bed? You know she’ll kill you if she ever saw you.” 

It was so addicting that he didn’t even notice you awake until you spoke to him, the erotic memories of you clouding his brain dissipating at the indication of your voice. He smirks, “Oh, I’ll be fine; not like she can hurt me with her tiny self.”

You’re too groggy to roll your eyes, sighing as you turn to your side to face him from across the room. “How long was I out for?”

“Almost an hour,” he replies, switching to sit criss-cross on Utahime’s bed. “I got bored watching TV and knocked.”

“How long have you been in here?”

“Maybe twenty minutes?”

“Just watching me sleep?”

“Yeah.”

You let out a scoff, shaking your head. “Weirdo.”

He snickers at you for recognizing his silliness. “Whaaat? There’s not much to do aside from looking at you. I got bored of the TV.”

“What about your manga?”

“Got bored of that, too.”

“Anyone on your socials that you’d wanna talk to? Girls? Friends? Your teammates?”

“Mmm, nah, none I’d wanna talk to right now.”

Your brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Hmm?”

“What do you mean ‘right now’? You make it seem like I’m keeping you from interacting with your outside life. If you’re bored, talk with whoever you want. Maybe bother Geto…No, nevermind, he’d probably be annoyed since he’s studying.”

Gojo examines you, silently removing himself from your roommate’s bed and treading towards yours. He takes off his sunglasses and places them on top of your dresser before sitting on his knees on the floor. He rests his hands and chin on the edge of your bed, his sky-blue eyes locked in with yours. God, you were so beautiful to look at. 

“I meant that I don’t want to talk to anybody.” Now that he’s closer to you, his voice dials to a whisper. “Not when I got you here to myself.”

He notices your brows drawing upward at the sentence. “To yourself?”

“Mhmm,” he hums, bringing a forefinger to trace your brow. A sensual touch not to startle you. “Just you and me.”

You give him a look as if you think he’s trying to pull something. “Don’t tell me you were making me mad at you earlier just so Haibara and Ijichi could leave, and I’d be stuck with you.”

His smile broadens with every word, his dimples out to see. “No, although I hate that I didn’t think of that myself.” His hand goes to your cheek for his thumb to stroke gently. “Would it have been a bad thing if I did?”

You don’t reply, only placing your hand on his. Your eyes are still on his blue orbs, and – you don’t know this because Gojo has the perfect view of you – the light from the window made them shine charmingly as it highlighted your face. 

“No…I don’t think so,” you murmur, gaze gradually venturing down to his lips. “I like being around you…Satoru.”

He heard his name leave your lips, an invitation to what he wants to do, his eyes fixated on your lips before closing them and drawing in closer. “Me too…”

The kiss was soft and gentle like he always starts with, waiting for you to give him the okay to kiss you again. And when you meekly lick his bottom lip, he gives in to your request and claims your lips again. 

Your moans were so sweet to his ears — his favorite thing to hear — especially when he becomes a little devilish and sucks on your tongue to make you whimper a little louder, turning him on even more. It serves as the perfect distraction for him to snake a hand into your shirt, his hand already making itself home and cupping your breast in your bra. 

You break the kiss with a gasp, and massages to your mound make your breath shaky. “Mmmah…you sneaky pervert,” you name-call him sweetly. 

“Can’t blame me; I just know that you like to have your tits played with.” Gojo sneers, tweaking your nipple to hear you gasp again. “Hey, remember you said you’d suck me off next time?”

“Huh?” The question threw you off before you could fall deeper into a euphoric haze. 

“Don’t ‘huh’ me, you promised!” He whines to you like a hurt puppy. “After I ate you out for twenty minutes straight last time, can I just have your mouth on my dick once?”

“I never told you to eat me out for twenty minutes!”

“You crying and telling me not to stop said otherwise!” He stands his argument, even if you warn him with a glare. “Just suck it, please. I haven’t felt your mouth in a while.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. You didn’t expect to deal with his childish tendencies, but it is Gojo we’re talking about. You sigh, “…Fine, Satoru.” And then the white-headed boy beamed at the confirmation, immediately standing up and heading to your desk. It was an abrupt change of pace for a second until he brought your desk chair out. 

With glee, Gojo flings his jeans and boxers with ease, his half-hard cock out for you to see. He sits on your chair with spread legs, “I’m ready~.”

You roll your eyes, yet the smile on your face sneaks without you knowing while leaving your bed and crouching between his legs. “You’re such a big baby sometimes…”

Your hand finds its way to the body of his dick, gliding it up and down to feel the veins under your palm and fingertips. Gojo hums to your cold fingers, hitching his breath when you tease him with a blow of air. 

Your free hand comes to his balls, massaging his testicles in a way that has his leg jerk. He tries to fight it, but the squirm on his legs says otherwise. “Hahhh, fuck…quit it…”

“Hmm? What, you don’t like it when I tease you?” You peer up at him with a smug grin before using your tongue to lick on the glans slowly, and he covers his mouth before a gasp comes out after lapping on his frenulum. “But when you do it to me, it’s not a problem, huh?”

“Mmmph, shiit, Y/n—Ohhh…!” Another jolt of the hips after you lick and kiss one of his balls, teasing the skin with a kiss and tiny chews that would have him choke on his breath. “Jesus, fuck! Y/n, baby, you’re driving me crazy….Aishhh!!

“Oh, really?” God, you were such a fucking tease. But he fucking loved that so much. “What should I do?” You ask him before sucking on his balls again, and a hand comes to your shoulder to grip. 

“Mmmm…Blow me off, princess,” shivers crawl up his spine as you place kisses from the base of his cock towards the tip. “Please, I wanna feel you…” 

You giggle at his reply, finally taking in his cockhead to your pretty lips and sighing through your nose as you hollow your cheeks to take in more of him. 

Gojo sighs at your licks and sucks on his girth, his erection becoming accommodated to your oral cavity wonderfully. You unhurriedly prompt yourself to take in more of him until your lips reach his pubes, your throat now full of him, and the warmness of your gummy walls makes him squirm more. 

Bobbing your head at a moderate pace, you suck him off to that of a pleasurable cadence. You still use your hands to stroke him, Gojo melting to your touch even more. He throws his head back when you attack his tip again with the onslaught of licks and laps, the hand on his balls roughly kneading them jerks him to moan aloud. 

Fuck, it feels so fucking good having you suck him off like this. How your tongue moved up and down on him was so dangerous, prompting him to place a hand on your head for support. As if that would help, you don’t show him mercy when you suck him harder and faster. The noises coming from your mouth sounded so erotic and pornographic, the heat on his face brewing out more. 

“—Khhmm, fuck, man, I can’t…Ahhh! Y/n, I’m gonna cum if you keep licking it like that. Stop, st—Ahhaaa!!” 

But like he said before – you’re a tease (if not worse than him). You remove Gojo’s dick from your mouth and throat at once, the groan he exerts fueling the fire in your body. You stand to withdraw your shirt, bra, and panties to the ground, knowing Gojo’s watching every move. “Don’t get mad at me; I know how much you wanna cum inside.” 

You pull out the condom from the pocket of your skirt, placing the rubber on his cock after removing it from the wrapper. He couldn’t help but laugh, “Seems like you’re more of a pervert than me if you had that ready while those two were here earlier.” 

“Shut up,” you playfully kiss him with a sneaky bite to his bottom lip. Then, you mount and align your cunt on his dick, the glans kissing your wet labia. “Hmmm, fuck…”

“Relax, cutie,” he kisses you on the cheek while his hands fondle your breasts. 

You slowly descend your slit onto him, the tip of his cock pushing into the entrance of your vagina. A couple of exhales and inhales keep you steady when inserting him into you, not letting the pain distract you from the task at hand. And the both of you moan in unison when it makes it in, your hips leisurely coming down on him until your ass rests on his thighs. 

You grind on him with the roll of your hips, evoking choked intakes of air from him as a hand goes to your ass with vigor. His face to your chest while the other hand plays with one mound. His lips found a nipple to pop into his mouth to suck on. 

With a slow pace, you rock your hips onto him. Your legs bent for your feet to be on his knees, the chair solid enough to withstand you bouncing on Gojo’s dick with repetition.  

“Hoohhh, ohhhh, mmmm,” your hums are expressed in tunes. The curve of his cock is so fucking good, scraping your insides with precision. You couldn’t help but increase the speed just a little bit. 

Gojo keeps sucking on your nipple; the grazes of his teeth and pushing the bud up to the roof of his mouth only fuels more quivers to travel down your bouncing figure. Both of his hands now under your skirt to feel the flesh of your ass under his hungry grasp. He kneads your asscheeks with every thrust to your chasm, and your shrieks get louder by the second. 

“—Mmmph! Shit, shit, you feel so good, pretty,” he finally lets go of your hardened nipple, burying his face to your chest. “So fucking good for me…fuhuuuucck!

You could feel your cunt contract around him; every graze to your sensitive spots prompted your walls to grip around him. He hisses, looking up to see your expression as you ride him out. Fuck, you looked so good on top of him like this. He’ll add this position to the list of things to do again with you.

You peer down to see that Gojo is staring at you, and you quickly bring a hand to cover his eyes. “—Ahhahhn, d-don’t look at me like that! Yer soo embarrassing…!” 

He only chuckles at your shy demeanor, especially during this. But he humors you, not fighting your makeshift blind for him to see you wholly. He’s seen it all already — felt it all, too. And he could never get enough. 

“Ooooh, Satoruuu—Nnaaahh!” He loves how you say his name, your hand traveling to his hair to grab in tuffs. “Oh, fuck, ‘toruuu, I’m gonna cummm…!”

“—Hnngh! Yeah, baby?” Oh, he knows. The way you’re grinding to and fro on his pelvis tells him so. “Go ahead, princess. Clench on me and ride it out.”

And with that, your hips go to an erratic pace that has the both of you holding for dear life. The squeeze of your inner walls clenching on him almost makes him choke on his spit, the nails of his fingertips forming crescents on your skin. And you scream at it, slamming your ass onto him as you both climb up to orgasm. 

Within seconds, it hits the both of you like a train. This had to be Gojo’s favorite part of the entire thing, experiencing having your folds clamp and flutter around him as you cry for him. It took everything in his power not to come with you because he wants to have you on him a little longer. You just felt too good to let go — too addicted to your body to be done with one round.

When the contractions subside while your slurred howls get quieter, Gojo gives you a few minutes to let your body be free from the aftershocks. He knows your body is extra sensitive now, rubbing circles on your back and placing chaste kisses on your clavicle. You hum under his lips, letting the wave of your crescendo exude out from you quietly. 

However, since you wanted to be such a tease, why not be a tease back? At least, that’s what Gojo thought before he threw your cunt another snap of the hips, his cock jabbing into your delicate walls that haven’t recovered yet. A sharp cry comes from your puffy lips, the hand covering Gojo’s eyes finally freeing him to see you. 

He grins with hooded azure eyes, “Sorry, cutie, but I didn’t get to finish. Wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t get to have fun of my own, right?” 

You chew on your lip with trenched brows before bringing your face to his. “Don’t you get carried away like last time, Satoru.”

“No promises, princess~” he sings to your ear before humming into your lips. 

As mentioned before, Gojo doesn’t hate you — he just hates that he can’t fully express liking you. 

But having you on top of him like this, in his embrace, is a nice change of pace he’ll happily get used to.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Okay, everyone, class dismissed! Thank you for your time, and see you all on Friday.”

Professor Naga closes up the last class for today, and the students all get up from the seats of their elevated rows to pack up and leave. The clock is ten minutes before seven o’clock, the winter darkness already claiming the sky with a sheet of night. Students are either famished and heading to the dining hall for food, going straight to their dorms or homes, or staying behind for last-minute conversations.

Gojo was one of the latter, deciding to stay behind to chat with the group for a bit. After packing his backpack and putting on his coat, he slings from the table to jump to the row below him, where you were talking with Haibara and Ijichi. 

You watch his stunt, ready to lecture, “Jesus, Gojo, what’s all that for? You could’ve just walked around.”

“Ehhhh, why would I do that? That’s so lame.” He comes and bends close to you enough to slang his arm around your shoulders. 

But you click your teeth and try to maneuver away from his tall figure. “You’re lame,” you mutter under your breath.

However, Gojo’s ears perked with furrowed brows. “What did you say?”

“You heard me, you lame white furby!” You repeat yourself with a huff and the snow-haired student gawks at your brazenness. 

The two of you argue again; students passing by silently exit the class, others stand and watch, and Professor Yaga can only sigh at yet another altercation between you two. 

However, it quickly dissipates when Haibara laughs from his seat. “You two, there’s never a dull moment.”

You and Gojo blink at the dark brunette before removing Gojo’s hand from your shoulders. “Hmph, it’s not like it’s my fault; he’s the one who starts it.”

“Oh, what could I possibly do to make Y/n so upset with me this time?” He pushes up his sunglasses, snickering at the scowl you send him. 

Ichiji, being the passive second-year he is, meekly changes the topic from the row below you three. “On some brighter news, at least we did well on the presentation.” 

“That’s right!” Haibara happily agrees with the statement, leaning against the chair with his hands behind his head. “Professor Yaga seemed really pleased with our arguments; I don’t think he intervened even once. Plus, he said many good things about how we handled the topic. Nice one, team!” 

The raven-haired one hums at the other’s exclamation. “I think most of it goes to how Y/n and Gojo bounced off each other’s arguments. How you two pulled up examples from the articles yet remained dignified with your viewpoints was cool to witness. I even saw some students be engaged with the conversation, many amazed with how Y/n refuted Gojo’s arguments elegantly and respectfully.”

But most of all, what the two sophomores wanted to mention was that there was no yelling. To them, the professor, and all the students of this class, you and Gojo presented your presentation without a single tone of malice, no pointless teasing, no name-calling, nothing! It was a civil conversation between two opposing sides. To everyone’s surprise — and thankful stars — today was a success.

You chuckle nervously at the praise. “Oh, come on, you two, don’t let me and Gojo take all the credit. You guys did your part. Especially you, Ichiji; you were an exceptional help for my side and finding sources I could build off from.”

Gojo, on the other hand, rolls his eyes. “Psssh, don’t butter them up like that; without us, they would’ve failed this presentation big time. No offense.” He was forced to say that when you called him by his last name and hit him with your elbow.

None taken, the two younger friends say to themselves unbeknownst to each other. 

The tall one continues, “Besides, you were the one who did most of the work. I slacked off until the last minute when you whipped me into shape.” Gojo brings his hand on top of your head for a pat. The action surprised you enough to flinch a bit. “Nice work like always, Y/n.”

Were the stars aligned differently, or did Gojo just compliment you? It certainly took you aback, especially the two others who silently kept their observation to themselves. 

You could only look at his complacent look for a few seconds before you realized the warmth of your cheeks became stronger. Averting your eyes, you remove his hand from your head. “Thanks, Gojo…” you express gratitude. “You weren’t so bad yourself.”

A cheeky smile, his dimples prominent to blind you. “Awww, would you two look at that? They’re complimenting me, too~” Another bump to the chest has him cackling like a child, and you shake your head with rolled eyes.

The two younger students observe the scene before Haibara forcibly stretches and yawns to catch the two’s attention. “Man, I’m so hungry; I skipped lunch to prepare for this presentation. Me and Ijichi are gonna meet up with Nanami at the dining hall. You guys wanna come?”

You instantly beam at the proposal; who are you to refuse a dinner with your friends? “Sure! I’d love to…Oh! Wait, let me use the restroom and fill my water bottle.”

You rummage through your backpack for your water bottle before exiting the classroom. The boys watch you descend from row after row, and Gojo says, “Don’t take too long; I’ll convince them to leave without you.”

“Hmph, go ahead and try! They invited me; I don’t know who told you to invite yourself.” You stick your tongue out at him before opening and closing the door behind you. 

Gojo watches you with a smile still plastered on his face for a few seconds before Ijichi makes a tiny cough to catch his attention, the sunglasses-wearing junior turning to look back down to the other two. He notes the albeit cheesy-smiling faces they harbor, and he lifts a brow. “The hell are you two smiling for?”

The raven-haired sophomore squeaks at the sudden firm tone, “N–Nothing!”

“Pfft, oh come on, Kiyo; let’s not act like we didn’t see what we just saw.”

Gojo catches the nuance of Haibara’s comment. “Saw what?”

“You’re over here talking about our faces, but you’re the one who’s smiling at Y/n as they leave the door?” The brunette sophomore sends a wink to his junior, whose face doesn’t change at the comment.

“And your point is?”

“Well, it seems — to me, at least —  there might be something going on with you and Y/n?” 

Gojo was prepared for that, opening his mouth to interject quickly. However, the dark-haired other beat him to the punch. “Now that you mention it, Gojo and Y/n have been kind of…stable? There's still the usual arguments, but those haven't happened as much since last week…”

“Right!?” Haibara points at Ijichi with exclamation, making the other second-year flinch. “For some reason, things seem to be a little quieter with the two of them now, not to mention them hanging out way more often. Everyone’s been talking about it; even Geto and Shoko asked if Gojo had done anything that made Y/n passive?”

“I asked Nanami about it on Monday; he thinks maybe Y/n finally knocked some sense into Gojo’s childish brain to have him be so civil to engage without yelling their head off.”

“Pffthaha, I wouldn’t go that far. Y/n did just kick him in the shin yesterday for scaring them from behind.”

“Ahh, yes, well, that was deserved.”

“You two realize I’m still standing right the fuck here, right?” No, they hadn’t because the two discerned the twitch of Gojo’s brow after conversing about the tall, white-haired boy. 

“But it’s true!”

Another voice enters the set, making Gojo raise his head, and the other two turn to their left. It was some girl and her friend. Gojo knew of her; she sat next to him during class. Again, he knew of her, meaning she had no significance to his knowledge.

And yet, she speaks to the three boys. “You and Y/n have gotten a lot more close these past weeks compared to previous semesters—“

“Real close, too!” Their friend adds on from behind. “It’s as if you two are like a couple.”

“So…Are you two….a thing?”

Gojo could tell from a mile away what this was. Obviously, the first girl has a thing for him — he can see the anxiousness from the twiddle of her thumbs and avoidant eye contact. Although he wasn’t interested, he couldn’t even answer the question the way he wanted. What the hell could he say: that you two are in a secret relationship? He knows you’d have his grave ready before he could finish that confession.

And he can’t say the two of you are in any relationship either; it’s not what you would’ve told them. To everyone else, you and Gojo are friends who would preferably be caught dead rather than lying in bed together. So, might as well keep that facade up.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” he starts with the push of his sunglasses. “Y/n is a pretty good friend, and I’d like to keep it at that.”

Haibara and Ijichi turn from Gojo to look at each other and shrug. Before turning back, something caught their eye that caused the two sophomores’ skin to turn white.

Ijichi tries to prevent Gojo from speaking further. “G-Gojo—“

However, the tall one doesn’t listen. “I mean, sure, they got a nice personality and are independent…Kinda pretty, too, not gonna lie. But they’re not really my type. I mean, have you seen them? Just a little person who likes to find trivial stuff to yell at me over. Angry at the world around them, I’d say.“

“Go. Jo.” Haibara says the junior’s name through gritted teeth, bringing his hand up by his neck and drawing an imaginary horizontal line back and forth — a gesture for Gojo to not say anymore. But unfortunately, the sign wasn’t seen, and the words kept pouring out.  

“And to be honest, can you imagine? Me and Y/n, a couple? Jesus Christ, that would be fucking exhausting to deal with, especially with someone so boring and too uncute like them. I’ve seen prettier, been with better. I feel sorry for the poor bastard who does end up with them—“

“SATORU GOJO!”

Now — that sudden burst of yell from a loud, masculine voice — that was what got Gojo’s attention. It’s what got the attention of everyone else in the room. The snow-haired student jerks to look at the professor standing at the front, the older man with a deep frown. “What?

The professor doesn’t answer him. Instead, he points to the left of him with his chin with a huff. With common sense, Gojo turns behind him to see where the older man points. And at that moment, he felt his very being drop to the soles of his feet. Haibara and Ijichi took a slow breath in unison at the immediate tension.

Behind him stood you, a lone figure holding their water bottle within three arm’s length away from the group. But that was sufficient enough for you to have heard everything said. 

Breathing suddenly felt impossible for Gojo; his entire body was stiff under your gaze. His shades could hide his eyes, but he wasn’t sure it could shield the instant shame that slapped him across the face from you. 

And that was another thing: the look you harbored was indecipherable — the true definition of disengagement. There were no widened eyes, quivering lips, or shaky hands. You stood plainly and looked as though you were detached from the entire situation. And that was what scared him the most.

This was strike one.

He dared not move when you began walking up, and your eyes then shifted to ignore his presence. “Hey, Yu,” the brunette straightened his posture at the use of the first name. “I think I’ll have to decline on that dinner offer. I’m a little tired and have a paper I need to work on…Maybe next time?”

“Uhh, yeah, sure, no problem.” He answers with a sweat.

Wait a second. Gojo tries to call for you, “Y/n—“

“Ijichi,” but you immediately shut him down and directed your attention to the other sophomore friend as you put on your coat and stuffed your water bottle back into your bag. “Be sure to submit the presentation template and sources to the course site before the end of the day, please.”

“U–Uhh, already done, Y/n.” He squeaks while reassuring.

Wait, please. The tall one tries again, “Wait, Y/n—“

“Good.” You sling your backpack on, refusing to look at the person trying to talk to you. “Well, I’ll be seeing you, then.” And with that, you turn on your heel and head down the row to leave.

No, wait, stop— “Y/n, wait!” This was strike two. 

Gojo doesn’t hesitate to call out to you. At that moment, he follows you to the class steps where you were a row down left from the door. He grabs your hand without thinking, the size of your palm captured by his slender fingers. He knew it was a risky move, but he had to — he had to get you to talk with him right now, if not ever. Because the latter is something he isn’t ready for, something he didn’t think would be a possibility.

And yet, he will learn this lesson of being prepared for the impossible when you rapidly turn to him. Strike three.

SLAP!

Have you ever seen someone get smacked in the face so hard that their sunglasses come off? The remaining two girls who witnessed it know for sure now. Haibara and Ijichi won’t admit to it as they immediately turn to the other side of the room when they saw your hand move. But please believe they winced at the sound of the impact. The same goes for Professor Yaga, who was too stunned to speak, yet it was a valid outcome. 

Gojo didn’t move a single limb, allowing the stinging feeling on his cheek to course through his facial muscles. His eyes were glued to the carpeted ground; he knew that’s where they were supposed to be. And you snatched your hand away from his grasp, leaving his fingers to suffer in forced loneliness.

“You…you think it’s all fun and games to say stuff like that when I turn my back for a few minutes, huh?” He can see your hand palpitate from his peripheral; the anger depicted alone was enough to interpret. And the tremble in your voice? It felt like an arrow to his being. “…Look at me.”

He’d be a fool to have you repeat yourself; he has lost that right to toy with you now. With a slow inhale, Gojo rotates his head at you, azure eyes tracking up your figure to your face. And when it lands at that destination, his heart is shot down.

Tears stream down vexed, watery eyes. Your brows furrowed, and your bottom lip chewed in a terrible attempt to stop it from quivering. The rise and fall of your shoulders as you moderate your breathing, trying so hard not to let your temper dwell into a deeper phase of ugly. It was bad enough you’re crying in public, in front of your peers, your teacher — and it was because of him. 

“From this day forward,” you fight your sniffles to say your statement as clearly as possible. “Don’t you ever talk to me, Satoru Gojo. Enjoy your life without something as boring as me.”

And with that, you dismiss yourself from him and the class altogether, the room silent even after the slam of the door closed. No one says anything, too shocked from the event to utter a letter. 

The silence aids the ringing in Gojo’s ears, his breathing still having trouble maintaining a balanced front. The cheek you slapped burned with pain; he’s sure the skin is as red as a cherry. 

Oh, fuck.

He brings a hand to his face, his body fighting the trembling. The ringing in his ears worsens, along with the pounding in his head that beats like a drum. His eyes stuck to the ground below him, choosing to focus on something inanimate and not living. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck—

All he could think of in this time and place was you. Memories flashing right before him, of you and only you. He can hear the way you say his name, both in vexation and in sweet tunes. Your smiles, your frowns, your huffs, your whispers. When your eyebrows scrunch whenever you express worry for him, how you’re never afraid to stand up against him when making a point, the smile that’s been blinding him for many days and nights — the smile he wouldn’t mind seeing for eternity.

All those memories were one stab to his heart after another. And every time a recollection ended, a flash of your crying face would return to haunt him. Tears that weren’t meant to be there but were, and warm feelings you expressed with him were gone the moment he saw your eyes void of feelings for him. At least, that’s what he saw.

He hurt you. That was the only revelation that haunted him where he stood, making his voice falter from confidence. It was a revelation he never meant to bring about. And now that it exists and he sees the damage, nothing would be better for him now than the ground beneath him swallowing him whole.

“What…the fuck…”

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 ❤︎ reblogs + comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ dividers by @/cafekitsune & @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[inkskinned]

it is the first snow today. i think we should all have off work, even though it didn't stick. i think there should be 4 national holidays, one for each season. happy first snow, go home and make cookies. for spring it can be the first crocus. for summer the first lightning bug. for autumn, the first golden leaf. go home, kiss your dog, feed your cat (who is absolutely already-fed but somehow still starving.)

i think we should all take more showers together, but i mean that in the soft way. i mean it like taking a nap. two years ago i had 5 adult friends in my queen bed, all of us laying across each other, head over belly over thigh over hand. any time one of us would giggle, it would ripple over each of us, like pulling on a spiderweb. kim actually needed to nap and didn't get to sleep and i am still sorry for it even though this is one of my most precious memories.

i think we should all wash each other's hair, i mean. i walk my dog and i watch someone put up twinkle lights around their front porch. alex and i just moved, and i love the neighborhood. already so many of our new neighbors have stopped by to say hello. the nice lady downstairs also collects plants, like me. she gave us her number on a pink post-it note. i am trying to decide whether to make her cookies or brownies.

i am going through a very hard time. something bad happened this weekend that i do not wish to discuss. it is hanging over me. i think of the green ribbon, and the woman who had her throat cut. it feels like that sometimes, inside of my body. like i am walking and talking despite being half-corpsed. like i am hanging on by a ribbon, standing on some kind of cusp. i keep saying - at least it wasn't worse. we are so lucky it wasn't worse. the idea is river-rock smooth now, all the edges worried off.

in this very dark night - the sun sets by 3 now - people don't need to, but they try anyway. they paint the missing light into things. i have an embarrassing number of missed calls and texts, but i feel the love from them nevertheless - hey. if you need something, i'm here. i will bring you food/puzzles/anything. i got you.

i think we should all have a big group chat where we do errands with strangers. this week i got lost in a home depot, which is wild because i'm a lesbian and we are actually hatched in a lowe's lumber section. there were two other women in the whole store. we ended up shopping together, at first by accident (we all needed things in the same aisle), and then because, well, why not. one of the ladies was taller than me, so she pulled down the screws i needed. i am agile and have the personality of a raccoon, so they sent me after anything below 3 feet. we talked about holiday plans and never learned each other's names, but did learn all the drama about each other's families.

i am making you cupcakes, because i have so much affection i want to pour it into batter. you ask me if i am eating enough per meal. i wrap your gift twice, trying to do it prettily. i get excited to give it to you, just because i hope you'll be excited too.

my parents drive an hour just to see the new apartment and to do the parent thing; standing in the kitchen saying things like "oh you'll get so much use from this dishwasher" and "well, you could paint that" and "when your mother and i moved it was uphill both ways and in a snowstorm and of course your brother was an infant." my mother brought me a plant for housewarming. i always say i love you before she leaves.

i play dnd on tuesdays still, after all these years. we all keep that night free. at one point, between grad school and marriage and all of it, we had to have a serious discussion about how to keep it running. we will keep going, we decided eventually. just to see each other, even if we don't play - you are all important to me. sebastian is not prone to affection but last night he stole my usual sign off - i love you all, be good, he said. he was laughing.

i don't love the winter, actually. i like snow in theory, but i grew up in the north, and am too-familiar with the season of "mud and sludge". i don't like being cold. but i do love something kind of soft and rare: every year around this time, people remember oh yes. you and i are human together. and i have love to spare.

it is the first snow, and something in my heart is finally warm again. i have spent what felt like the last 18 months just going-through-the-motions. it has felt blank and immediate, like i would never actually feel again. that sounds extremely trite and stupid - but that is the boring and familiar experience of depression. life just washes up against your windows, and you watch it happening. you see things that should be lovely and affecting, and it just whispers too-thin. i was desperately uncreative. uninterested in my hobbies. unimpressed by my writing. i told my therapist, often, i don't know how to find hope again.

almost sheepishly, something strange and lovely is burning in my chest. i keep not-looking at it, worried it will scamper back into the shadows again. it is skittish and wild, but it is so warm i want to sink my hands into its fur and feel it breathing. i love-hate it: if it's real, it can hurt me when it leaves again. but i am icarus-born, sun-lover and poet: i can't help myself. despite my best intentions, i am falling in love with life again.

i am planning to make cookies for my friends. alex and i are going to go christmas tree shopping. we picked out matching dish towels last night, and they have little mushrooms on them.

i love you. it does come back. yes, even after a long time. even for you. i promise. keep trying. you will wake up and it will be a day you can smile about.

write me when you get there. we will take the day off of work, and i will wash your hair, and we will both be laughing.

[gayness-and-mayhem]

I started watching Endeavour for the first time for the other day and I was most excited about Max bc I loved him in Morse and I've just found out that James Bradshaw is in The Way Old Friends Do which I booked tickets to months ago and now I'm sitting here crying bc I'm so excited and idk what to do with myself.

[vettelsvee]

ALMOST CAUGHT | Oscar Piastri

f1 masterlist | wattpad | ao3 | requests or let's talk!

oscar piastri x gf!reader

word count: 1151

summary: oscar and his gf get a little bit horny, but they need to do things quick before someone catch them having sex

warnings: +18, smut (p in v, protected sex), dom!oscar, risk of getting caught

a/n: idk how this turned out because i don't think i'm good writing smut. however, i'll try to improve! feedback is appreciated, as well as reblogs <3

© VETTELSVEE (2024). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

You were lying on the sofa, in your living room, watching a movie as your family had gone shopping at the local mall. Oscar wasn't there either because he had taken Blueberry, the puppy you both recently adopted, for a walk. You had decided not to go because you weren't feeling well. Nevertheless, you were lying on that sofa, eating M&M's and watching a Turkish TV show out of sheer boredom, where the newlywed couple protagonists argued about who would do the shopping.

"When will you be back, Piastri?"

Just as you were thinking about that, Oscar sent you a video of himself and your pet along with a message:

"I might have a little surprise for my girl :)"

You didn't know what he meant, so you asked him what for. Minutes later, he replied that he was saying nothing until the correct moment. Despite your desperation to know what the Australian man had planned, you resisted the urge to keep asking him.

You fell asleep and didn't even realize it, so it was the sound of the front door opening that woke you up. Then, you noticed how small but quick steps were moving back and forth. Alongside them, larger steps slowly approached the couch where you lay.

"Hello, love," you composed yourself a bit from sleep and noticed it was Oscar. "Are you okay?"

"What... what time is it?" you asked curiously. You had completely lost track of time, and you didn't know when you had fallen asleep or how much time had passed since then.

"It's eight twenty-five," the brown-eyed guy replied with a smile.

You noticed he kept smiling, so you kissed him. It was a short but passionate kiss, in which both of you realized that every day you were more in love.

"And what's that about?" Oscar smiled again and positioned himself on top of you, while you couldn't stop telling yourself that he was perfect for you and wondering what you had done to deserve him.

"I'm waiting for the surprise you were going to give me."

You were giving him a too enticing look, and slowly he was starting to get aroused. He wanted to have sex, just like you, and both of you knew each other's thoughts as if they were your own.

"You'll have to wait, darling, but I think we can do something else while you wait."

As soon as Oscar answered, he began kissing you, something that as it progressed became faster and more desperate. You followed along with your tongue, but you were worried that your parents and siblings might appear at any moment.

You decided to stop. Or at least try to.

"Oscar…," no matter what you said, he kept kissing you, now going all the way down on your neck, making you release small moans every time you spoke. "Piastri..., stop..."

Seeing that he wasn't going to stop, you forgot about the possibility of your family catching you having sex and that became the least of your concerns.

With a quick change of position, now you were the one on top of your boyfriend, making movements to further provoke his excitement. Meanwhile, he began to remove your shirt, leaving only a pink bra with blue teddy bears exposed. You knew that wasn't the best attire for situations like the one unfolding, but at that moment you didn't care because there was enough trust - besides, there would be other moments to wear better lingerie.

His kisses trailed down your neck again, but with the main difference this time being that he was leaving marks. You removed his sweater, but it wasn't enough for you: you wanted more, so you didn't hesitate to unbutton his pants, struggling a bit to take them off.

You immediately started playing with the waistband of his boxers, and both of you felt the nervousness growing, although you didn't pay much attention to it. In the end, it wasn't the first time you risked getting caught, and to be honest, you got very horny at that thought.

He removed your pants just as you had done to him earlier, taking the opportunity to position himself on top of you. You knew it was about to begin when he took a condom from his pocket.

You were eager for him, so you removed his underwear, leaving him completely naked, while you remained in your underwear.

"This can't keep going on like this, babe..." the boy said, eager to enter you.

He started removing your bra, immediately moving down between your legs, where he began to touch over your underwear before taking it off.

"Oscar..." you moaned once again.

"For God's sake, shut up already," he demanded, which only aroused you more. "I need you to stay calm, not acting like a desperate whore. I thought you were better than that."

At his words, you got absolutely in shock, but in some way it turned you on hearing Oscar speak like that. 

"Are you sure you want to do this? Will you stop acting so desperate if I enter you this quick? With no previous games and…"

"Of course. You better shut up now and start fucking me," you interrupted him, answering without hesitation.

Once again, and as if he didn’t kiss you on the forehead and began to insert himself into you.

At first, he was going slow, but as the minutes went by the speed increased. Unfortunately, you tried to control your moans, something that Oscar seemed to do perfectly just in case your parents arrived, but you couldn’t hold them. It was great, and you didn’t want it to end.

"Damn it, Oscar!" you screamed, but you still hadn't reached orgasm.

"Wow, I didn't know I was that good at sex," he said proudly, surprising you. "I thought you always faked your moans."

"Shut up and keep going," you answered with a voice slightly interrupted by Oscar’s moves. "I'm close."

A few minutes later, both of you were lying on the sofa, after cumming without much difficulty.

However, your post sex kisses and talk ended as soon as, after getting dressed, you saw you twins brothers standing next to the living room door, seeing you both in absolute shock. 

"Come on, you gotta be kidding me!" Louis, one of the twins, yelled, while you kept signaling him to be quiet.

He started running up the stairs quickly and shouting without hesitation while Liam, your other brother, was sending a voice message to his best friend telling him that he caught his sister and her boyfriend having sex. 

"I guess we won’t be having any more surprises at home for now, love," you said, seeing the commotion you had caused in a moment. "I hope they don’t tell my parents, because if they freak out…”

“We’ll freak out, I know,” Oscar said. “Really, I get it, Y/N. I guess I’ll have to take you to Disneyland to fuck you in one of those Marvel hotel rooms full of Spider-Man merch. Maybe we could try something with some kind of costume on and...”

“You’re taking me to Disneyland?!” you screamed, interrupting him fully surprised.

“I couldn’t keep it anymore so… surprise, babe? Any ideas on what I have just said to you?”

[hoseoksluna]

STEAM | myg ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!yoongi x oc (feat. jungkook)

genre: smut

word count: 9.2k

summary: one video call awakens your neediness for two cocks.

playlist: steam / pinterest board: steam

warnings: female masturbation, mentions of shower sex, praise kink, toying with the idea of polyamory, a hint of voyeurism, oc rly goes through it and faces mental battles, fear, intoxication, punishment, dom/sub dynamics, fingering, choking, cum eating, manhandling, degradation, provocation, mutual masturbation, rough & raw sex, brief oral sex (f. receiving), pet names

note: IT'S FINALLY HEREEEEEE SKFDSFLSFJ, okay so—let me introduce to you a new yoongi series featuring JUNGKOOK oh my god. i am SO EXCITED about this and i wanna apologize for my insane ideas in advance... i'm so sorry, guys. nevertheless, i hope you like this as much as i do, i literally went mad writing this and i smoked so many cigarettes i lost count. please, let me kNOW UR FAVORITE PARTS CUZ I HAVE SO MANY AND I WANNA TALK ABOUT THEM. oh fuck, guys. ENJOY READING SDKFJSD. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

side note: btw, the playlist i made is literally perfect and depicts the fic wonderfully. you can listen while you read! <3

The scent of mangoes finds its way up your nostrils, heating your senses through its balmy touch as you rub the body butter over the damp skin of your arms. Fingers graze along your décolletage, tucking in the fragrance for your boyfriend to breathe in when he comes home. He’s out for the night—said something about his friend finishing his military service, so the whole group was going out to celebrate it. Yoongi was so frantic in his excitement, hastily putting on the first outfit that sparked his eye. Didn’t even touch his hair, only sprayed a mist of his sandalwood and tangerine-tinged perfume. Grabbed his phone, keys, wallet. Barely kissed you goodbye before he fled out of the door.

He didn’t even ask you if you wanted to come along.

You didn’t mind, though—you’re only in the early stages of your relationship. It hasn’t even been half a year since you’ve started dating. And you figure he deserves a night out with his closest friends because you’ve been attached to the hip since the beginning. Funnily enough, you no longer live at your own place. Somehow, you’ve settled in Yoongi’s apartment, never setting foot outside, save for your walks, grocery shopping, the few dates with your friends and work. There wasn’t any conversation about it; you just mostly spend your free time with your boyfriend.

And all you do is fuck, eat and watch movies.

The last time Yoongi took you out was during the first two months you’d been getting to know him. The realization of how long it’s been sends a trail of chills down your arms and you rub it away.

But because you’ve been spending all your time together, you’re glad to have a moment to yourself—glad to be able to take a long hot shower, to do your hair and skincare. Perhaps, you’ll even have time to do your nails and that energizes you, propels you to spread the body butter further down the rest of your body. It is your rose garden, these night times reserved for your hot showers. The place you go to—your hideaway from the pressure and nerves of life that the steam loosens and soothes, especially when you let your sultry playlist echo through the mightiness of Yoongi’s bathroom, your favorite singer’s voice reaching your veins like the growing stems of those roses; pretty, pink and so feminine. Yes, Yoongi’s therapy sessions and thick length might have been a great help, the best in fact, but there’s something about letting yourself be burned off of all that’s been weighing you down and watching it trickle down the drain that is just so satisfying.

It was all that you were once used to. That is, until you met Yoongi.

Showers with him are something else.

Something you never thought you could ever have the blessing to encounter. Showers with Yoongi are intense, so out of pocket that you find yourself thinking about them fondly whenever you’re alone with your thoughts. There, beneath the downpour of the warm water, he lets you see the other side of his ever unyielding stern façade. While holding you, he would make you laugh, then make you moan and break that sound with each hard plunge of his cock. Hair slicked back, smirk adorning that delicious wet mouth, causing him to look like a Mafioso bent on absolutely ruining you. He would tell you the most insane story he heard from his friend, then talk you through the build-up of your orgasm while continuing to the point of that story—seamlessly waving through, never losing tempo. “Then, he went up to his hyung to ask him about what he did—yes, just like that, honey, take it. I know you’re almost there, just listen.” You would come all over his cock, sprinkling him with your essence, right there at the end of his story and like a hungry man, he’d get on his knees and eat you up, muttering how good you are and how well you did along with each swipe of his tongue. Your lungs would heave due to the overstimulation, your legs would tremble, unable to stand and he’d gather you into his arms, fold you like paper into the crooks of his body and let his thick duvet drape over you. He’d fall asleep first, breathing in the scent of your shampoo, snoring softly behind you while spooning you, never letting go of his deathly grip around you. And while you would breathe in the haze of lilac sprayed on his pillows, you’d become aware of the drowsy rhythm of his heartbeat, the lift and fall of his chest against your back, the snug heat of his body and it would lull you to sleep.

That has become your new version of hot long showers.

And if it isn’t this, then it’s Yoongi letting you quickly wash yourself before he’d steal you away, dragging you into this bed, only to carry you back there an hour later.

You speculate he has a serious, adorable case of attachment issues.

That is why you enjoy your exceptional alone shower all the more—you haven’t had it in so long. Only this time, it’s quite different.

You feel him everywhere.

You feel him in the drift of your hand down your tummy because you recollect the way he likes to pepper kisses there on his way to eat you out. You feel him when you round your palms across your backside because you know he particularly likes to leave traces of saliva when he presses open-mouthed kisses there. His love for you circulates in your bloodstream, mingling with the little love you have for yourself, making it bigger, turning it into a turbulent rush of liquid. You sense it tapping beneath your skin, asking for more of your body just like Yoongi does, always begging, begging for more—for more skin to kiss and lick, for more sensitive parts of you to find and nibble on.

Your hands sense the ghost of him even when your fingers slip past your mound and realize that the film of your memories dampened your cunt. You hear the words of praise he’d utter into your ear at the discovery and you sigh at your tender touch. 

That’s a good girl. Messy for me. 

The rotund case of your body butter remains opened, forgotten. You suddenly have better things to do—like give your body the self-care, the self-love it deserves.

It’s a part of the solo girl's night.

A mewl comes out of your mouth at the first round of circles on your clit. Furrowing your brows at the pleasure, you prop your free hand on the edge of the bathroom counter, riding the pads of your fingers. And then, just like Yoongi taught you, you take your digits away, edging yourself, taking them elsewhere. You cry out at the contact of your wet fingertips on your stiff nipple and you pinch the nub, a spasm of delight coursing through your sensitiveness.

You imagine Yoongi standing behind you. Not touching you, merely guiding you, telling you when to stop, when to pick up the pace—when to fill your hole. Watching you in the mirror, hands in his pockets, having a perfect view of your slick-caked folds, of your clit swollen and asking for his tongue. Determined to make you lose your mind by teasing you, letting you only slap your pussy once you’re close. Your essence drips out of you at that thought, making a mess on the floor and you plug it in with your finger, fucking yourself steadily, inflamed by how slippery your heat is, how easy it is to slip the digit inside. Hot flashes close over your body, pearls of perspiration kissing the crook of your neck. You fuck yourself faster and—

A sudden ring of your phone jolts you. And the picture of your boyfriend, half dressed, with the early morning sunlight leaking over the scars and tattoo on his shoulder, crammed inside your screen, greets you.

You pant hard, your finger still inside of you. Delirious.

He must be on his way home. You don’t even know what time it is. 

Leaning forward, you hide your breasts behind your forearm and you swipe your finger to accept his video call.

Blurry Yoongi. The night sky, starlit and alive, behind him. A shoal of silhouettes, some lanky and some buff, all short-haired and all as woozy-lidded as you. The picture smooths into a crystal clear view and there you see your boyfriend, the nocturnal breeze brushing his ebony hair back. Not just him, however, but another male craning his neck to regard you fully. 

His eyes flicking from your neck to the smallest of your exposed décolletage, a smirk blossoming on his face like your imaginary roses. 

Yoongi slaps his phone face down. You withdraw your finger from your heat, a cacophony of giggles, whiny cries and the exclamations of his name emitting out of your mouth. 

He is not, in fact, on his way home. 

It is a warning, his low and strict call of your name back and, heeding it, you take your phone into your hands, so he’s only able to see your deeply flushed face. Device back in his hand, he’s not looking at you at all. As a matter of fact, he’s shooting daggers fueled with deadly nightshade at his friend, grumbling something that you can’t quite make out amidst the chaos and bustle of the outing. The shoal of the rest of his friends and strangers disappear out of the perspective, as if threatened by the cold energy. 

You wish you knew what he’s saying to him. Even your pussy aches to hear it. The principle of him scolding his friend for looking at you at your most private moment scorches you and you’re red, flattered and majestically horny. 

Yoongi turns his head to see if you’re well-behaved and you beam at him, the pulse on your clit intensifying, forcing you to say, “come home, Yoongi.” 

He chuckles, aware of the reason behind your words, pretends he isn’t. “What were you doing, baby?” 

The growth of your grin doesn’t falter. You show him the sheen of your wet finger in the ivory bathroom light, the glint, the stickiness as you push your index finger to your middle and pull away, your arousal on full, filthy display. 

He curses under his breath. Doesn’t give a fuck that his friend sits beside him and adjusts in his seat. Bites his lip briefly. “Stick it in your mouth for me.” 

Doesn’t say the words that so very often follow after in that sentence. Taste yourself. 

Why he doesn’t step aside to take this video call eludes you, but something about you being watched by two pairs of eyes excites you. Enough for you to do as he says. Perhaps it’s due to the fact you don’t know the male sitting beside him and Yoongi is letting him keep his sight glued to the screen. 

Two sharp inhales of breath. Not one of yours. Yoongi readies his hook to feignedly lash out at his friend and you press your thighs together to alleviate yourself of the unbearable feeling between your legs. Confidence, a bad, bad version of confidence suffuses you whole, turning you into a person gone mad by lust. You swirl your tongue around your digit, the tanginess of your taste causing your eyes to narrow, the principle of driving not just one, but two men mad just the same intoxicates you, as if you were there among them, drinking. 

A pair of round eyes peek at the corner of the screen. Soft, naive, so terribly innocent. A dash of sobriety washes over you, owed to those brownish effervescent orbs, a sprinkle shame pooling low in your core. A reality check. You sense some kind of stability of that reality beneath those eyelashes of his, the stability that whispers—is this the right thing to do? 

It’s not rough, it’s not stern, it’s not Yoongi coded—it’s anything but. Gentleness is what you detect, free of any prejudice. 

You sigh. Millions of thoughts about how you could toy with them pass through your mind, but you decide against them, the stability a pillar that blends into your spine, helping it unbend. You can’t do this; you can’t do this to Yoongi and you need to keep your dignity intact in some way, despite the fact that every fiber of your body compels you to do the opposite. You distract yourself by screwing the lid of your body butter back on. 

“Good girl,” Yoongi coos, causing you to whisk your eyes to the screen in perhaps disbelief, shame or your still pending arousal—you’re not sure. How can you be a good girl when you let another man see something so lewd? How can your boyfriend validate something like that? “One more beer and I’ll be home. Wait for me on the bed. As you are.” 

Naked. 

Heat rushes to your cheeks, to the surface of every part of your skin, dragging away small ounces of shame. You curse, mentally, running a hand down your face. Yoongi downs his drink without taking his gaze off of you, watching your reaction, adds once he swallows, “and don’t touch yourself.” 

And with that, he hangs up. 

The harsh comprehension of what the fuck just happened envelops you in a confining embrace, the precipitately increasing weight of shame now a burden on your shoulders that you just can’t shake off, even when you slink your arms through sleeves of your silky robe and welcome in the summer breeze coming to caress your face on the balcony—even when you burst your lighter to a flame and light up your cigarette, inhaling the smoke that you hoped would rid you of its such uncomfortable hold around you. 

You licked your cum clean under the gape of a guy you don’t know in front of your boyfriend. 

His friend heard the order. Don’t touch yourself. Yoongi didn’t whisper it. Didn’t camouflage his words in any way. Uttered them straight and bare, allowing his friend to hear them, despite the fact he almost fought him then and there for sneaking one glance at your moderately naked form. 

Question marks hover in your mind and the pulse on your clit cries, seemingly knowing the answer. 

Did Yoongi like it as much as you did, the aspect of having an audience? 

The wetness in your heat dribbles out, staining your thighs. You squeeze them together, the drag of your cigarette hard and long, expecting to feel your nerves burn off. You gain no such thing—no relief, no lifting of the burden, just constricting tangles in your tummy, zippy spasms of butterflies going mad, mad, mad. 

Perhaps Yoongi didn’t like it at first until he perceived the auspicious debauched look on your face. Saw the way you didn’t hesitate to oblige him when he told you to stick your finger in your mouth. And perhaps the fact that you didn’t express any signal of discomfort was the key to unfastening the leash on his possessiveness over you. 

What have you done? What have you so selfishly and disgustingly done? 

You hang your head in your hands, the white smoke intertwining with the burden on your shoulders and pressing down harder on you. 

That’s why he let his friend hear the command. Don’t touch yourself. He saw the way you indulged in it, and that awakened his liking for it.

Yoongi lied when he said he’d have one more beer. 

By the time you hear the thunder of his voice, all the roses in your garden have wilted, leaving faded, withered petals in its wake—leaving a path of your internal battle all around the apartment for Yoongi to follow. You’ve paced, your bare feet stepping on them. Tried to untangle yourself from the incarceration of your mind by chain-smoking, but to no avail. The only change that took place in your body was the decline of your shame, for you couldn’t help but imagine what could have happened, had you let free rein to your desire—had those round eyes never looked at you with such purity. You figured there wasn’t anything bad about letting your imagination be colored like that, and so you sat on your boyfriend’s couch, cigarette switched to a coconut-flavored vape, and dreamed.

You dreamed about those two men being of service to you, right here on the same couch, where they would lay you down and make you squirt over and over again, betting between each other who could make you come the fastest, counting down your orgasms until the number was a mere blur to you. 

The throb on your clit heightened to heavenly levels and when you emerged from your dream, you found yourself being able to breathe—your momentary disappearance tricking your shame into leaving. It was difficult for you not to touch yourself and you opted to adhere to Yoongi’s wish, not risking to feel worse than you already had. 

The war ended, undeterred by the fact you never expected it to. 

Loud swear words roar in Korean. You rise to your feet to open the front door for Yoongi and you discover that he’s not alone at all. 

The same pair of round eyes, the cause of all the ruckus you just departed from, meet yours, hauling you back there with a force. Your mouth falls agape and before you can react any further, Yoongi stumbles into you. You almost topple over, realizing you didn’t care to steal a glance at the state of him, but the male grabs a hold of Yoongi’s jacket and pulls him back. You wish you had tumbled over and the floor had opened up and swallowed you whole. It would have been less embarrassing than to be stuck in this situation. You want to run, you want to scream— 

“He’s drunk out of his own mind,” the male says, his voice deep like the warm wind before a tumultuous storm, fitting just right with the thunder of Yoongi’s intonation, his gaze wandering over the entirety of your shock-stricken face, taking it in; giving you the same attention that fucked you up hours ago. Yoongi begins to mumble something you can’t momentarily focus on, his hands grasping your waist, lips latching onto your neck. No, you cannot for the life of you focus because the man steals you all over again and you hate how easy it is for him to do that, when you’re far from being available. “Don’t ask what made him drink this much.”

Did Yoongi get drunk because he let his friend in on your most intimate moment? 

Humiliated, turned on and angry altogether, a concoction that simply worsens everything, you draw back from your boyfriend. You want to beat at his chest with your fists just to have some sort of relief from blaming him—because if you blame yourself, only doom consumes you. Why did he call you? Or, essentially, why didn’t he step away to take that damned video call? 

“Thanks for walking him home,” you say eventually, your voice smooth, despite the violence of your feelings, despite wanting to say something else entirely. Your first words to him and, wholeheartedly—despite it all, you hope they aren’t last, even if that possibly makes you a despicable person. 

Yoongi’s friend nods. Chews his bottom lip and lowers his gaze to the ground for a split second. You wonder if he feels the need to remove himself from this uncomfortable situation as much as you do because you can’t read anything in that paleness of his countenance. Not a hint of any emotion whatsoever, just blandness of expression, slightly dimmed by the few thick strands of black hair that have fallen from his disheveled, pushed back mullet. As if they did fight after all, perhaps on the way home, or wrestled if Yoongi was being difficult. 

You don’t realize you and the male are just staring at each other until Yoongi places his hand on your cheek, brushing back a wisp of your tresses. Only then do your eyes flick to Yoongi’s and you finally notice him, the gloss in his hooded irises searching and searching for you, the rosy blush on his cheeks, dry parted mouth and the dart of his tongue as he wets it, softening the flecks that have been created there. 

This is it. If you are focused on him, all things are made right—all things that have been stained get purified and dreams get turned into dust. This is the man you’ve fallen for, who puts you before himself and has done so every day since the moment he made you his. You can’t let anyone else get in the way of the home that your relationship has become, you can’t let your feelings flee—

“For the record,” Yoongi’s friend starts, hand massaging circles on the nape of his neck, the leather of his jacket tight around his arm. Your heart jumps and beats against your chest ferociously. “I didn’t see anything, if that helps you sleep better tonight.” 

It’s such a fat lie and you’re about to shake your head, but then he looks at you with such sincere regret that, ultimately, you choose to believe him. Just to keep your peace of mind unscarred. 

Yoongi tightens his hold around your waist, which grounds you, and a small part of you begins to bloom in healing, disseminating little by little across your whole body. 

A healer with big, round eyes. A good man. 

With a swing, Yoongi closes the door but you don’t hear the click. No, the light spills in from the hallway. Your hands reach for the doorknob but Yoongi blocks them and wraps them around his waist while swaying on his feet. He traces the shell of your ear with his lips, his alcohol-reeking breath wafting over you, and softly, you whine his name. Shuffling beyond the door, feet never entirely moving—the male is still standing outside and he hears as Yoongi hums at your call, as the sound grows into a groan at the feeling of being alone with you at last, at the feeling of all that makes you feminine under his hands. He hears your gasp as Yoongi pushes your chest flush to his body, kisses you harshly and cups your bare pussy. Hears the smack of your mouths, the pop once he withdraws, the squelch of your wetness. Hears as Yoongi murmurs, “you been horny, baby? Wet for me, hm?”

It’s those words that make him shut the door for you.

You made Yoongi drink a lot of water. 

And while he downed the glasses, you ordered him Thai food from his phone, which he now devours. You had wanted to change out of your flimsy robe into your plush pajamas, but Yoongi stopped you with a tight grip on your shoulder and with the nastiest puppy eyes he could manage, considering his plastered state, he begged you not to. Informed you that he wanted to fuck you in your little robe and you told him that if he wanted that, he needed to get sober. 

He’s your boyfriend and you trust him, but you don’t feel comfortable having sex with him while he’s wasted and you’re not. It’s a dangerous territory you don’t ever want to cross. 

So, now he eats as quietly as a mouse, feeding you every other bite with his chopsticks, meanwhile you’re jittering your leg with your arms crossed across your chest, mind full of the male who walked him home. Of the way he pulled you under and resurfaced with you soon after. Of the calm peace you feel all over the perimeter of your mind that peculiarly stresses you out. Of what would happen if you voiced your little dream to Yoongi, especially. 

Was it out of the question or would he consider it? 

Your leg jitters harder. 

You want to tell him, badly. Seeing his friend in real life changed fucking everything. If you hadn’t, you would’ve forgotten about it in the days to come. Yoongi would’ve fucked it out of you in most probability. But those eyes… those eyes got under your skin. 

“Stop fidgeting,” Yoongi scolds with his mouth full of food, no hint of slurring. The hot meal and hydration worked a miracle. “You’re making me nervous.” 

He picks up two cut pieces of chicken with his chopsticks and stuffs your mouth, adding a few pieces of vegetables as you’re chewing. Watches you swallow it, noticing how your eyes are focused on nothing in particular on the other side of the room. Tucking his utensils under his palm, he places his hand on your thigh, halting your restless motion. 

You still won’t look at him. Too lost in the overthinking maze, debating whether you should speak or remain quiet about your desire. A strong part of you fears his reaction and the other half is horrified at the possibility of being turned down—

Yoongi takes his hand away. Props it on his cheek. 

“I can see your pussy from here,” he says, licking his lips. “You’ve shaved?” 

You breathe a soft laugh, turning your head to face him, covering yourself with the small fabric. Dark, but tender eyes, void of any glossiness, awake and stirred—amused. Cheeks awash with color. Lips puffy, a dark tinge of red coating them. A sturdy fist on his cheek, the milky jawline underneath. That messy hair, the slicked-back look ruined by the constant rake of his fingers through them, now falling to the side from the middle. That slender body, clad in the night from head to toe—legs outstretched under the table. So fine, so delicious. A beautiful strong man—all yours. Why do you want another one? 

You slide your leg across his thighs and Yoongi slouches in his seat, discarding his chopsticks. 

“I shaved everything,” you respond, cocking your brow at him—a sly invitation for him to feel its smoothness. 

And he does. Runs his hand up and down your skin. Goes as far as lifting your other leg onto his lap, cradling them both, thumb caressing your calf. The movement causes your robe to expose you again and, cursing the fabric, you go to cover yourself, but Yoongi stops you. 

“Don’t bother,” he mutters. “I wanna look at it.” 

You raise your brows altogether, looking up at him. “You wanna look at her?” 

Yoongi smirks. That dangerous tug of one corner of his mouth to the side. Your death, your undoing, the root of your submission to him. “I want to have her at my disposal.”

You gulp and Yoongi catches it, chuckling. Drifts his hand down your calf, to your heel, to the middle of your foot up to your toes. He plays with your pinky. You note the fact he changed the pronoun after you did. 

Your arousal returns at full speed.

“Did that make you wet?” Low, low is his voice—you feel it prodding at your core, thrumming vehemently. 

You blossom like your roses, thoughts put to the side. 

“I’ve been wet this entire time,” you say, zeroing in your gaze on the flick of dimness that whirls past his eyes. “For hours.” 

He makes a sound of pitiful nature. “Poor baby.” Furrows his brows and juts his bottom lip out, making you weak. Lets his hand roam on your thigh. “So you listened? You didn’t touch yourself?” 

You merely nod your head quickly. You were too distressed to give your body the pleasure it sought. Too busy flaring your lungs with the burn of smoke. And you respected his wish enough to keep your hands to yourself. 

Yoongi coos. “Good girl.” 

A flashback—your lips wrapping around your slick-coated finger, Yoongi praising you and… another pair of eyes watching. Chills spread across your arms, your stomach flipping. Thankfully, your shame is kept at bay. It relieves you. 

“Can I feel how wet you are?” 

A sweet, devious smile. “If you can manage to get to her.” 

You press your thighs tightly together. Yoongi looks at you as if you’ve greatly offended him and alas, he turns your chair so you face him head-on. Forces your thighs apart without any strain at all—and there you feel it, the embarrassment of fucking with him, once your pussy is at complete disposal to him just like he wanted. 

“If your pussy wasn’t so pretty, I’d make you regret your words,” he purrs, eyes fixed on your drenched flesh, hands pushing your thighs back until your knees are at level with your shoulders, folds parting with the movement, revealing more of you. Yoongi wets his mouth with his tongue. 

He thumbs your gleaming lips back and forth, collecting your essence, mesmerized by them. Looks at you intently. 

“It wouldn’t hurt to say sorry, though,” he says, narrowing his eyes at you. “Would it?” 

You grin at him. “Sorry, Yoongi.” 

He rubs your swollen clit in slow circles, still with his bedewed thumb, still with his eyes on you. You choke out a moan at the delight permeating through your being. “That’s not the proper way to apologize, now is it?”

You lean your pelvis into his touch, a natural body reaction unfolding. He disapproves. You scrunch your face. “What should I say?” 

Yoongi tuts. “I’m barely touching you and you already forgot your manners?” 

The only answer you emit is an uncouth whine. 

He shakes his head, putting pressure into his circles for a mere beat of time before he slaps your pussy curtly. A vivid spasm of pleasure fills you and you moan. “Needy girl. Don’t I take care of this pussy enough? What’s this behavior?” 

Another whine. A roll of your body, asking for more of his touch. “Spank her again.” 

A cock of his brow. Harsh, stern, evil. His hand remains propped on his thigh, shoulders hunched. “I didn’t hear you say please. You wanna be bad? You want me to make you cry?” 

You know just how much he’s capable of doing that. You shake your head ‘no’. You want gentleness, the kind you saw in his friend’s eyes—

You flutter your own shut to get rid of that thought. Take a deep breath. 

“Spank my pussy again, please.” 

Yoongi massages the apex of your thigh, dangerously close to your cunt, squeezing the flesh every once in a while. 

“Apologize first.” 

“You didn’t tell me how.” 

He clicks his tongue and pinches your folds and your clit between his fingers. You cry out, and then Yoongi gets up to his feet, leaning over you, propping his hand on the back of your chair. He begins to swiftly spank your pussy over and over again. You just jump at every contact, moaning, eyes flicked to his, never breaking apart. Taking it, taking it so well that Yoongi kisses you nastily, licking into your mouth. Then, he grunts. Fingers flat against your clit, he moves them from side to side. Roses, a myriad of them, flood your form with their freshness and dewiness, with their beauty and delectation and you shudder, you scream, you arch your back off of the backrest—

“Say, ‘I’m sorry, Yoongi. I’m such a bad girl that I deserve every spank and I’ll take it until it hurts.” 

Flabbergasted and horny beyond measure, your mouth falls agape. Your brain turns into mush, the pleasure paralyzing you, your sounds now loud and obscene, the roses in you flitting, growing and murmuring. Yoongi adds more pressure to your clit and your eyes sink back into your head, his darkness wafting over to you, seeping into your skin—now completely yours. 

You repeat after him—word for word. With a simper on your face that causes him to scowl at you, as if you dared to toy with your punishment he bestowed upon you. But then, a tongue prods the inside of his cheek and he laughs, taking a hold of his dominant role and making sure you know. He spanks your clit twice in a row, hands lifting to fondle your nipples. 

“Good,” he praises. “You like that, don’t you? Spanks on your pussy?”

You don’t like that softness. Like the personified thunder he is, it is the calm before the storm. It unnerves you, the expectation of what might come next and your disliking of it. Nonetheless, you brim with the craving to have his fingers inside of you. Your hole clenches at that and Yoongi notices, hissing under his breath. The language of the darkness rises on your tongue and you figure that if you let loose, you’ll get your wish fulfilled.

“Yeah, it feels so good—” He pinches your nipples between his knuckles and you mewl, your lashes shaking at the impact, another set of wetness coating your folds. “Please, fuck me with your fi—”

You don’t even get to finish your sentence. Yoongi plunges his middle finger into your heat, cursing at your tightness, at how slippery you are and at the delight of being filled at last, you knit your brows. With his other finger, he traces the outline of your puckered mouth, his breathing hard and ragged. 

“I’ll do anything for that pout of yours, fuck, no matter if you deserve it or not,” he utters, slipping the digit inside. Instinctively, you suck on it and only then does Yoongi begin to pump you slowly. “You just need a little roughness to be good, don’t you?” 

Dumbly, you nod, swirling your tongue around him, but a faint, silenced part of you begs for the gentleness that you know hides somewhere deep inside his chest, never once unfurled during such intimate times. 

You pay it no matter, too fucked out to think. 

When he adds a second finger into your heat, he does the same thing with his other hand. Two fingers in your cunt, two fingers in your mouth. And he fucks you with both until you gag and a light flashes in his eyes—then, he withdraws all together, leaning against the table, his bedewed fingers coming to rest at his hardened length in his pants. 

Roses, opening. Roses, sighing. 

You breathe heavily, needing to finish, needing to have him in your mouth—

“You liked being the center of attention today?” he husks, surveying your whole body, bent in half. 

There it is—the storm. Just what you expected. Cold sweat dribbles down your spine. And it is fear, what you feel, even when you refuse to admit it. Stiff, tempered fear that pervades each and every vein on your body, regarding being possibly degraded, being made feel dirty—regarding, even, tasting the dark wine of his wrath. 

Such a stark, sudden change. 

You don’t want this. You don’t want any of it.

Abruptly, an internal question comes and pokes you in the middle of your forehead.

Will you succumb to it or will you, with the wildly fresh darkness within you, fight against it?

You take a deep breath, and in with the air also follows, with the little rationality you have amidst the sensuality of your lecherous appetite, the decision to take a hold of it all. To take charge. Just like he did.

You shall prioritize yourself. Your feelings, your desires—your roses.

Your choice envelops your fear in bubble wrap. It doesn’t dissipate. And as much as it pains you, you take a mental note of that. 

“I did,” you spit out, angered by the fact you’re afraid of your boyfriend, and so you stand your ground. “It made me so fucking needy and I want more.” 

The relief that hits you almost causes you to weep and you lower your legs to the ground. Not wanting him to see the film of tears clouding your eyes, you avoid his gaze. Yoongi crosses his arms across his chest and clicks his tongue at you, disapproving. 

“Keep your legs where they belong.” 

“No.”

A lift of his brow. He crouches down to your level and cradles your face in his hand, forcing you to look at him. And there he sees, under the waterfall of your hair, your emotions at his disposal. Yoongi studies you, frowns at you and you want to sob, you want to go home. Shame slithers towards your spine like a ghost, and although it keeps a distance, you feel its presence prickling your back. You cover your cleavage. 

“Why are you crying?” Yoongi asks, a silky murmur, eyes flicking between yours. His fingers don’t caress your skin; they merely hold you firmly, making dents in the skin. 

You don’t trust that voice, dismayed by what might lie under. 

“Why did you do that to me?” you ask in return, and it’s a blue fire shooting out, engulfing the room in stifling heat. You catch a glimpse of its sparks in the dimness of his eyes, of how he’s momentarily stricken by it before it folds beneath the shadows.

“You want to get fucked by someone else?” 

A question for a question. 

You swallow down the lump in your throat, caused by your frustration. 

Your devotion to him didn’t let you go as far as to imagine being fucked by his friend while Yoongi watched, but the brief flash of it in your mind is enough incentive for the heat to spill into you, mingling with the darkness, turning you candescent, traveling through you until it finds your core—and there, it stays. There, it finds home. 

The pulse on your clit returns, filling you with abrupt energy. 

There’s something about him coming up with it that makes you unhinged, but you’re so utterly sick of the instability of your feelings. You need it to stop.

“And what if I do?” you retort. “What will you do?” 

Truthfulness, at last.

Yoongi takes in a sharp inhale of breath, and that is the only reaction you receive from him. Nothing else on his face flickers; no wrath, no sliver of jealousy, not one thing. You stare at an empty canvas, ready for you to paint on. And you simply decide that you want to start. 

You push his hand away from your face. Stand up to your feet. But the hardened look he gives you inclines you to sit back down. 

You fight against it. 

Untangling the knot on your robe, you let him see your bare femininity. The perkiness of your breasts, the long dip of your stomach that he likes to pepper kisses on. Yes, you’re aiming for his weakness. 

And you decide to repeat history. 

You reach your hand down, lower and lower while he stares you down, and you collect your glimmering essence. Sinking your finger into your mouth, you make a show of rolling your eyes back and moaning faintly, softly. Your other hand, in the meantime, unbuttons his pants. 

The breath Yoongi inhaled hitches in his throat. 

“Is this not evidence enough?” you purr, dragging down his zipper. “How else am I supposed to show you?” 

You pull his manhood out as you suck on your finger, all while maintaining eye contact. You don’t touch him beyond that. In fact, you withdraw your hand altogether. 

And then, you collect your essence again. 

This time, you smear it across his bottom lip. Yoongi lets you. Your heart thuds, threatening to jump out of your chest. 

“Your actions during the video call told me everything,” you whisper, catching the sliver of wooziness scattering along his narrowed eyes. “And I think you liked it more than me—the thought of sharing me. You can’t hide it. Not when I saw it.” 

Yoongi growls. Then, he surprises you. 

He parts his lips for you. 

And the contact of the pad of your finger with his wet tongue coaxes a string of your dewiness to drip down the side of your thigh. You moan for him. Relieved, fucked up, woozy just the same. Finally, finally, finally. 

You’re in charge. And it feels divine. 

His length twitches against the fabric of his T-shirt. Long, hard, drooling. Such a delight for you—and so you continue. 

“I also think it made you hard. Not just because you called me when I was touching myself, but because your friend was right there beside you,” you purr, your voice a seductive sound of silk—leading him to wrap his lips around your digit. You moan for him, showing him how much you like that. “Isn’t that right, baby?” Your walls clench at the pet name, solely due to the fact that these soft terms of endearment have always been addressed to you, never the other way around. It thrills you. “I’d always be devoted to you, even if he fucked me. I’d look at you the entire time. If that’s what you want. I had a different idea, but yours is just—” you pause, and again you make a show of sighing and rolling your eyes back, “better.” 

A straight hit to his core. A glee for you. 

But you don’t realize how much you fucked up until Yoongi grips your waist and the hold hurts enough that you wince. 

And then—then he manhandles you. 

Lifting you and laying you down on the table, Yoongi spreads your legs. Watches you drip, watches as the satiny fabric follows the movement of your limbs and reveals you in all your entirety. He pulls you closer to him with a sharp tug until you collide with the tops of his thighs. Bends over you. Hovers his lips above yours. You expect him to kiss you—he even angles his head and rubs the side of his nose against yours—but he never does. 

He only leaves you waiting. Leaves you submitted to your empty expectations, taking charge, taking his control back from you. You shiver in anticipation, reaching for him, however he pins your hands down on either side of you. An angel in a rose garden. 

Yoongi chuckles, darkly, his teeth glinting in the yellow light. You fight against his hold, hips rolling against the underside of his length, beckoning him to do something, anything. You merely manage to prolong the thunder of his laughter. 

“One cock isn’t enough for her, so baby wants two,” he spits. That smirk, the crinkles around his eyes—he’s enjoying this. The hint of degradation doesn’t reflect what’s swarming inside of him, doesn’t reflect the face of pleasure coursing down his body. You smile and he scoffs. “I have enough friends for you to choose from in case you want more. I think you’d be stellar at taking three cocks. Four, even, huh? Would you have enough then? One in your tight little virgin ass, two in your cunt, one down your throat?” 

You gulp, frozen, eyes widening. 

Yoongi bites his shiny lips, nudging the tip of his nose against yours. Kisses you once. Begins to rock his hips, his length sliding across your wet fleshiness. The moan that escapes your throat trembles with each delicious motion. 

“You watch too much porn, honey,” he coos, giving you tiny kisses on the mouth. “I’d kill anyone who would come near this pussy. And I’d kill Jungkook, too, if he so much as glanced at her.” 

So that’s his name. You mewl, knitting your brows. That’s his pretty name. The entirety of your form shivers at the discovery, at the pleasure given to your throbbing clit. 

Yoongi pulls back, setting your hands free. 

You prop your elbows on the table, pouting. Yoongi grasps his length, spreads his arousal and begins to jerk himself off. 

“You’re not fucking Jungkook. You’re mine.” He groans, squeezing his tip; your hole clenches. “Rub your clit.” 

Like him, you spread your arousal on your seashell, the arousal long caused by his presence and now the mention of his name—the reason behind your frustration and his, the reason why you’re spread on the dining table, why your boyfriend is hard. You rub your clit from side to side, amused. 

“No,” Yoongi disapproves, knowing you do the motion when you want to prolong the build-up. “Circles. Make yourself come.” 

You change direction, obeying him. A sly grin blossoms on your lips, dark eyes looking up into his, permeating them, permeating into his soul. You pick up the pace, moaning into your expression of elation. 

“Jungkook is such a pretty name,” you provoke and you heighten your sounds in volume and intensity just to piss him off, just to have your way. 

A grunt escapes him, matching your pace. He wraps his fingers around your throat and squeezes. You hum. 

“A pretty name to moan in my opinion.” A layer of sweat coats your body. Yoongi grasps your jawline firmly and your satisfied laughter inches you closer to your orgasm. You feel the hot flashes, roses surrounding you—its tender petals grazing your feverish skin. You give in, watching Yoongi do the same, his mouth in a tight line, hissing and sizzling, an open fire, an open fire you want to be radiated by, burned whole by. “Just imagine him here, watching us. Oh my god, imagine him knowing he’s the reason why you and I are doing this.” 

Yoongi has had enough. 

He pushes you down harshly. Fills your hole to the hilt without letting you adjust, observing himself disappearing inside of you and begins to pound you into the table. The sound of skin slapping, the hard and quick strokes, the ravaged grunts he lets out, the fast change—it all takes your breath away, so much that you can’t, in fact, breathe. He grabs your face and makes you look at him. The dead of the night captured in his features, you absorb it, whining like the brat you are onto his mouth, mingling into your noises your approval, your yes’. 

Swallowing it, he kisses you, keeping his eyes open. “He could never fuck you like this.” 

You laugh. He swallows that, too, moaning. “What if he could?” 

He taps you on the cheek, a warning, giving you an exceptionally hard stroke that causes you to scream. He pauses. Does it again. Over and over—and your screams echo across the room, your own soul slipping out of your body. Petals flutter against you and you’re done for, hanging off the edge. You’re close, so terribly close. Your eyesight blurs and Yoongi pulls out entirely and rams into you. Again and again, abusing your cervix. 

You moan his name, gone—entirely gone. 

“Yes, moan my name like that. Just mine,” he mutters. “Who’s fucking you this good? Who’s gonna make you come?” 

He rams into you more rapidly than before. Your senses leave you until all that you know is Yoongi. His name, his scent, the wholeness of the night encompassing him. 

“You, Yoongi, you. Fuck, I—”

Yoongi laughs maniacally. “Yes, that’s right. That’s my good girl.” 

He rolls his hips, slowing down the coming of your orgasm, owning you. Lets your senses come back to you momentarily. You swallow, your throat dry and you blink, dazed still. Yoongi kisses you, giving you all that he took from you. 

“Who’s only capable of fucking you like this, honey, hm?” he asks, his voice tender and sing-song. “My pretty honey, so fucked out. So out of it.” 

You whine and you don’t control what comes out of you, your body answering for you. “You, Yoongi. You’re fucking me so—so good. I can’t—fuck. You’re the only one.” 

He smiles down at you fondly, kissing your nose, then your lips, parting your mouth and swirling his tongue around yours briefly. Then he withdraws, begins to fuck you again, slowly, reaching to the side for something. 

Once you see his phone in his hand, your heart stops. And when he puts the device to his ear, your throat dries up even more. You suddenly become aware of the silence all around, especially in your chest. You can’t breathe, you can’t blink—

Yoongi jackhammers into you, purposefully luring your loud noises out of you. “My girlfriend wants to fuck you.” 

You gasp, squeezing your eyes shut, the suddenness, the quickness of pleasure you haven’t yet felt piercing you. Fuck hot flashes and petals, you feel a heavy urge of your orgasm closing down on you. 

“She’s so desperate for you, even when I’m fucking the life out of her.” 

You flutter your eyes open to see Yoongi surveying you. You scrunch your face—so close, so fucking close—and then he puts the phone to your ear. Breathing, hard, ragged breathing fills all of your senses and you come. 

It’s an explosion. Roses bursting, their dew soaking you and Yoongi whole and you exit. You exit out of this situation, this world, this universe while your soul remains here with them. Vibrancy, colors so beautiful and sensations so vivid, ardent and fierce. You don’t know what it is you’re feeling or where you are. That is, until Yoongi’s voice yanks you back to planet Earth, back into this world, this situation—back to them. 

“In fact, she just came for you. Squirted.” 

You sob. Overstimulated, rhapsodic, but effulgent. Yes, you emit light and glow. You can see it in Yoongi’s softened eyes. 

“Think about it. No pressure. Just know she won’t shut up about you. I recall her saying your name would be pretty to moan while she played with her pussy. I think it’s only right you fuck it out of her.” 

With that, he hangs up. 

You brim with so many emotions that it numbs you. Happy tears flow out of your tear ducts—and happily, endearingly, Yoongi chortles. You don’t even feel humiliation or shame. On the contrary, you’re ready to come again. 

Yoongi kisses you and the sounds he slips into your mouth divulge how happy he is about this, how pleased he is with himself. 

You pout, burning your eyesight into his. He begins to rut into you. 

“What, you’re not even gonna thank me?” he says, grinning, as if he wasn’t fucking you at all, as if you two were still sitting at the dinner table, conversing. 

You stammer, head empty, silencing yourself and trying again. “What—what made you change your mind?” 

Yoongi places open-mouthed, wet kisses along the bone of your jaw, and there he seals his answer. “I made up my mind the moment you admitted you wanted to be fucked by him, but you wouldn’t shut up about him. I wanted to hear you babble for me. About me. I just had to mess you up to get to that point.” 

You mewl, running your hands through his sweat-slicked hair. Like a cat, he perks up to your touch, lifting his head, angling it. He kisses you, deeply. Kisses your relief. 

“Where are your manners, hm?” he whispers onto your mouth, giving you hard strokes that erase your vocabulary. You want to make him come and so you push against his thrusts, but to no avail. The intensity won’t allow you. 

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you murmur, cradling his face, pecking him, giving him the softest eyes you could muster so you can show him how much it means to you. 

He approves of your effort on bettering your manners and to reward you, he lifts you up and fucks you in the air. Your breasts bounce against the material of his T-shirt, stimulating you and he alters between jackhammering into you and sliding you up and down on his length. Your pussy squelches around his girth, tightening and Yoongi—

Yoongi loses his mind. 

And it’s him who begins to babble when you snap your hips down on him in circles. 

“Just like that, honey, oh fuck. So good, so good for me.” 

He takes it until his sounds grow in volume and you focus so much on his pleasure that you forget about yours. 

But you don’t let him take charge. 

“Let me fuck you, please, Yoongi. I wanna make you come.” 

Just like you, he’s out of it and because of that, because you asked so nicely, he lets you. 

His chest heaves, staccatos of his choked out breaths sail through the room and you can see it on his face that he’s close. Brows furrowed, bottom lip bleeding due to the way he bites hard on it, the way his mouth pops open and his eyes flutter closed. 

You hold onto his neck with your dear life. 

“Look at me,” you demand and swirl your hips in slow circles around his tip. “I want you to look at me when you come.” 

You’re so stunned that he allows you to be in charge, even more when he truly does open his eyes and pierces his gaze into yours. 

“I need to pull out,” he breathes, but you shake your head, snapping your hips down on him harshly.

“No, I want your cum in me. And I want it to be inside of me when Jungkook fucks me.” 

Yoongi grunts and this is it for him. His cock twitches in you, over and over again and then you feel it—the hot, thick ropes of his cum stuffing you full. You’re so mesmerized by the feeling, by the blissfulness evident on his face, by the smoothness between his brows at last that you can’t even milk him dry. You’re frozen, stupefied by his beauty, by his personal rapture and you want to feel it in unity with him. You kiss him. 

It’s him who fucks him cum into you, burying it deep, moaning into your lip lock. 

It’s him who lays you down to your original position and briefly, feebly licks the sheen on your spread lips before devouring your clit. 

It’s him who gives you the fastest orgasm of your life. 

And it’s him who tells you—in the shower—the story of how he almost beat up Jungkook black and blue once he heard him say how pretty you are.

And it’s you who checks up on him. 

“You sure you’re okay with this?” 

You’re stroking his hair in the bed, the duvet heavy and warm around your body and his, the night overflowing into morning—Yoongi, too. 

He’s falling asleep, but still conscious, still here with you, purring. 

“I wouldn’t be waking him up in the middle of the night if I wasn’t,” he whispers, opening his eyes to look at you, to see you enveloped in the extra blanket of the dawn’s rosy light—glowing, throwing the sun off of its throne. “Poor guy just got out of the military and you’ve already rocked his world.” 

You smile, fondly, thumb caressing his temple. Yoongi hums in appreciation. 

“I’m happy for him he’s getting pussy—one that’s mine. Before he enlisted, he spent all his time painting and getting drunk alone,” he pauses in a thought, blinking at the light. “You still want this?” 

You nod, settling into his chest. Yoongi pulls you closer, tucking the duvet into the lines of your form, bringing in comfort and sleepiness. 

“I’ll make sure you have the time of your life. I’ll be here the whole time, taking care of you,” he promises against your hair and you squeeze him. 

“He hasn’t said yes, though. He could turn me down.” 

“I’ve seen the way he looked at you. You have nothing to fear. He’ll come to you like a puppy.” 

Yoongi sinks the promise onto the plane of your forehead and holds you as you drift to sleep. Happy, relieved, steamed off of all the negative things you went through. It evaporates into the dawn—far, far away from you. 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist / READ part two 

[earthtooz]

x : LOVIN' YOU RIGHT :*+ﾟ all of me i'm offering, show you what devotion is !

in which: reo keeps chasing after you because the one thing he knows how to do is love you right.

warnings: 2.2k words, FLUFF, gn!reader, reo is an athlete, post-argument fic inspired by jungkook's 'seven' mv, mentions of food, pet names used by reader and reo, reo is a little bit of a flirt and a lot in love and pathetic bc that's how we like our men!

a/n: I LOVE REO

“what are you doing here?” 

reo looks at the direction of your voice, eyes widening in surprise upon seeing you. there are grocery bags in your hands, you’re wearing the sweater you always wear when running errands, and you’re looking at him like he’s a fly that’s invaded your home, annoyance and exasperation seeping right off you. despite it, his heart flutters alive and reo feels like he can finally breathe after the few days you spent ignoring him. 

“y/n!” he exclaims, a smile making its way onto his face. “hi baby, i’ve missed you!”

just as he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead, you swerve aside smoothly, causing the purple-haired’s smile to drop.

“y/n? what was that for?” you don’t answer him, instead slipping past his figure to stand in front of your door, perhaps pressing a little too close for it to be normal, but reo keeps quiet about it. “at least let me help you with your groceries, you can’t unlock a door with both hands-”

“don’t.” you command, struggling with getting your keys out. “why are you here?” 

“wh-what do you mean? i haven’t seen you in three days and i missed you so i came to visit,” he pouts. “did you not miss me?” 

your eye twitches. “i’m still mad at you,” you finally unlock your door, pushing it open and closing it before reo could come in. 

however, that plan is much easier said than done because your boyfriend has better reflexes and is considerably faster than you, so he jams his shoe in between the doorway before you could close it. he makes no move to push it open though. 

“i’m sorry!” he calls out guiltily and he hopes his words reach you through the thin space. “you know i am, i didn’t mean to upset you, and i came to talk it out and make it up to you!”

you peek through the gap, looking reo in the eye. “as much as i appreciate your apology reo, there’s no point in letting you in, i need to go run some errands soon so why don’t you leave and come back later when we can talk.”

“then can i come with you?”

“why? you’re just going to be bored following me around.”

“i’d follow you to the ends of the earth if you allowed me.” 

the silence is deafening, utterly suffocating as reo awaits for a response. he has never wanted to kick down a door so badly in his life because if you spend another millisecond not speaking to him then he might lose his mind, he’d rather die than have you shut him out. 

thankfully, you open up the gap just a little more, allowing him to see more of you, but you don’t meet his eye, looking to the side bashfully instead. “fine, but i’m still mad at you, so don’t get any ideas.”

heaven is on his side, reo decides as he fails miserably at hiding his smile.

“you wait outside though, i’ll be out in a bit.”

“wait, can’t i help you put your groceries away?”

“you don’t even know how to do it properly.”

“i’ll learn for you.”

“another time.”

reo retracts his foot and you close the door with a gentle click, the sight of you being replaced with a wooden plank souring his mood significantly. better than you slamming the door in his face, he supposes, but nevertheless, the purple-haired sighs, moping in front of your door like it was his birthright. 

he only broods for a few minutes maximum because soon enough, he’s reunited with you, trailing behind you like a second shadow as you both make your way through your neighbourhood. the excitement that reo feels practically tangible, leaving a trail of undying devotion, powered by the love he feels for you.

the walk is quiet, filled by sounds of passing cars, birds chirping, and people strolling by that stare a little too long at the purple-haired, either subtly admiring him or wondering why he seemed so familiar. you’re acutely aware of the stares and how strange the sight must be to them. world-class soccer player and multimillionaire trailing behind a nobody as if it was just another day, how unfathomable. 

you wonder if reo gets tired of it.

“what are you doing today?” your boyfriend asks, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“i need to drop by the bank first of all, then i have some things to return, and then i need to buy some new headphones because mine broke.”

“oh, good to know!”

“reo, i swear, don’t even get the idea about paying for any of it. use your credit card today and i will personally-”

“-okay, okay!” he jokes, defensively putting up his hands. “i won’t.”

“promise?”

“promise.”

you narrow your eyes at him in suspicion, very clearly not believing him before continuing your journey. you know your boyfriend better than anyone and if it’s one thing he’s stubborn with, it’s never letting you pay, but you’re determined and reo is plotting the many ways to break his promise. 

the first method is dropped in front of him like a divine gift, which took shape through a flower stall in front of the mall you planned on going to. reo is a man of taking his chances whenever he sees it. grabbing your hand to stop you from walking any further, reo doesn’t explain his intentions as he wordlessly drags you to the quaint store that had set itself up. 

“reo, no-”

“-this one, please,” reo demands as he hands the bouquet of his choice to the store owner, keeping you in a tight grip before you could run away. 

“reo!”

“that’ll be 7700 yen.”

“that’s too much! reo, stop it! i told you you couldn’t use your credit card today!”

from his pocket, reo fishes out a crisp ‘10000’ bill, dropping it on the platter for cash before speed walking away with the bouquet. “thank you very much, no need for change!”

the protests of the store attendant fades in the background and reo turns to you with a boyish smile, pushing the bouquet into your arms as if you hadn’t witnessed everything that just happened. 

“reo,” you murmur, resolve crumbling as the beautiful arrangement shines up at you and it doesn’t help that your (very charming) boyfriend is looking at you with a pleading look in his eyes, practically begging for you to accept. “i told you not to buy anything-”

“-with my card! you never said anything about cash.” 

“that’s not the point- oh my goodness,” you pinch the bridge of your nose whilst shaking your head, but you quickly admit defeat when a small giggle slips through your lips. 

glancing back up at him, there’s scorn in your eyes but it’s easily contrasted by the gentle smile that dances along your lips. reo feels a warmth spread in his chest, as if he had swallowed the sun and made itself home beside his heart, the same one that begins to race at the sight of you laughing. he is so pathetically devoted to you that it makes him stupid, but he’d buy all the flowers in the world if it will make you smile at him like this. 

“you’re so silly, reo,” taking the bouquet from his relaxed grip, you hug it close to your chest. “thank you though, i love them.”

“i love you,” slips past his lips before he can think.

“ever the smoothtalker, aren’t you?”

you walk away without another word, causing reo to chase after you. “wait, why aren’t you saying it back?”

“still mad.”

reo shuts his mouth, complaints dying on his tongue as he continues following you through the mall. slowly but surely, you make your way through your list of things to do, with the world-class athlete silently losing his mind more and more with each second that you weren’t giving him attention. he needs to plot more ways that would break your resolve, and fast.

his opportunity comes up when the two of you pass by a bakery that catches your eye, your gaze to lingering a little too long on the display of baked goods for reo not to notice. without a second thought, he drags you in with him, your immediate complaints falling on deaf ears. 

“i don’t want anything!” you hiss, trying to keep loyal your stubbornness despite the enchanting smell of baked goods wafting through the air.

“too bad, either you tell me what you want or i’m buying out the whole store,” reo promises, eyes alight with determination.

“i want to go home.”

“aren’t you hungry?”

“there’s food at home, i don’t want to waste any unnecessary money.” 

“it’s not wasting if it’s spent on you, though,” he reasons before ordering the baked goods that he knows you will like, and once again, paying for it with cash. 

“if you’re trying to get me to forgive you by spending your money then forget it,” you mutter, ripping your hand out of his grasp before walking out of the store.

“y/n-” reo begins, cutting himself off as he waits impatiently for his order to get finished packing; not that it takes long before he leaves the store with a branded paper bag in hand, filled with perhaps multiple boxes of baked goods as dashes out to the entrance, prepared to chase after you.

except he doesn’t need to, because you’re standing outside patiently waiting for him, the bouquet of flowers still snug in your arms. its beauty could never compare to yours, reo thinks offhandedly as he approaches you like a magnet. 

“i thought me walking out would deter you,” you murmur, eyeing the bag in his hand. “should’ve known that it wouldn’t work.” 

reo grins, partly out of adoration, mostly because he’s just glad you didn’t actually leave him behind, not that you ever would or could do such a thing. 

“you treat me too well, don’t you think?” you hug the flowers closer to your chest. 

“what? where did that come from?” 

you shrug, not meeting his eyes. “i don’t know, you’re just too good for me sometimes. aren’t you tired?”

a crack resonates through his heart, causing a few pieces to crumble and shatter on the ground. “how could you ever think that?” he says in a panic. “do i need to give you more flowers? i need to call to make you an arrangement soon, i’m so inconsiderate! we can go out next week, i’ll clear my sche-”

two hands are placed of either side of his face and the words die on reo’s tongue. you look at him with a look of fondness that almost makes him cry and fall to his knees. “-i’m sorry, i don’t know where that came from. i just think i got really lucky having someone like you in my life.” 

reo wants to say that its reverse, that he’s the one who landed in a pot of fortune and came out with someone as kind and beautiful as you, but he’ll find the words some other day because he wants to kiss you, badly. 

finally, you say, “thank you love, i appreciate your gifts.” 

he beams and falls harder in love than he already was.

by the time the two of you arrive at your apartment, the sun is beginning to dip belong the horizon and you hold a lot more goods than anticipated, your boyfriend being the one to blame for most of them.

“are you gonna call someone to drive you home?” you ask, stopping in front of your door.

reo frowns, “i guess i could do that.” 

he makes no move for his phone and his pout is a strong indication of what he truly wants. you’ve always been good at reading reo but you’ve never been good at resisting his wishes, so it’s with a faked sigh that you give in.

“fine,” you hold out your hand for him to take and he very happily complies, beaming with a hope so bright that it blinds you. “want to stay the night?”

he almost drops to one knee but doesn’t get the time to because you’re unlocking your door. this time, you’re leaving it open and reo storms in like its his birth right (which it could be. he thinks he was put on this earth to love you and being welcomed in to your apartment might as well be another declaration of love.)

its refreshing to be in your space once more, to bathe in your presence and be welcomed in instead of shut out. as much as you may scorn him, reo’s only place in the universe is beside you, and he’ll take whatever you give so long as it’s you he gets to see at the end of the day.

“reo!” you call out from the kitchen, disrupting his thoughts. “should we have some of those cakes you bought earlier?”

“yeah, i’m coming!” shouts reo, happy, content, and grateful that you will let him love you, because he’s the only one that could do it right.

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.